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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 5 months

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the green in your eyes (makes me feel warm inside) ; megumi fushiguro

synopsis; in the comfort of a familiar bookstore, you find a boy. a pretty boy, who’s always reading, who doesn’t speak unless he has to. you’d like to get to know him — and maybe you will.

word count; 4.6k

contents; megumi fushiguro/reader, gn!reader, fluffy!!, lots of pining from afar, bookstore au, no curses au, reader is an overworked student bc uni is beating my ass, gumi is kind of awkward but hes cute <3, gojo mentioned twice (stay safe), can u tell im excited for christmas … :'3

a/n; bookstore employee gumi who hates every single customer except for you is so real to me

(@riaki its here …🙇‍♂️)

he’s there again.

with a decisive step forward, you drag the door open, and the flutter of a bell resounds throughout the bookstore. a precious little jingle, alerting him of your presence.

the boy at the counter gives you a glance. his navy eyes settle on your bundled up figure, and a flicker of familiarity blooms in the scope of his iris, a kind of recognition. something that makes your heart feel like a clumped up little ball of snow.

(oh. it’s you.

you can almost hear the silent words fall past his lips.)

it only lasts for a second, barely even that, your gazes overlapping — then he’s back to reading.

today, you recognize the book in his hands. the hardcover looks just a tiny bit worn, but still well taken care of. well-loved. and it’s a pretty rendition; a butterfly just above the title, snakes crawling on either side, vines stretching out across the scope of the image. there’s a kind of mystique to it. pretty.

wuthering heights, you read off the cover.

a little odd, in hindsight. you’ve only ever seen him read nonfiction. maybe he decided to broaden his horizons?

after a brief moment’s contemplation, your feet begin to move. taking another small step forward, inching closer, while the door falls shut behind you. blocking out the snowfall and colourful lights illuminating the street.

mitten-clad hands go to brush stray snowflakes off your shoulders, as you shift from foot to foot, halfheartedly attempting to warm up your numbed toes. wallowing in the atmosphere of the cozy little bookstore; breathing in the smell of peppermint, the hint of freshly brewed coffee. from the boy, you assume — he’s got his usual mug on standby, a cute little black dog etched into the ceramic. steam rises from it, floating up into the air, and a fragrance of espresso wafts throughout the store.

low christmas music plays from the speakers, barely audible. pleasing to your sensitive ears and tired mind. it’s the usual mix of well-loved songs, for the most part, but then some you haven’t heard before. you can only assume he picked them out himself; pretty instrumentals, or low, gravelly voices, adding to that particular atmosphere simmering around you. nostalgic, a little melancholic.

the boy behind the counter looks angelic.

he always does, when he’s reading — and he usually is. gentle, in the way he turns the pages, awfully delicate, keeping them still between his thumb and forefinger. lips pursed, brows just a tiny bit furrowed. concentrated, immersed. dark eyes trailing over the tiny letters, scanning the ink of the paper, twisting the syllables inside his mind. almost tasting them on his tongue, with the way he wets his lips. they look a little chapped.

for some reason, the sight seems to render you sort of speechless. frozen. like he’s a pretty bluebird seated on your windowsill, chirping softly in the wake of morning, and you’re afraid of scaring him away.

— his eyes meet yours, and you visibly stiffen.

it’s smooth, the motion of his hands. how swiftly he flicks the book shut, placing it face down on the counter with a twitch of his lithe fingers. not before slipping a pretty bookmark in between the pages, lilac-coloured, with flowers embroidered into the silky texture. you wonder if he made it himself.

his voice spills out into the air, a little raspy. deep, but velvety, sending shivers down your spine. he clears his throat, and you watch his adam’s apple bob. ”do you need anything?”

a second passes.

it catches you off guard, the mellow sound of his voice. when you’re so unaccustomed to hearing it. excluding the brief words you’ve exchanged paying for your novels, you’ve only heard it a select few times — mostly from afar, not-so-sneakily listening in on his conversations with the pink haired boy and pretty girl who sometimes come in and never look at any of the books.

(there’s the tall guy with the not-so-seasonal sunglasses, too. but when he enters the store, all you pick up on are usually grumbles and threatening hand gestures.)

but now, that low, low voice is directed at you.

it can’t be good for your physical health. or mental, for that matter. you’re not sure you remember to properly breathe, and you’re almost certain hearts aren’t supposed to flail the way yours is right now.

when the boy behind the counter tilts his head, just by a hair, you’re finally snapped out of your little trance. stumbling for something to say, stuttering out a response, your hands grip at the insides of your pockets.

”well, um — i’m looking for a book.”

a moment passes. the song coming from the speakers changes into an instrumental, kind of jazzy. it’s nice.

”… a specific book,” you elaborate, under your breath. gnawing at your bottom lip, feeling a bit of heat on your ears. clearing your throat, as you step forward, tearing your mittens off with your teeth.

searching for a certain image, your numbed fingertips begin to tap at the cold screen of your phone. the warm air of the bookstore envelops your chilled knuckles, and a shiver runs through them.

the boy watches, silently, as you get closer.

you don’t notice him glancing at your reddened hands, and when you look up to see a glimmer of something displeased in his eyes, you only assume it’s because you’re taking too long. speeding up slightly, you hear a low click of his tongue. his back straightens.

when he gets up from his chair, you notice that he's tall. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him do anything but sit behind the counter with a book in hand, either reading his own or scanning a customer’s.

and, upon closer inspection — he’s maybe just a little bit too pretty for words. smooth, pale skin, a sharp jaw and defined cheekbones, dark eyes that hide a subtle kind of softness. pierced ears, a glimmer of silver on his earlobes, same as the rings on his bony fingers. his nails are painted black, a little chipped. and he’s wearing a big, bright green christmas sweater; one you really can’t imagine him picking out on his own, if his previous all-black turtlenecks and gray sweaters are anything to go by.

while you fumble with the phone in your grasp, the pads of his fingers go to silently tap at the edge of the counter. a rhythmic motion; forefinger, middle finger, ring finger, over and over again.

it’s a little bit distracting. when he moves his hand a certain way, his big sweater sleeve rides up just a tiny bit, showing off the blue veins of his inner wrist. you think you catch a glimpse of a mole or two on his pale skin, and you swallow down a gulp, feeling a little like a victorian man seeing a girl’s ankle.

and then finally, you locate the image in question. swiftly showing him the cover of the book you were assigned to read. he squints a little, blinking drowsily, a flutter of his pretty eyelashes that has your heart skipping a beat.

you clear your throat.

”i’m supposed to read it before christmas break, but i couldn’t find it at our library…” you tilt your head, a little sheepish. ”do you have it here?”

he stares at the screen for just a second more. then he’s angling his head to the left, finger pointing towards a corner of the store. ”it should be over there,” he hums. monotone.

a tentative smile forms on your lips. you thank him, and his eyes find yours.

all he does is shake his head, softly, brushing you off — a silent don’t worry about it. maybe a tad gruff, but you sense an acute gentleness to it. something tender, kind of. or maybe you’d just like to believe the kindness you sense in his eyes is real, more than just a delusion.

but you don’t have time to dwell on it. the boy behind the counter goes back to reading, cradling the spine with his pretty hands. when he tries to grab the handle of his mug, one of the rings on his fingers knock against the ceramic, and he clicks his tongue in annoyance.

you go to hunt down your own book, still thinking about his voice, how it trickled like honey from out his lips.

the bookstore is entirely empty, tonight. no loud noises drilling into your groggy brain, no people to chatter amongst themselves and disrupt the illusion of peace you gain when you spend time here. a tiny respite, from your studies, from the stress and fatigue that you’ve come to associate with winter. hunting for christmas gifts, finishing late assignments, trudging through the snow. pretending that you have it all together.

but here, none of that matters.

a sense of calm washes over you, as your eyes trail over the books by the science fiction section, and a soft sigh tumbles from your throat. gradually, your hands begin to warm up, and you look out the window.

outside, the world is blanketed by a veil of snow and frost, pure whites and murky grays as far as the eye can see. falling down to earth, smothering everything in a bitter chill. a cold, cold embrace. but when looking at it like this, from inside a cozy bookstore, with a pretty boy by the counter…

it's a breathtaking sight.

little snowflakes descending, dancing in the wind. desaturating your world. if you close your eyes and focus, you think you can almost feel the wind nip at your fingertips, almost taste the fragrance of dried tea leaves and caramel fudge from the tiny shop across the street. almost bask in the green and red of the decorative lights in the skeletal trees, illuminating the city, buzzing with artificial warmth.

(your heart feels light.)

it doesn’t take long for you to find the book you need. keeping it safe and warm between your arm and torso, you walk back to the counter, gaze still lingering on the windowpane. the little snowflakes fluttering about, the glimpses you catch of passerby and their knit scarves in the darkness of the winter evening.

the boy behind the counter is as efficient as ever. he takes the book, fingertips resting exactly where yours just were, and scans it in a matter of seconds. you pay, and he puts it in a plastic bag, handing it to you — all while his copy of wuthering heights sits on the counter, pointedly, as if beckoning you to mention it.

before you can think to stop yourself, you’ve parted your lips.

”is it good?” you ask. finger pointing at his book.

the boy blinks. eyelashes fluttering. once, then twice. he seems a little caught off guard, but still speaks within a split second. almost like he doesn’t even think about the answer. ”yeah.”

a hum buzzes in your throat. you shift a little, from foot to foot, plastic bag in hand. ”i’ve been meaning to read it,” you say, desperate to prolong the conversation, ”but i haven't had much time lately.”

a chuckle slips from your lips. it comes out sounding just a little exhausted.

(he glances at the dark bags beneath your eyes, but you don’t notice.)

”i think i might buy it in time for christmas break, though…” you lift your gaze to meet his own. showing the briefest glimpse of a smile, polite.

he doesn’t return it. lips pursed, silent, gazing at you with slightly lidded eyes. a navy blue, little splotches of a murky green blooming in the corners of his iris. they only appear when you’re this close. soothing, somehow. they’re pretty.

he isn’t saying anything, not a single word, and some part of your heart clogs up like a clump of wet snow. subconsciously, you trap your bottom lip between your teeth, digging into the soft flesh before letting go. cowering a little under his intense gaze.

did you annoy him?

(he probably doesn’t want to talk to you. maybe he thinks you’re hitting on him, or something. are you hitting on him? that doesn’t matter. he must be stressed — it’s holiday season, after all. the last thing he needs is some annoying customer taking up his precious reading time.

gosh, what were you even thinking?)

you’re just about to excuse yourself, mentally berating yourself for forcibly striking up a conversation with an obvious introvert —

when the sound of something sliding against wooden material catches your attention.

you blink.

the boy behind the counter does a little cough. under his breath, clearing his throat. he wets his lips, in what you immediately recognize as nervosity — absentmindedly fidgeting with the rings on his fingers.

”here.”

when you look down, a certain book is placed on the edge of the counter, right in front of you. wuthering heights.

another blink. you look down at the hardcover, and then back up at him, but he’s not meeting your gaze. if you look closely, you think you see a slight flush to his neck, red like a candy cane.

”you can borrow it,” he says. a pause. then he continues, clearing his throat again, a hint of hesitance in his raspy voice. ”… if you want to, i mean.”

”… ah.” is all you can answer. barely a word, more of a weak little hum. an absent tremble of your voice.

outside the comfort and warmth of the bookstore, the wind whistles, digging its claws into the city. tiny whirlwinds of snowflakes dance from street to street, fluttering about joyously. you vaguely pick up on the song from the speakers changing, into a poppy christmas-themed kpop song.

a moment passes.

your muddled mind finally reacts. on instinct, sending little instructions to your frozen limbs. to your heart, face down on the floor, completely useless.

”oh — no, there’s no need!” you blurt out, putting your hands up hastily. waving him off. ”it’s fine, i can just buy my own copy!”

but the boy only clicks his tongue, with that signature furrow of his brows. ”you’re a student,” he states, just a little gruff. but then there’s that kindness. ”you shouldn’t waste your money.”

you’re just about to protest, when he continues. ”besides,” he sighs. ”i’ve already read it. you can just bring it back whenever you’re done.”

and again, your instinctual desire is to protest. unsure of what to say, somehow exasperated by his trust. that’s what it is, isn’t it? trust. trusting a stranger, a customer he’s barely even spoken to, not to just take his book and then never return. trusting you to be a decent person. a good person.

isn’t that naive?

something sprouts like a snowdrop in a ridge between your ribs, though, and you know that it’s happiness of some kind. you’re glad, that he has something even vaguely similar to trust in you.

glad that he’s acknowledging you, in a way. your presence, the sneaky glances shared between you. the comfortable feeling that sleeps inside your veins when it's just you and him, silently passing each other by, in a quiet bookstore that feels a little like heaven on earth. a safe haven, of sorts, with no incompetent professors, tight deadlines or numb fingers.

it’s just him, and cozy christmas music, and a pitter patter rhythm of your heartbeat that sounds a little like jingle bells to your muddled mind.

a lump forms in the back of your throat. you gulp it back down, and part your lips. an unsure question spills into the open air.

”are… you really sure?”

”yeah.” he doesn’t even skip a beat. fingers tapping at the edge of the counter, over and over again. another slow moment passes. ”we can… talk. about it.” he coughs into his closed fist. ”once you've read it.”

with a soft furrow of his brows, he averts his gaze. his voice comes out sounding soft, albeit a little rough around the edges. ”if you want,” he adds.

you’re so distracted by the flutter of his long eyelashes that you barely even feel your lips stretch into a smile. your hearts skips around happily within the confines of your ribcage, and you’re worried that you might look a little too excited — but how could you ever hide your joy, when he’s acting so dangerously, uncharacteristically cute?

”yeah!” you blurt, teeth peeking out when you flash him a bright smile. and finally, he meets your gaze. pretty eyes fixed entirely on you.

at your evident enthusiasm, his shoulders seem to relax. the rapid tapping of his fingers ceases, and he opts to simply bite down on his lip — attempting to obscure his own smile. but you see it, anyway; a tiny, tiny smile. the softest little curl of his lips. you’re entirely mesmerized, all the same.

a hand goes to rub at the back of his neck, and he does that cute little cough again, and you wonder if the warmth sprouting in your chest will be enough to protect you from the snowfall on your way back home.

angelic; that’s the impression he always seems to leave you with. you wonder if he has any idea just how pretty he is. if he has the slightest clue. you wonder if you’ll ever be able to tell him, yourself.

you wonder if you’ll get to know him, someday. if you’ll ever get to know the pretty, quiet boy behind the counter of your go-to bookstore, who radiates a softness so palpable you wish you could stay there until spring blooms beyond the windows and melts the frosted glass.

with tentative hands, a little shaky — not from the cold, but the anxious and excited tingle of your bloodstream — you reach for the book on the counter. taking it into your arms, cradling it gently, like it’s so fragile the pages could scatter away if you aren’t careful. with a steady hand on its spine, you begin to flip through the pages, until three little words on the first blank page catch your attention.

without thinking, you repeat the little scribbled down sentence under your breath. hoping for something. more lulls of his voice, maybe, mumbling to yourself but hoping he’ll hear.

”happy birthday, tsumiki…”

the boy stiffens.

a silent beat. then he clears his throat. ”my sister,” he explains, and you hum.

so he has a sister. a tiny fragment of his existence, now known to you, a little piece of trivia. you want to collect them, want to put them all in your pockets and carry them around, like little precious bells.

”megumi,” he blurts out, sudden, and you look up from the book to meet his gaze. ”my name,” he elaborates. and then a pause. ”i work here.”

…

in a matter of seconds, his face reddens. ears and neck slathered over with that sweet cherry hue, blooming across his pale skin. a soft giggle slips from your lips, before you can think to bite it back, and that red hue exacerbates.

”mm,” you hum, an amused smile on your face. eyes crinkling as you look at him, book safe and secure in your arms. ”i've seen you.”

megumi looks a bit like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. squirming slightly, shifting from foot to foot, tugging a little at the sleeve of his sweater. looking into your eyes, and then back at the counter.

it’s sweet. it makes you feel closer to him, somehow. like you aren’t the only nervous one here. like you aren’t the only person in this city who’s a little bit of a mess.

(it makes the sludge piling up inside your brain feel just a little more bearable.)

”… thank you.” you smile. ”i’ll take good care of it. and i’ll bring it right back when i finish it.”

a low hum. megumi brings a hand up to fix his bangs, nimble fingers running through dark locks. absentminded — a nervous habit, maybe? ”don’t worry about it,” is all he says.

again, that sweet dichotomy; a hint of something gruff, hiding an unmistakable softness. a little like snow. cold to the touch, enough to make you want to stay away, but then it melts on the skin of your palm. turns soft and warm beneath your touch.

unable to fully hide the smile still lingering on your lips, you allow yourself one final inhale — letting that scent of peppermint and espresso invade your mind, soothing every frazzled nerve inside your brain. then you put wuthering heights in your bag, protected and snug, and get ready to leave.

it’s still snowing. if anything, it seems to have gotten worse, enough that all you see when you glance towards the frosted windows are little clumps of snowflakes. obscuring everything else.

just when you’re about to speak, say a little goodbye, a voice spills out into the air.

”… the snow’s supposed to get worse. apparently.”

his navy eyes carry a gentle hue, as they look into yours. maybe a little worried, like a protective mother wolf towards her cub. you blink, and megumi sees it as his cue to continue.

”you can stay until it gets better.”

a brief pause. his signature cough reaches your ears, and it’s enough to have you smiling, even before he adds a tiny if you feel like it. nonchalant, or at least you think that’s what he’s going for. he mostly just sounds like an awfully caring person trying awfully hard to appear uncaring.

and again, a little smile slips itself into the curl of your lips. all giddy and nervous, a little flustered. but happy. now you won’t have to walk through the relentless snowfall outside, feel the wind chew at your reddened cheekbones. now you can spend just a bit more time with him, bask in those quiet, drawn out moments of pure peace, browsing through books while he sits and reads behind the counter.

”thanks,” you breathe. adjusting your knitted scarf. ”i think i'll look at the books a little more, then.”

megumi’s eyes soften. relieved, you think. hope. it’s a subtle shift, but still enough to notice, enough to see. little splotches of a mossy green sinking into that sea of ink blue.

you think he must feel a little embarrassed, though. like he’s gotten too close to broaching the line he’s set up between the two of you. because he quickly fixes his gaze entirely on a book in his hands, a new one — was it just waiting beneath the counter?

you don't think much of it, but you note that he's back to his usual nonfiction. something on astronomy, you think.

and with one final glance at his tousled hair, you begin to stroll through the store. languidly, walking to whatever spine captures your attention. savouring the tiny words on the back of the books, wallowing in the peppermint and espresso that wafts through the air, only growing heavier while you’re busy admiring the white opaque frosting of the windows’ glass.

at some point, the low whirring of a coffee machine buzzes from afar, and when you turn to the counter megumi isn’t there.

a little later, when he comes back, he’ll be carrying two mugs — matching dogs etched into the ceramic, one black and one white. he’ll put one of them on the edge of the counter, closest to you, and then meet your eyes. give a vague nod towards it, but nothing else. you’ll notice the red tint to his ears, though.

and when you do, a warmth will blossom in your chest, enough to chase away the phantom ache of the winter chill soon to envelop you.

when the little bell of the bookstore jingles its jolly tune, and the door shuts itself as you cross the threshold to leave, megumi lets out a barely audible sigh.

he thinks his heart may be beating just a smidge faster than usual, a little out of rhythm. palms against the counter, he allows his eyes to flutter shut — trying not to acknowledge the heat he feels on his face when he finally begins to process your interaction.

he smooths a hand over his face, skin just a little sweaty. chewing at his bottom lip with two sharp teeth.

god.

really, it was no more than a stupid twist of luck. that you happened to come in just when he started reading it, that you noticed and didn’t question him on any of the contents. that you believed him when he said he’d already finished it.

and, sure, maybe he was secretly really hoping you’d come in. really hoping you’d notice it, that it’d be enough to make you strike up a conversation with him, something, anything.

he happened to see you eyeing it once, that’s all. twice, and then thrice, each on different occasions. tsumiki’s old collection came in handy, rotting on the dusty shelves of her room — although he has no memory of her ever reading it.

(he remembers some, though. remembers her reading a few of them to him, on nights he couldn’t sleep. remembers the soft lull of her voice, how the whole world seemed blanketed by a wool of safety.

he wonders if he’ll ever get to hear it again.)

megumi’s heart feels warm. despite everything.

even though he didn’t even get past the first half of wuthering heights, and has no idea what the hell he’s going to be able to talk to you about. even though he thinks heathcliff is a dick and catherine is a brat, and wishes they could save everyone else the trouble and just talk to a psychiatrist.

even with the cold baring its fangs outside, and the cup of espresso sitting right in front of him, still untouched, made with the store’s shitty coffee machine. even in the ugly sweater gojo forced him into. even though he doesn’t even really know you, not even at all, and still somehow feels certain that you’ll come back with tsumiki’s book in tow.

trust.

megumi thinks it’s a little weird, how just that single overlapping of your gazes when you first stepped in seemed to solidify such an abstract notion. he’s always had a sense of it, though — a sense of goodness. an ability to seek them out, those good people, bubbly and cheerful and so tragically hard not to love.

no matter where he goes, he ends up finding them. like tiny sunflower seeds persisting beneath the winter snow. blooming when spring comes around, in a burst of golden vermillion.

resting his jaw on the heel of his palm, megumi allows himself to wallow in the solitude of the bookstore. tired eyes soaking up the words on the pages he flips through, slowly, utterly at ease. drinking his shitty coffee, trying to ignore the itchy feeling of the sweater on his skin, unable to forget the memory of your stupidly pretty smile.

so pretty he thinks it might just keep him warm, all throughout winter, until you return once more. bringing with you the glimmer of snowflakes on soft skin, and a pleasant fragrance of tea leaves from the cozy shop across the street.

a single sunflower, persisting even through the cold.

megumi smiles. a tiny curl of his chapped lips, while he flips the pages of his book. content in the knowledge that this won’t be the last time he speaks to you.

(now he just needs to read up on some good papers on wuthering heights.)

#im just thinking abt ….. bookstore gumi who goes out of his way to only work the quiet lazy shifts . and all he does is drink coffee n read #so its like his selfcare time and he hates customers n gets annoyed when they come in PHDJD…. acting like he owns the store #but then u come in !! :< n ur presence is just so gentle and soothing . n the more he sees you the prettier u get in his eyes.#so he tries to silently impress u </3 reading ur fave books even if he doesnt like them <//3 cutie #just to be clear if a bookstore employee randomly offers u a cup of coffee Do Not drink it . even if hes hot. stay safe ✌️#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #megumi x reader #megumi x you #megumi fluff #megumi fushiguro #megumi x y/n #megumi fushiguro x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x gender neutral reader

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and-corn · 4 months

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#thank you all for being here #stay safe out there #happy new year

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ruporas · 1 year

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post ep 11

#trigun stampede #trigun #meryl stryfe #nicholas d wolfwood #vash the stampede #i cant even elaborate on this episode bc ive spent all day Thinking about it yesterday #and it made me Miserable #i just want to see vash have some autonomy again...#he is a little bit more on the quieter end for stampede as less angry about things but i dont think he's more of a coward in stampede #even though he was transported into his memories and saw and heard those terrible things from the kids and wolfwood #he was able to gather himself and keep going #his resilience has always been the strongest and also saddest thing about him #so it killed me irreversibly when he lost the one person who he could always look back to reliably #the fact knives couldnt even alter anything in rem's dialogue within those memories just stands for how strong her place is in vash's memory #and potentially knives just knows that would be too ooc of her to make in any Universe if she had something horrible.#man. I TALKED ABOUT THIS IN LIKE ALL 3 PLATFORMS. I'm alright with Knives as a character but jesus #- i did it all for you - im so sad that vash had to hear something like that. im so so sad about it #anyway i hope meryl stays safe shes done so much #i love her so much <3 #ruporas art

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thesunisatangerine · 4 months

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against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part twelve (final part)

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: mentions of grief, suggestive content

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 5.2k

This wasn’t the first time you caught yourself thinking how difficult it was to have two professional athletes in your life, and it also wasn’t the first time you wondered how their bodies could store so much energy.

“Princess, slow down a bit. I think your mom needs to rest again.”

Even with the distance, you could hear the teasing cadence in Alexia’s voice, made prominent by the use of her mother tongue, and you watched as the both of them slowly came to a halt, turning their heads to look at you over their shoulders. At the extra attention, your cheeks heated with more than the exertion and, as pride urged you to save face, you pushed yourself to pedal quicker so you could lose the distance between you and them, stopping with a relieved wheeze when you finally arrived at their tail. Although amusement graced their features with a lightness, their ever-present disquietude–try as they might to hide it–shone clear in their eyes for you to see.

“Mom, are you okay?” Came Elisa’s question and, upon removing her cycling sunglasses, you found her brows furrowed.

You only managed to give her a thumbs up as your breath still eluded you, but when it returned, you added, “Yep. Just–just need a minute to catch my breath.”

“Seriously, Mom, you don’t have to push yourself too much.” Elisa placed a gentle hand on your back, rubbing circles as if she was trying to expel the malaise there.

“Ladybug, I appreciate the concern, really, and I may be no athlete but I can do this, thank you very much.”

Elisa raised her brow at you, clearly unconvinced, before she muttered deliberately loud enough for you to hear, her tone excessively dry. “Yeah? At this rate, by the time we get to the beach, the sun will be gone.”

Despite your state, a laugh bubbled from your throat when Alexia flicked Elisa’s arm who yelped dramatically, scaring a couple of birds to flight from a nearby tree, before she grinned and stuck her tongue out at Alexia.

“Be nice,” Alexia reprimanded but the quirk at the corner of her lips betrayed the seriousness of her tone, clearly amused.

Elisa grumbled as she rubbed her arm, “I’m not the one who’s making her laugh! If she passes out, it’s on you.”

Ignoring Elisa’s point, Alexia reached out and rubbed your arm in a soothing manner, speaking softly, “But really, love, if you can’t go on, we’ll just Uber there.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m fine.” You grunted, letting a bit of your annoyance bleed in your tone, but you appreciated the thought behind their concern nonetheless. It was just, Alexia and Elisa’s protectiveness exceeded that of Derek’s–a feat in and of itself–and no matter how much you tried to assuage their doubts, they still hovered. And the only way to stop it was to let them know you were vexed. Then you added with a huff, “You two just have such ridiculous stamina. It’s not fair.”

“Alright, as long as you say so.” Alexia said, taking your answer in stride by putting her hands up as if in surrender. But then she smirked, adding in a low tone, “And it’s well earned, my love.”

Your brows raised, both surprised and pleased with the innuendo, before you smirked back and spoke in the same tone as she did. “And so you say.”

The moment was broken when Elisa let out a mixture between a sigh and a groan.

“No offense, but if you guys are done flirting, could we please get a move on? We’re about to lose daylight.”

At that, the three of you started again, Elisa taking the lead as Alexia fell into pace beside you. Then Alexia turned to you, mischief clear in the gleam in her eyes, and she muttered, “Remind me to tease her the next time Camilo comes over, hm?”

“I heard that!”

Much to Elisa’s delight, the three of you arrived at the beach with just enough time to spare before the sun began to set. You got off your bikes and began to lead it by your sides as the three of you began to walk the length of the shore.

Apart from a handful of people strolling about, the beach was barren today, and the lack of a crowd made the place more peaceful to you. And as buried your toes further into the pleasantly lukewarm sand, as you took in the breeze delivered home by the waves which carried a breath of freshness and a promise of another good day in the morrow, you regarded the sun, in her blazing glory, painting the skies with one last glimpse of her radiance.

Enraptured by the sight, you stopped and rested your bike against your thigh, rummaged through your bag for your camera to capture it. Once done, you turned to Alexia and Elisa who were farther along now, seemingly so immersed in their conversation that they hadn’t noticed you’d lagged behind. You watched them, their figures half bathed in the titian brilliance of the setting sun which made their shadows stretch long along the shoreline, and the sight stirred emotions in your chest that you felt compelled to capture them as they were: Alexia with her arm across Elisa’s back, one hand on Elisa’s broadening shoulder, while both of their bikes rested on their outer legs. As you were looking through the viewfinder, you saw Elisa’s bike fall to its side as Elisa wrapped her arms around Alexia, alarming you at first before you saw the scene as it was. You didn’t dare approach them; the moment, you perceived, was too tender for such an intrusion so you remained where you were, capturing the scene with your camera for safekeeping.

Shortly after, they walked back towards you in silence. Alexia’s gaze remained casted down as she tried to subtly brush her tears away with the back of her hand but when she caught your gaze, she knew you knew, but instead of asking about it, you only gave her an understanding smile–she’d tell you when she was ready. But Elisa, much as she tried, had always struggled with keeping her countenance free from emotions–a stark contrast to Alexia who, from years of practice, could school her features to faultless stoicism in a moment–and couldn’t deter the somberness from showing on her face for when she smiled at you as if to pacify you, her lips remained crooked with telltale signs of her affliction, chin trembling. The sight tugged at your heart, as it always did whenever you saw any of them this way, so you reached and cupped her cheek, brushing your thumb under her eye to try and soothe her. Elisa closed her eyes at your touch and when she opened them again, the weight in them looked lighter, and you smiled.

As the last traces of the sun sank under the horizon, you loaded your bikes on the rack attached to Elisa’s car which you parked there earlier that day, and Elsia drove up the mountain you just rode down on so she could drop you both off at Alexia’s car. Once there, Elisa helped you unload your bikes from her car and transfer it to the other car, and then it was time for goodbyes.

Alexia had to crane her neck up slightly so she could rest her chin against Elisa’s shoulder as they hugged. Alexia kissed her cheek, then patted her on the back as she said, “Drive safe, love. And don’t be late tomorrow.”

“I will and got it, Coach. I love you.”

You stepped in next, kissing Elisa, too, on the cheek as she stooped down to wrap her arms around you.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, ladybug. I love you. Be safe.”

“See you, Mom, and I love you, too.”

With that, the glow from the taillights of Elisa’s car receded into the darkness while the both of you got into Alexia’s car, heading for home. The ride was quiet except from the music that came from the radio, the volume so low it was almost like a hum, as Alexia drove with a steady hand, her face impassive but her eyes disclosed she was anything but serene.

Still, you held your tongue.

You had chipped away at Alexia’s emotional wall over the years you’d known her, enough that she now allowed herself to be vulnerable around you without being prompted to open up, but there were still instances which required patience, moments that asked for time until she was ready to come to you. And this was one of those times.

It didn’t worry you too much, though. The both of you had agreed to never let anything go unsaid–to never let things fester–until the next morning, so you gave her space now to mull things over.

Later that night, as expected, after spending the majority of the evening in her office, she greeted you with a soft murmur of your name, taking your hand and kissing the back of it as she settled on her side of the bed, drawing your attention away from the book you were reading.

“Are you ready to talk about it now?” You asked softly, putting your book aside on the bedside table, shifting against the pillow you were propped on so you could see her better. The angle of the light casted shadows on her face and made the lines that time etched on her face more prominent, and it made her look more inviting; her earthly beauty made more resplendent.

The question that came was spoken with the faintest of air.

“What do you see when you look at me?”

At first, the question confounded you and for a moment, you were at a loss for words to answer her. But as you continued to regard her with an even more careful eye, you found a silent vulnerability in her eyes, so heartrendingly delicate, a rare look you only saw whenever she talked about–Oh.

Oh, Alexia…

Emotions surged through you, chest tightening as it ached with your lover; as it ached for the pain and grief that will forever live with her–for the love in her that had nowhere to go, permanently in search for a beloved soul.

Gently, you cradled her face in your hands, soaking in every feature, every freckle, every blemish and every line. You carded your fingers through her hair, consoling, then you traced her brow with the pad of your thumb before you kissed her temple and lingered there, then the skin just beneath her eye, then the bridge of her nose, and then the corner of her lips.

“I see… everything that makes you,” you breathed out, voice trembling under the weight of your emotions. “Your mother’s brows and the color of her eyes… the shape of your father’s eyes, his nose, his smile. Their love lives in your skin and it’s all you, Alexia. I see you. Oh, how I see you.”

At your words, Alexia’s face broke: her lips trembled, brows furrowing, while tears streamed down her cheeks. Then she dropped her head to your shoulder, a sob leaving her throat as she clung to you and you held her just as tight.

“I miss him.” Alexia choked out, “God, I miss him so much. It’s been so long and yet it still feels like I only just lost him today.”

Oh, the familiar paroxysms of grief. Most days, you remained untouched by their shadows but the intensity by which they instill the pain of loss when they did get you, how they stretch that empty space in your heart into an abyss filled with teeth, was something else entirely. Agonizing, yes, but it was also a bittersweet repose for it served as a reminder of who loved you and who you loved.

The moment that followed was spent in silence, apart from the soft stutter of Alexia’s breaths.

“I told Elisa that her parents would be proud of her, that I wish I could meet them and tell them all about how their daughter turned out to be this wonderful person. And you know what she said?” Alexia laughed, teary and voice hoarse. “She told me she wished she could meet Papá but at the same time, she felt like she already had. She told me I look just like him.”

“You do. And he’d be so proud of you, you know?” You whispered as your own tears fell while you gripped her hand in yours. “And I wish I could’ve met him, too, and Elisa’s.”

Alexia lifted her head so she could look at you, murmuring softly, “And I wished I could’ve met yours, too.”

Through the night, you exchanged whispered stories of the past as you held each other, shedding tears at Alexia’s recollections, laughing at the memories. But how sad it was that loss made your shadows long, all three of you? And how beautiful it was that one’s capacity for love–though at times could stray or waver–could never truly be lost even after a deprivation from the loss of a source? But wasn’t that how lives intertwine? Through shared suffering? Through the bitter grief and the sweetest joy? And wasn’t it where lives intertwined that love bloomed? And in this world of shadows–in these long, seemingly endless nights–warmth and light were all the more precious, and love… Love was both of those things and more: it was an enduring flame, so quintessentially human, an evermore of the sublimest kind.

Love was never lost, you knew this. Life would end but love would always remain; it did long before you, and it would continue on long after you.

But you were here, in love, loved, and alive. Could you ask for something better than this state of grace?

The answer echoed in clarity in your mind long before Alexia’s comforting warmth and the gentle beat of her heart had lulled you to sleep.

No.

Nothing could ever come close to this.

Tomorrow came with a splendid radiance, casting everything in a golden tone likened to that of a developed photograph which made the colors vibrant and inviting; the kind that promised that the memories made today would be looked fondly back on in one’s recollections. Waking up to the sight of Alexia in your arms made today all the more brighter for she held the vision to what the world had to offer; all the beauty and warmth in this world began and ended with her.

True to her words, Elisa appeared on the porch first thing in the morning. You opened the door for her, which also revealed her hand intertwined with Camilo's, who looked on devotedly at you daughter as she stepped into Alexia’s embrace, and then yours.

The three of you had prepared most of the things yesterday before you went cycling, but there was still much to do before the hour came for the others to arrive. So, the four of you paired up and went to work. Alexia and Elisa were delegated to setting up outside, while you and Camilo set up inside.

Your attention flitted to the two of them outside as you cooked but before the end of the hour, they’d finish installing the extension roof over the open gazebo, had moved and arranged the tables and chairs, and finished spreading a light blue linen over the tables before laying a strip of folded fabric of a lighter color in the middle. As for you and Camilo, you’d about finished with the arròs negre and the fideuà when Alexia and Elisa came in.

They stepped into the kitchen to grab the plates, glasses, and utensils laid on the counter–but not before Alexia snuck in a sweet kiss on your cheek, a diversion, you thought, so she could steal a spoonful of the fideuà; Elisa, too, grabbed a bite to eat which was fed to her with gentle affection by her lover–which they then arranged on the table.

After a moment of tending to the food, you looked through the opening that gave a view outside and saw the two setting up the party games for the kids. In an act true to their professions, they’d began setting up Elisa’s old folding goal posts, the backyard expansive enough to accommodate them, even sneaking in a couple of juggles and shots after they’d inflated a handful of balls.

(When Alexia caught your eye, she rubbed the back of her neck, putting a hand up in apology–Elisa laughed but she immediately shut her mouth to a bashful smile when your eyes flitted to her–before the both of them returned to their task.)

You watched Camilo in awe as he worked on the coca bread, empanadas, and ensaimadas all at once while you started on the esqueixada. Although you’d seen more of his intricate works, it wasn’t the first time you caught yourself amazed by the skills and work ethics of the aspiring patissier. After the last batch of pastry was put in the oven, the first of your guests arrived.

To your surprise–but not really for you had held enough family gatherings to expect it–you and Alexia’s immediate families came first, more than an hour early, and Elisa was greeted and congratulated as Eli, Alba, your mom, Derek and Robert, and their two-year-old daughter, Olivia, passed the door Elisa had opened for them.

And in typical fashion, their maternal instincts kicked in and Eli and your mom gathered around the kitchen, looking over the food, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at them as they fussed over you, not with malice, until you playfully shooed them away.

“Honestly, we can hold down the fort here. Right, Camilo?”

Camilo, bless his shy and gentle soul, flushed, darkening the olive complexion of his cheeks, as he just nodded in agreement.

You stuck your thumb to the direction of the back field and said, “The two outside, however, might need a little help.”

At that, you heard an offended, “Hey!”

(It was Alexia.)

But your mom, Eli, and Alba proceeded to the back, placating the pouting Alexia with a hug, and they chatted and caught up while they helped Alexia with the grill.

About half an hour later, Mapi and Ingrid arrived with Anton–their toddler of one and a half years old–asleep in Mapi’s arms. Alexia’d welcomed them in, embracing her old teammates, which roused Anton from his sleep. When Mapi set him down, he blinked around, taking in his surroundings with his big eyes, and when they settled on Olivia, he giggled and stuck his tiny hands out, recognising a familiar, friendly face.

Olivia and Anton played in the living under Ingrid and Derek’s supervision, the two of them chatting on the couch, while Mapi and Robert came over to check on you and Camilo. They then headed out into the back and shortly after, laughter filtered inside and when you looked through the yawning, Robert was gesturing wildly in the air, and, you believed, he’d started telling one of his intricately conceived comedies to his audience.

When Ingrid and Derek brough Anton and Olivia outside, Eli and your mom–as was the tendency of grandparents presented with children–fussed over the little ones, cooing and awwing at their slightest movement. You stopped what you were doing to take in the warm scene, so distracted were you that you didn’t feel Alexia’s presence until she’d wrapped an arm around your waist as she placed a kiss on your temple.

You sighed, leaning into her touch, but you remembered you’d been in the kitchen for the last couple of hours. So, you pushed her away gently with your shoulder, whining, “Stop, I smell like food.”

To your chagrin, Alexia turned you around with enough force to make you squeal, before she made a show of burrowing her nose in the crook of your neck, breathing in loudly, and the movement tickled a giggle from your lips.

“Alexia!” You smacked her shoulder playfully, still laughing. “Stop, seriously, I smell horrible!”

“Oh, really? I can’t really tell. You smell delicious all the same.” She muttered against your ear, a hand splayed just over the bottom of your right rib. The statement made you flush in spite of yourself, your body too in tune with her wiles and you found yourself stepping closer to her before you remembered where you were.

“Alexia, our mothers are literally right there, don’t start.” You warned her under your breath, glancing where said persons were sitting beneath the shade of the gazebo, doting over the little ones.

“Fine,” sighed Alexia, pouting, but she took the ladle from you anyway, kissing you on the cheek. “Go freshen up and I’ll look after the food.”

“Thank you. I’ll be quick so you can shower before the rest gets here.”

You pecked her on the lips, grateful, and just when you thought she’d finally stopped with her shenanigans, a mischievous gleam glazed over her eyes and Alexia said with a suggestive half-smile.

“Or I can always join you? You know, to save water and all that.” She spoke it in a smug way, like someone who was pleased at having said the last words. And you were about to reprimand her again until you remembered something. When Alexia got like this, there was only one way to go about it: to play her game.

So you looked at her, making sure you dropped your lids just enough–the change in your demeanor instantly noticed by the way she stilled, staring at you with wide eyes and bated breath–and you stepped into her space, trailing a finger from her chest to her collarbone before you wrapped your arms loosely around her neck, going on your tiptoes and craning your neck forward until your lips brushed her ear.

“Keep that up and you won’t get any tonight.” You whispered low. You didn’t miss the way she shivered against you and you relished it. “You do want to take me, don’t you?”

Alexia nodded, as if on autopilot, her figure stiff.

“Okay. So, play nice until I get back, yeah?”

Alexia croaked out an agreement and, satisfied, you pulled back, taking in Alexia’s appearance, her pupils now blown and a delicious crimson streak had painted her cheeks, lips now slightly parted. With one last peck to her lips, you fled the kitchen.

When you passed the living room to get to the stairs, you saw Mapi and Derek sitting on the couch, and, upon seeing you, their lips curled into a knowing smirk, and Derek–the jerk–had the audacity to wag his brows at you.

“I think you broke her.” Mapi wheezed out while Derek clapped a hand on his thigh as he laughed. Your cheeks flushed and you ducked your head as you flew up the stairs.

After immersing yourself in a much needed cold shower, you headed down to the kitchen and relieved Alexia–who was still more than a little dazed when you got back to her– from her kitchen duty with a placating kiss on the cheek so she could freshen up herself. Half an hour later saw you and Camilo, and with a little help from Derek and Alba, finished with moving most of the food to the table outside, just in time as most of your guests arrived.

One minute there were only a handful of people lounging in the backyard, the next the space was lively with music and the sound of amiable company; the chatter from friends and family. The lunch commenced and after the toast for Elisa’s recent signing under Barçelona Femeni’s First Division, Elisa stood to thank everyone for coming. And then, she turned to you and Alexia, who wrapped an arm around your waist, steady and strong.

“To my mom and Coach,” Elisa’s deliberate emphasis drew laughter from everyone, while Alexia raised her brow, lips quirking in amusement at the light jibe.

“To my mom and Mamá,” Elisa corrected herself, and she proceeded with a choked voice, eyes reddening, “I am forever grateful for what you’ve done for me. For all your love, your continued support and comfort, and for believing in me. I love you. I love you so much.”

You clasped a hand over your own lips in fear that a sob would escape them but tears spilled down your face all the same, and you gripped Alexia’s hand on your hip as your chest filled with love. When you turned to Alexia, her lips were pressed in a thin line, chin trembling, as she tried to keep the tears at bay, her eyes, like yours, shone with pride.

And so there you were, much later, under the shade of one of the trees in the backyard, nursing a glass of something stronger than champagne–Mojito to be exact–regarding the scene before you with a warmness that, you knew, transcended that of the sun’s.

Elisa was in jovial conversation with her friends and Ingrid–football related, you supposed, by the way Ingrid gestured in the air and the way her juniors were listening attentively; Camilo engaged in what seemed to be an interview by your mom and Eli–for recipes, most likely–while Derek and Lucía–Irene’s wife–looked on them with amused expressions as the both of them talked; Mapi and Robert partook in a game of football as goalkeepers on opposite teams: Mapi, Mateo, and Olivia against Robert, Gabriel–Irene and Lucía’s second son, Mateo’s junior of three years–and Anton; Alexia and Irene, meanwhile, stood to one side, their hands clasped behind their backs, as they stood a vigilant watch over the children, commenting on the game with a light tone, exclaiming and clapping their hands every now, true to their profession.

The air was filled with glee, painting the atmosphere with a lightness of not only of the physical sense, but also of being that you couldn’t help but reminisce.

Alexia retired from football about two years prior but, as expected, the sport was never really done with her–or her with it. So, the Number Eleven jersey may have been put away, but Coach Alexia Putellas was very much involved with the growth of new Blaugrana bloods, involving herself with–and quite capably–developing and guiding Barça’s youth team. Although she was called to lead the Spanish Women’s National Football Team, after their years of continuous fighting for reform, Alexia rejected the offer for–in her own words–her heart belonged to Barcelona, leaving the responsibility to fall on Irene’s shoulders who had accomplished plenty in the short time she’d managed the team.

You, on the other hand, flourished in sport photography, accompanying Alexia or Elisa in most of their matches as per your contract with the club. But you were still very much part of the firm you and Derek built, larger now, involving yourself in its internal affairs and, if necessary, partaking in the journalistic side of things.

Speaking of, after Derek and Robert moved in together somewhere in your home city–even more so after Olivia was born–he gave you this Barcelona house despite your deep insistence that you’d buy it from him, but not without saying a little side remark, ‘You guys did the nasty there already. Keep it.’

You’d always wondered where home was, but now, as you took in the scene before you, and even more when you beheld the woman walking towards you, you knew, in your heart, where it was.

When she got to you, Alexia took your hand, lifted it, and she twirled you around gently, taking your glass from your other hand and placing it on a nearby surface. And as you stopped, she stepped into the space behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist as the both of you settled to a gentle sway in time with the music.

“What are you doing back here all by yourself?” She asked beside your ear but not before she pressed a chaste kiss on the side of your head.

“Just thinking.” You murmured, closing your eyes for a moment to better savor the feel of her body, strong and gentle.

Alexia hummed, you felt the rumble of it from her chest before you heard it right beside your ear, melodic, before she pressed a kiss on your bare shoulder. “About what, my love?”

“This. Us.” You lifted one of her hands, brushed your lips over her knuckles. “You.”

“All good things, I hope?”

“With you? Always.”

The both of you swayed and simply watched the scene in silence for a moment. Then a thought occurred to you but as you were about to voice it, Alexia beat you to it.

“The kids, they grow up so fast.” Alexia said in a wistful tone.

“They do. I still can’t believe Elisa turned 18 this year.”

Alexia sighed, “Oh, to be young again.”

You snickered. “You make it sound like we’re so much older. And it’s not that bad, is it?”

“No, not really.” A pause, then, “But that’s less time left loving you both.”

The softness of her answer wasn’t lost to you and your mind went to the conversation you had just the night before and your heart ached, so full with your love for this woman. You leaned back, enough that you could feel the way her heart beat through her shirt, and you squeezed her hand.

You turned your head so you could rest your forehead against the line of her jaw, closing your eyes as you sighed, “You know, you say and do these things that make me fall in love with you all over again.”

“Good. I’d like to keep it that way.” Alexia murmured. “And I will never stop loving you. You’re my person, always. I did tell you, didn’t I?”

The memory of white fabric, white petals thrown in a line between the pew chairs, trembling hands; the way the sun light shone on Alexia’s light brown hair and spun gold in them, her hazel eyes glassy and earnest and filled with so much love, and then, her words of promise; of always and forever.

She’d taken your right hand into the open palm of her left, a twin set of silver bands that rested on the fourth finger of each hand glinting in the late afternoon sun, as she pressed further into you, her cheek now resting against your temple. With your other hand, you cradled hers, tracing the coolness of the metal on her finger with your thumb.

Then you whispered, “I love you, Alexia. So much.”

“And I love you, my wife.”

And just like all the times you’d heard it, you shivered all the same.

“I’ll never tire of hearing that.” You admitted as you turned in the embrace, immediately wrapping your arms loosely around Alexia’s neck after, fingers gently playing with her hair as you looked into those resplendent and doting eyes. And you asked just barely above a whisper, “Can you say it again?”

She brushed a strand behind your ear, tracing the line of your brow before her hands settled on your hips, eyes now lidded with even more affection.

“Ask me who I am.” Alexia said in the same tone, leaning close that you could feel the brush of her lips over yours.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Alexia,” she whispered, and then she added with a smile.

“Your wife.”

And then, you kissed her.

#ap11 #not proofread #mine #my writing #a/n:#weve finally come to the end and i just want to say thank you all for the love and support #i hope you stay safe this new year's eve and i hope 2024 will treat you all kindly #again; thank you #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader

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pixlokita · 4 months

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I feel like ? I gotta remind people it’s ok to unfollow a blog when it upsets you in any way >> like if I ever do that sure, you can let me know if it was anything I did personally I’d appreciate it but if you just don’t enjoy something it’s ok to unfollow ;w; can’t stress enough how important it is to put your mental health first 👌

#pix habla #fnaf #✨💖 even if you don’t like frogs and I post about frogs does that make sense #i see some yall not liking some of the stuff I draw and just kinda wonder ? why you still follow lol #i won’t take it personally #even if it’s a mutual heck I’ve even told my friends to unfollow if they ever need a break from my blog =w=👌#because It’s nothing personal >>#i used to ok so funny story xD I used to follow a friend in middle school on social media #and we were good friends but had nothing in common in what we posted about =w=#like she loved Beatles fanfics (don’t ask do not ask idk I didn’t read past the titles)#and i loved sonic :v #and like #thats aigh ? you don’t gotta ? follow a blog that doesn’t bring joy no matter if you’re close or not #i would honestly hate it if I’m making anyone upset or unhappy #so yeyeyeye I’ve said this before in other fandoms but like >>)✨✨💖 put 👏 your mental health 👏👏👏 FIRST ALWAYS👏#Stay safe y’all ✨👌 have fun be free #we’re all just… sitting here… online 😔 ain’t nothing to it

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roselise · 30 days

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🤍⊹ * ·̩͙ 🎀

　　 🌷 · . ˚ * . 🧸

Hello, sweet friends! ♡

Since everyone wanted to see my fairy dress I thought I would share c:

(I ask you please be kind though)

It is my fairy dress as it has lots of tulle, is very pretty, and makes me feel very happy to wear! ♡

What about all my friends?

Are you happy today, too? Or was it a nice day?? I hope so!

Everyone has been so nice and encouraging to me these past days ♡

Thank you most sincerely!

(It truly means a lot to me and has really brightened my days ♡)

I know there is much to get back to please forgive me ♡

I’m genuinely appreciative of all of it, and promise to reply when I can!

Sending love & many sweet hugs! Have a blessed day, and take care ~ ! XO

🎀 ⊹ . ˚ ♡ 🌷 ⊹

⊹ 🧸 ˚ . ♡ ⊹ ˚ 🎀

#♡#me #selfie #outfit of the day #ootd #kind friends c:#today was very nice — my dad opened his eyes briefly #and squeezed my hand c:#plus i heard a really nice sermon and went to fun easter gatherings with loved ones #AND i had a big m&m cookie and it was very tasty ! c:#this kind of warmth love and happiness is what i am wishing for you too friends ♡#so please take care !#stay safe and warm and happy ok ??#i am sending so many hugs and praying blessings over all of you my friends !!#happy easter ~ ! c:#xo ! ♡#🧸 ˚ . ♡ ⊹ ˚ 🎀

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bethfuller · 5 months

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it's still early, but here's my 2023 yearly roundup!

this year has flown by, but so much happened - i went to japan, finished my comic, studied at gobelins, and started a masters degree. here's hoping 2024 will have lots of art fun and development on its way, and thank you all for the love and support :) <3

#love you guys so much <3 #hope we all have chill happy holidays this year and stay safe #bethfuller #art roundup #2023 #illustration

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enii · 5 months

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Hug? 🐱💕🐱

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aimseytv · 11 months

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not a q, but moreso a message. a thank you if you will.

thank you. thank you so much for being so open about your mental health. you’ve indirectly pushed me to going towards the right steps in getting help.

i’ve started antidepressants just over a month ago and am hoping to give therapy another try in the next few months or so (waitlists am i right aha) it’s been pretty rocky and i’ve had some extremely low lows, but i am hoping that it’ll be worth the wait.

you’ve helped me to realise that i’m not alone, and that reaching out is so so important,, and that i don’t have to keep living like this. this isn’t what life is about. so thank you. thank you a ton.

stay safe aimsey <3

❤️

#this is why i am so open about it all #i’m so proud of you gamer #stay safe too

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borderlinebelle · 28 days

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If mental health has you or someone you love by the NECK my haphazard garbage content might be for you.

video is like 1 min long, don’t panic.

ALSO… if you’re broke af .. this content might uh… might also be for you … if it helps I’m crazy and poor too. I’m crazy poor if I’m ffr. 🤣

come away with me … in the night… link beneath👇🏽

DOING MY WACK TAXES EP 2 IS UP NOW…

also I fight a bug I guess?

SUBSCRIBE! I can only really post when my brain allows so it’s sporadic. Sorry.

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ohbo-ohno · 6 months

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if the 1k game is still open, I’d like to throw in my two cents!

Ghost (or Ghoap) with Forest and Only (allotted amount of time) to escape before (bad thing happens)

I’m sure there’s plenty of ways to go with that!~ please take your time and remember to drink water today!!!!!

~🦋

1k game here - no more please!

i will drink water just for you babe. also i did ghoap x reader & forest & trying to escape, but ended up not including an allotted amount of time, hope that's alright!

1.5k of ghost watching soap and reader run from him during a zombie apolocypse. except the apolocypse is really more of a background thing and i just throw in mentions of zombies. no smut! (cw for a very brief mention of cannibalism, a sprained then broken ankle, kidnapping, and very light puppyplay at the end)

"You fucking idiot, Johnny," you hiss. "You're gonna get us killed!"

"Me?" He snarls, whirling around to glare at you, hackles raised. "You're fuckin' shoutin' like you want the bastard to find us!"

"Shhh! Could you be any louder?!"

"You goddamned feartie, I hope he kills you first!"

"What the fuck did you just call me?!"

Ghost just barely manages to bite back a laugh at your offended tone, the way you're nearly spitting at Johnny, even at nearly a foot shorter than him. It's like watching a kitten try and fight a dog - cute, but you know the dog could crush the kitten if things went a little too far.

But Simon doesn't mind watching you hiss and spit at Johnny, certainly doesn't see a need to step in any time soon.

He hadn't expected to find much more than a few corpses when the motion sensor around his property triggered an alarm in his base. He figured it was probably a few zombies, easy enough to deal with.

But then he spotted the two of you - a big Scotsman and his far smaller girl, bickering playfully and totally unaware of him in the shadows.

Originally he'd planned to kill the two of you. He's got enough food stored to make it through the winter, so he wouldn't have to bother with freezing your bodies for later. It would be almost comically easy to kill you, take a couple shots from far enough away that you'd never see them coming, drag your bodies off his property, and forget all about you.

But then Johnny - who's name he only knows because you use it frequently - had spotted him. And wasn't that interesting? It's been a long time since someone managed to spot Ghost while he was trailing them.

He'd noticed Johnny's injury soon after that. The two of you had taken off running - he's not sure why, but apparently you haven't had the best experience with strangers - and Johnny had limped beside you, his right ankle clearly giving him trouble.

That was near sunrise. Now, there's an hour or two before the sunsets.

Simon would like to have the two of you in his base before night falls. No point in risking losing one of you to a zombie, not when you're already vulnerable.

He's been herding the two of you in the right direction since about noon. The two of you had picked the right direction to run, almost making it fully out of Ghost's territory before he started redirecting you. It was easy to land a few shots in the dirt in front of you, send the pair of you scrambling in another direction.

You're closer to his base than either of you realize. Ghost's muscles twitch at the realization, the thought of having the two of you locked up fueling his adrenaline.

He already knows you'll both put up a good fight. He can't wait to see which one of you gives in first. He thinks it might be Johnny, can already picture the man being good after seeing how Ghost might treat you.

He tunes back into your argument as the land becomes more familiar, unable to resist smirking as he sees the path that Johnny's about to walk.

"I told you we should've been more on the lookout for other people."

"Don't even start! Ye know as well as me that the bastard came out of nowhere, don't act like we woulda seen him anyway."

"Well, now we'll never know."

"Exactly! So why're you still naggin' me about it?"

"Oh, really, I'm nagging? Really, Johnny?"

"Yes! What, you think saying it twice makes it less true?"

"Oh, fuck you, honestly, I don't even know why I bother helping you."

Johnny laughs, loud and very obviously fake. "You're helpin' me? Oh, now you've really lost it, lass. I've been dragging dead weight since this whole thing started! You know, I'm getting awful tired of-"

Johnny's just a few steps away, make that final little stretch as he talks, and Ghost holds his breath, waits....

Bam. Before he can finish his complaint, he's yanked into the air. His bad ankle is wrapped up tight in rope, a trap tugging that leg into the air and leaving his torso resting on the ground.

He grunts loudly, though not as loudly as Ghost had expected with his injury.

"Holy shit!" You nearly shout, rushing to Johnny's side and abandoning your argument. "Fuck, are you alright?"

The Scot makes a half-wheezed sound of affirmation, eyes squeezed shut.

"Fuck, alright, don't move. I'll get you out, alright?"

Before you can figure out how to make that happen, Simon steps out of the treeline. You catch sight of him immediately, eyes going wide as you clearly fight the urge to run and abandon your partner. You just barely manage to stop yourself, shifting into what looks like it's meant to be a defensive possession.

Ghost tilts his head, smirks behind the mask. "Where do you think you're goin'?"

Johnny's face is twisted in pain, leaving you to respond. "We don't mean any harm, alright? Just... just let me get him down, and we'll go."

Simon slings his rifle off his back, holds it casually in his arms. The way your hands twitch, the panic streaking across Johnny's expression... fuck, it gets him hard.

"Why would I let you do that?"

There's a little furrow between your brows, and Johnny starts to really squirm in is bindings.

"We won't tell anyone about you," you try, inching around Johnny's prone form. "Promise. You let us go, you'll never have to see us again."

That, Simon thinks, is the problem.

He hauls his gun up, takes quick aim, and shoots the rope tying Johnny up before either of you can properly panic. You both still scream when the branch falls, clattering to the ground on top of Johnny.

You're quick to help him up, your argument apparently entirely forgotten as you let him lean most of his body weight on your shoulders.

Ghost slings the gun back over his shoulder, pulling a length of rope out of his pocket. "Both of you, on your knees. Hands behind your heads, eyes closed."

"Oy." Johnny tries to move in front of you, but his now mangled ankle has to be kept completely off the ground for him to even stay standing. "You can't... we'll go, like she said. Promise, mate."

"Knees."

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed neither of you put up even a bit of fight. But he doesn't complain as he watches you fall to the ground first, letting Johnny use you to help himself.

"Good," Simon hums when you both settle, forms stiff but in the correct position. "Either one of you even twitches, I'll break your legs and leave you for the zombies."

You both shudder at that, and Ghost feels his cock throb in his jeans. He adjusts himself, then steps forward with the rope.

He's quick, not giving either of you time to properly react. You both get a matching loop of rough rope tied around your necks, just tight enough that the skin is already rubbed a bit raw, just from the initial tie.

"Don't move," Simon growls when Johnny jerks away, gripping the man's wrists and tugging them in front of him. "You want to die out here? Watch your little girlfriend get eaten alive?"

He flushes, teeth gritted in what's probably a mix of rage and pain. Sweat drips down his face, streaking through the filth. "She's not my girl."

"Johnny," you hiss, shifting restlessly on your knees. "Seriously?"

"What? Yer not."

"Is that really what you want to be focusing on right now?"

"Oh, would ye rather talk about the goddamn collar and leashes the bastard's given us?"

Ghost gives said leash a rough tug for that, finishing off the loops around Johnny's wrist and moving in front of you. "The bastard's right here."

You sit still, eyes still closed and limbs loose as you let him move your arms around. Johnny's the one who starts squirming, scowl deepening. "Really? Couldnae tell."

"Lotta sass from a man wearing a leash." Ghost yanks it again, nearly sending Johnny sprawling to the ground. He just manages to catch himself on his bound hands, and Simon finishes off yours.

He steps back, holding the length of rope stretching from your necks in one hand. He tugs solidly, smirks when you both stand as quickly as you can. "Up, now. Time to go home."

He doesn't spare either of you a glance, turning around and starting the rest of the journey home. He shows a bit of kindness, keep his pace slow since he can hear the way Johnny's breathing grows more ragged, hear his limp against the dead leaves.

Neither of you tug or try to run away, and Ghost can't help but smile at the obedience. He mentally crosses leash training off his to-do list. He had been looking forward to that one, but he's sure there'll be plenty of other interesting experiences with the two of you.

He's never trained two pets at once. He can't wait to see how it goes.

#i've written this same thing in slightly different ways a million times. and i will write it again #1k celebration #ghoap x reader #bo writes #serial killer ghoap x reader #btw - he takes you home then chains you both up outside and says something like “this is where dogs stay” :/#dont worry youre perfectly safe (he has a high fence keeping zombie out) but he likes to hear how scared you get when you're out there all #you're both quite well behaved when he lets you in for dinner the next night <3 #he only has to scold you once when you both complain about being made to eat while kneeling on the floor next to him #🦋 anon #zombie apocalypse ghoap x reader

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