#forgive offences | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

concernedlily · 2 years

Text

cousins WIP 9

pt 1

pt 2

pt 3

pt 4

pt 5

pt 6

(note: now posted in slightly revised form up to the end of the tumblr pt 6 on AO3)

pt 7

pt 8

Porsche has been putting off going to see Pete. They’ve exchanged some awkward text messages, but Pete barely leaves the hospital room where Vegas is drifting in and out of consciousness. Arm had mentioned another surgery a couple of days ago, trying to drain another infection, and Porsche hasn’t been up to dealing with how Pete might be feeling about that. He wants to support his friend but he still hasn’t totally got around to reconciling himself with Pete leaving the main family to be with Vegas; and another, worse, part of himself is even resentful that even if Vegas is still dangerously injured Pete and Vegas get to be together. Vegas gets to be with the person he wants, and Porsche and Kinn are alone doing the soul-killing work Vegas doesn’t have to worry about anymore.

The main sign that Vegas is still on a long road to recovery is that the room next to his on the private medical wing has been cleared out of hospital equipment and made into a little studio for Pete. It’s even smaller than the two rooms he’d shared with Porsche, but it’s his alone. The fixtures and fittings are a confused mix of brought up from staff quarters and brand-new main-family luxury, a signal that his circumstances have changed to something more than staff and yet with Vegas not properly in working order something still less than a confirmed and acknowledged life partner.

Pete welcomes Porsche into it with the carelessness of someone who hasn’t noticed anything either way, clearly with most of his attention stuck next door. “Khun Porsche,” Pete says, and he sounds like himself but there’s an archness to it; Porsche can’t tell whether it’s new, or whether it was always there and he’d just never recognised it for what it is, Pete carefully hiding whatever part of himself it is that’s capable of loving Vegas behind an affable expression and a go-along attitude.

“Come on,” Porsche says anyway, and drops into a chair from the bodyguard canteen. Pete is looking haggard and Porsche pulls his cigarettes out, takes one for himself and tosses the pack at Pete across the table. Both of them light up with subtly trembling hands. Neither of them mention it.

“How is he?” Porsche says, jerking his head next door although it’s obvious who he must be talking about, not to mention he’s not sure that Pete could answer the same question about anybody else up to and including his own self.

“The latest infection is stable,” Pete says, and then rattles off a load of barely comprehensible information about antibiotics and sutures and test results in the matter-of-fact way Porsche remembers from nursing Chay through a million childhood illnesses, when their medical status is the only thing that matters and it’s hard to talk to anyone who doesn’t have the same assumed level of interest and knowledge about the crucial details of their health.

“Is he awake much?” Porsche says when Pete finally takes a breath.

“Some,” Pete says hesitantly. “He’s - quiet.”

“Lucky him,” Porsche says. He takes a long drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke upwards. Neither of them should be smoking, technically, but even in the domain of the hospital wing Theerapanyakul employees won’t tell off the head of the minor family and the lover of a cousin, even a demoted and disgraced one.

“He almost died,” Pete says defensively, but there’s a fascinating flash of anger in the way he looks at Porsche, quickly smothered. “He’s almost died… fuck. I don’t know how many times now.”

Porsche can’t tell whether Pete is mad Porsche wasn’t there for him through any of that, or glad of it. Vegas had basically had a miracle to survive the initial shooting, Porsche knows that much. It’s hard to shake the feeling he’d shared with Kinn, that it would’ve been easier on Porsche if he hadn’t.

“Well, he hasn’t,” Porsche snaps. Pete’s open concern, quitting his job, acting in love with someone who’d done the things to him Porsche saw on Pete’s body in that bathroom - Porsche doesn’t get it.

“He almost killed himself,” Pete shoots back, almost yelling, and Porsche draws back instinctively, readying himself to spring out of his chair and fight, before he catches the reaction and forces himself to relax. Pete is so often calm and affable, it’s always a surprise when he unleashes the part of him that had got him to being a senior bodyguard, the part Porsche had had to look away from as he calmly, affably kicked the shit out of Mes.

“Are you trying to make me feel sorry for him?” he says quietly. “They came after Chay, Pete. I told Vegas where I’d put my brother so he’d be safe, and he sent men to kidnap him.”

Pete softens abruptly, then grimaces, but his eyes are still clear when he looks at Porsche. Like he’d have expected nothing else from Vegas. Like, maybe, as Kinn thought, Porsche is the idiot for not having expected what Vegas would do with that information. Like Pete would have expected it, even though he loves him.

“I assumed you were -” Pete waves at him, his cigarette sketching out a smoke figure in the air, “Like this about Kuhn Kinn. Although I heard you broke up.”

Porsche lights another cigarette and wishes he had a fucking drink. “Who did you think she was, the woman upstairs?”

Pete looks surprised, visibly searching his memory like he’d barely even noticed her. He guesses, “Kuhn Korn’s mistress?”

“Fuck no,” Porsche splutters, and then he’s hit by the unwelcome thought that this could have been even fucking worse. He wouldn’t even have put it past Korn to have hidden that he and Kinn were brothers. “She’s my mother. She’s Korn’s sister. I’m Kinn’s cousin. Vegas’ too. His papa had a picture of her in his office.”

He hasn’t thought of Vegas as his cousin before, or Macau. It’s an odd glimpse into how Kinn must be feeling about Porsche, to have been so content to carry on; no feeling of family connection, no visceral response to being aware of the blood that gives them one kind of relationship and precludes another.

Pete really looks at him for the first time, his full attention on Porsche and not half stuck in the adjoining room. “Your mum? Aren’t your parents dead?”

“I thought so,” Porsche says heavily. “My dad, yeah. But Korn took my mum and kept her here for years.”

“So that’s why they gave you the minor family,” Pete says. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Porsche says. He feels jittery, tries to find the stillness in himself that comes harder every day. “Does Vegas know?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t told him.”

“Have any of the main family been to see him?” Porsche asks.

“Kuhn Korn,” Pete says. He’d pledged his ongoing love and loyalty to the main family, but there’s a tinge of disgust in his voice, and when Porsche looks at him he can see the studied artificiality of Pete’s familiar neutral expression for the first time. Vegas does probably know, then, if one conversation between he and Korn is making Pete look like this.

Porsche sighs. “You’re going to have to take him away, you know. I won’t have him. Unless you want Korn to get whatever it is he wants from him.”

“We’ve got nowhere else to go,” Pete says, quiet but desperate, and Porsche closes his eyes and looks away from him. “Nobody really gets out. If you don’t know how many enemies the minor family makes compared to the main family, you will soon. Vegas and Macau won’t last a week out there without protection.”

Porsche knows it’s true. He grits his teeth and says, “How close is he to discharge?”

“Ages,” Pete says fervently. He still has to sleep after walking to the bathroom. When he is allowed to walk to the bathroom.”

“Then he’s got time to come up with a third option,” Porsche says.

Or Porsche has time to be pushed into taking him, by Korn or Kinn on Korn’s orders, no matter how much he hates it, or Pete. Porsche knows himself well enough to know that if they make it about Macau, he’ll probably fold. He won’t be able to leave Vegas’ little brother in danger as easily as Vegas put his.

“He can help you,” Pete insists and Porsche looks at him flatly and Pete looks away from him, lights another cigarette with economical motions. “I can stop him trying to hurt you.”

That surprises a laugh out of Porsche, hollow and humourless. “Can you?” Pete might want to think so, and Vegas might even believe it with how desperate he’d been to find a way to get to Pete, but the bruises and whipmarks on Pete’s body didn’t look like Pete could stop him. Vegas can’t even stop himself: he’d told Porsche he wasn’t going to let anybody do anything to Pete, but Porsche knows Pete had been on Kinn before Porsche showed up, right where Vegas and his men had attacked hardest.

Pete looks flinty when he looks back at Porsche, taking a couple of quick, angry drags. “You think you didn’t change Kuhn Kinn?”

“Okay, fine,” Porsche says. “Who’s going to stop you? Kinn paid off Prawat’s parents.”

Pete flinches. “I didn’t mean to. He shot Vegas, it happened so fast… I just reacted.”

“Vegas attacked the main family and killed dozens of our men,” Porsche says. “I’m trying to establish myself. How does it look to my people if I can forgive their deaths so easily?”

It’s uncomfortably close to the kind of thing people said to him when Kinn was unkind to him, punished him; to what he knows Korn would say to Kinn. Never being able to just think of one person, always having to put the work of making and maintaining trust first. Porsche has never tried to make people loyal to him; he knows he isn’t good at it.

“They know the risk when they take the job,” Pete says, but he looks miserable.

“I didn’t. I was desperate.”

Pete raises his chin. “And look at you now.”

Porsche shakes his head. “No heroes, no villains?”

“You forgave him Tawan and Big when you wanted his help again,” Pete snaps. “And - you paid him me, to get it, didn’t you? You took me to the bar that night so he could see me.”

Porsche breathes out, slow and measured. He’s wrinkling his tailored trousers over his thighs and he makes himself let go the death grip he’s taken on the linen. He says, “Yes.”

Pete ashes his cigarette and slumps back in his chair. “No heroes. No villains.”

#kinnporsche #kinnporsche fic #my fic #like that through all eternity #it's baaaack #this scene has been HARD #and may undergo major revision before AO3 posting #my views on Vegas and writing Vegas are uhhh complex and there may be a little too much Lily and not enough Porsche in the perspective here #(I do genuinely think though that if Porsche finds out Vegas sent men to take Chay he would not forgive that #the way he does/will offences against himself Pete and Kinn #I will die on that hill)

20 notes · View notes

hologramhitgrrrl · 2 years

Text

But like seriously the 3 best les mis songs are valjean and javert’s duet, stars, and javerts suicide song. The 4th best is valjeans ‘valjean is dead and gone’ song after the priest gifts him the silver and the other great song is the opener ‘prisoner 24601/my name’s jean valjean’ duet

#no offence to all the other characters but they mean nothing to me in comparison to this #i’ve read the brick #i fucking know the story and i think javert is the main character with valjean as the antagonist #and the story is about good and evil law punishment justice redemption and forgiveness #les mis #i got the musical cd from a chazza and was listening to it in the car today which is what brought this on

3 notes · View notes

crushondonald · 2 years

Text

It scares me that the horrible event (resulting in at least one woman killed, many seriously injured and countless traumatized eye witnesses!!!) happened this morning in the heart of my home town Berlin is completely ignored here ... I wonder what kind of hysteria would break out if this tragedy had happened anywhere else than in Germany ... really sad and eye-opening at the same time! 😔

#personal rant #forgive me but ... fuck tumblr you American bitch! 😠#such an event in the US and this hellsite would go crazy!!!#Berlin #Germany #8 June 2022 #my heart is broken ... in every way 💔🥺#no offence but this makes me mad!!! 😡

3 notes · View notes

decennia · 2 years

Note

Yo, it sucks that you're getting nonny hate I'm sorry that's happening. If a message like this is not alright please delete, but I am someone who has been friends with Maddie in the past and also defended them. I have experienced this kind of thing, with similarities between characters, but always believed them when reasons were given. I don't know really what to do, because I have enjoyed this friendship with them for so long I feel like a betrayer if I speak out or confront them about it.

kinda sus how after i do a mass culling of certain people during my blocking spree that all the hate anons stopped 🤔 yet my friends who just rbed my post and didn't block those people are receiving tons of anons. just seems a little ✨️weird✨️ if you ask me

listen, bby, if the explanations maddie gave you were anything like the ones they gave me? i'm sorry to say but you did this to yourself 😭💔 they were complete and utter bullshit (receipts privately available upon dm if you're interested). genuinely. and that was my final straw. i wasn't about to be lied to about this. i tried hearing them out, but it all sounded hella suspicious.

i also really enjoyed the friendship, always had fun with the crossovers. YOU are not the one in the wrong. plagiarism is very serious in a community based on creative works. YOU are not the betrayer, you were betrayed. you trusted that, as a friend, they would not steal from you, or lie to you. they betrayed that trust. they betrayed mine. and then had the sheer audacity to lie about it, too.

this isn't what icks me out the most, though. what really got under my skin and made my stomach roil was the fact that, under a completely different blog and alias, they contacted me as if they were a stranger, asking for potential crossovers; all while i was speaking to them on their main blog. i have received criticism for essentially "doxxing" them on a blog they supposedly "made to shelter themselves from the hate they get on their main."

i believe that was the reason for the creation of ocfanhub & codenamekryptonite at first. genuinely, i do. but why interact with your main blog then? why engage in the blog that you received all this supposed hate on? why interact with yourself as if you are completely different people, asking yourself questions, making yourself crossovers and edits? interact with your already established friends as if they were strangers? it doesn't make any fucking sense:

and the fact that, during a giveaway, when given the opportunity to nominate another blog for a gift, they nominated themselves under the guise of "sending good vibes to another creator." especially since the giveaway has a request limit? they literally lied to receive more gifts, and it's not okay.

not to mention having their friends gaslight people or other creators into thinking someone is insane for even entertaining the idea that maddie and veronica were the same person. i have trust issues to begin with. this? is a total violation of the trust i gave them and their friend, and i don't think i am in the correct capacity to trust so freely again on this site. which is sad, because i love meeting new people and cultivating creative based friendships.

#i am genuinely concerned brotatos #also sorry if i sounded mean to YOU anon i just think people need some tough love up in here #i'm sorry you went through that it's not a nice feeling at all #but if you do continue your friendship with this creator just know that if an oc gets thefted there is only so much sympathy i can provide #this is the first of my ocs i can outright say without a glimmer of a doubt was stolen #there have been one or two 👀 moments in the past but the character and story ended up being much more different than what i initially saw #but i have taken immediate action against it #and have taken every precaution to not open myself up to the possibility of it happening again #fool me once type shit #how you proceed from the first confrontation is what sets the precedent #if you forgive them for doing this they will think your forgiveness is guaranteed at every offence #and i wasn't going to roll over and take this #it wasn't a *hey so they're kinda alike*#it was a BLATANT copy paste with just a different fc and likely a different name and a different love interest #B L A T A N T

2 notes · View notes

mihotose · 20 days

Text

shioriko called isla's school in london at 12:55pm jst ?? who is picking up at 4am gmt ???

#gemitus #but also they made moepi speak english lol #lanzhu's drinking monster girls energy LMAO #next sky has gone some way towards my forgiving them for s2 shioriko #they had to make amends or else it would have been considered a great offence #i forgot shioriko was student council president? i was literally thinking about it the other day that anime onlys wouldnt know #that shioriko is student council president. literally when did that happen i thought setsuna stayed on #i also dont remember anime shioriko being that into whether someone was Suited to a club ??#anyway i liked it well enough 👍 μ's and aqours references and also shioriko finally does something

0 notes

the-mercy-workers · 7 months

Text

A Christian fellowship lives and exists by the intercession of its members for one another, or it collapses. I can no longer condemn or hate a brother for whom I pray, no matter how much trouble he causes me. His face, that hitherto may have been strange and intolerable to me, is transformed in intercession into the countenance of a brother for whom Christ died, the face of a forgiven sinner.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, "Life Together: The Classic Exploration of Christian Community"

#catholicism #christianity #works of mercy #spiritual works of mercy #quote #dietrich bonhoeffer #dietrich bonhoeffer quote #pray for the living and the dead #forgive offences

235 notes · View notes

corneliusbella · 8 months

Link

Holding a grudge is a weight we were never meant to carry. It hampers our growth, damages our soul, and opens doors to negative spiritual influences. However, through the divine gift of forgiveness, we can break free from the chains of resentment. When we forgive others, we align ourselves with God’s love and grace, experiencing the transformative power of His forgiveness in our own lives. Let us heed the wisdom of the Bible and choose forgiveness over grudges, for in doing so, we not only heal ourselves but also draw closer to our loving Heavenly Father.

#holding a grudge #forgiveness #offences

0 notes

lwoorl · 2 years

Text

You know, when I hear "This person did terrible things in the past!" I'm expecting it to mean they hurt or killed someone in real life, ruined someone's career, raped someone, burned down a poor family's house, ate a baby, not like, made a great total of one (1) post Twitter 10 years ago in which they used a slur and then apologized about it, or like, wrote fanfiction of the wrong thing, you know, just saying

#some things are not as bad as the internet believes they are #and I'm honestly tired that the most minor of things is treated as a capital offence #'I just cant forgive what he did' bro what he did was make a bad post 10 yrs ago please stop talking like the guy killed your father

1 note · View note

f0point5 · 1 month

Text

You don’t feel pretty, you just feel used

Part 10 of the Lando Norris x fakegirlfriend!reader social media au

A/N: IM BACK! I’m so so so sorry for just randomly disappearing. Real life just got away from me, I literally spent three days thinking it was Tuesday and then it was Friday. Just a chaotic week. Please forgive me 🥺 As for the schedule, this part is just to catch us up on what happened last week, there will be another part out today that will get us back up to date with everything. Please accept two parts today as my apology! I also hope you will excuse my rudimentary French, I mean no offence to native French speakers! I hope you enjoy this part and are excited to be back at it! 🫶🫶🫶🫶

French translation

Tag list

@s0meth1ngs @mcmuppet @bborra @elliefindlater @stan-josie @ivegotparticulartaste @tildaharoldsegna @nikfigueiredo @cixrosie @bored-brunette2 @lovewithmary @painfromblues @buckybarnex @sainzluvrr @92spcy @ninifee1802 @mineandneveryours @mv1-hoe-era @friday5thapril @sltwins @rd14 @freakfromnorth @nikolaros22 @lanando4 @nichmeddar @leptitlu @biitch-with-wifi @leireggsworld @dreamingofautopia @satellitelh @formulaal @belennasif @woozarts @cherry-piee @saintchxx4 @kave18 @holy-macncheese-balls @dreamsarebig @shiftingtomydrs @k-pevensie28 @ssararuffoni @f1-is-lovely-33 @amalialeclerc @bellewintersroe @haydenisdumbpdf @be-your-coffee-pot @tall-tanned-tattoo @lilipiggytails @booksandflowrs @basicchelsea @localwhoore @loaves4me @seraferina @abysshaven

#f1 #formula 1 #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris #lando norris x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfiction #f1 social media au

429 notes · View notes

randombush3 · 17 days

Text

you're not sorry to go

ona batlle x reader

summary: ona and you are best friends, but it's a bit more complicated than that

words: 4.5k

notes: this one is based on true events x

also let's ignore the result of my poll because i want the next part to have smut and it wasn't fitting with the vibe of this part

oh and the title is a quote from 'this side of paradise' by f. scott fitzgerald

January, nine years ago.

Nothing about today has been out of the ordinary.

The weekend is starting, winter drags on, and Ona is all set to train later on in the evening, provided you confirm whether or not you are willing to accompany her to the local pitch.

Barcelona B usually allows for Fridays off, but Ona isn’t stupid. No one becomes the greatest footballer of all time by not playing more. School is beginning to bore Ona to death, and she knows that she wants what she always has: to go professional.

“I have a plan,” she tells you confidently, glad you don’t mind sitting on the uneven, grassy sideline as she sets up her cones with determination. You hold the ball between your hands, though Ona is amused by how foreign it looks to you, and you seem to be holding her prized possession hostage so that she spills. “It sounds simple and obvious out loud, but it’s that I am going to play for Barça while you go to the university. You can introduce me to your smart friends so I can meet my wife, and you’ll have all the boys after you anyway so–”

“Ona.” Her monologue has led her eyes to the ground, but your voice makes her head jerk upwards, not needing much authority to get her to look at you. “I’ve actually had a… realisation, of sorts,” you say with a bashful grin, chin jutting out the way it does when you are gearing up to tell her something that no one else will get to know. “Your cousin is really pretty.”

“I’ll tell her you said that.” It’s a nice thing to say, and you are partly aware that Ona’s cousin knows who you are because she doesn’t shut up about you ever, but you can’t help the frustration that begins to bubble up inside of you.

“No, Ona,” you try again, “she’s really pretty. Like, I would kiss her.”

Ona frowns, then. “Don’t be one of those.” She means the girls who experiment, who toe the line of liking girls but don’t, not really. She has been warned about them by her older teammates, the ones who go out for drinks and kiss girls in clubs. The budding footballer really admires them, because their advice is always good and she gets to explore her sexuality without feeling like a creep. No one in Vilassar de Mar cares much that Ona does like girls, but it doesn’t stop her from feeling judged all the same.

You are one of her best friends, but Ona isn’t sure she can forgive you if you become someone like that.

“I’m not! I wouldn’t do that.” Your offence is suspicious, and you have been so caught up in destroying her worries that the ball has been dropped and is now rolling towards Ona’s feet, where it is instinctively flicked upwards and caught. “I wouldn’t, Oni, because I know it’s unfair to you guys.”

“But you want to kiss my cousin? That makes you interested in girls in general too, you know.”

You bite your lip.

“Ona, I think I’m gay.”

The ball is dropped, along with her jaw, and you shift uncomfortably in your seated position, not enjoying how big of a deal she is making this out to be.

People realise that they’re gay all the time! Why should it be any different for you?

“Oh,” is all Ona can manage to breathe out, wondering what to do next. Although your friendship cracks the padlocks of most secrets, there is one that hasn’t ever been shared. One that now means substantially more than it did five minutes ago.

“Say something, please,” you groan in mock annoyance, moving aside your textbooks so that you can grab Ona’s hand and pull her down on top of you. She is much stronger – she trains every day – but something about your skin touching hers injects a surge of patheticness into her well-earned muscles, and she falls, of course she does, because she always falls for you.

…

A year passes.

You kiss Ona’s cousin, as intended, and Ona knows the breakup is going to be rough but nothing prepares her for when it comes.

She’s conflicted, and she’s older now. No longer left behind by her teammates, Ona gets to go out with them when they don’t have football; she gets to talk to the girls about their sex lives, she gets to be involved in it all. She has met Alexia Putellas and been treated like an equal, and she made out with her fourth ever girl last week, this time progressing past tongues and confidently letting her hands roam.

Ona would say that she has learnt a lot since you dropped your nuclear missile, and she has managed to forget the initial hope she had felt. The secret had been near-faded.

Until you are calling her, sending her a text when she doesn’t reach her phone quick enough.

‘Ona, I really need you.’

She hears nothing from her cousin – they were closer when they were younger – and that, she reasons, is why she is by your side in an instant, meeting you at the windy beach you go to when you are sad, hair damp from running and eyes a little wide as she tries to wake herself up.

“She said she can’t do it anymore,” you whisper, voice cracking under the strain your sobs had put on it. “She said that she really likes me but that it’s not enough, and she doesn’t want to break my heart but she knows she has to.”

Ona doesn’t get a chance to respond, because you have flung yourself into her chest before she can think of the right words to say.

Your shoulders shake as you cry, devastating howling joining the whistles of the wind and the thrash of the waves. The sand is unsteady beneath your feet and you stumble, but Ona holds you firmly, as though she has only ever trained to hold you up. Though you feel her biceps, hard and significantly larger than the last time she had held you this way, you are too caught up in your first heartbreak to acknowledge the tiny, tiny spark between you.

As you cry and cry and cry, Ona can’t help but feel a little bitter towards her cousin. Clearly, your affection wasn’t false and, though it was working towards the severance of your friendship, you actually cared quite a lot for her.

Ona chooses to abstain from her jealousy because she is embarrassed that it is possible.

She is there for you the next day, ensuring you have eaten and allowing you to sleep, but the sun soon sets and Ona vows one thing to herself: she will not take advantage of it.

“I’m going home,” you mumble when you wake from your restless nap, rolling over into the empty space in your best friend’s bed. The sheets there are cold and unused. Ona must not have moved a muscle since you fell asleep. “My parents must be a little confused, and we have people coming over for dinner. Thank you for looking after me.”

“No problem.” Ona nods and you awkwardly stand up. “I think I’m going out with the team tonight, but don’t hesitate to call me if… Well, if you feel sad again.”

“It’s going to feel shit with or without you.”

You are trying to distance her, to tell her that she can have fun. It might be an issue that your friendship only seems to work when the two of you discuss your recent conquests or latest flings, but it is not one that either of you wants to address for now.

“I’m just making sure you know I’m here,” she defends indignantly, rolling her eyes at the glimpse of your happier self making its return.

“Are you going to be drunk?” Your question is pointed and you should really cross your arms and tap your foot impatiently to match your tone. “Don’t you have training tomorrow?”

“Maybe, and not tomorrow, no. I’ve been asked to join the first team the day after so they’ve given me an alternative rest day.”

“Ona, if you get drunk, you won’t be there for me at all. You’ll have your tongue down some poor, poor girl’s throat and your phone will be dead.” You laugh from experience, having grown accustomed to how she behaves under the influence. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I swear that alcohol is what fuels your hormones. I’m not going to burden you with my fucking pathetic crying, and, well, you know me, I’ll just find a boy to talk to. I am going to be fine.”

No one in the room is convinced.

You swat the air between you two, telling her to get on with getting ready. “Now, enjoy your night, and tell me all about it tomorrow morning!”

Ona wonders if you are over-compensating by insisting to hear about whoever she has gotten off with, but you are practically flying out the door the minute you have said goodbye to her family and she is stumbling around her room trying to find a clean bra. Life goes on.

If time did not tick on its own, one of you would task yourselves with turning the hands of the clock manually.

You try to recover from how much it fucking kills to have a girl break your heart by reminding yourself of your worth in the best way possible: male attention. They hound you, but you enjoy it. You crave it, most of the time, even if the feelings are never quite believably reciprocated.

It annoys Ona to no end, the way you play with the boys chasing after you. She hates the push and pull, fed-up with the constant complaining from your end. Often, because Ona speaks her mind when she can, she tells you that it’s not fair on the ones who hand their hearts to you only to watch you pierce through them with sharp, I-was-never-a-lesbian nails.

You don’t talk about her cousin. At least, not to Ona because you have been informed by some other friend that blood is thicker than water.

Or maybe it’s because Ona begins to avoid you, begins to spend more time with her teammates, who don’t hide their sexuality and who like the things she likes. (Once, in a hateful frenzy, Ona thinks to herself that the only thing the two of you have in common nowadays is that she likes you and you like you too.)

“What happened to your best friend?” Laia Aleixandri asks thoughtfully once after training. Ona is helping her collect the water bottles the other girls had left lying around on the pitch. There have been more injuries than what’s comfortable within the first team, and maybe some of the reserves have forgotten that they are not yet professionals. “You’ve stopped talking about her.”

“We’ve fallen out,” Ona answers, settling on that because she doesn’t know how else to describe the shift in your relationship.

“Over what?” comes Laia’s obvious sequential question, more a due dalliance than genuine interest. Laia is one of those girls who plays to play and can sometimes be too busy to spend time with the team outside of training. Because of this, she is largely unaware of Ona’s growing reputation within the squad. As Ona has grown up, her confidence has increased. Girls like that, and they are in plentiful supply to her. She no longer needs to be drunk, but something almost certainly occurs if she is.

“She dated my cousin and, I don’t know, the way she acted in the fall-out was horrible. She likes girls, I know she likes girls, but I think she has been scarred and her ego has been bruised. No boy has ever made her cry like that, and I think she’s traumatised. And it’s valid! I understand, completely and totally, but she is acting as though she never had a thing with my cousin and it’s annoying. It’s as if being gay is a joke to her.”

Laia senses that Ona’s not done, and she is correct to think so.

The next wave is this: “Laia, I really don’t agree with it, and it is hurting me. It hurts to see my cousin be messed around by a straight girl, it hurts to see my best friend hate part of herself, and it hurts me because, well, it just– it just does! I can’t explain it.” She can; she doesn’t want to. Her secret is still heavily guarded and it is going to take more than Laia asking about you to get her to confess. “I just want peace for everyone involved,” she says after taking a deep, diplomatic breath.

“Peace,” Laia repeats with a giggle. “Ona, the things I have heard about you are the opposite of ‘peace’. Aita’s been keeping me in the loop, and she says that–”

“Okay, Laia, I don’t need a lecture.”

What probably would have been very helpful for Ona to know is lost to the devastating final blow of her eye-roll as she jogs to the water cooler to return the bottles and head home.

…

The reconciliation of a decade-old friendship is fast and natural. Things do not quite go back to normal, and the two of you are not as close as before, but your group of friends at school breathe out a collective sigh of relief when the ice thaws and Ona starts to turn up to their gatherings instead of the ones held by her beloved blaugranas.

It’s a camping trip.

Their first year of bach has ended, and someone – Ona doesn’t know who – has suggested a camping trip because her grandfather’s brother owns a farm and the farm has a field and the field is far-removed enough for the smell of cigarettes and red-label whiskey to dissolve before reaching the house.

“Are we really going?” Ona asks, making you all laugh as you haul your bags and tents along the tractor path.

“I do think we should’ve gotten in the tractor,” you agree. Ona nods at you, thanking you for your support.

Everyone else says it’s good fitness, and then hurls insults at Ona for the remainder of the trek because she should be the last to complain if she is going to become a professional athlete.

It’s not as far as it seems, and the tents are set up quickly, along with some chairs, a foldable table, and a hefty stash of various bottles of alcohol.

You start smoking the minute someone flashes their lighter, and Ona uses that as a reason to stay on the other side of the small campsite for a good hour or so.

She stays away from you no matter how much you stare, but you watch her all the same.

The boys you talk to are not satisfying. Some may have innocent intentions but the majority don’t, and you know that you are pretty but you are not shallow like that. You don’t even meet the boys half the time unless they corner you at school and demand a slot of your in-person attention.

The boys you talk to explain football and the gym and why they have to play FIFA until the sun rises because it will definitely help Barcelona win on the weekend. They take you for an idiot, and they hardly acknowledge that your best friend (sort of) plays for their darling club so of course you know the rules and the positions. You know that Ona is a defender, and that she is good at it. You don’t want to be patronised and you don’t care about this kind of thing unless it involves Ona.

Therein lies the issue, actually.

You don’t care about much unless it involves Ona. Ona, who sways to the music bursting out from the speakers just as stiffly as she always has, not exactly blessed with dancing talent but not for lack of trying. Ona, who declines alcohol tonight because she is following a summer strength and conditioning programme with the hopes of playing in the first team’s preseason matches. Ona, who looks beautiful. Always.

Smoke billows from your cigarette, right towards the point of your focus, and, suddenly, doe-like eyes are staring back at you with a small, small smirk. She waves, as if to say that she has caught you, and you lean back on the camping chair you are slouched in, pretending to laugh at whatever your friend has just said beside you.

Later, when everyone else is knocked out from the bad quality of the whiskey, snoring comfortably in the other tents, Ona and you kiss. And once you start kissing, you don’t stop.

Ona is good at this, you assume, because she knows exactly what to do. Contrary to popular belief, you are far more active in theory than in practice, and she surprises you a little bit. Or maybe she doesn’t, because it’s Ona and Ona is good at everything.

You strive to match her, and you do by the time you finish school.

Sporadic, non-committal, and in complete disregard for your friendship, the arrangement of hooking up when you feel like it sees you out of Catalonia, with Ona naturally in tow.

Madrid CFF is happy to have her, and you quite enjoy the challenge of the Spanish capital. It’s not Barcelona, it’s not ideal, but change is good and you need space to explore who you are without watchful eyes and nosy gossipers.

Homophobia isn’t quite a thing in your family. Your parents are not radically against gay people. In fact, you’d say they are relatively supportive. However, that doesn’t stop you from feeling some discomfort. You lived through Ona’s struggle to come out, and her parents are ever more care-free than yours.

Madrid is a brand-new place, and word about how you are doing is easily controlled. Updates come from either you or Ona, and that means there is a filter easily applied to all anecdotes.

Your friends know about the sex, more or less. They know, they don’t approve, but they let you guys sort it out yourselves because everyone agrees that that is just how you and Ona are. They won’t understand it and they have given up on trying to.

Both of you make half-hearted efforts to separate the arrangement from your friendship. You don’t talk much afterwards until the other has left the realm of I-am-in-love-with-you. It’s nice to be in Madrid together, but you find different social circles soon enough and then you are reaching out more for sex than friendly activities and… You stop sleeping with each other upon the footballer’s request. She wants to focus on her career, on her success. She tells you over the phone because she cannot bring herself to end whatever occurred over the last two years in person, knowing that she’d take back her decision in a heartbeat. Ona really, really likes football, and she knows that she has to become obsessed with it to get to the top; more obsessed than she is now. How can she do that if you are distracting her?

You’re disappointed, but you respect her wishes.

Girls in Madrid stop seeming as shiny. The world is a bit duller, because although there had been no exclusivity between you and your best friend, there had always been that guarantee that the other would be ready and waiting. Your growing misery makes studying boring, and you find answers for your emotions in a science textbook, desperately running away from the obvious truth. Less sex means that you are unhappier. It’s biology.

It’s not a crush.

Not on Ona.

No.

And it’s certainly not this not-realisation that flies you to Milan the minute a modelling agency inquires about whether you have ever thought of, well, modelling. They scout you someplace random, and your mother claims that she could have helped you start your career earlier if only you’d have been interested.

When you explain to your best friend what you are moving for, she is oddly unsurprised and uncaring. Her reaction is sickening, because you’d have rathered her get an ego boost from having slept with a model than be so fucking apathetic.

“I’m going to Milan, Ona,” you repeat, just in case she has not heard you. “I’m moving. We did the trial shoots last week, and they loved me. They want me to update my social media and work on building up a following, and they said that I should start learning English because I might end up in New York.”

“That’s good. I’m happy for you.” She doesn’t sound like she means it, and you grow annoyed about how she is not even trying to sound enthusiastic.

“Can’t you be happy for me? Or is it only acceptable for you to have dreams?”

“I am happy for you, I just said that.”

“The words left your mouth, but they definitely did not come from your heart.”

“You’re being dramatic.” Ona rolls her eyes and the pent-up sexual tension builds and builds until the bottle it has been shoved into can no longer withstand the pressure. You haven’t argued since you moved to Madrid, which makes no sense considering you literally broke up – even if it absolutely wasn’t dating. Neither of you has processed your broken heart, and you’re pretty sure you are still too traumatised from the first girl you fell in love with to be capable of revisiting those kinds of emotions.

Ona hasn’t had sex in weeks, and it is affecting her performance. She can’t sleep if she has the energy she does, and she can’t get through her workouts because not sleeping makes her lose her appetite and then she does not have the energy to complete them. Her coaches are worried, but they know that she is young and though almost idiotic, they mostly assume that she is repulsed by the idea of playing for a club in Madrid. They get that a lot with the Catalans that come over from La Masia, whose dreams have been delayed because the first team had thought it necessary that they gained more experience elsewhere.

Ona has wanted to shout and scream every minute of every day, and so have you. Therefore, everything explodes.

…

You inhale deeply, exhaling when it feels as though some of the stress has dissipated. This casting is one of the more important ones of the week. It’s odd to be judged on your appearance, to be paid for it, but it has been almost a year since you moved to Milan and you are enjoying yourself.

You don’t miss university, and you don’t miss your parents. Your friends visit you lots, loving the idea of your career, loving the excuse to escape their dreary weekends in where they have always been.

Milan is great. You make friends with a few other models, though they come and go depending on work, and the more experience you get, the more your following count goes up. Brands send you things, nice things, and events start extending invites to lure you into the glamour of the industry.

Milan is great, you tell yourself on repeat.

Milan is great, but it would be better if Ona were here.

Milan is great, but you regret the way you left things and want to take it all back.

Milan is great but–

“Your fitting is tomorrow,” says the assistant, reading off her iPad. You suppress your wandering thoughts, nodding. You need this job, you need the money to pay for a flight. The agency has given you some advancements – an impressive thing, apparently – but not enough to cover the cost of the ticket to New York for the start of Fashion Week. This show will fluff out your experience, and increase your chances of walking at one of the bigger shows.

You’ve been told that you are quite a good model; attractive, funny, with just the right amount of personality to be both a mannequin and an interesting figure.

The lifestyle is different but good, and you realise that you’d never wanted the mundanity of studying and then working and selling your soul to some kind of tall office building. Not everyone gets the concept of living away from home, especially not those from your tight-knit community who think the city is stretching the distance slightly (the train works, you can live with your parents and have a good job – you’ve been told that a few times), but you don’t mind. You can explain it as much as you want and they would still be confused.

You stay in touch, but you don’t stay present.

As your career snowballs over the next two years, you pull away from your home, always on a flight, always busy. You go to LA and Paris and London, and you rent your flat in Milan out as an Airbnb whenever you’re not there. You love the city, you start to think of it as yours, and slowly but surely, everything else fades into the background.

Apart from Ona, of course. Your friends still visit, or you meet up with them if you ever find yourself in Barcelona, and they continue to affirm just how proud they are of you. They talk about her a lot, too; about where she’s playing now, about injuries and fame and representing Spain. They know you are too stubborn to search it up for yourself, but these are the people who have grown up with you: they know you would like to be informed.

When you hear that Ona has moved to Manchester, you don’t quite think your actions through.

You have had enough. You miss her terribly.

Her number has changed, but someone passes it onto you.

You: I saw that you’re playing Arsenal next week. I’ll be in London then. Do you want to get a coffee?

Ona takes her time replying, but that is only because she wants to delay the inevitable.

Her eyes shine and her hair is damp, but the kick-off had been early and you don’t have anything to do today. You meet her in the carpark, picking her up in a black BMW that’s sleek and shiny and 100% not yours. Her laugh is light and free as she knocks on the driver’s window and juts her thumb out, instructing you to swap.

“I’m not getting in a car that you’re driving,” she declares seriously, though you know she has forgiven you because she would not have agreed to meet if she hadn’t. “Come on, I checked on Maps and there’s a place not too far from here that looks nice. And it’s empty, so don’t worry about the paparazzi.”

“The paparazzi are not after me,” you shut down quickly, not wanting her to think you are a bigger deal than what you are. Successful, yes. Famous? Not so much. “One day it’ll be you worrying about them, when you’re all grown up.”

“I’m twenty-one!”

It comes out so whiny and childish that you burst into a fit of giggles. Ona is proud to have made you laugh.

You don’t kiss her, but you’d like to. Then again, maybe it’s better to just be friends.

#woso x reader #woso #woso imagines #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle #barca femeni #randombush3 #pretend it's not all build up #but it is

392 notes · View notes

mint-yooxgi · 5 months

Text

Promises - Yandere!Kraken!Felix

Yandere AU & Kraken AU - First Person POV

Genre: Mature, Smutty Themes, Internal Monologue

Pairing: Felix X Implied Chubby!Fem!Reader

Words: 1,958

Warnings: Implied violence and shipwreck, kidnapping, Felix is a type of Sea God in this, mentions of past sexual relations. Tentacles. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: Did I base the start of this drabble on the ending scene in Dead Man's Chest? Perhaps. Is this a bit tamer than the others. Maybe. Either way, I still hope you like it! I've been slowly easing myself back into writing, so I'm happy with what I've been able to do. Plus, I just fucking love the banner I made for this hehehe... Anyways, Feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!~

The Thirteenth of The Feral Drabbles

They thought they could keep you away from me.

They really thought they could keep you away from me.

It’s laughable. I thought it was a known rule for sailors not to anger the sea, but alas. Here we are.

The frantic screams and shouts don’t deter me for one second. I know what I came here for, and I’m not leaving without you. You’re mine. I warned them what the consequences would be, yet still they refused to give you to me. Even after we promised ourselves to each other! Can you believe that?

Oh, that sounds so harsh. It’s not like you didn’t also choose me. It’s these… these… things keeping us apart. They don’t understand our love. Think I’m corrupting you, or something.

Such bullshit. The only thing I’m corrupting is their ability to live.

They hid you on the third level, thinking you’d be safe within the deepest confines of the ship. Little do they know it’s the worst place you could be. It’s like they want you to get hurt, like they want me to kill you. Such things I would never do.

Still, despite my anger as I tear this floating piece of wood apart, I’m careful. Your safety is my top priority, and I’ve already ensured that. Right now, you rest, cocooned inside a few of my tentacles. Magic surrounds you, ensuring none of their attacks have any effect on me or you. Like hell I’ll allow them to disturb you now. Besides, you passed out shortly after my assault started on the ship, but you don’t have to worry. I’ve got you.

I can still remember when we first met, how you told me you didn’t fare well with sea travel. Yet another offence they’ve made against you. I’ll never forgive them for their transgressions. Sinners need to pay, and I am here to pass my divine judgement on those that would call themselves ‘heroes’.

Do not fear, My Beloved. Once I finish smashing apart this pathetic excuse of driftwood, I’ll take you home.

Where you’ve always belonged.

With me.

These planks are so brittle, it’s almost laughable. Your captor’s pathetic attempts to defend themselves are cute, in a way. If not for the fact that every time I start to pull you out of the wreckage, more of them show up to try and hinder me. I don’t know why they’re so obsessed with protecting you now when they’ve never done so before.

I’m the one who always saves you. I’m the one who ensures you no harm. Not them.

No matter. They haven’t seen everything that I can do. My capabilities far surpass what their puny, closed off minds can comprehend. I’ve got magic beyond the darkest depths of the ocean, strength greater than the harshest of tides. There is no being, save myself, that could keep me away from you.

I don’t even know why they try.

Finally, I’m able to pull you out of that godforsaken wreckage and unleash my full wrath upon these wretches. The boat snaps like a twig as I pull the debris and all remaining survivors below the surface.

None will survive. They don’t get to. I won’t let them.

Honestly, it’s kind of fun tearing stuff apart. I’ve always enjoyed making a mess of things. I only wish you could be awake to see just how strong your lover can be. After all, I’m doing this for you. I warned them about what would happen should they lay their filthy, traitorous hands all over you. I’m simply staying true to my word!

You know firsthand that I’m a very truthful guy. I would never lie to you, My Pearl. I would rather be slow roasted over an open fire than even think to deceive you.

Aren’t I so loyal?

Oh. Right. You aren’t awake to hear my teasing. Teasing which you seem quite fond of whenever I’m with you.

I think you just like hearing my voice…

That’s okay, Beloved. I will speak for as long as you desire me to. Besides, the feeling is quite mutual.

Gods- I can’t wait to see your face when you wake up in our home, and I get to tell you everything that I’ve done for you. Finally, we can be together, free of oppressive opinions and suppressive stares. Where I’m taking you, we can be ourselves, and the magic of my ocean will keep you safe. Eventually, when you’re ready, you’ll even become like me, too.

Won’t that be incredible? Just thinking about it makes my whole body tingle.

Or maybe that’s just the change in depth.

I promise my home isn’t too much further out, and it’s in a safe area. You’ll be able to live here with me free of any restraints. I’ll be your comfort. I’ll be your guide. I will provide for you everything you will ever need.

There is nothing stopping our love now.

I’ll even make sure that no sliver of the wreckage I just caused gets to you. The currents listen to me. They’re my friends, and soon they will be yours, too.

Either way, I’m glad that’s over, because now I can focus on you! I know that you’d be celebrating with me if you were awake, but for now, I’ll simply revel in this sweet victory alone. Having you safe in my arms is enough reward, and when you wake, the true celebration will begin.

Hmm, I wonder what we should do first? Should I take you to the reefs so you can see all of the colourful coral that I’ve grown just for you? Should I present you to the schools of fish that always seek refuge around my house? Get them to revel in your beauty? Or maybe I’ll worship you in the den of our own personal sanctuary, where nothing - no one - will be able to interrupt.

My Beauty.

My Beautiful, Beloved Pearl.

I’ll admit, there’s a certain ring to those names that I enjoy. It calls to me like the cavernous songs of the sirens. An enchantment I can never seem to escape: you.

Not that I want to.

No. Never. Not since the very first time I laid eyes on you.

You’re addictive, you know that? One glance caught my attention. One melodic note of a spoken word, and I was hooked. Your eyes are deeper than the darkest sea, and I could swim in them forever. You hold me, transfixed, with your gaze whenever you look at me, and I never want it to stop.

Honestly, I can never grow tired of you looking at me. I want you to look at me, and only me. I want to be the first thing you see in the morning when you blink those glorious eyes open, and the last thing you see when you go to sleep at night. I want to wrap you in my arms and hold you close, whispering the sweetest words of all the worlds in your ears, and hear you do the same for me in return.

There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Beloved, and I will never hesitate to prove that to you. With me, you will never have to settle for less than what you deserve, for I will always give you every single thing your heart could ever desire.

Fuck- I can still remember the way your body trembled from the very first touch. The more I trailed my arms over your body, letting the tips of my tendrils caress your skin, the more your whole being warmed. You fit so perfectly in my hold, that I long to always touch you - to always be near you, and obey your every whim.

I am but your loyal servant, sent to worship the very depths of your soul. Your entire being calls to me, and I could bathe in your warmth for all eternity. Right now, it’s that warmth that I crave more than anything. That glorious nectar that seeps from between your legs beckons to me. One taste isn’t enough. I need to feel you flooding my every sense once more.

Sweet.

Addictive.

I could spend ages defining it, but nothing could ever truly put into words just how ethereal you are to me.

People always thought my existence was mere myth itself. Rumours and legends only meant to scare those away from pursuing adventure on the high seas. Nothing more than a fable to tell their children at night to ensure they don’t go off swimming in the bay alone.

They have always been, and will always be, wrong.

I’m as real at the tide, as sure as the sand that resides against the ocean floor. There is nothing in these waters as deadly as I am, and all those that oppose us will face my wrath.

Well, where we’re going, we won’t have to worry about being disturbed at all. Plenty of room for the both of us. Plenty of privacy. No one dares disturb that which should be left undisturbed. At least, those smart enough to.

That is, of course, unless I use my magic to let those sirens get a taste of their own medicine. Water echoes even the smallest of sounds, and yours should be heard for miles around. I can still hear your glorious voice calling out my name as you bathed me in your own sacred waters, and I want all to know that you are mine, and I am yours. For all eternity.

I’ll admit… I’m addicted to you, and I can never get enough. Though, from the way I remember your hands clinging to me that night only days ago, I don’t think you can get enough, either.

Good thing we have forever to spend fully satisfying each other!

Ah… looks like we’re finally getting close to home. I can see the familiar drop off up ahead. Don’t worry, Beloved, there’ll be plenty of air for you to breathe inside. I won’t always have to keep you covered in a veil of magic. Though, I would always like to have an arm around you. Feeling your skin pressed against my own is a sensation unlike any other, and I long to never let you go.

Perhaps I should tidy up a little more before you wake. I always have way too much energy after destroying a ship. Something about adrenaline and all that.

Perhaps when you wake up you could even help me with it… You might be a bit tired and disoriented when you wake, but my magic can help with your exhaustion. You seemed to like that that last time I used it on you.

How else could we have gone as many rounds as we did?

Oh, you flatter me by pulling yourself in closer to me subconsciously when I shift into such a basic form. It easier to move around like a human within my home when it’s drained like this, and besides, I haven’t exactly shown you my entire true form yet. The last thing I want to do is scare you as soon as you wake up. You’ve already suffered the trauma of being stolen away from me today. I don’t want to make things worse.

There. All you need to do is rest now.

In my arms? Well, who am I to pull away from My Pearl when you’re clinging onto me so tightly in your sleep?

I truly can never say no to you…

Just rest, Beloved. This creature shall keep you safe, tucked away deeply in his heart for all eternity. Once you open those glorious eyes of yours, our own adventure will start.

Just you and me, forever.

I promise.

#cultofdionysusnet #mfu-net #yandere felix #yandere stray kids #yandere skz #yandere kpop #felix smut #felix scenarios #skz smut #stray kids scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #kpop smut #kpop au #kpop scenarios #kraken au #chubby reader

468 notes · View notes