#and like. do i NEED to go to grad school to get a well-paying job in my field? no i have almost 7 yoe | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leonw4nter · 3 months

Text

The Cotton Candy Haze Mirrors The Warmth Of Your Gaze

RE2R!Leon x F!Reader

Coming back home from working 4 shifts in a single day for the fifth time this week, you went home looking and feeling like a hot mess– ponytail looking like you got into a fight and lost, eyes sunken in with dark bags underneath them, and pimples breaking out in several spots in your face and back. Despite how much your body craved a deep and restful sleep, you couldn’t give yourself that because grad school, especially medical school, won’t pay its own tuition along with living expenses. Juggling 4 odd jobs, along with working overtime for the sake of getting extra pay is really taking a toll on you: you’ve been cranky lately and you haven’t found proper time to be studying for the upcoming board exams, resorting to bringing all your books and notes in your bags so you’ll have time to read in case you’re free while still at work. Hell, you haven’t even found time to take Leon on dates due to how hectic and overwhelming everything is; you’re certain that the last time you and Leon spent some quality time cuddling together was three months ago. An icky guilt seeps into your weary bones, especially since Leon’s also taking up some jobs on the side to help with your expenses and along with his police academy’s costs but he still manages to make you meals, remind you to drink water, and drive you to wherever you need to be. With a frustrated groan, you fumble through your bag to look for your keys but unfortunately you couldn’t find it and deduced it to your forgetfulness, having left it at the bowl by the door back inside.

“Fucking hell,” you bitterly hiss. You were just about to knock at a neighbor’s door for the spare key you handed them but then you suddenly remembered that you haven’t had the chance to give them an emergency spare key yet since you were procrastinating on it, much to your disadvantage now. Exasperation causes tears to flood your waterline, your vision going blurry as you reach to contact Leon to tell him that you’ve been locked out but you forgo it, thinking that he’s probably had a long day as well and that he doesn't need another thing to be bugging him. You sink down by the door, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your sweatshirt before taking your notes out to start reviewing again since you’re free and waiting for him to come home. A few minutes pass and you hear the pad of footsteps nearing you. Swiftly, you place your notebook back in your bag and sling it over your shoulder, getting up and dusting your legs before seeing Leon’s kind smile beaming down on you like the first few rays of the sunlight on a new day.

“Hey, baby.” you softly mumble as you place a kiss on his cheek.

“Hi,” he says as he pulls you in for a quick hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Got locked out. Forgot to bring the keys. I also didn’t ask the neighbors for the keys since I didn’t give them spares yet,” you quietly admit. You look down at your feet, shame creeping in. “Leon’s had a long day and here you are, worrying him even more. Great job, Y/N. Real girlfriend of the year,” you glumly think to yourself.

“Oh– I forgot to tell you this too but I already gave the spares to the neighbors. You’ve been really busy lately so I decided to do it instead,” he says. “Sorry about that. It just slipped from my mind.”

“No. It’s fine, it really is.” you say with a tired yet genuine smile.

Leon fishes out his key from his backpack before slotting it into the keyhole and unlocking the door, opening it and letting you head in first. You slip out of your work shoes, placing your bag on the couch and collapsing right beside your things with a loud sigh.

“I’m so tired with everything,” you loudly groan as you cover your face with both hands and proceed to groan a little more. Leon walks over to the back of the couch, wrapping his arms from behind you and placing comforting kisses to your hair.

“Tell me what’s going on. I’m just going to sit here and listen,” he softly whispers as he lightly pats your shoulder.

With a deep sigh, you ramble on about everything that’s bothering you. Tears prick your eyes again and there’s more than one occasion to your voice breaking. He stays quiet, arms still wrapped around as he nods to whatever you say, occasionally pressing his lips into your head as you vent about whatever.

“I can’t afford a review center and I don’t have time to study before the board. I’m going to fail, Leon. I won’t end up somewhere,” you finish. You recline back into his touch, feeling like a ton of bricks has been lifted from your shoulders. Leon unwraps his arms around you for a bit, walking over to your place on the couch before pulling you in for a more proper hug as he delicately sways you from side to side.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s fine,” he softly mumbles. “You’ve been working and studying so hard. I can see all the effort you’re putting into making sure you reach your dreams and trust me, you will pass the board. You make time to study each day and I can see that you’ve got the drive to succeed, you can do this. Believe in yourself as much as I believe in you and your capabilities, okay?”

You sniffle, hugging back and staying silent for a bit before your shaky and slightly squeaky voice speaks up, the sound slightly muffled since you buried your face into the comforting scent of your boyfriend’s sweatshirt.

“But Leon, there’s more people who're smarter than me and they’re going to pass and I’m not going to. What if I’m not enough?” you say, which causes Leon to pull away from the hug and cup your cheeks in between his big and calloused hands.

“You’re going to pass. You’re smart, you’re my smart girl. There’s no way you’re not going to pass, okay? You will be a licensed nurse and you will reach your dreams. You’re more than enough for this and for me. Don’t let anyone and anything tell you that you’re not enough because you are. More than you’ll ever know.” He finishes with a small kiss to the tip of your nose before moving to your lips. Your own hand climbs up to lightly wrap around his wrists, maintaining comfortable eye contact.

“I’m sorry,” you softly tell him, your words coming out like a whisper.

“For what?” Leon says with a surprised smile. “You didn’t do anything wrong, love.”

“Yes I did, Leon.” you bashfully respond. “I haven’t been giving you much attention lately. You also do many things for me like driving me to school and doing my laundry but I don’t find the time to repay you. Just earlier, I got you worried because I was sitting just right outside the door when you already have a lot on your own plate. I’m just adding to that list of things that keeps you up at night and–”

Leon cuts you off by placing his index finger against your lips to shush you before gently moving you to be laying on his lap as he plays with your hair and scratches your scalp in the way he knows you love.

“Nope. I understand that you’ve gotta give a hundred percent of your attention to your studies, especially that your future job concerns human lives. I’m just doing my job by being here for you as your number one fan and making sure you still take care of yourself. I’m busy too but you’re not bothering me or causing me more stress, just the opposite actually. Now just lay on my lap and let me make you feel a lot better, yeah?” he softly says as he continues massaging your head, prompting your eyelids to drape over your eyes as you sigh in satisfaction.

“Unless you wanna have dinner first–”

“No. Let’s just stay like this for a bit.”

He continues to rake his fingers through strands of your hair, his fingers gently scratching your scalp and applying a good amount of pressure to your temples in order to effectively massage them. Most of the time, it’s you who’s giving Leon scratches and massages but it feels great to be at the receiving end of some pampering and loving from your boyfriend. He stops for a little bit, your eyes flying open to see Leon reach over to get a blanket to wrap you in it. Snuggling into the blanket, he continues his soothing ministrations to your head. You swear that if you were a cat and Leon was petting you in this way, you would purr so loud.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

You finally finished taking your board exams about a month ago and ever since then, you would eagerly open up your laptop or phone just to look at whether or not you passed. Each time, your fingers would wobble and your palms would sweat to the point you frequently wipe them on your pants so your phone wouldn’t slip out of your grip. Your thoughts would shift between the confidence that you passed since you reviewed and studied and practiced so much and the fear of failure, the icky feeling of being a failure with no direction in life eroding at the happiness you built for yourself but luckily Leon was always there to keep those crusty, self-deprecating tendencies at bay.

“You passed!” Leon practically screeches. With quivering hands he shoves his phone back into his pocket and lunges at you, almost toppling over the tables as he wraps you around in one of the best hugs he’s ever given you.

“Huh? What?” is all you could muster in this state of shock and surprise.

He pulls away and opens up your laptop, going straight to your email and the school portal where they released the list of passers. Sure enough, your last name is listed.

“My girl is going to become a licensed nurse!” he shouts with the proudest, most vibrant smile you’ve ever seen him smile.

Tears of pure, unadulterated joy spilled from your waterline and flowed down your cheeks, a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins whilst also feeling relief at the fact that you passed. Now it’s your turn to lunge at Leon, springing at him and tackling him with your arms tightly enveloped on his larger frame as you jump up and down, toppling over into the couch and hugging him even tighter due to the renewed sizzle of joy running through your person. After a few moments of laying on top of each other and smiling and pressing kisses into each other’s face, you get up and phone friends and family to tell them that you managed to pass the boards. Leon called up his own friends Ethan and Chris to tell them of your results, sending pictures. You hear Leon and his friends giggling on the other side of the room, squealing and giggling like school girls. His face, the tips of his ears, and neck are flushed a vibrant pink the more he talks about how proud he is of his girl. Many times he showed the email and your name on the passers list to his friends, cheers and congratulations being the reception whenever he did, much to his massive delight. Finally, you finish up phoning friends and family and go to Leon, pressing a passionate kiss to his soft baby lips upon his soft baby face. He could feel you grinning against him with each gentle smack; Leon quite never figured out if the beauty of your lips was more of their softness or their association with whatever words you spoke, which always pulled him under a spell he didn’t wish to surface from. You pull away, gazing deeply into eyes painted a soothing blue watercolor hue and not wanting to break this moment of peace, the sensations feeling intimate in a way more than the physical contact of bodies.

“I’m so proud of my girl. My smart, amazing, lovely, sweet girl who will be a nurse soon,” he softly whispers.

“I’m proud of myself too, Leon. Thank you for supporting me, helping me out, and being there for me when I needed you most. I couldn’t have done this without you,” you sincerely thank him.

“You’re a strong independent woman, Y/N. You don’t need anyone to get you somewhere because you carry yourself with an air of confidence and independence but I’m very thankful and lucky you let me in your life.”

“Gosh, Leon. You’re going to make me cry but thank you. I mean it so much. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“So… should we eat out? I’ve got some change to spare.”

“It’s on me. I’ve been saving up, I have a surprise for you but it won’t hurt to celebrate my Y/N’s passing.”

You smack his chest playfully, the blond laughing at his little joke.

“You made it sound like I died!”

“Oops. Looks like it might result in a grave misunderstanding.”

“God, let’s just get ready for dinner.”

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Leon's POV

I took her out to dinner that night, picking out a nice Korean grill for us to dine in since she enjoys Korean grills so much. Nothing felt more satisfying than seeing all her efforts pay off; all those readings and memorizations giving her the success she rightfully deserves. Right now, I’m seeing her devour her entire plate and in the blink of an eye she’ll get up to get seconds but I don’t mind; seeing her eat good food and indulge makes me feel happy. I feel satisfied, as if I don’t need to eat because her happiness is enough to keep me going for days on end. We’ve both decided to keep working some more jobs to be able to have more savings to add in our accounts so we could afford to move into a better place, probably nearer to Raccoon City since I’m going to be stationed there by next month. She doesn’t know this but I managed to prepare a little surprise for her, which is a 2 day camping get-away; deep in the forest, surrounded by trees, the stars shining above us, and the cold weather. She deserves a little break, we both do, so I planned this. I’m free for the next few days too so this is going to be perfect, I’m grinning just at the thought of it.

“What’re you smiling about?” she asks, but it comes out sounding a little difference since she’s got some food in her mouth.

“Nothing. You look beautiful tonight,” I respond, which isn’t exactly a lie. The buzz of glee just gives her this glow that makes me want to get on my knees and worship her like the goddess she is.

She gets back to eating, doing a little happy dance every now and then. She’s also insisted on feeding me, making sure I finish at least 3 plates because “one can never be too full”, which I appreciate since she just wants me to eat well and I want to have the energy to walk her around town tonight.

After dinner, we took a walk around town. I stopped by at a flower shop, getting her flowers as one of my many little gifts. It feels tempting to tell her about our little camping getaway coming up in a few hours but I want to build up an element of surprise and blissfully catch her off guard. The evening gets cold and a little quiet so I shrug off my jacket, draping it over her shoulders and making sure she’s all warm and toasty.

“You good?” I ask her.

“Yeah. Thanks,” she shyly says as she huddles into my jacket even more. I advised her to bring along a coat since the night could get a little chilly but she refused. As long as the cold won’t bother her and make her feel ill, I don’t really mind because I like seeing her in my clothes and having the smell of her perfume on my things. We take a few more strides, a comfortable settling between us as we walk hand in hand and go wherever our hearts desire. I turn my head and steal a lengthy glance from her; the delicate breeze sends her hair flowing smoothly like a poet’s ink and quill, the fine strands woven from spacetime and starlight as the streetlight’s luminescence bounces off; her body is absolutely perfect, worthy of all praises and respectful admiration with curves that mold in my hands just right but her genuine beauty is from within her heart; God, she’s captivating. She looks at me and I promptly look away, keeping my gaze trained on something else as heat is concentrated on the apples of my cheeks. I can hear a twinkling giggle from her, followed by her fingers pinching a cheek as she giggles even louder.

“You’re too cute, Leon. Gosh, you’re so adorable! You’re like– the most puppy-looking person I’ve ever met and I love that!” she squeals.

“Baby, my cheeks are hurting.” I say in a small voice.

She pulls her fingers away, gently running a hand over where she pinched and gave the spot a peck.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I know you can’t get enough of me.” I quip, followed by a wink.

“You��re not wrong but you’re one cocky person,” she says but a smile tugs at the corner of her lips.

“I’m your cocky person.”

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

A day later.

Hours ago, I woke her up at 4:45 AM so we could get ready. Of course, she was a bit disoriented because I didn’t say anything to her but after I told her about my little surprise, she practically launched from the bed and got ready immediately. She slept early last night– slept very soundly too, not a single noise rousing her from sleep. While she slept, I carefully slipped out of bed and packed everything we needed, her things included. It was kind of difficult, having to pack things quietly and move them to the car without causing much thudding but I managed to get it done in 3 hours. After several rounds of double checking everything and making sure there was nothing I left out, I finally made my way back up to our apartment and locked the doors to retire for the night. I could barely sleep due to the rush of giddiness coursing through my person but I forced myself to; after all, I’ll be the driver and it’s going to be irresponsible if I don’t.

Now, she’s sitting in the passenger seat with a blanket draped over her lap as she quietly drinks in the view that speeds right past the window. Everytime I see her and she innocently looks right at me, I feel a little antsy and nervous, having to feel around in my pockets and try to calm myself down. In an hour or two, we’ll get to the spot and then finally set our camp up before we start preparing the ingredients we’ll be using for cooking. The campsite we chose is a little more secluded, right by a lake that’s unfortunately too cold to safely swim in but that doesn’t take away the charm of the entire spot. The release of the board passers coincidentally going before the day of the trip I planned is a perfect coincidence, making this whole thing a celebratory trip for her but I want to add another thing to celebrate later so for now, it’ll stay as another secret.

Finally, I pull up at our spot and park the car. We carry our supplies and set up grills, our tents, and a spot to keep all of our food and drinks and utensils. We finish early so we set up the inside of our tent, placing a comfortable blanket on the floor so the bumpy and rigid ground doesn’t cause any of us back pains the following morning. All afternoon speeds past us as we spend the hours cuddling, Y/N saying something like how the weather is “perfect cuddle weather”. Soon, it’s nighttime and we finish up with everything: dinner, a quick towel bath (since the showering in this weather would get us both sick), so now we’re just sitting by the bonfire and huddling close.

“Thanks, Leon. Thank you for all this. A celebratory dinner was enough but I guess you decided to outdo yourself,” she says as she leans her head on my shoulder.

“This is nothing. Besides, you deserve this,” I say.

We sit in silence for a little bit before she speaks up again.

“We should celebrate some more wins in life, y’know. Even the little things, we should celebrate it one way or another. It doesn’t have to be this grand,” she tells me.

“Yeah. You’re right, we should celebrate wins in life,” I agree. This is it. “You’re a big win in my life, Y/N, and I want to celebrate you everyday.”

My hand slips into my pocket, my fingers feeling the velvet of a tiny box holding my promise of the world and forever to Y/N.

I can’t imagine ever growing old without you, nor do I desire to.

If all goes well, we’ve just given ourselves another reason to be celebrating.

NOTE - Woke up today to see that in a month, I've managed to hit a hundred followers!!!!!!! LET'S GOOOOO!!!!!!!!! Srsly so thankful for everyone who decided to follow me and read my fics, I love you and wish you well. I didn't expect to reach a hundred this early into my writing journey so this is so cool. I also told my mom that I write now and she seems supportive so I'm really happy with that. I guess this fic functions as a hundred-followers-special now :)) That's it and I hope you really enjoyed this fic. Again, thank you for the hundred followers!!!!! I couldn't have done it without you <3!!!

The chain dividers are made by @cafekitsune , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

172 notes · View notes

itsclydebitches · 11 months

Note

Any tips for new grad students? I'm about to start in the fall and I'm curious how it'll be different/hopefully better than undergrad!

Congratulations, anon!!!

Let's see... some alphabetical tips based on my own experience:

Ask for help. You'll likely have a million questions and, unfortunately, the designated people who can answer them are often crazy busy and may take a while to get back to you, or forget entirely. So don't be afraid to ask for help from whoever might even feasibly know the answer -- including tumblr blogs! You're off to a great start lol

Be on the lookout for advisors early. Whether you're just in need of a singular advisory for a thesis, or if you'll be putting a whole committee together, approach every new instructor with the question, "Would I want them to mentor me through my research?" in the back of your mind. Pay attention to not just their specialties and teaching methods, but who they are as a person. Do you like them? Are you comfortable with them? Do they treat you respectfully? Do they seem to have everything well in hand? I loved my advisor dearly as a person, but he was often waaaaaay behind on his work. Looking back, I would have at least considered choosing someone with better organization/time management skills.

Get good at writing emails. Can you write a succinct, professional sounding email? Great! Get comfortable doing that throughout the whole day. Feeling a little iffy? Practice over the summer. There are a lot of templates online that can help, but you'll want to ensure you're not going into grad school still writing "k thx" from your iPhone at 3:00am. (For the record, your professors may do this, the students should not lol).

Have designated, scheduled downtime. Literally if you don't plan to take a break... you won't be taking a break. Not until your body decides to take one for you, anyway. Friday nights were always my couch potato time. Absolutely no work allowed and no strenuous activity unless it was something I was legitimately excited about (so no getting pressured into outings I didn't actually want to attend). Friday nights were sacred, a time for takeout and only whatever else I felt like doing, usually TV, video games, and vegging out with my cat.

Imposter Syndrome is a BITCH. Luckily, pretty much everyone's got it to a greater or lesser extent, we all just need to acknowledge it more. You know those boards some schools have celebrating places where students have gotten in and other achievements? Yeah, we put one up for failures in our department. Literally a giant, glittery, "CONGRATS YOU DIDN'T GET IT!" board where we hung proposal rejections, grant rejections, school rejections, scholarship rejections, job rejections, and on one memorable occasion a date rejection. I highly recommend it. Nothing lessens the sting quite as much as seeing that you're a part of a sea of similar disappointments and remembering that you're all in the same, often luck-based boat.

Pick a non-academic hobby. Your mental health will thank you, trust me. Like the designated downtime, you need to be doing something that's not reading/writing/researching 24/7. Pick a hobby that in no way relates to academics or your chosen field, preferably something hands-on and creative. Grad school is when I picked up crocheting alongside knitting.

Prepare to hold down two jobs. This really only applies if you're going to be teaching while you get your degree (or if you have an outside job for the paycheck), but I was pretty blindsided by what it took to be a full-time student and a half-time instructor. I don't really have good advice beyond "Figure out your time management skills now" and "Don't pour all your energy into one or the other because the one you've neglected WILL come back to bite you in the ass," but even just being aware of how difficult it is going to be would have staved off the initial shock.

Read strategically. Perhaps this is different for someone not in the Humanities, but you will be reading a LOT in grad school. Like, an absolutely stupid amount. There simply will not be time to cover everything from title to footnotes (I know, it hurts), so get comfortable with reading abstracts, chapter summaries, skimming, and otherwise summarizing lengthy works to figure out what you should prioritize. Unless a whole article is assigned for class, figure out what you need from any given text -- or what you think you may need -- and hone in on that. You can always return to read more if you have the time.

SAVE EVERYTHING. Do not delete emails. Get copies of everything even remotely official. Print everything out. Buy yourself a couple of cheap file boxes, stick them under your bed, and keep it all just in case. What kind of things have I unexpectedly needed to dredge up weeks, months, or even years later? The printed paper with hand-written comments to justify a grade I gave. An ancient email from a committee member proving that they did in fact sign off on a certain chapter choice. A copy of the publication forms I signed for a book collection after those got lost on their end (somehow). Seriously, save everything. You'll never know when you may need proof of some communication you've had.

Take naps. That's it. That's the advice. Someone gives you shit for being "lazy" or tries to make you feel bad for "wasting" a sunny afternoon? Make them step on a Lego and then both of you take your nap outside. Naps are beautiful and sacred and life-saving. Just set a good alarm for whenever your next class/meeting is.

Work at making friends. Unlike high school or even college where you'll be spending the day with a core group of people, in graduate school (unless your school is really small) the students are a lot more spread out and there aren't as many built-in opportunities to socialize. So plan to put in more effort at connecting with others because you will want that camaraderie, both for practical help and your sanity. I didn't realize how much more I needed to do to get to know my peers until I was nearly finished my Master's. Luckily, my PhD threw me into an office with seven other grads, so I didn't have a choice about getting to know them lol

You're responsible for your own learning. You've gotten a taste of this in college, but grad school cranks it up to 11. You're an adult (not an "adult" adult like a college student) and you've committed to putting forth 2-7 additional years towards your education. The expectation is that you want to be here and will showcase the necessary effort without outside influence (unless you require accommodations, of course). Be prepared for your instructors to treat you like a peer, both when it comes to the fun stuff - intense debates about your field! - and the responsibilities they expect you to follow through on. In some ways grad school is nothing like college because you are now focused on one subject, you are working collaboratively with people who were once solely authority figures, and 95% of the work will occur outside the classroom via self-teaching. You're a professional now. Still being mentored, but well on your way to that equal standing. The sooner you realize that you are responsible for your own education and future career -- not your teachers, your parents, your BFF, your roommate, etc. -- the better.

Most importantly:

#school #teaching #grad school

188 notes · View notes

transmutationisms · 5 months

Note

what kind of person do you think should go to graduate school (just graduated summa cum laude (not bragging) and have no ability to do anything besides study and mope, really terrible at job interviews, have no idea what to do besides study more because it’s the only thing I’m alright at, have failed to secure job as a projectionist/apple salesperson/etc., unsure how everyone else manages to get along)

my honest advice here is always that you should view grad school as a means to a degree, and you should go to grad school only if you want that degree. it's not a path to personal fulfillment or some kind of idyllic life of the mind, it's a means to a specific professional qualification that requires a significant investment of your time, effort, and money. success in grad school is a matter of how well you are able to adapt to the demands of the institution; plenty of people who are passionate about their studies find grad school alienating, soul-crushing, or simply impossible. the skills you learn and use in grad school are generally intended to prepare you for future jobs in academia or related fields; this is not the same as simply pursuing knowledge for the love of it.

you should think of grad school as a job (even if you are looking at master's programs where you would be paying tuition) and the university as having the same inherently adversarial relationship to you as any other employer. you may very well decide it's a job you want (i did, and still do) but you should absolutely not pursue grad school if you're thinking of it as an escape or reprieve from having a job, or if you think academia doesn't have the same exploitation and bullshit as any other comparably white-collar professional setting.

if you do decide to pursue it, never attend a doctoral program that can't pay you (tuition waiver + stipend at the very least), and before committing anywhere always meet with their current grad students and ask what the department is really like for them. pursue a field you want to be immersed in for at least the next 5–10 years, but don't get suckered into thinking that passion and interest in your field guarantee success in the university, any more than they would at any other job. don't join a department where the faculty have beef with each other (you will need at least three of these people on your committee!) and do anything in your power to ditch any advisor or mentor who doesn't gel with you or treats you poorly.

#im not sure what field you're thinking about and there are some major structural differences in how certain fields operate but this is my #blanket advice

71 notes · View notes

gabessquishytum · 5 months

Note

A bit of a turn but this is where my mind's at. I love a bitchy, whiny Dream who puts himself and everyone down the moment he meets them. He doesn't like people or himself or much of anything really. It's all so fake and fictionalized. So to kinda get at that he picks up a job as a near nude waiter at a local strip club. He doesn't bother to attempt to understand why anyone would come here on their lunch break, but the hundreds he finds strapped into his g-string more than make up for it. Besides, the club is damp and dark with nothing but the disco lights illuminating these fuck ugly guys who make up their clientele. It pays for his lifestyle well enough and if he gets fired then he has his trust fund to fall back on. So he really doesn't give a shit about being nice. People seem to like that anyway.

Hob is one of those people. Bouncing for a strip club was one of the last jobs he thought he would ever take, but the money is good. He doesn't need to carry a weapon unlike the numerous other security jobs he's taken before, and the weird hours allow him to keep up with grad school. But he's so close to getting his doctorate that once he submits his dissertation, he's free to take a job teaching somewhere else. He's thinking somewhere warm and sunny.

That also means he's going to be giving his two weeks soon and he has eyes for one of he coworkers. The skinny brunette that bristles from even a fraction of attention. That's the one he wants. It's not like Hob doesn't know him, despite the security staff usually being busy with the guys attempting to grab the dancers, he's had to deal with a few people who got a little too handsy with their waitresses. So he's had to save Dream's ass more than he's had the opportunity to stare at it.

So he buys a bunch of flowers, dresses up in a nice suit and saves a decent bit of pay to come in on his off day. He manages to score Dream's section and he waits. When his crush finally comes around, Hob loses a bit of nerve and fesses up to Dream what he's doing, but sans the detail that it's for him. Dream laughs at him and calls him all sorts of names like simp. Though he finds it kinda adorable how sincere Hob is about confessing to his crush. He takes his break at the table and negs Hob for details relating to his crush. Apparently he's tall, pale, and angled in all the right points. Hob will not shut up about his petty blue eyes or his sharp wit. He conveniently doesn't tell Dream that he's a coworker, which makes Dream so mad! Hob is sitting here, in a strip club, instead of going out to confess his feelings. He shoves Hob out of the club and table before he even gets his drink and demands Hob to finally come clean about his feelings!

Later that night, when his shift is over and he's changing in the dressing room, he's still thinking about Hob. Maybe he's different then all the men who grab at his ass or make lewd comments when he brings out their food. He has been one of the few bouncers who actually do something when he and his coworkers complain. There's someone genuine about him that makes it hard for Dream to want to bully him.

He goes outside for a cigarette, and who should be there but Hob with his bouquet of ruby red poppies (dreams favorite) and a light for him.

- 🤜 Anon

This feels like such a good addition to the picture in my head I'm building of simp!Hob. Particularly if he's able to actually win Dream’s heart! Just imagine how annoyed Dream would be to find that he's got a stupid crush on this ridiculous man. He's muttering to himself in the mirror about how love is fake and the world is shit and nothing matters. And then he thinks about Hob’s eyes and catches himself smiling...

So, when he finds Hob waiting for him, he concedes. He'll allow one date. And Hob is the perfect gentleman, so he takes Dream for a nice meal - maybe they have to go somewhere that opens late, but it's still nice. Hob nudges Dream into ordering pancakes and a milkshake. They talk about Hob’s future teaching job and how kids suck but they can be ok actually.

It's a nice date, but Dream’s cynicism tells him that Hob probably just wants to fuck him. He's just cleverer and more patient than the guys who try to pull him at the club. He's willing to spend a little time before he tries to get Dream into bed. So Dream gets right back to negging Hob about how he's wasted his money because Dream doesn't intend to put out.

But Hob just laughs and says he's way too tired to be thinking about sex. He steals one of Dream’s cigarettes when they go outside, and walks him all the way home while cheerfully talking about how he can't wait to get away from London and shitty weather. Dream is perplexed, annoyed, cringing about how fucking chipper Hob is... but he's also kind of warm and soft inside. Especially when Hob kisses his cheek goodnight.

Dream is actually looking forward to seeing him again. Ugh. And he thinks that maybe he wouldn't mind if Hob touched him? He pictures Hob’s strong sturdy hands wrapping around his waist and his cheeks turn bright red just like poppies.

Well fuck. He's going to have to think hard of some bitchy things to say to Hob, because right now all he can think of is... that he wants Hob to simp over him! The horror!

#🤜 anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft

84 notes · View notes

estrellaskys · 8 months

Text

Things aren’t so Sunny

part one

wonwoo x femreader

warnings: none? please let me know if there is any

genre: pregnancy, angst, lovers to exes

note: this is all fiction!

note: another one from my drafts, it was really long so I split it into two parts, it’s not edited, will comeback later to post the second part, and edit.

Wonwoo remembers it vividly.

past

The tears falling from your eyes staining your cheeks, the worried tone in your voice as you told him “what are we going to do?”

Wonwoo’s gut churned in a horrid pace. He didn’t know. You were pregnant with his child and he didn’t know what he was going to do.

————

Three years, that’s how long your relationship with Wonwoo was. You met through mutual friends, and eventually got really close to each other, close enough for feelings to develop and a relationship to blossom.

Twenty one, that’s how old the both of you were when you became pregnant. Too young, almost done with college, only a week away from graduation.

Wonwoo’s heart was filled with guilt and dread. He felt like he messed up bad, he couldn’t believe you were pregnant. Wonwoo felt sad for you as he watched you cry into his chest.

Maybe you should’ve recognized the look of pity when he grabbed your face and said “I promise we’ll get through this together.” Maybe then you would have prepared for what came after.

————

Just like he promised, Wonwoo was there for you when you needed him, he went with you to all the doctors appointments, he walked to the store to get you what you craved, say the word and he was there.

Your friends helped too, Naya and Soonyoung would come with gifts for the baby. The cute yellow onesies and toys for the baby. Soonyoung nicknamed your baby “Sunny”, because they brought so much joy to him even though they haven’t been birthed yet.

Sunny stuck, everyone around you would call your baby Sunny.

Unfortunately, not everyone was brought joy at the thought of Sunny coming.

You were about to be four months, September was just around the corner, you had been looking for apartments that were bigger now with the baby growing each day.

It was on a Saturday, around 2 p.m when you got a call from Wonwoo, “Hey love, I’m going to be out of work at 5 instead of 3… I won’t be there on time.” You smiled at the sound of his voice and said “It’s okay Won. Naya is coming with me, Love you.”, “Bye” he said and clicked.

With that, you got ready to go see the apartment your friends found that thought would be perfect for the three of you.

Wonwoo however, was not at work, in fact he was looking for something as well.

A new job, for the past month Wonwoo has been applying for a job that would suit his degree, he had planned on going to graduate school the next school year but plans obviously got pushed back.

So, he was going to use his bio-tech degree to get a decent paying job that supports the three of you. Then he got an interview with this big company, that offered great money for someone who just graduated college, but this position would have him leave the country for three years to Europe.

It’s been a week since the offer, and on Friday, when he was thinking about Sunny. It hit him that in less than 7 months he’d welcome Sunny into the world.

Wonwoo could just not do it, he didn’t want to become a father. Not at twenty one years old, not before he finished grad school, he wasn’t ready.

So Wonwoo took the offer, and booked a flight for Sunday at 1:00 a.m to France.

It was 4.pm and you weren’t home, he gathered the things he wanted to keep, and took what he needed and packed it in two suitcases. In his travel bag he put his favorite book, you had bought him a new one, the hard cover this time, the paper one he had was falling apart and you felt bad at how he struggled to keep it together. When Wonwoo was done packing, he went to the kitchen table and left a letter. He knew you’d bring take out and head straight to the table, he wanted you to find it.

With that, Wonwoo left and never once looked back.

————

You got home and immediately set the food she brought home to share with Wonwoo on the kitchen table.

What’s that? You thought

A letter that read “To My Love”

Grabbing it and opening it, you read the letter

Dear My Love,

I didn’t know how to tell you and I didn’t want you to be in the dark about it, but I can’t do this. I love you, and I’ve come to love our baby, Sunny. I know I’m not ready to be a father. I’m sorry, I don’t think Sunny deserves someone that isn’t prepared for the real world, I can’t lie to the both of you. I can’t do that to you. I love you. - Wonwoo

The tears fell down your face, your heart broken, your stomach boiling with anger and hatred, the sadness your soul was to become.

You didn’t bother to call him, you just couldn’t bother, it took all the strength in you not to search for him, with the help of Soonyoung and Naya, Sunny was going to have a happy life, one where she wouldn’t need a dad, one where Wonwoo would need her.

As you sat on the couch, you searched in your bag for your phone, when you found it and grabbed it to call Naya, you accidentally grabbed the piece of paper you were going to show Wonwoo.

“Sunny, our baby girl”

part two here

#svt fic #seventeen au #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fic #svt au #svt fanfic #wonwoo au #wonwoo fic #wonwoo x oc #wonwoo angst #svt angst #seventeen angst

99 notes · View notes

karmic-vibes · 1 year

Text

The Doctor Nurse is In

one-shot inspired by this prompt, ft steve w glasses. enjoy.

cw: drug and alcohol use, vomit/general symptoms of being hungover

wc: 1.9k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

———————————————————————

Steve had dreamed of being a nurse for as long as he could remember. Growing up, he’d tell everyone who would listen about his aspirations, and people always told him to dream bigger.

“A smart, handsome man like you shouldn’t be a nurse. Try for doctor!”

“Have you considered getting a Ph.D instead?”

“Why nurse? It’s a job for chicks!”

Regardless of what he was told, he never listened. He stuck to his hopes and dreams, committed to four years of undergrad, and was now finishing up his clinicals.

During his rotations, he fell in love with emergency medicine, despite initially wanting to go into neurology.

Now, here he was. A fresh grad, finishing up clinicals before officially going for his R.N., and suffering through a rotating schedule, landing him doubles every other weekend.

In terms of Indiana hospitals, Hawkins Memorial was the best-of-the-best. People were shipped in from all over the state to be treated by their staff in all departments. It didn’t help that they were the only trauma hospital for miles, meaning all the chaos that went down in Indianapolis on the weekends got shipped up to them.

As Steve sat at the intake desk, completing some unfinished reports from the first half of the shift, dreaming of none other than his bed and pillow, he heard the 800-EMS radio go off. He slightly turned his head, paying half attention to it—another drunk was on their way in. He rolled his eyes, pushed his glasses further up on his nose, before resting his chin in his hand.

He began to doze off mid-report before Dr. Nancy Wheeler ran over to him, urging him into the trauma room. Steve shot up, stumbled out of his seat, and followed her down the hall.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked.

“You know that band that was performing at the Dome tonight?”

“I don’t necessarily know who they are, but yeah, I know there was a performance tonight. Why?”

“Well…” She slid open the door to find a half-conscious rockstar on the stretcher. “He’s out of his mind on god-knows-what and his agent was saying how he bit a bat during his performance.”

“What‽”

“Mhmm.”

“I… what?”

“Mmm…” The patient groaned, slowly stirring awake.

“We pushed twenty of narcan, so he’s slowly coming to.”

“You seem to have this covered… why do you need me?”

“Well, you’re babysitting him until he wakes up. Make sure he doesn’t choke on vomit or stop breathing or anything like that.”

“Uh… okay…”

“And I wanted to further prove your theory of only drunkards coming in on the weekends,” Dr. Wheeler smirked. “Call me if you need me. Security will be right outside the door. Let me know when he wakes up.”

“Can I at least go get my reports I need to finish?”

“I’ll have Joyce drop them off on her next set of vital rounds.”

“That’s not for another hour!” Steve whined.

“Watch him, Harrington. That’s an order.”

“Yes, doc,” Steve sighed, sitting in the uncomfortable hospital chair. He leaned over to glance at the patient’s bracelet. “Edward J. Munson. Well, Edward, we’re about to be buddy-buddy for the next seven hours,” Steve muttered to himself.

Steve sat back, watching the saline slowly drip in the chamber. He occasionally counted Eddie’s breaths by watching his chest rise and fall—god, he hated babysitting duty.

During Joyce’s next vitals round, she handed Steve his bundle of paperwork. He clicked his pen and continued where he left off. Joyce raised a brow at Steve before directing her attention to Edward.

“How’s he doing?” she asked.

“He’s fine—just drunk and probably high,” Steve mumbled, glaring at his papers. “Do you have the last set of vitals for room three?”

“Yeah, here.” She handed her notebook over to the boy.

“Thanks, Joycie, you’re my savior.”

“Hmm, I’m sure I am, Stevie,” she teased.

“How’s Will? Doing okay in school?” Steve asked, trying to make polite conversation.

“Yeah, he’s doing fine. Struggling a bit with making new friends.”

“Why? He’s such a sweet kid.”

“People keep teasing him, saying he’s gay, and ugh, it’s stupid.”

“I’m sorry, Joyce… that can’t be easy on him.”

“It’s okay. He’s a strong boy, he’ll make his way through it.” She sighed before taking Edward’s blood pressure. “Ready for his vitals?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Steve clicked his pen.

“Heart rate is one-twenty, blood pressure is one-ten over seventy-two, and respirations are–”

“Twelve, I know that one. Thanks, Joyce. I hope things get better with Will.”

“You and me both, sweetie. See you in two hours.”

“See ya.”

Steve poured his attention back into his mountain of paperwork for another hour or so before he heard Edward stir in his bed. He slowly blinked before muttering complete nonsense to himself.

“Morning, sunshine,” Steve said, scribbling down the time he woke up. He slid open the trauma room door and leaned against the doorframe. “Can you get Dr. Wheeler down here, please?” he asked the security guard.

“On it,” he said.

“Yer cute,” Edward chortled. He tilted his head, making it glaringly obvious he was checking out Steve’s ass in his scrubs.

“Mr. Munson–”

“Uck, so formal. Call m’Eddie,” he mumbled.

“Eddie, how’re you feeling?” Steve walked over and took his pulse.

“Better now th’I have a cute doctor to look at.”

“I’m not a doctor.”

“A nurse! Even better,” he chuckled.

“So, Eddie, do you remember what happened tonight?”

“Hehe,” he giggled to himself.

“Eddie?”

“I did some stuff.”

“What stuff?” Steve sighed in frustration.

“Drank some beer, did some drugs.”

“What kind of drugs?”

“Hmm,” he hummed.

“No judgement. What’d you take?”

“I dunno, dude,” he whined. “Will you go out with me?”

“No.”

“C’mon, cutie, go out w’me.”

“Sorry, I don’t go out with people who have rabies. It’s my best friend’s number one fear.”

“I have rabies…” Eddie‘s jaw dropped, drool pooling at the corners of his mouth. His pupils were still blown from whatever he took, and his eyes were glossed over.

“No, you don’t have rabies,” Dr. Wheeler said.

“Maybe, we’re still running some tests,” Steve added.

“You probably don’t have rabies,” she corrected. “Mr. Munson, I’m Dr. Nancy Wheeler, I’ll be your physician for the evening.”

“Why’s everyone so goddamn formal,” he scoffed. “‘m Eddie, pretty lady!”

“Yeah, you have fun with him, Stevie. Thanks for letting me know he’s awake. Let me know if anything else major happens.”

“Wait, I’m still stuck watching him‽”

“Yes, you are. Call me if anything changes.”

“Ugh,” Steve huffed, running his hands through his hair.

“You’re so mean, Steeevie,” Eddie snickered. Steve rolled his eyes before returning to his seat. “‘s okay, jokes on you, I’m very much attracted to evil.”

“I’m not evil,” Steve said.

“Whatever y’say, big boy.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Y’hear me,” Eddie hiccuped. “So why won’t you go out with me?”

“I already told you.”

“But why,” Eddie whined.

“One, you’re not sober. Two, you probably have rabies. Three, you’re my patient. It’s not happening.” Eddie started laughing. “What’s so funny?”

“Y’never said that ‘m not your type.”

“I… what?”

“I’m your type,” he teased.

“Please,” Steve scoffed, pink tinting his cheeks. “You have no idea what my type even is.”

“Yeah, I do. ‘s me.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Hmm,” Eddie hummed contently.

Steve ignored Eddie laughing to himself and went back to his paperwork. Eddie was moved to a regular E.R. treatment room shortly after, still needing Steve to babysit him. Around five in the morning, Steve managed to get all caught up on his patient care reports, and Eddie was in a deep sleep. He just had to ride out the last two dreadful hours of his shift.

Right around six, Eddie started to stir awake, moaning and groaning for something to throw up into. Steve rushed to hand him the basin on his bedside table. As Eddie spewed his insides into the pale pink bucket, Steve grabbed onto his hair, pulling it back into a bun.

“Thanks,” Eddie whimpered, spitting out some bile.

“No problem,” Steve said.

Eddie went back to heaving as Steve gently rubbed his back, trying desperately to soothe him. After five never-ending minutes, Eddie flopped onto his back, heaving, trying desperately to catch his breath.

“You okay?” Steve whispered, dampening a washcloth.

“Mm, been better,” Eddie groaned.

“C’mere.”

Steve gently held his chin in his hands as he cleaned up the vomit from the rockstar’s face. Eddie faintly smiled at him as a silent token of gratitude.

“Thanks…”

“Mhmm.”

Steve picked up the basin and threw it into the biohazard bin before removing his gloves and washing his hands. He ripped a few paper towels from the machine and leaned onto the counter.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Like shit.”

“Mm, I’m sure. Wanna tell me what you took last night?”

“Lord, I dunno. Some coke, some molly, and a joint… maybe two.”

“Fun night?”

“You could say that,” Eddie smirked.

“Do you know if the weed was laced with anything?”

“I know one had traces of fent or morphine. I dunno which one.”

“That explains why the narcan worked,” Steve sighed. “And to drink?”

“Dude, I dunno, I lost count. A lot.”

“And the bat?”

“That what?” Eddie mumbled.

“People said you bit into a bat.”

“Who the fuck told you that?”

“The doctor I work under and your manager-agent person.”

“No, I didn’t bite into a fucking bat. I’m sure I said I did, but I was so high, nothing I was saying was true.”

“Gotcha…”

Steve took a deep sigh as the words rang in his ears.

Nothing I was saying was true.

Did he not think Steve was cute? Did he not want to go out with Steve? Sure, Steve shot him down each time, but for once—since high school—someone found him desirable. He felt wanted.

Eddie quickly pulled Steve out of his thoughts by snapping and waving in his face.

“Hello?” Eddie raised a brow. “Earth to Stevie?”

“Yeah, sorry, what?”

“Nothing, you just zoned. Can I get some water?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. You want ice too?”

“Ice would be nice,” he smiled.

“I’ll be right back.”

Steve finished out his shift, handed care of Eddie over to the next person doing their clinical rotation and went home to his sweet, sweet bed. Two days later, he was back in the hospital for his next set of shifts—this time, however, they were during the week and during the day.

He had never been more relieved.

No more drunkards. No more babysitting. No more Eddie.

When his shift ended that fateful Wednesday night, he made his way out to his car to find a familiar face leaning against the driver’s side door, puffing away at a cigarette.

“Hey!” He cheered, throwing his cigarette to the asphalt.

“Uh… hi? Wh-What are you doing here, Eddie?”

“I wanted to apologize and say thanks… y’know, for Sunday night.”

“Oh, it was no problem. Literally just my job.” Steve nodded and stuck his hands in his scrub pockets.

“Can I buy you a drink? Just as a thank you—i-it doesn’t need to mean anything.”

“Y’know, a drink right now sounds lovely. Lead the way, Munson.”

“My pleasure, big boy.” Steve froze in his tracks, staring blankly at Eddie. “Don’t think I forgot everything from last night, Stevie.” He winked before opening the passenger door to his jet-black corvette for Steve. “After you, cutie.”

———————————————————————

taglist: @steviesbicrisis

a/n: may make a part two. not too sure yet. anyways, hope y’all enjoyed!

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #eddie st4 #eddie stranger things #gay #st4 #lgbtq #lgbt pride #steddie #joe kerry #joseph quinn #joyce byers #winona ryder #will byers #noah schnapp #netflix #nurse Steve Harrington #rockstar eddie munson

395 notes · View notes

dawn-moths · 1 year

Text

“Ivory for Ebony, Rust for Gold”

Undertaker x Female Reader

*this is a prologue to my “Cause to Start a Vendetta” series.

word count: 15,400+

(Struggling to pay this month’s rent and fighting about who among you and your roommates needs to pick up some extra hours at work, one of them makes a harsh comment that you should just get a sugar daddy to deal with your financial troubles since that’s all you’re probably good for. To her it was just a hurtful, sarcastic remark. But to you, it's an idea, an opportunity for revenge in its own twisted way. Because if you were going to let someone tell you what to do, they could at least be willing to treat you to some nice clothes and expensive dates. So when you match with the mysterious and dark yet beautiful and wealthy “Undertaker” on a dating app and he actually extends the invitation to take you out, how could you possibly deny?)

content warning/disclaimer: 18+ content! minors dni! most of this is fluff with smut at the end, dating apps, daddy kink, sub/dom dynamics, size kink, loss of virginity.

*ao3 mirror*

***

Your alarm went off at eight AM.

You could say “bright and early” if not for the fact that the sky that blanketed London was a pale, gloomy grey more often than not.

You jabbed at the screen of your phone to silence the irritating shrill of the alarm, heaving out a deep sigh as you rolled over and sat on the edge of your bed, running your fingers through your tousled hair to try and untangle some of the knots that had formed during sleep.

Another day… You thought to yourself, despondent as you stared in a daze out the window, black cabs dotting the streets as they mixed in with the traffic of people on their way to work or school.

You and a college friend of yours had tossed around the idea of moving in together in London for a few semesters before you’d both finally pulled your meager funds into one pot and committed to it. You’d had to find a third member to join the flat if you wanted to be able to afford it, and your friend had known someone who seemed like she’d be a good match.

And it had been fun, at first— a new and exciting experience that had led to so many late nights out hopping from clubs to pubs and somehow stumbling your way back to the apartment with only half the night’s memories intact.

You’d met so many interesting people, made a few new friends, had gotten used to weekend get-togethers and house parties that you’d thought would last forever.

But again, that was in the beginning.

Y’know, when you’d still had some extra money in your bank account to play with— to burn.

Now, nearly two years later, all three of you were struggling.

Because the days of bar hopping in the tightest minidresses you owned and having handsome strangers buy you round after round of whatever you were in the mood for that night had seemingly come and gone. There hadn’t been an invite to a weekend hangout or a house party in what felt like forever. At least, not one that you had time to attend.

Because all your lives now only consisted of two things— school and work.

And you were getting tired of both.

The sound of your roommates chatting quietly out in the kitchen beyond your bedroom door pulled you from your daze momentarily as you tried to hone in on what they were saying. They spoke with a hushed kind of urgency— the perfect tone to use when discussing secrets.

You snuck up to the door and pressed your ear to the crack, listening in.

“Well I don’t have time to pick up any extra hours with my schedule!” the girl who was the friend of your friend insisted, the words whispered with the intention to be taken as a very quiet shout. “Not to mention I have a ton of stuff to do before grad school!”

“Yeah, and I’m about to start my senior thesis which is gonna eat up all my free time so I can’t get another job either…” your actual friend countered, sounding more conflicted than riled up.

You then heard your name being thrown around, something about how you were the one who seemed most likely to be able to pick up some of the slack.

You didn’t like where this conversation was going yet you couldn’t stop listening. Couldn’t make yourself known to be eavesdropping yet either.

“She doesn’t even care about school!” Your third roommate continued, clearly upset with the situation but willing to throw you into the fire if it meant sparing herself. You’d found out after a couple months of living with her that she was the top of her class, teacher’s pet type. The days she didn’t brag about the prestigious grad school she’d gotten into were few and far between. “We all know she’s a C’s get degrees kind of girl anyway. She should be the one who has to go out and get another job, not one of us who actually have a career waiting after graduation.”

That particular dig cut you especially deep.

Sure, you might not’ve been the most studious member among your flatmates, but you had your own set of strengths.

Like, for instance, you could sweet talk your way out of getting written up for being late for class almost every single time. It didn’t matter which professor was chewing you out for skipping a lecture or not turning an assignment in on time, you’d mastered how to get off with a warning with each and every one of them.

And you were great at fashion advice. If it wasn’t for your knack for perfectly balanced color combinations and precisely pieced together aesthetics when it came to jewelry and clothing then your roommates would’ve never gotten past any of the bouncers that guarded the entrances to the popular nightclubs you all used to frequent. You could turn even the most timid and awkward girl into a drop dead gorgeous ten with the right hairstyle and shade of lipstick.

And— and this part was what made the comment that had just been said about you particularly hard to swallow— you were always there for your friends. You’d been their shoulder to cry on so many times, had taken them out for milkshakes and a movie after a breakup or saved them from having a one night stand with some fuck boy that you knew was just going to hump ‘em and dump ‘em because you practically made it your job to stay up to date on all the latest rumors and juiciest gossip.

But, despite the harshness of their opinion on your academic skills, you knew that, with the full context, they were right.

Because rent was almost due again and you’d all just barely scraped by for the past couple of months.

That was the price you paid for living in the heart of the city— the city that you barely even went into anymore since, despite what they thought you did with your free time, you were trying to study a little more, maybe earn yourself a B instead of skating by with C’s…

When they’d asked you if you wanted to renew the lease for another year, you’d just said yes, not wanting to have to scramble to find new people to live with or move back into campus living where you couldn’t even have your own space.

But now things were getting desperate.

Tensions were rising among all of you over this and you didn’t want to have to be the one to give in when you felt like you were just getting motivated to try and raise your GPA.

But you knew you would, in the end. Because you always gave in, let them bully you into submission as they talked you in circles and convinced you that it would just be for a little bit, that you’d only have to take a couple extra shifts until you guys were all caught up.

“Alright, well, just let me talk to her about it…” your friend suggested, sounding sort of sympathetic, though she still wasn’t willing to take on the extra responsibility so long as there was someone else available to carry the weight. “I don’t think she’s gonna be happy about it though—”

Both of their heads turned to stare at you as your bedroom door swung open.

“Who won’t be happy about what?” you asked then, trying to act innocent but still letting a little edge of irritation slip into your tone.

The stiffened posture of your startled roommates softened a bit as they sighed.

“It’s the rent…” your friend went to say. “We’re not gonna be able to pay it this month unless—”

“You need to pick up some more hours at work,” the pushier of the two cut in, crossing her arms and giving you a stern look which only flared the crackling embers of your annoyance.

But the longer she glared at you, just like always, you could feel yourself beginning to back down. You wanted to be able to hold your ground, to tell her that she had no right to make such demands of you, but instead you just averted your gaze and let her keep trying to tell you what to do. “It won’t be forever, just until we can catch up on the bills. I’m too busy with all of my already existing school and work obligations and she—” She gestured to your friend who was looking at you apologetically. “She’s got her senior thesis to work on.”

Your little hands were nervously fidgeting with themselves— a habit you’d long been attempting to break since it was a dead giveaway for your anxiety— but you forced yourself to look back up at your rudely assuming roommate as you protested, a slight scowl twitching timidly on your brow, “Well… I’m still in school too. And I have a big test coming up. I don’t think I—”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed, shooting you a condescending smirk. Her words only became even more patronizing as her tone liltingly insulted, “We all know that the only reason you’re even still going to class is because Mommy and Daddy are paying your tuition and you feel bad about letting them down.” You flinched at the sheer audacity of her assumption— even if the part about your parents paying for your education was correct— and felt tears threaten to well in your vision, the back of your nose pickling with the unpleasant emotion.

“That’s not—” you tried to say, but she interrupted again, clearly in the mood to get out all the horrible things she’d ever thought about you in that particular moment.

“And your little cutesy, innocent act doesn’t really work. Not on me, at least.” Your actual friend then shot your roommate a warning glare as she hissed her name. Still, she continued, stepping closer to you as you stood in the doorway and fought to hold back your frustrated tears. “You think I don’t hear you through the wall when you’re on the phone with whoever talking about how—” she then went to imitate your voice in a dumb, high pitched, mocking tone, “you just like, really wish you could drop out already because you don’t even like what you’re studying and this is totally a waste of your time.”

“That’s enough!” your friend raised her voice over the unnecessarily cruel argument. But your roommate wasn’t done showing her true colors just yet. She was going to paint over you with all her harsh, petty shades until even your tears couldn’t wash away the bleak pigment.

“I mean, really. I don’t get how you even got accepted into this school to begin with.” She was standing over you now, glaring down at you as her condescending comments finally pulled the tears from your eyes to streak shimmering lines down your cheeks in pairs. “You’d do better for all of us if you just quit now and worked full time. Then at least you’d be serving a purpose other than desperately trying to hook up with one of the sport’s team captains or offering favors to your professors in exchange for a barely passing grade.”

“I never—!”

“Don’t try and act like that’s not the truth! You just—”

“I said that’s fucking enough!” Both you and your bitch of a roommate turned to look at your friend, who wore an expression of genuine anger now. Her eyes were wide and her shoulders shaking as she nudged her way past the bully who’d just berated you to stand by your side, putting her arms around you as you tried to silence the sobs that were hitching in your chest and scowling hard at the girl who was responsible for breaking you.

“Don’t talk to her like that!” she went on, now shouting and causing your roommate to back down a bit. “Just because she doesn’t feel the same way about school as you do doesn’t mean she doesn’t have the same right to an education! Maybe if you got down from your high horse once in a while you’d realize that you’re not the only one who’s stressed out right now!”

You were glad that your friend was actually defending you so openly. In the past, when your roommate had made little remarks about you to your face or behind your back, your friend hadn’t had it in her to tell her off. She’d just come to you when you were sulking in your room and offer to console you privately.

Still though, after what had just been said, you doubted you could stand to live under the same roof as her for much longer.

The worst part was that you couldn’t just up and leave. Then you’d be abandoning your friend, aside from breaking a lease, and you couldn’t do that to her right now. Not when it was still a struggle to pay the rent with all three of you.

“I’m sorry, but it didn’t sound like you were very willing to go out and get another job!” your confrontational roommate continued. “And I don’t know how many times I have to repeat the fact that I can’t do it because I—”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it!” your friend shot back, still embracing you in solidarity. “You’re smarter and more important than everyone! Would you just get a grip?”

“Oh so now you’re just gonna act like you weren’t agreeing with me two seconds ago?!”

“Y’know what, you’re such a—!”

“Please stop!” you bellowed over the bitter arguing. Your face was a mess, all tear-streaked and red from embarrassment and anger. “Just stop it! Please…”

You began to wipe away your tears, sniffling and trying to catch your breath so you could get a clear sentence out while you had both of their attention.

“I’ll do it, alright…” you caved, shooting the instigator a scathing glare. “I’ll get some extra fucking hours. Just stop talking to me like I’m stupid!” You’d looked your horrible, hurtful roommate in the eyes as you’d spit the word, hoping it sounded like a warning to back off more than a pitiful plea to leave you alone.

She rolled her eyes and scoffed at your sensitivity, turning to grab her bag and head out the door as she added on one final jab at your character, “If you don’t wanna work, why don’t you just make this easier on all of us and find yourself a sugar daddy to pay for your share of the rent? Shouldn’t be hard, given your track record.”

Your friend called after her to come back and apologize as the door to the flat slammed and she disappeared from your sight. You never wanted to see her again, hoped she got hit by a cab or a bus on her way home. When you realized how evil that sounded, you hoped she failed her next test or assignment instead. That would kill her in its own way. And, god, you were just so angry. Because you’d given in again, and to someone who’d said such awful, unforgivable things about you no less.

“I’m so sorry that she said all of that…” your friend attempted to comfort you again as you retreated into your room to change into some clean clothes and aggressively shove your books into your bag. “I’m gonna talk to her. Get her to apologize. And, look, you don’t have to pick up extra hours at work. I know you hate that job. We’ll figure something out, ok…”

You were just about to sadly assure your friend that she didn’t have to go that far. That you’d just take some additional shifts but that the moment you could get out of the lease, you would.

But then your roommates insults came back to you, echoing around in your head until the sarcastic slander turned into a mischievous motivation.

Why don’t you just make this easier on all of us and find yourself a sugar daddy to pay for your share of the rent?

There were apps for that, ones that you could specifically swipe through profiles of wealthy men looking for young, cute girls like yourself until you matched with one. You knew other girls who’d done it, who’d gotten a pair of diamond earrings or a five star dinner date out of it at the very least, if not a casual relationship.

If they could do it, then why couldn’t you?

Shouldn’t be hard, given your track record.

What she’d said about the hookups and the favors weren’t true. You just had a natural talent for getting what you wanted from men, young or old. You knew how to look up at them through your long lashes and give those cute little giggles when they said something that wasn’t even really that funny. You knew which skirts or dresses to wear that drew them to you, made them lose their train of thought as they ogled your appearance, wishing— dreaming— that you’d let them close enough to see what was underneath.

But you always knew when to pull back, when to leave them wanting more.

You were a bit of a tease, sure, you couldn’t deny that. But you weren’t a slut like your roommate seemed to think you were, letting anyone with a dick just stick it in without any effort.

Because, despite the fact that you lived in a shared flat and not a palace, you were a princess, too perfect and pretty for just anyone to have.

You needed someone who would cherish you. Someone who knew how to treat you right in all the ways you deserved.

And while a random man from a sugar daddy dating app wasn’t necessarily in it for the long haul, you did have a feeling someone drawn to that sort of relationship might like to show off— whether it be by his wealth or the pretty girl under his arm— and maybe play the part of a gentleman when taking you out on dates.

So yeah. Later that day during a break in between classes you’d downloaded the app, set up your own profile, and started swiping.

Your roommate could just go fuck herself.

With the way she only had time for her textbook, you figured it was the only way she was ever getting any.

But you’d find someone, even if it was just out of spite, and not only would he help you pay your rent for the remainder of the lease, but he’d do something that showed your roommate that girls like you were smarter than they looked.

Because you could make a man’s bank account bend to your will, so long as your body was willing to bend to his. And that wasn’t a skill you could learn in any classroom.

***

Once you’d returned home to the flat, you’d gone straight to your room, completely ignoring your roommate the same as she was ignoring you, the tension between the two of you thick enough to be cut with a knife.

Your gaze was glued to your phone while hers was glued to her required reading, and while she was probably thinking that you were slacking off again, you were actually hard at work.

Because you’d already gotten five matches an hour after you’d begun swiping through photos. Now you were studying, trying to figure out which option was going to be your best bet.

This was actually a little harder than you’d thought it’d be, if you were being honest. When it came to looks in your final five, you were spoiled for choice. However, it was the messaging aspect of the equation where things got a little… complicated.

There was one man— a Viscount, as his profile very clearly stated— who had long, silky blonde hair and was shamelessly flaunting his abundant status and wealth, each of his pictures displaying himself surrounded with exotic scenery from a vacation or posing wearing luxurious designer brand clothing with a foreign fashion week in the background.

But his propositions to you through your texts weren’t as elegant as his image implied.

Right away he wanted to know if you could meet for sex. He’d asked if you were a virgin— which you didn’t disclose to him and instead talked around with playful replies and winking emojis— and had given you his hotel suite number as he was currently staying in The Langham in London.

He was rather insistent that you pay him a visit and you were starting to get a bad feeling about him, like if you agreed to meet with him and actually went through with it you might not return to your flat after all was said and done.

And not in a he’s swept me off my feet and we’re flying to Mykonos way.

More like a he’s going to kidnap me and lock me in some weird sex dungeon kind of way.

You decided to unmatch with him, crossing him off your mental list of potential men, and moved onto the next one.

The second suitor was also on the younger end of the spectrum, like the Viscount, though still older than you. His name was Charles Grey, and you found him rather striking with his silver-blue eyes and sleek white hair. He looked like trouble right off the bat with that sly smirk and side glance that he hosted in most of his photos, but he appeared to keep himself on a little tighter leash than your first match.

In his messages to you, however, he seemed pretty uninterested despite the fact that he’d obviously found you attractive enough to swipe right. He seemed like he wanted you to show the most effort and you really weren’t into that. You were old school in the way that you wanted the guy to pursue you, not the other way around. He didn’t seem to drop many hints about wanting to meet either. Perhaps he was just toying with you, wanting you to beg for his company so he could decide how far he was going to string you along before finally giving in and making it appear as if he was doing you a favor.

Either way, there was no chemistry there and even less luck in having him pay your bills, so again you moved on and started from square one.

Your next two potentials were what you’d actually expected upon first downloading the app— being that they were older than you. Much older. Old enough to actually be your father, but you weren’t opposed to the idea so long as they treated you right.

One was named Chris Heathfield. He worked for the government— a high ranking position, he’d been quick to let you know— and resided in an ostentatious manor bordering the countryside. But even in his profile photos he was flaunting how many women he liked to have around at all times, so many it was practically a harem. The man was clearly a womanizer, and perhaps you were naive to think that any of your potential choices were any different, but you didn’t exactly want to have to compete with other girls right out of the gate.

Chlaus— he’d given no last name— seemed to be far more genuine and gentlemanly than Heathfield. He had a kind yet enthusiastic smile, like he could enjoy even the most mundane of activities if he was in the right mood.

He traveled a lot and actually wasn’t even currently in the country, as he’d politely informed you in the messages you’d exchanged. He’d even apologized if he’d wasted your time though admitted that, when he did return to London sometime in the future, he’d still like to meet with you if you were still interested. He’d complimented you, told you that he liked your smile in the photos you’d posted, and you’d actually been sort of disappointed that he wasn’t currently available.

Either way, you thanked him for his cordial decency and then was forced to migrate towards your fifth and final match of the day.

Unlike the others, this one had yet to message you. All you had to go by was his profile photos, all of which added a new element to his sinister yet alluring beauty.

He had long, silver hair and piercing green eyes, alabaster skin with a scar cutting a diagonal across his otherwise handsome face. You’d noticed him instantly among the others, so unusual and curious yet still the most enticing.

Perhaps it was the danger of the unknown that drew you to him. Perhaps it was that he was one of the few you’d encountered during the initial phase of swiping that, while still about a decade older than you, wasn’t actually old like Heathfield and Chlaus. And his name had caught your attention too, or at least the alias he’d given himself while using the app.

Undertaker.

That’s all it said.

Not a first or last or really any name at all other than that morbid moniker.

The closer the clock hands approached midnight, the more you were starting to think he’d changed his mind about you— reconsidering whatever it was that had caused him to match with you to begin with— and you were just about to start over with a new batch of wealthy strangers when all of a sudden…

You were notified that you’d received a new message and quickly went to check it, pausing when you saw the preview of the text lighting up besides the arcane name.

Hello, Undertaker’s first message bubble read, plain and simple.

Hi, you typed back in return, adding your favorite smiling emoji afterward.

How are you doing this evening?, he asked next. You told him that you were fine, just sort of bored. Are you in London currently?, he further inquired.

Yeah, you responded, feeling kind of good about the conversation so far, though you tried not to get too far ahead of yourself. You told him you attended a university in the area and then feared that maybe you shouldn’t have said that, remembering stories about girls being stalked by people they’d met over dating apps.

But, much to your relief, Undertaker merely asked what you were studying, seeming to keep things professional for now, if that was a word you could use in this context. You answered and then there was a short lull in the conversation.

You were starting to think that maybe you’d lost him on account of pointless small talk until he came back with another message.

I’d very much like to take you out some time, he said. Is there any specific day or time that you’d be free this upcoming week?

You couldn’t contain your beaming smile.

You felt like you were in high school again, growing giddy over a new crush.

How about this weekend? You suggested. We could meet at the British Museum around noon, if you want?

You watched eagerly as the three dots of the speech bubble that showed he was typing pulsed lightly on the screen. He replied, I’d like that very much, before going on to fix the more specific details.

He asked if he could drive you around after that, bring you to dinner that evening, and to this, while in your head you were thinking nothing but different variations of the word absolutely, you responded with a slightly teasing, Well, we’ll just have to see how things go at the museum, won’t we?, followed by a playful winking emoji.

Back in the study of Undertaker’s ornate gothic mansion, he chuckled to himself while lounging in one of velvety armchairs. He also couldn’t shake the devious grin that had found its way onto his pale face.

Like you, it had been a while since he’d allowed himself to be with someone in any form of intimacy. He was used to filling his schedule with all work and no play and he’d been wanting to change that. What better way than to do it with a cute girl he could pamper?

I’ll see you then, Undertaker typed back, adding a smirking emoji, and you felt your stomach flutter with excitement. With half your face buried in your pillow as you lay sprawled out on your bed texting with the mysterious, monochrome stranger, you tried and failed to hold in a giggle.

See ya~!, you concluded, clicking your screen off and then flipping onto your back to stare at the ceiling as all sorts of scenarios of what this weekend could hold began to play in your mind.

And the more you fantasized, the more your cute, girlish little giggles morphed into something darker, something borderline evil as you thought about how your bitch of a roommate might’ve just shot herself in the foot with the comment she’d made before walking out the door that morning.

I win, you prematurely proclaimed to yourself, a crooked smirk devilishly pulling up one corner of your glossy lips.

I always win.

***

Waiting for the weekend had felt like forever, despite it only having been a few days away, but now that it was here, the mixture of nerves and excitement was steadily filling you to the brim.

You hadn’t told either of your roommates where you were going or what you were doing today. When your friend had told you how nice you looked in your cardigan and cute pastel purple dress and white platform sneakers, you’d simply thanked her, giving no hint of the occasion or who you were meeting with.

You hoped he liked it, at least noticed the effort that curling your hair into perfect ringlets with half pulled up into a ponytail and tied with a silky, cream-colored bow took.

But the longer you stood outside the museum, despite arriving a little early, the more you wondered if you were going to end up getting ghosted and be forced to stroll through the exhibits alone while trying to hide your disappointment that, in the end, you really hadn’t been good enough.

If that happened, you’d have to admit defeat and take those extra shifts at work after all.

You were leaning against one of the pillars, pulling your cardigan tighter over your shoulders as a chilly breeze blew by and staring down at your shoes, gaze tracing the way your laces zig-zagged over each other and dreading what was seeming more and more likely to be you having gone out of your way for nothing with each passing minute until—

You heard a rich, low voice speak your name, causing you to look up with innocent confusion for a second until your stare landed on the tall, silver-haired man standing before you.

He was dressed simply but nicely, in all black with a blazer and turtleneck and shiny oxford shoes, pale hands resting inside his pockets as his steady emerald eyes studied you with slight concern.

You felt yourself start to blush when you realized he’d left you speechless, cracking a small smile as you straightened your posture from the pillar and shuffled a few steps closer to him.

“Y-yes, that’s me,” you replied cheerily, hoping that your voice wasn’t shaking too much. “You made it!”

He drifted a little closer, his shadow looming over you, and you felt your heart drumming against your ribcage, his aura so powerful and unsettling yet his smile appearing calm and kind, trying to put you at ease.

“Of course,” he nodded slowly. “Now…” He gestured his hand towards the front doors. “Shall we?”

You followed after him and pretty soon found your hand in his, praying that your palms didn’t start to sweat from how nervous you were, though his hands were actually pretty cold, so you thought maybe that would help.

Undertaker’s hands were big, yet slender— long, pale fingers brushing gently against your skin as your little grip was swallowed up in his loose fist.

And his face— god…

You’d thought he was attractive in the photos, but in person it was on a whole other level.

You’d never seen someone as gorgeous as him before. Not in real life, at least.

He was like a prince of darkness, somber and eerie qualities colliding with something charming and lovely. Like a rose bush— so many thorns and winding vines to keep others at bay, yet blooming with striking flowers, vibrant petals opening under the light of a full moon only for those he deemed worthy enough to be let into his garden.

It was hard not to blatantly stare at him.

You didn’t want to be weird, didn’t want him to think maybe he should revoke his invitation to drive you around and take you out to dinner after this, but you couldn’t help it, sneaking private glances whenever you could. It appeared you weren’t the only one, what with the eyes of nearly every person you passed as you two strolled through the museum catching on him as well.

But it wasn’t just him who they were staring at, Undertaker realized with a hint of pride. He knew the crowds were just as captivated by the pretty girl by his side, the contrast between his ghostly appearance and your sweet, honey-suckle softness a rare sight to behold.

Undertaker also found it hard not to stare at you long and hard like one of the famous paintings, scanning the curves and lines of your profile and figure when your attention was turned to a particularly unique exhibit.

He traced the form of your silhouette from the top of your head, down the dip under your chin towards your neck and collar bones, over your breasts and stomach to your hips, your exposed thighs, all the way down to your shoes and back up again.

He knew instantly that he was going to have a hard time keeping his hands off you. Undertaker was an intense man— dangerous in ways that you had yet to know about— and the last thing he wanted to do was scare you away.

Not when you were exactly what he’d been looking for for so long.

Not when you were so perfect with that adorable little lilt in your giggle and the way those doe-eyes of yours looked upon things with an indescribable wonder.

Because Undertaker wanted something to protect that wasn’t just all his abundant wealth and status and one of a kind mansion decor. He wanted something— someone— who would be waiting for him at the end of a long day or a particularly harrowing business meeting. Someone he could wrap his arms around and feel their beating heart, feel the way their chest rose and fell with the steady breaths of life.

And you were so warm, so fragile.

He wondered if you had anyone to protect you or if somehow you’d managed to navigate this cruel world all on your own thus far.

And you’d opened up to him a little bit as the two of you got talking during your leisurely stroll through the museum. You’d told him that, while you didn’t have a terrible relationship with your parents, things had been rocky here or there. You’d told him that all they’d ever wanted for you was to attend university, that they’d pay for your tuition and even let you pick which one you would go to so long as you passed your classes and graduated on time.

But you’d never felt like they listened to you, like you could truthfully talk to them and share your troubles. Hence why you left home at the very first opportunity that presented itself. You’d thought getting away and meeting new people would help you find someone you felt you could really be honest with and rely on. Though, so far, it hadn’t been exactly what you’d expected…

“Well, I consider myself a very good listener,” Undertaker promised with a gentle smirk as his grip around your hand squeezed a little, drawing your gaze up to meet his once more. “I’m quite good at keeping secrets as well.”

You didn’t know what to say, could only gape at him in that doe-eyed way of yours that he was quickly becoming addicted to. He would turn it into a game, seeing how many times he could get you to look at him like that, like he was the only thing in your entire world.

Forget money and power.

What Undertaker wanted was you wanting him, needing him.

But soon enough you snapped out of it, shaking your head a bit as if to clear your daze. Then, as you neared the final exhibit, you finally gained enough courage to inquire, “So… Undertaker, huh? I’m guessing that’s not your real name…?” trying to tread carefully, not wanting to pry too much, but unable to hold in this curiosity any longer.

The mysterious man sighed out a breathy chuckle. “In my line of work,” he began, “it can be rather dangerous for one to expose their true name. So I keep mine hidden.” He paused then, as if expecting you to ask more questions or make a comment. When you just seemed to be willing to listen, he went on. “Does that bother you?” he asked with a small lift of an eyebrow.

You shook your head, glancing back up at him as you stopped before the final exhibit on your loop through the museum. “No. I mean, I won’t lie. I did find it strange at first. But you seem like you have your reasons, so…”

Your sentence trailed off as you became occupied with the art piece in front of you, lips slightly parted as you stared ahead, giving Undertaker yet another opportunity to study your face.

But this time he was staring at you with a little more than admiration for your appearance. This time he looked upon you like you were the first person he’d met who seemed to understand him in some way, to accept him as he was.

Because even his closest confidants had wondered why he couldn’t just tell them his real name, why he refused to tell anyone no matter what.

And you’d just dropped it after that, respecting his wishes to go by the moniker and moving on like it wasn’t odd even in the slightest.

He felt himself migrating closer to you, lowering his lips in hopes of meeting yours, but then stopped himself when he thought perhaps it was still too soon for that. He’d wait until the moment was right, whether that was today or tonight or days, weeks, months from now.

Because he didn’t want to mess this up. Not with you. Not when he’d finally managed to find someone who, despite his appearance or his name or the fact that he always seemed to be alluding to something darker and much more dangerous than he let on, didn’t seem to hold it against him.

And he wasn’t going to let you go. He’d do anything to make you stay, to keep you all for himself.

If it was money you were after, he’d give it to you. If it was him taking you on vacations then so be it. If it was someone who could take care of you and provide, that would be easy.

Whatever you wanted or needed, all you had to do was say the word and he’d make sure you had it.

In the beginning, he’d give it to you for free. Though, there would reach a point when he’d want something in return, though he knew he couldn’t force that on you. At least, not the first time.

“That was fun!” you smiled as the two of you exited the museum, your fingers now interlocked in a more romantic and intimate gesture. It only lasted a mere minute before your touch broke and the two of you were standing across from each other on the sidewalk, but it was long enough to send that warm feeling fluttering in your belly again. “Thanks for taking me.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Undertaker replied. He hoped that you weren’t just being polite and wished to go home now. He still really did want to spend more time with you. Whether that was over dinner or not was irrelevant now. He’d sit on a park bench and attempt to get to know you better if that’s all you’d give him.

When you sort of just seemed to stand there and look up at him with a smile, no sign of searching the curb for where you’d parked a car or gotten off at a bus stop present in your expression, he hesitantly asked, “Did you… walk here or…?”

“Oh!” you snapped out of your daze, hypnotized by his brilliant emerald stare and that scar etched across his face yet again. Through a nervous chuckle you said, “Yeah, actually, I did… I live sort of in the area and I don’t have a car so…”

“I’m parked nearby,” he began, already taking a step in the direction where he could see his vintage vehicle from down the street. “I can drive you home if you’d like to return or we could continue on to another location?”

You considered this, though you already knew that you didn’t want to go home. When you smiled and nodded and told him that you’d like to continue enjoying his company, he put an arm around you and guided you towards his car— a 1953 Rolls Royce Dawn Drophead— and you expressed your marvel at the spotless obsidian automobile.

“Allow me,” Undertaker offered as he grabbed the door for you, letting you slide into the passenger's seat before closing it and coming around to take his place behind the wheel. The roof was down and you felt a new wave of excitement wash over you, never having ridden in a convertible before.

You didn’t know where you were going, but you honestly didn’t even care. As Undertaker skillfully wove in and out of traffic and the wind blew through your hair, your exhilarated laughter sounding off beside him as music blasted from the radio, you felt alive.

And so did he, for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

It had been so long that he’d almost forgotten what that felt like.

And you, well, you were actually starting to thank your roommate for giving you this idea in the first place.

***

The luxury department store was one that you’d seen in passing since moving to the city but never had the nerve to step inside of.

Not until today, that is.

Among some of the signs that decorated the storefronts of the extravagant shopping mall were names like Gucci and Versace, Dolce & Gabbana, Louis Vuitton, Prada, Tiffany and Chanel.

You couldn’t believe what you were seeing— all the beautiful designer clothes and handcrafted jewelry— the handbags and the belts and the shoes that were perfectly placed on display lining the windows and walls of each store.

“Do you enjoy fashion?” Undertaker asked you as you ooed and awed at all the options, his hand finding your shoulder as he gently rubbed a thumb over some of your soft, exposed skin, your cardigan having been courteously taken by the greeter at the entrance of the store for safekeeping while you tried on clothes.

He already knew that you did. Had found you on social media soon after matching with you and done some digging.

You were a wannabe fashion influencer, and given the fact that you didn’t have access to exclusive items just yet, your style and taste spoke for itself, even if it was on a budget. Not to mention, for a girl who was sharing a cramped flat in London and struggling to pay her rent, ten thousand wasn’t a number to laugh at when it came to followers.

“I do!” you replied enthusiastically, looking up at him with another one of those cute little smiles and a giggle that captivated Undertaker every time. Then, as his arm fell to cradle your waist and hold you a little closer, you shyly admitted, “I’ve never worn anything as nice as this before though…”

The ebony clad man chuckled. “Well then,” he prompted playfully, “we’ll have to change that, won’t we?”

Your eyes widened once you realized what he was getting at.

Your first instinct was to turn down such a pricey offer. If this were anyone else, you would’ve. But then you were reminded of the circumstances under which you’d met and that perhaps it would be rude not to let him spend some of his abundant wealth on you.

So you did what you were best at. You looked cute and acted on your best behavior as the two of you traveled from designer to designer, trying on all sorts of outfits and showing yourself off to him as you did so. He seemed pleased, with both you and what the mall had in stock that day, and had even purchased some items for himself along the way.

“How about this one?” he asked as he lightly ran his long fingers over the satiny fabric of a dark blue babydoll dress, one with a low back and cute puffed sleeves and a bow tied around the waist to hug your form.

Your wardrobe mainly consisted of pastels and light neutrals, a few darker colors thrown in but not many that you wore that often. Even so, if this was what he liked, the least you could do was try it on for him.

When you came out of the dressing room, holding out the flared skirt a little bit as you twirled, something in Undertaker’s chartreuse gaze changed. He’d liked all the others, sure. They’d suited you just fine. But this one…

This one made you look like Undertaker’s perfect little doll, one that he’d designed and dressed personally.

“You look beautiful,” he commended, just like with the other dresses you’d modeled for him, but then added through an awestruck sigh, “Absolutely gorgeous…” that made you stop for a moment and stare at him, blinking those innocent doe-eyes of yours, suddenly aware of just how intensely he was looking at you.

If you weren’t mistaken, you might’ve read it for pure adoration.

But you two had barely just met, so it couldn’t really be that, could it?

“D-do you really like this one?” you asked through a timid grin, turning halfway to look yourself over in one of the mirrors again, little fingers adjusting the way the bow looked in the back.

“I think it’s marvelous,” Undertaker replied coolly, stuck in a dream-like daze as his eyes slowly scanned up and down your figure once more. “But do you like it?”

You considered yourself, making sure that the garment lay right over your body, wondering if the shade looked too dark on you, but slowly, surprisingly, it was winning you over.

You nodded and began to smile again. As you turned back to face him you said, “I do like it.”

“Shall I buy it for you then, as one last treat?” he asked next. He’d already treated you to quite the expensive spree, so you fumbled for the price tag to find out just how much more you’d be depleting his bank account, but before your view could land upon the number, Undertaker was at your side, his hand wrapped around yours as he quietly reminded you, “Don’t worry about that. It’s on me, remember?”

“But…” you stalled, looking up at his looming form.

“No buts, princess,” he lightly chided, turning you around to face the mirror again as his chest pressed against your back, taking your other hand in his and holding your arms up and out a little bit as you surrendered to his grasp, like a pretty butterfly splayed out beneath the glass of a display case. It was the first time you were really noticing just how small you were compared to him. It sent another wave of that sweet, dangerous fluttering roll through your stomach, the thought of what he’d look like while on top of you flashing through your mind as you fought the urge to squirm. “You look stunning. Worth all the money in the world. So what do you say? Would you like to wear this to dinner tonight?”

Dinner. That’s right. He’d invited you to dinner.

You had no idea what kind of restaurant it would be, but with the kind of money he seemed to be so keen to spend on you, it was bound to be one with a dress code.

“O… ok…” you muttered shakily as you watched him moving his hand about you through the mirror, chilled palms gliding down towards your elbows then back up to your shoulders, sending a shiver down your spine when they found your waist and savored the trip down to your hips, resting there as his long fingers lightly pressed into your soft skin.

And it was taking every ounce of patience Undertaker had not to pull you into one of the big dressing rooms, shut the door, and have his way with you against one of the plush couches there. He’d watch your reflection writhe and arch as he hiked the expensive dress up and ran his touch down to the most tender parts of you. He wanted to know what your underwear looked like, if they’d be as cute and delicate as you were, if your bra and panties would match.

He was willing to bet they would, even if it was just for this special occasion. And even as he discarded them to the floor, exposing you to him fully, your face hot and red from embarrassment and anticipation, you’d still be his adorable little doll, his good girl, his perfect, pretty princess as he sunk into you and felt you pulse and squeeze around him in the most delectable way.

He wanted to know what sounds you’d make— what sounds he could force you to make against your will as he thrust deeper into your tight, wet warmth. Were you the kind to beg? The kind to cry? Did you want him talking dirty to you or would the skillful path of his touch across your skin be enough to make you wet for him?

God, he wanted to know. And he was determined to find out. But not here. Not now. It still wasn’t the right time for that. Besides, you’d only just put on the dress. He wanted to admire you in it for a little longer.

So the two of you moved up to the check out desk, you still wearing the dress after Undertaker had told— not asked, told— the saleswoman who’d been assisting you that you’d be walking out with it on. When she’d announced the amount of money that was due, you’d nearly flinched at the number. Meanwhile, Undertaker had simply handed her a shiny black credit card without batting an eye. He’d paid and she’d snipped the tag, which you only then noticed didn’t even have a price on it, but instead merely held a scancode that was meant to alert the anti-theft alarm if anyone tried to exit the store without paying.

“Th-thank you,” you stammered nervously as you exited the store with him, the lilac dress and cardigan you’d started the day in folded neatly and placed inside a bag that swung from Undertaker’s hand. “I-I’ve never worn something this nice. I promise to take good care of it.”

That dark, almost ominous chuckle escaped Undertaker’s lips again, his free hand finding you once more and lightly tugging you closer to him, as if he was afraid you’d stray too far and wander off. “There will be plenty more where that came from,” he promised, and you felt your face begin to blush, though you couldn’t exactly place why. “Now, shall we find you a pair of shoes and some jewelry to go with it?”

***

You now wore an entirely different outfit than before, your white platform sneakers and delicate gold heart necklace safe inside their own bags from when they’d been replaced by shiny, chunky-heeled, black mary janes and a diamond choker, dangling, teardrop earrings to match.

Every reflective surface you passed, whether it was a shop window or the glossy black surface of Undertaker’s vintage car, you couldn’t help but stare at yourself.

You almost couldn’t recognize yourself all wrapped up in this new aesthetic, not accustomed to such dark colors adorning your figure, but there was something about it that did suit you, to your surprise. Undertaker made sure to remind you of it as he’d caught you examining your glittering jewelry in the front mirror of the passenger side as you two pulled into reserved parking at the fancy restaurant, causing one more shy smile to spread across your lips before he came around to open the door for you and tossed his keys to the young valet.

This was an establishment that Undertaker frequented, as he hadn’t hesitated to request his “usual table”, the hostess giving a charming, “but of course, right this way,” before guiding the two of you through the candle lit dining hall, your date lightly tugging you along by the hand as you craned your neck to gaze up at all the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, a live piano player performing soft jazz from a slightly elevated platform at the center of the room.

After taking your seat and being informed that your waiter would be over shortly, you found yourself feeling out of place once again. Because, sure, you looked like you belonged here, but as you tried to read over the menu— most of which was in French— and didn’t recognize a single thing, the insecurities that you were an imposter began to creep back in.

“Why don’t you let me take care of that?” Undertaker suggested, taking the menu from your fidgeting grip and folding it back up, placing it on the edge of the table. Normally you’d hate it if a date ordered for you, oftentimes becoming cocky and picking something you didn’t even like. But now, you were sort of relieved. Besides, it seemed like Undertaker had a much better idea of what you’d like based on impression alone than any of your previous admirers.

After a quick survey asking what kinds of foods and flavors you preferred and if there were any particular textures or other aspects that would ruin the night’s culinary experience, Undertaker began nodding to himself, iridescent eyes scanning one of the pages until he landed on something he thought you might enjoy.

“So…” he began, swirling the vintage red in his glass as he gazed over the rim at you and your fizzy fruit drink. “Tell me about yourself…”

You had to stifle a laugh. It seemed so cliche, yet held an air of authenticity that you couldn’t help but find endearing. You’d shared a few things about your personal life and interests as you’d been walking through the museum— like the music you liked and a really good movie you’d watched recently and a little bit about what you’d been studying in school— but when posed with the question now, your mind suddenly went blank.

“Why don’t you tell me about you?” you playfully suggested, idly twirling a strand of your hair as you sipped the magenta dragon fruit drink up the glass straw teased between your teeth. “I mean…” You recrossed your legs as you leaned in a little closer, raising one skeptical eyebrow. “I feel like you already know plenty about me.”

Flashing a coy smirk, Undertaker traded you an amused grin. You hummed out a mischievous, lilting note as you awaited his response, tempted to brush the toe of your shoe against his ankle to see what would happen if you flirted more openly.

Because— aside from the obvious fact that he had plenty of money and had already spoiled you beyond your wildest imagination— you did like him. You liked the way he looked at you, soft and caring rather than hungry and expectant like most blind dates tended to go. You liked that he paid attention to little details like grabbing the door for you and offering you his jacket when he’d noticed you pulling your cardigan tighter around your shoulders on the walk from the museum to the car. You liked that he was sophisticated but not arrogant and also that he carried this sense of protection over you.

That last notion made you once again wonder what he did for a living. Someone as mysterious and secretive— so secretive that his own colleagues didn’t know his real name, as he’d casually mentioned while skirting around the question about his job earlier— as him could be involved in all kinds of nefarious activities.

Maybe he was a hitman, or a smuggler of rare, foreign gems.

He could be a conman or a cult leader or a curiously eccentric artist.

He was a book with thick binding, yet every page you flipped to was blank.

But you wanted to know him— wanted to get to know him— if he gave you the chance.

“I told you earlier that I’m good at keeping secrets,” Undertaker said, his voice dropping an octave lower. “But the real question is… are you?”

You took a moment to think about that. You thought you were. Because, as good and eager as you were at collecting gossip, you had never been one to spread it.

Not unless absolutely necessary, that is, and even then it was only to your closest friends when it concerned them directly.

“I can keep a secret,” you promised, both of you searching each other’s eyes for a minute before your food arrived and the tense, exhilarating moment was temporarily put on hold while you smiled and thanked the waiter.

Between the first bites of your dinner, Undertaker strategically spoke of his work, dropping hints that it was classified and dangerous and underground. You listened intently, nodding along as if you were slowly but surely decoding the hidden messages woven throughout his cryptic words.

Then, after he seemed done divulging all the details he could without giving it all away, you looked at him with a slightly cocked head, eyes squinted cynically as you smirked and said, “So… You work for the FBI or something, right? Or— no—!” you excitedly changed your guess, “The CIA?”

Truthfully, you didn’t really know the difference, but based on what he’d told you, it seemed like some kind of secretive, high-profile government intelligence.

“No, not quite,” Undertaker chuckled, unable to fully contain just how absolutely adorable he found you. “Though, I may have crossed paths with some people in that profession before.”

You let out another giggle, thinking he was merely toying with you just for amusement’s sake, but, despite his lighthearted tone, Undertaker was being deathly serious. If only you knew how many times he’d been investigated by all kinds of intelligence agencies, both domestic and foreign. How he’d evaded each and every one of them and their prying questions, killed the ones who got a little too close. Because his security and control over his organization was air tight, locked with a key long thrown away, buried six feet deep somewhere along with the life he’d left behind in pursuit of something bigger and better and far more brilliant than he could’ve ever imagined at the start.

He’d have to protect you from their scheming, sinister ways soon too, if you allowed yourself to be kept by him. Only then would he have to disclose more of the truth to you, make sure you really understood the gravity of it all.

But, for now, that could wait.

For now, he could continue to let you believe you lived in the perfect fantasy among glittering crystal and sparkling champagne— a fairy tale of his own dark and twisted design.

After dinner had concluded and Undertaker had left a generous tip to the kind waiter, you two had returned to his shiny black car that was already waiting for you upon exiting the restaurant. Climbing back inside as he closed the door behind you, you once again caught your reflection in the side-view mirror, having forgotten the drastic change of appearance from when you’d first walked out your front door this morning.

Undertaker’s earlier compliment returned to you. “Absolutely gorgeous” he’d called you. At the time, you’d just thought he was being kind, simply repeating a line he probably used on all the pretty girls he’d taken out.

But now you saw it too.

You were gorgeous. Exquisite. Divine.

And it made you wonder…

How long had it been since you last thought that about yourself? Since you’d last believed it?

“Now…” Undertaker began the moment he was back behind the wheel, looking over at you with one hand resting on the gear shift. “I can either drop you back off at your flat or—” He reached over and gently brushed a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, caressing your cheek with the back of his hand, tender. “We can return to my estate to continue enjoying each other’s company.” He put the car in drive and began to slowly roll away from the curb. “It’s up to you.”

You had to fight back the urge to immediately blurt out a damn near desperate sounding “yes!”, your cheeks heating as you gave a cute little smile and nod and responded with a much more reserved, “I’d like that very much.”

Undertaker smiled too— one of those soft, charming, doting grins that made you feel like you were special, as naive as it might’ve been.

“Well then, in that case,” he said, merging back in with traffic and zipping skillfully through the city’s narrow streets, “Why don’t you play some of that music you were telling me about earlier. It’s a bit of a long drive.”

***

You’d texted your friend, let her know you wouldn’t be back tonight, that you’d met someone and wanted to keep things going.

She’d asked you if you were ok, reminding you to be safe, and when you’d assured her things were going great, she sent you back a cute winking emoji and a playfully supportive, “go get some, girl!”.

Your phone was almost dead at that point, so you decided to slip it into your purse and focus on the scenery passing by out the car window as your favorite album continued playing. The lights of the city gave way to the quiet, serene darkness of the countryside beyond London’s looming architecture, the little pond of your usual stomping grounds expanding into a vast ocean of tall trees and vacant roads.

The closer you approached to Undertaker’s residence, the more you began to see mansions and manors sporadically spotting the fields, each one protected by its own unique, intricate gate or wall of manicured hedges.

Each one you passed was grander than the last, and you started to become a little nervous about what you were blindly stepping into.

Your mind went to a few darker places as well, like, if he wanted to hurt you, out here, no one would hear your screams. And, even if you did manage to escape, you could never hope to make it back to the city on foot before he caught you, acres of open land and who knows what else lurking in the shadows ready to trap you out in this valley of silent luxury.

“It’s just up ahead,” Undertaker informed you, pulling you from your anxious spiral. When you turned your attention back out the windshield, you saw the distant lights that dotted the driveway, a cage of winding, iron wrought bars curling around the perimeter of the magnificent gothic mansion.

You weren’t sure how long your mouth had been hanging open before you realized and closed it, but as the gilded gates parted and Undertaker pulled around the horseshoe driveway to the opulent, double front doors, your jaw dropped once more.

“This is…” you sighed out in awe, your face practically pressed to the passenger-side window to get a better look.

“It’s not to everyone’s taste,” Undertaker shrugged, suddenly modest. “But it’s home.”

You turned to face him, looking completely incredulous with your brows knit together and your slightly parted lips turned down into a gentle frown, as if you were offended on his behalf.

“No, it’s—” Your hand reached forward to rest atop his on the gearshift. You were unaware you’d even done it, but for Undertaker, the soft, reassuring touch was driving him insane. Because you were just so sweet, so genuine. Far more than anyone like him had ever experienced or deserved. Every second that passed with your skin on his, the more addicted he became.

All the while, you continued with a bout of stumbling compliments. “It’s amazing! I mean— It’s just so beautiful. I—” What remained of your sentence tapered off into sounds of sputtering nonsense, unable to articulate what you really meant, how impressed you were with every single thing he’d shown you so far, but luckily, Undertaker got the gist.

“I appreciate the praise,” he chuckled weakly, taking your little hand in his cool, comforting grasp. Slowly, you watched as he raised your hand to his lips, placed a chaste kiss to the back of it, then gave you another one of those loving smiles, the scar peeking out from his curtain of silver hair shining in the moonlight. “Would you like to come inside?”

***

The high ceilings and wide halls echoed eerily with every tap your heeled shoes made across the black and white checkered marble flooring. The house had been dark before Undertaker used his phone to activate the lights throughout the lower floor, priceless antiques and imported, one of a kind art pieces illuminated by crystal chandeliers and golden sconces.

However, for all the ornate wealth that glittered and shined throughout every new space of the open floor plan you passed through, you noticed something strange…

For a house of this size, this status, there didn’t appear to be a single housestaff member in sight. Not a maid or a cook or a butler.

“Ah…” Undertaker contemplated when you asked him if you two were alone here, the question coming out a little more nervously than you’d intended. “Well, I suppose I can’t be too careful these days…” He explained that he could only trust a small, select group of people, though, when it came to his home, he preferred to manage it himself. “I find help to be a bit redundant,” He said, flashing you an almost apologetic grin. “Besides, I enjoy doing things like cooking and gardening. It’s a nice retreat from the usual chaos of my life, so I don’t believe in giving that up to anyone else, even if they are deemed a professional.”

You could respect that, actually.

Plus, it made you curious to try his cooking, especially after experiencing how refined his taste was.

Anyway, after going through the first floor, the two of you headed upstairs to conclude the tour, finishing at the master bedroom.

“Your house is very nice,” you complimented, trying hard not to eye the bed too obviously, all those fluffy, goosedown comforters and egyptian cotton tempting you. “It…” You searched his eyes, loving the way they shimmered like emeralds in the dim light, then smiled as you said, “It suits you.”

Undertaker thanked you for your kind words, running one of his palms from your shoulder down to your hand before intertwining your fingers with his again, this time with nothing to interrupt the intimate gesture.

“You look good surrounded by all of it, darling…” Kissing your hand again, he used his thumb to gently smooth over the knuckles of your delicate little fingers, dwarfed in his grasp. “You make the place feel more like home.”

***

He moved slowly, cautiously, as if approaching too quickly would spook you and send you skittering like a startled alley cat. And you were nervous— not scared, but definitely nervous— as your heart hammered in your chest and your hands began to tremble.

He leaned down to give you a kiss, soft at first, testing to see how far you’d let him go. When you seemed to reciprocate, he came back for another, this one a little more daring as he rested his hands on your waist and held you there, his tongue slipping into the heat of your mouth. But again, you didn’t pull away.

His grip on you became tighter, causing you to suck in a short gasp as he kissed you deeper. You could feel a devious smirk spreading across his lips as a hum of a chuckle vibrated in his throat.

“Are you alright?” he asked in a low, seductive tone, brilliant gaze scanning you while his hands kept purchase on your hips.

You couldn’t look him in the eyes now, were too embarrassed by how red your face had probably gone, how hot your body felt just from something as simple as kissing, unable to deny the chemistry that was swimming between you two.

But when he lightly took your chin in his hand and guided your face upward, you let him, that piercing, chartreuse, half-lidded stare sending a shiver through your entire body. You felt tears threaten to well in your eyes and at first you didn’t quite know why.

Was it because you were just so nervous, so embarrassed?

Was it because you really were scared, unsure of whether you wanted to trust this man that you’d just met or not?

Or was it because you hadn’t told him that you were a virgin and knew where this night was likely headed?

If you did tell him, would he stop? Would he decide this interaction was over and call someone to take you home?

You didn’t particularly want to end things here. You were willing to go further, you thought, but perhaps it would be to your benefit to mention it to him.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Undertaker cooed as he stroked his thumb along your jaw, his soft grin never fading. “Come on… You can tell me.”

“I-I…” you began, feeling more and more like you were going to cry.

“Yes…?” he urged you, silver brows lifting with slight intrigue.

“I, um… Well…” You averted your gaze off to the side. “I’ve actually never…”

You couldn’t say it.

Even if you wanted to, the words wouldn’t leave you.

“Never what?” Undertaker pressed, tone still silky smooth and looking at you in that sinisterly seductive way of his. Despite the fact that he’d already caught on though— call it his craving for control, or just the fact that he thought you were cute— he needed to hear you say it.

“I-I’m sorry…” you stuttered, feeling as if you were already proving to be a disappointment. Tears welled to the brim of your lashline now, sparkling in the low light of the bedroom. But you had to say it. You had to admit to him the one secret that no one else would probably believe about you. “It’s just… I’m actually… I’m actually a virgin and I—”

Your tears spilled over, racing each other over your cheeks until Undertaker lifted one of his hands from your waist and gently wiped them away, his smirk gone now as he cast a gaze of genuine concern upon your adorably pathetic face.

You were shaking even harder now, both from fear of rejection and frustration at yourself for not being able to contain your emotions. But still, that didn’t seem to bother the man in front of you.

“Oh, sweetheart…” he soothed in a calming whisper, bringing you in closer for a comforting embrace, lightly combing through your hair with his pale, slender fingers. “It’s alright. There’s no need to be upset…” You buried your face further into the expensive fabrics of his coat, feeling safer the closer you were to him. “I’m going to take good care of you…” he then whispered in your ear. “I just need you to trust me.”

The only response you gave was a weak nod as you nuzzled further into him, little hands gripping his shoulders as he lifted you into his arms and rocked you gently until your nervous quivering subsided. When you finally found it in yourself to look back up at him, big doe-eyes so innocent, so adorable, Undertaker’s adoring smile returned.

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?” he asked you then, voice still feather soft and strangely attentive, as if he was willing to do anything to keep you like this. Keep you all for himself.

But to his question, you just nodded, swallowing down some more of your worries as you tried to stay calm. He was lovingly stroking the soft skin of your cheek with the back of his knuckles, taking in as much of you like this while he still could before he had you panting shallow breaths and clutching the sheets for dear life as you trembled and writhed beneath him.

He’d like you just as much in that state, but it had been so long that he’d found a sweet little princess who truly was as her image implied. Because for so many others, it was merely performative, a trap set to ensnare wealthy men like him who had a type they could imitate.

No, with you he knew it was real. And that’s why he fell in love with you after just a few hours of each other’s company.

Undertaker strolled over to the bed then, sitting down on the edge with you still in his arms.

You hadn’t said a word.

What could you say?

You knew what to expect, in the simplest sense, but still, someone like him could be into all kinds of things that you didn’t even know about. The size of him compared to you alone was intimidating, how he towered over you and how your delicate little hand could disappear inside his massive grip. But part of you also liked that— liked that he was so much more powerful than you, stronger than you could ever have a chance of fighting against.

Because even if your mind had concerns, your body was already reacting positively to the idea.

Undertaker began to position you differently and you followed his lead, moving along with him to where he wanted you to straddle his lap, his hands back on your hips now as yours rested on his shoulders.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked you then, hands leisurely running up and down your sides, tracing along your waist.

You nodded again, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “I-I’m sure…” you replied, hoping the crack in your voice went unnoticed.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he assured you once more, pulling you a little closer and repositioning you slightly. “You can trust me.” He pressed his lips to your neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses along your pulse. You leaned your head back instinctively, giving him easier access as he began to suck little bruises into your skin, a new wave of shivers surging through your body at the sensation.

A few soft moans and whines escaped your throat and Undertaker’s smirk widened. He brought his lips right next to your ear and whispered, “Do you trust me, baby?”

You hadn’t even really heard what he said over the racing of your heart and the lust that was clouding your mind, pooling warm and heavy in your lower belly, but you didn’t really care. You just nodded and let the tension melt away with his kisses, which soon found your mouth again, these ones much deeper and more passionate than the first round, slow and savoring.

You soon felt something hard pressing into you where you straddled his lap, the thin lace of your panties the only thing to protect you as more heat coiled in the pit of your stomach, and you hesitantly grinded down a little on him.

His grip on your hips flexed as he pulled you down to rub even harder against his growing erection, you becoming wetter with every roll of your hips, a cute, breathy moan sneaking past your lips every time he helped you press on just the right spot for you both.

You didn’t want to stop. Couldn’t stop. It felt too good, just by doing this, and it scared you a little how much better it might feel if you really went all the way with him. But that really wasn’t up to you anymore. Because Undertaker had you wrapped around his finger like one of his sterling silver rings now.

For the remainder of the night, at least, you’d do anything he wanted, anything he asked.

Because, for whatever odd reason— ignoring the fact that you’d only known each other for a day and you barely knew the first thing about him— didn’t even know his real name— you did trust him. And what was even more, he trusted you.

He trusted you not to leave him when this was done, and that was also a rare occurrence when it came to his previous companions.

A loud, high-pitched moan forced its way out of you as he pressed you down even harder, feeling your clit throbbing through the lace and wanting to keep you under his control for as long as possible, dangling you from the edge until he decided to let you go.

It was something Undertaker was good at— controlling his partner’s orgasms— and what you didn’t realize yet was that he could use it as a punishment if he wanted to, could use it to get you begging for mercy if ever you did something bad.

But not yet.

No, Undertaker was just getting started with you.

“Take them off,” he ordered. You stilled for a moment, looking at him with uncertainty. “Your panties,” he clarified. “Take them off.”

And, because you were a good girl, you listened. You were going to step down from the bed and discard them, but you gave a startled gasp as Undertaker decided he wanted to be the one to do it instead, quickly flipping you onto your back and leaning over you while your legs were still spread. He paused, staring into your wide eyes with his unshakable confidence before puffing out a small breath of amusement from his nose and hooking his thumbs under the waistband of the lace, slowly pulling the thin fabric down and exposing your soaked slit to the cold air of the room.

Once they were completely removed from your person, he balled your panties up in his fist and shoved them into his back pocket. You didn’t think you’d be getting them back, but you didn’t care. It would just be an excuse for him to buy you new ones anyway.

You tried to pull your legs together, face red hot with embarrassment again, but he didn’t give you enough time, effortlessly pulling you back up with him to sit just as you had before, no delicate lace to protect you anymore. But now you were nervous for a different reason. Because you were so wet, and Undertaker knew that, but you weren’t sure if he actually wanted you to ruin his expensive trousers.

“Go on,” he chuckled upon your hesitation. “It’s ok.”

“But…” you barely protested before he settled you back over his still hard cock, you wincing as the rough texture of the trouser’s fabric pressed against your clit.

“No buts,” Undertaker playfully warned, slowly rolling his hips up into you to tempt you to find your rhythm again. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you? So do as Daddy says.”

At that, you felt even more arousal leaking from you, going back to grinding on him, the sensation different but better.

As you did this, Undertaker moved his hands up to where your dress hung off your shoulders a bit, pulling down the neckline until the matching lace of your bra was exposed to him, cupping both your breasts in his hands and kissing your cleavage, earning himself another one of those cute sounds he was slowly becoming addicted to.

When he reached behind you to unhook your bra, you stilled again, breathing stuttering a bit as you found yourself even more exposed, the undergarment tossed to the floor and your nipples already furled tight from the chill that permeated the entire mansion.

“U-Undertaker!” you gasped as another one of his kisses found your nipple.

Calling him that out loud still felt strange, and you almost wanted to try and ask him again what his real name was, despite him seeming so protective over it the first time you’d inquired.

Maybe you’d get used to it.

But when another whimper of “Daddy…” trailed off your lips as his tongue teased the sensitive bud of your breast, the mysterious, monochrome man seemed to like that, so you figured perhaps that ought to be the name you addressed him by.

Undertaker chuckled darkly then, slowly laying you down on your back and pulling your dress down over your hips and tossing it to the floor to join your bra, leaving you completely bare and vulnerable under him now.

Normally, he would get completely undressed before stripping away the last of your remaining fabrics, always liking to savor the moment when the most tender parts of a body were exposed to him, but tonight he’d gotten too caught up with having a new toy to follow the usual protocol.

Because you were a gift. Truly, you were.

You were a sweet girl, a good girl, an adorable, darling little doll for him to dress and undress as he pleased.

And even as you lay in anticipation for the crescendo of the moaning chorus the two of you would compose together— face blushed and body trembling, ready to arch and sway to his touch— he knew you were different from the others who’d been under him like this before.

And after tonight, after he’d had you, he’d only want you more.

Just like a prized possession or a favorite pet, he couldn’t let anyone else get their hands on you. And he’d do anything to ensure that you stayed.

“D-Daddy…?” you whimpered hesitantly as Undertaker was almost completely freed of his clothing, so many layers to get through before all of his pale white skin and deep silvery scars were on deadly display.

The slash running across his face had been a bit jarring at first, though had added to his appeal, the extra element of implied danger attracting you to him.

But there were so many more, his entire body littered with them, and you couldn’t help but wonder just what— or who— had done something like this to him. What was even capable of inflicting such lasting damage.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he asked, positioning himself over you again and holding your wrists above your head in one large hand, his palm cold against the warmth of blood coursing fast under your skin.

What happened to you?

Who did this?

Are you ok?

All questions that you wanted to ask, but didn’t.

Instead, what came out was, “P-please be careful with me…”

Undertaker clicked his tongue through a smile, cooing at you almost condescendingly as he reassured, “I’ll be gentle, baby. Don’t you worry.”

With his free hand, he reached down to run his middle fingers over your drenched cunt, massaging your clit and making you jolt when he found just the right spot.

And god, he liked to tease you, applying pressure on your most sensitive area and making you squirm and writhe and beg before letting another sinister chuckle rumble through his chest and moving his fingers lower to enter your tight, needy little hole.

You sucked in a shuddering gasp when one finger slipped in, then two, rhythmically pumping in and out while beginning to scissor inside and stretch you, making you whine and wince every so often.

“You’re beautiful, sweetheart,” he muttered in a low, velvety baritone, making that sensation in your stomach wind tighter and tighter. “You’re doing so good…”

Once he felt like he’d stretched you enough— though you were still so tight— he slightly repositioned himself over you, using his knees to spread your legs a little further apart as your body tried to pull them back together against your will.

You tried not to tense up too much, tried to stay calm and relaxed as you felt him lining himself up with your pulsing entrance and then slowly press the tip of his cock inside. You winced when he first entered you, the feeling foreign but not entirely as uncomfortable as you’d thought it’d be.

And Undertaker was keeping his promise, being as gentle as he could, aside from that fact that when you whimpered or whined or tensed he didn’t stop, just slowed down until he felt like you could take a faster pace. Your sensitive skin tore around the thickness of him, feeling like you were being split in two as your teeth clenched and your toes curled in an attempt to outlast the pain.

Once he was fully inserted, you both stilled for a moment, him helping you adjust yourself over his cock and catch your breath for a second before he began with smooth, rhythmic rolls of his hips into yours.

Once he pulled another one of those irresistible little sounds of pleasure from you, he couldn’t help but pick up speed, the rolling morphing into thrusting, trying as hard as he could to work you up to his preferred pace lest he frighten you with the intensity of which you’d get used to, eventually.

“That’s it… baby girl…” he spoke in between grunts as your cunt constricted even tighter around his cock, your eyes already beginning to roll back as you felt your limit approaching.

But Undertaker didn’t want to let you come yet.

He liked looking at the fucked-out daze that splayed across your face, even that expression appearing adorable when you were the one wearing it.

“D-Daddy…” you begged through your next breathy moan. “P-please…!”

Undertaker was getting close too, picking up the pace and feeling you tense even more under and around him, the pain threatening to outperform the pleasure if he didn’t time things just right.

But neither of you could speak now. Not even your pathetic, mewling pleas or Undertaker’s growling, whispered praises could be uttered. With every snap of his hips digging into your tender inner thighs, Undertaker conducted a symphony using your high-pitched whines and delectable moans, your sweet little voice echoing through the high ceilings and empty upper halls of the ornate, gothic mansion.

And then, finally, Undertaker let you come, your entire body tensing and shuddering as your insides squeezed harder than they ever had before around what was inside you. Then you fell limp, panting breaths hitching in your chest as you lay there like a rag-doll, head buzzing and pleasure surging.

Undertaker only made it a few more thrusts into you before he finished too, filling you up with his hot, sticky cum and moaning out as his head fell to nuzzle into the crook of your neck, his labored breaths felt on your skin as the two of you lay there in a mess of trembling limbs and heavy breathing.

Your hole kept fluttering around him, the intensity fading down after a few minutes, and then Undertaker slowly pulled out of you, falling on the bed beside you and tugging you close to him, pressing you to his chest as his long, lithe arms wrapped around your shivering form.

“It’s ok, baby girl…” he whispered to you as he stroked your tousled hair, sweat sticking it to your temples, your body still trembling slightly under his touch. “You’re ok… Daddy’s got you… You’re ok…”

And you didn’t really know what to do now, didn’t know what to expect.

Would he just send you off now that he’d gotten what he wanted?

Would he even contact you again once the two of you parted ways?

After tonight, you sure hoped so, though you knew many men would just move onto the next with zero regard for the last.

But after laying there in his arms for a while, him combing his fingers through your hair and softly humming a melancholy lullaby, you had a feeling maybe he did care for you more than a one night stand.

Maybe you were being naive to entertain that idea, but you couldn’t help it. You’d been so desperate for affection for so long and now that you were finally being shown it you’d gotten attached. Lucky for the two of you, you were both attached, however silently through the night that your need for each other grew.

Before you’d even made the decision to do such a thing, you’d fallen asleep, exhausted from the day’s— and night’s— activities, but Undertaker still had work to do.

He carefully unraveled himself from around you to head into the bathroom and get something to clean you up with, back to being careful and tender as he wiped away as much of the mess the two of you had made that remained between your legs as he could without waking you.

Tomorrow morning he could give you a bath, join you in the warm water and put his hands all over you again. He could make you breakfast and watch you sit at the long dining room table while wrapped up in one of his fluffy black bathrobes, the sleeves too long for you and the oversized garment making you appear even smaller compared to him than you already were.

He wouldn’t want you to leave, but he’d have no choice, because you didn’t live here and your friends might get worried if you didn’t come back. Not to mention, he was bound to be called back to headquarters sooner or later to attend to more matters concerning the Aurora Society.

But after he’d kissed you goodbye and you’d stepped out of the jet-black Rolls Royce, he’d be planning how and when he could see you again.

You’d both be thinking about each other while you were away, always eager to be in each other’s arms again.

Before you knew it, the lease to your apartment would be up for renewal but you’d have to break it to your friends that they’d have to find a replacement for you since you were moving into a luxurious mansion on the outskirts of London. They’d be hesitant of your decision at first, warn you not to rush into things too quickly, but you’d assure them that you were in good hands, promising to stay in touch and visit them again soon.

But it became so easy to lose track of time when you were with Undertaker. Days turning into weeks turning into months before you even realized it, seasons changing, holidays and birthdays and special occasions spent on extravagant vacations filling up your schedule with the man you loved. You’d meet his closest confidants and learn more about what it really was that he did for a living. Or at least, as much as he was willing to let you in on.

You became close with Grell quickly, both of you bonding over your similar taste in music and fashion and favorite movies. You tried to be on your best behavior around William, in the beginning, quickly realizing that the serious and stoic man didn’t have a knack for entertaining his boss’s girl like his outgoing, red-headed colleague did. And then there was Ron who, though he always seemed outwardly cheerful and always ready for a good time, you couldn’t get a sure read on.

But this would become your life, your normal routine. What used to be scraping by for the month’s rent and picking up convenience store food on your way to the part time job you hated was soon replaced by shamelessly expensive shopping sprees and five star Michelin restaurants and skipping around the spacious mansion in a brand new dress while you waited for Undertaker to finish up a meeting at headquarters.

And you loved your life. You loved him.

Because things were perfect.

And, as long as you were with him, they always would be.

I mean, wouldn’t they?

***

(Hello and thank you for reading! Whether you’re coming to this fic already having read my “Cause to Start a Vendetta” series or this is your introduction to it, I hope you enjoyed :)

I’d actually written the first draft of this fic about a year ago, not long after I’d started posting chapters of the main series. I wanted to give a little more backstory on the reader’s life before meeting Undertaker.

But yeah, this wraps up the series. Like I said in the afterword on the final chapter, I might write little bonus one-shots for this series in the future, but now I’m honestly looking forward to starting the new Undertaker fic I’ve had in my head for a while.

Thanks again for reading! See you soon~! <3)

#undertaker #Undertaker Kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji undertaker #undertaker black butler #black butler undertaker #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji smut #black butler #black butler fanfiction #black butler smut #undertaker x reader #undertaker x you #undertaker x y/n #black butler x reader #black butler x you #black butler x y/n #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji x y/n #kuroshitsuji x you

361 notes · View notes

khadijha · 5 months

Text

counseling 101: the background.

hi everybody! my name is riley, and i'm a substance use counselor. i've worked in both inpatient and outpatient, i've been in this field since i was 19 and have been professionally working for 2 years. i'm currently in grad school for clinical social work, pursuing my lsw and my clinical licensure (lcsw). i wanted to write a guide on what it "means" to be a counselor! i will be discussing the specifics of a substance use counselor in another post. (it will be linked below.)

disclaimer:

do not take this as professional advice for all counselors, therapists, psychologists, or social workers. this is my background, my information, my experiences, and my specific expertise. this will include the basics of schooling, training, certifications, frequently asked questions, and things you might not realize, as it all pertains to me! what works for my patients and i may not work for you, so be mindful this is not a "my way is correct and your therapist is wrong," as i believe in the pct model of meeting everybody where they're at.

even counselors at my exact experience level and education level may do things differently than me, and that's perfectly fine! i just wanted to write this to give some insight if you're interested in writing a character who is a therapist, or who goes to therapy. or if you're just interested in general! i could give reminders upon reminders but i just need to say that this is all my thoughts and path in life! this is not the end all, be all. and with that, let's get started. (if you have further questions or need something clarified, please feel free to reach out but just for clarification: i'm not your therapist, i'm not being paid for this, please don't trauma dump, and always remember i'm a human just like you!)

education:

your education is based a lot on your "experience" (which i'll talk about next) and i know that doesn't make sense but just stick with me! the very basics of what you need is a bachelor's in a "social work" setting. which includes, but is not limited to (because i forget): psychology, social work, sociology, criminology. these are the foundations for your specific field of work! i'll just be talking about counseling in general, or about substance use, as i am unaware of the other jobs / fields you can get with different degrees.

if you're trying to get a "good" job (livable wage) i would suggest getting a master's degree in your field of work. though, i will say, you can get lucky and survive off of your bachelor's (like i currently am!) but i would strongly, strongly encourage further education which will lead into certifications and licensure, and that will cement your place in the field and open up the job field entirely. with a bachelor's, they often want anywhere from 1-5 years of experience. with a master's, many places will take you with 0 years of experience, up to 5 years, depending on your field and what the company wants.

i currently have my bachelor's in psychology. psychology is such a broad degree that unless you're specifically going to be a clinical psychologist or gain your doctorate, i would choose another field. i didn't know i wanted substance use specifically until i was 19, which i'll speak about in experience, but if i did not choose the substance use field, i would most definitely would have had to immediately get a master's and be licensed in order to receive well paying jobs with just a psychology degree.

experience:

you don't need a master's to get a job in this field, but you do need experience (there will be places that take bachelor's with little to no experience, but will pay you next to nothing). the best thing to do is find an internship! i think the easiest way will be through your school, and when you're picking one of the aforementioned degrees, it should be an option when picking out classes - many times, universities have people that specifically work with internships.

when i was getting my bachelor's degree, it was my first semester and i was 19 when i was offered to interview for an internship through my school. i got accepted on the spot and was apart of it even after i got my "credit" for the semester and continued for two years! i worked in houseless shelters in my county and was running daily men and women's groups, 2:1 sessions (2 counselors to 1 resident), debrief sessions with the other interns, and supplying a resource booth for the residents.

without this internship, i truly and wholeheartedly believe i would not have gotten any job in this field. it's a dog-eat-dog out there in the realm of psychology (which includes all those fields above) and i truly got lucky to get my start this way. if you don't have the time, motivation, or money to gain a master's, i would highly suggest getting involved in internships as soon as possible in order to get those years of experience!

certifications:

this has a wide range of things! i can only speak to what i've received, and what i know about. this also includes specific training to the sud field, but i won't go in depth about it until the next post i do! the certification i will always need is my cpr. i know that sounds silly, but working with people, in general, i feel like everybody that is able to should receive their cpr certificate!

now, with a bachelor's, they're not really expecting you to have anything else. but! you can. i currently have my milieu certification. which sounds fancy but it just means i'm certified in "psychotherapy in which the patient's social environment is controlled or manipulated with a view to preventing self-destructive behavior." i could've explained it myself, but google does wonders and makes me sound smart! i got this through my internship. it was required and within the first two weeks, i went through trainings and seminars to receive the certificate.

another thing i can receive with only a bachelor's (that's specific to sud) is my cadc certification. it stands for certified alcohol drug counselor. in order to do this, you'll need supervision hours from a clinical / licensed or otherwise appropriate supervisor or director. once i receive upwards of 300 hours of documented supervision, i can take my cadc exam and become certified. this can also enhance what jobs are available to me because many jobs ask for this certification in place of a clinical license (some don't, but you know... some do!)

currently, i'm working on my master's and may potentially work towards my cadc along the way, but once i receive my master's i can get my caadc, which is certified advanced alcohol drug counselor. it's just more hours and an exam! not sure which path i'll take yet because grad school is killing me, but those are what's offered in my field and what i'm interested in! of course there's other certifications involved, but that's for you to decide.

licenses:

now comes the fun part. again, what license you want or go for is specific to your field. there's a ton of counseling licenses, but the main ones that are down my path are lpc (licensed professional counselor), lsw (licensed social worker), and lcsw (licensed clinical social worker). so let me explain a little bit about each of them, and what i'm personally doing!

lpc: licensed professional counselors "are trained to offer assessment, therapeutic interventions, consultation, program evaluation and follow-up services in a variety of settings including schools, hospitals, community agencies, private practices, religious centers, group homes and more. lpc's can also independently practice counseling, meaning they can establish or join a private practice and directly bill insurance companies or receive cash for counseling services." can: work independently, diagnose mental health conditions, and supervise for clinical hours. this license is primarily for direct mental health care.

lsw: licensed social workers can "render services that rely on a special knowledge of therapeutic techniques, human personalities, and social resources. this includes: helping people become socially adjusted as individuals and members of a family or community, you cannot work independently; you must work in the affiliation of an agency or social work service provider." cannot: work independently or diagnose mental health conditions.

lcsw: licensed clinical social workers "support people through various challenges by providing general counseling services, crisis intervention, mental health therapies, substance use support, and other key services. lcsw's may also supervise the work of lsw's. they may work in schools, hospitals, elderly care facilities, private practices, and even the courtroom—social workers are often called upon as witnesses in court cases. the main thing to remember is that this license gives them freedom and responsibility to make independent decisions about diagnosis and treatment plans." can: work independently, diagnose mental health conditions and supervise for clinical hours.

difference between lpc and lcsw: though both are similar in their ability to work independently, diagnose mental health conditions, and supervise for clinical hours, there is one main distinction between the two. lpc's are more patient focused and lcsw's utilize a patient's entire life. to put it, well... better, i've turned to google! lpc's "focus on helping clients with specific issues, such as mental health diagnoses, substance use, or behavioral issues. they also can specialize in different types of counseling, including substance use or marriage and family counseling." whereas lcsw's "assist their clients with finding and accessing resources that promote a client’s quality of life and may be involved in the legislative process dictating these services. social worker training usually includes counseling techniques and training, best practices, and finding resources for clients."

general overview:

so, with a bachelor's and no cadc or license, what can i do? well! i counsel<3 i speak to my patients about their substance use, i speak to them about their family, i conduct family sessions, i delve into their trauma, i utilize cbt, pct, mi, and grounding techniques. i run daily groups with my caseload, i run bi weekly groups for the entire community, and i initially assess them for proper level of care. i submit asam's, prepare treatment plans and update them weekly, and work with them on their goals while in and outside of treatment. all of this will be spoken about further in my sud counseling guide.

a day-in-the-life timeline looks like: clock in, check any updates / notes on my patients, go to treatment team with the clinical staff / case management / nursing and doctors (which pertains to the level of care my rehab is - you will not always have this, dependent on inpatient or outpatient and other factors), i run my daily group for an hour with my patients, i do group notes for them, i have my lunch, if i have that afternoon group for the whole community i run it, then i fit in any individual sessions or initial assessments that i need, i complete all progress notes for the day, and i clock out. in between, i handle patient crisis', ama's, behavioral issues, and general questions.

modalities:

what are modalities? "modalities are approaches or methods that a therapist will use to help you reach your goals. modalities fall into broad categories, such as cognitive and behavioral, somatic (body awareness), experiential (play or art therapy), and more." these vary by counselor-to-counselor. this is what works for the counselor and the patient and instead of including the quadrillions of therapy modalities, i'll just talk about the ones i use the most! (also side note that i believe most therapists, within reason, should be utilizing pct and mi but... that's a soapbox for another day). i'll be talking more about why i use - these in relation to sud - in my other post.

cognitive behavioral therapy (cbt):

i want to start this off by saying that cbt is very useful in the beginning stages of therapy! oftentimes, people utilize dbt or somatic therapy after they've "accomplished" cbt. i employ cbt due to, more often than not, patients not having a solid foundation for recovery or changing their ways. so what is cbt?

"cbt is a psycho-social intervention that aims to reduce symptoms of various mental health conditions, primarily depression and anxiety disorders. cognitive behavioral therapy is one of the most effective means of treatment for substance abuse and co-occurring mental health disorders." in a shorter sense: i use cbt in order to "change" the way somebody thinks.

things that are apart of cbt therapy (and can be incorporated in other forms of therapy) include cognitive distortions, grounding techniques, actively engaging in combatting their automatic negative thoughts (ant's), and encompassing pct and mi in order for the patient to understand why they need to change their thoughts / actions, how they can change them, and the results of changing them. this will go more in depth in my sud post!

patient centered therapy (pct):

pct isn't necessarily for everybody, as many patients may have difficulty even coming up with what their issues are or potential solutions. but by utilizing pct, counselors may be able to support a patient to an "answer" or realization without giving them the answer - i find it beneficial to voice my issues and concerns so i'm able to form my own solution even without my friends saying anything! it's very limited involvement from the counselor as far as "telling them" what's wrong and giving them "choices" to fix it.

"during person-centered therapy, a therapist acts as a compassionate facilitator, listening without judgment and acknowledging the client’s experience without shifting the conversation in another direction. the therapist is there to encourage and support the client without interrupting or interfering with their process of self-discovery, as they uncover what hurts and what is needed to repair it."

pct is really important, in my opinion, because it allows patient the autonomy to make decisions for themselves, while also giving them support. a counselor is supposed to help, not be a brick wall, so as much as the patient is allowed to freely roam through their thoughts and feelings, i've found a nice balance between pct and cbt when the patient may not have a specific answer or understanding for themselves.

motivational interviewing (mi):

"mi is a guiding style of communication, that sits between following (good listening) and directing (giving information and advice). it's designed to empower people to change by drawing out their own meaning, importance and capacity for change. mi is based on a respectful and curious way of being with people that facilitates the natural process of change and honors client autonomy."

when i speak about "guiding" a patient to a different way of thought, or to a "solution", mi is what i'm talking about. my entire approach to counseling is not to give them the answer, because many times they may know the "right" thing to do (stay away from drugs - duh, not explode in anger, not cut people off, etc.) but allowing them this space to speak freely so i can ask them questions for clarification, let them know somebody is listening to them, and building up that therapeutic relationship is the entire point for me.

mi is where the trifecta of these modalities lays. i can utilize cbt in an effort to change their mindset or offer new ideas or "reasons" why they may think / act like that, as well as incorporating pct so that they can come to the realization themselves! it's all about balance and which modality is right for that exact moment, for that patient. it also allows me to be entirely present in the conversation. i often find myself dissociating in my day-to-day life, as many people do, but by using mi, i have to listen in order to ask questions or repeat what they said back to them. it's beneficial to all!

the end:

thank you so much for reading this! i know this was just the basics, but if you want to write a character who's a therapist or who's going to one, i hope this helps beef up that background for you! again, this is specific to me and my sud field, and there's a million other certifications and licenses for general counselors.

substance use disorder counseling post. (will update when post is done).

#rpt #rpc #rph #idk what else to tag<3 KSJAHS #rp guide #character guide #career guide #*#*guide.#counseling 101.

38 notes · View notes

qqueenofhades · 2 months

Note

So I decided to go back to school this year and am now in grad school, which I am somewhat struggling with more than I would like; damn them ADHD brain gremlins. As a grad school veteran, do you have any tips for not drowning in grad school while being a semi-functioning employed adult? 💚

Aha, well. I haven't actually gone to grad school while also working full time (unless I really lose my mind and do another master's degree while also managing two and/or three academic programs, but let's not talk about that), so I don't have specific suggestions in that regard. However, I can offer my basic tips for surviving grad school, which include:

* Set a routine and make sure you block out time to do your reading and/or writing. If nothing else, prioritize this. A lot of your grade in the class will come from what is directly before the professor's eyeballs, i.e. whether you can prove that you actually have a clue what they're teaching you and whether you can write coherently as a result. You can skim-read (dirty secret: almost all academics do), but you have to know how to skim-read, so you'll still taking in the essential points of the content. Usually this means reading the abstract, the introduction and conclusion, and maybe the beginning and end of each chapter or article section. Take notes. If you think "oh no, I'll definitely remember that!" -- that is the devil talking. Read with a pen in your hand. Future You will thank you.

* Likewise: you will need to take at least a few days to write a decent grad school essay. Plan in advance. Some people are the kind who can frantically scramble to pull an entire undergrad essay out of the hat on the night before and submit it at 11:59pm, but a) this doesn't work in grad school, or at least not as much, and b) if that's how you're going through it, you're not getting value out of it for money, and grad school is FRIKIN EXPENSIVE. The most amount of outstanding student loan debt I have is from my master's degree, not my bachelor's or PhD. If you're skating through it and bullshitting everything, then it's just not worth what you're paying.

* COMMUNICATE! PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, COMMUNICATE!!!! This should be both to your professors in school and/or your bosses at your regular job. If you anticipate a schedule conflict, need an extension, have something that needs to be done in one front that will have to take priority over the other -- PLEASE COMMUNICATE! (Is this my Traumatized Faculty And/Or Administrator Voice talking? You can't prove it.) Don't drop in with a panicked email five hours before the deadline and beg for more time/a dispensation/extension/whatever. Most people will be willing to work with you, but that relies on giving them time and/or planning space to do so and make other arrangements; after all, they are also counting on you to be a team player and if you can't be, to give them the chance not to be screwed by your absence. It is a basic courtesy to promptly answer (and my god, READ!!!!) your emails and to communicate with other people BEFORE problems arise, rather than when you're right in the middle of them and it is already an emergency. Everyone will thank you for this.

* Likewise: work out which things need to be done as soon as they come up, and which ones are able to wait a little longer. My particular brand of neurodivergence often makes me think that I need to do new things RIGHT NOW GOD RIGHT NOW FIVE ALARM FIRE!! and I stress and get anxious until I do them, even if I'm already working on something else. Project-hopping can sometimes be helpful if you're feeling blocked on something else, but do also have a sense of what needs to be prioritized most.

* If you're not already on medication and/or have some way of managing your ADHD: I would strongly recommend that. Grad school is hard enough, and you don't need to make it artificially harder. There are always the usual bugaboos about obtaining any kind of care, but do what you have to do, medically or otherwise, to make sure you're putting your best foot forward and not artificially sabotaging yourself because the brain chemicals just won't play ball. Believe me, I also know something about that, so yeah.

Good luck!

#sonicenvy #ask #school stuff

14 notes · View notes

restwellsoon · 1 year

Note

Hello 👋 for your token of sleep project I would like a daydream prompt with Jason Todd demon AU where he is an incubus and the f reader has accidentally summoned him yet she is super stressed out and needs some relief. Ps. I hope your having a great day or night.

Oh boy am I feeling this as I've just started my grad program while still working full-time. Feelin' like actual death right now.

Thanks for participating and I hope that you have a great day/night as well!

Minors and ageless blogs DNI!

Pairing: Jason Todd x F!Reader

Warnings: Demon AU, smut, slight degradation

/ "There you go," Jason encouraged, watching carefully at the fine movements of your body as he readied it to take him. "Keep breathing. It's okay. Let out a curse even. Fuck? That's what I'm trying to do, sweetheart, just be patient. You can't handle this all at once."

You said a quick prayer to God-any god that would listen- to help you pass your midterms, or at the very least give you the strength to get through the last twelve pages of your paper.

The eerie rustle of papers made your skin prickle as you looked for any source of wind. The window was closed. Your fan was off. The bedroom door had been closed for hours as your roommate gave up, deciding to indulge in hedonistic procrastination instead of keeping their nose buried in a book all weekend.

"God?" You asked, in half-jest and half-hope, your delirious mind looking for any excuse to take itself away from your computer screen.

"Already? We haven't even gotten to the good parts yet, sweetheart," a voice drawled from the darkness beneath your desk.

Reflexively, you scooted back, computer chair wheels swiveling wildly until the back bumped into the foot of your bed. You scrambled off the chair and into your bed, a stupid thought of hiding beneath the covers running through your mind.

The voice crawled from its den, and at first, it was nothing more than hunkering darkness. Each step it took towards you gave it shape, and you sat paralyzed, watching as you saw the face of your end.

Under the dim lighting of your lamp, you saw chiseled muscle and horns. The sharp glint of his fangs were lost as you focused on his face-strange and unknown yet more alluring than frightening. Your mind glossed over his nakedness to be enthralled by his splendor.

"Who are you? What are you?"

"Is it tacky to say, whatever you want me to be?" The being seemed amused by his own joke and only became serious when he realized you weren't laughing with him.

His thumb stuck back to the pile of books behind him before crossing his arms sternly. "You summoned me." He elaborated after your blank stare. "The sigil?" Your bored scrawlings? "The prayer?"

"So you'll help me pass my classes?" His uncertain hum wasn't convincing.

"Or at least help me study better?" He shrugged.

"Will you at least help me out with my job or pay my rent, so I can focus on school?"

"Look," he spoke, "I'm an incubus. Call me Jason. Best I can do is give you post-nut clarity. Take it or leave it."

With a sigh, you weighed your options. The demon seemed useless, but who knew what a clear head could do for your productivity. You gave in with an annoyed 'Fine.'

He grinned, smile stretching to show off two precious dimples. "Atta girl. Smart decision. See, you hardly even need me." In a blink, he was in bed with you, making quick work of your clothes. "But I'm grateful all the same."

His kisses trailed up your legs as they spread for him wider than you were willing to admit. To your relief, he said nothing, only grinned as he buried his nose in your folds. Jason's fingers worked in sync with his tongue, drawing out your sweet nectar as it collected on the base of his knuckles.

After a few minutes, he rose, broad shoulders flexing before he sat back to look at his work. His index and middle finger spread apart to look at your hole. "A tight fit, but we can make it work," he mumbled more to himself than you.

His cock was ribbed with thick fat veins and narrowed down to gently arrowed tip, the end drooling with opalescent pre-cum. He gave his cock a few pumps, its length growing an extra inch for good measure as heavy balls lightly swayed.

"I don't think it'll-" You tried to interject, but your thought was lost as the head entered and teased, rubbing against your clit as you body ached for the demon.

"There you go," Jason encouraged, watching carefully at the fine movements of your body as he readied it to take him. "Keep breathing. It's okay. Let out a curse even. Fuck? That's what I'm trying to do, sweetheart, just be patient. You can't handle this all at once."

Five frustrating minutes later, his length was buried inside you, and Jason wasted no more time to fuck you, resting his ankles on his shoulders as he worked.

The orgasm was noticeably longer than others you've had and seemed to drain the life out of you as you tried to catch your breath. Jason was unaffected-chipper even- as he laid beside you.

"So what's that post-nut clarity telling you?" Each human was different after all.

You checked the time before looking back at your books and computer. You had work in three hours and your paper was due in six.

"I'm already fucked," you admitted before straddling his great lap. "Might as well enjoy it."

A Token of Sleep | event / Jason Todd's Masterlist / Rest's Main M.list

#jason todd x reader #a token of sleep with rest #rest writes

85 notes · View notes

lesbiansandgayssupporttheminers · 1 year

Text

I want to talk quickly about teacher pay. It's going to come up a lot I'm sure over the next few days. Teachers have had an (unfunded) pay rise this year (not all teachers have received it yet) and so the starting salary for a teacher is £28,000 outside of London.

Which sounds like a lot I'm sure.

Take home from that with my student loans and pension deductions is about £1,700. Still sounds like a lot, I'm sure.

I looked up the cheapest rent for a 1 bed flat where I used to live. That's now £700. Due to the amount of work you have to do at home, and especially during covid I think it's very difficult for teachers to live in shared houses. Of course some do, but for me, at that point it gets into the territory of "why am I bothering"

So, I worked out what would be left over based on my old bills, except electricity which I used my current bill for, because of price rises.

After essential bills only (including a car because it was essential in that town and mobile+ internet because they are considered essential for teachers by most schools), I worked out said teacher has £480 a month left over.

That's to cover any hobbies, buying clothes, any subscriptions, any money they spend on school stuff (which they will in most schools) any treats like a takeaway or god forbid a night out...

You can see it's not going to go that far. Like, sure, it's doable and you know in your second year of teaching it will go up etc etc.

But equally, when you're looking for jobs to apply to (and there are a lot) you'd potentially discount expensive towns. Maybe you'd live in a city and not have to run a car? Maybe you'd live in a cheaper location? (Maybe you'd decide it's not worth it and opt for that 32k grad scheme instead). (Maybe you'd opt out of your pension).

Anyway perhaps you start to see why some schools in some areas of the country struggle to recruit. In London, the pay is higher of course, but not in other expensive places like Bristol or Oxford etc.

And then equally you start thinking about couples who want to have a family. Childcare is crippling, they need to be able to afford a 2 bed house, even on M3/M4, it looks pretty unaffordable. Maybe one of them goes part time. Maybe one of them switches careers?

The point of this is not to be like "woe are teachers" because I know a lot of people have a lot lower take home pay. My point is that a) teachers are well qualified people with the option to switch careers b) we need teachers to be able to live in every part of the country.

Now, I can only see two possible solutions. Rent controls, or pay teachers more. Unfortunately, I'm not allowed to strike over housing costs, so therefore I'm left with the option of striking over pay.

#uk politics #teachers #education #teacher pay #teacher strikes

95 notes · View notes

justhere4kpop · 1 year

Text

~Beautiful Stranger~

Pairing: Yunho x Reader. (The guys are involved at some point too but not romantically.) NonIdol! AU

Description: A lonely perpetually single grad student working at a museum is approached by a handsome man, he looks expensive. Maybe this is your chance to get swept off your feet. Maybe he wants something else.

Warnings: I don't censor myself so I don't censor the characters, so Language warning. Let me know if I missed anything.

taglist: @legohwa, @hwaightme

a/n: Okay! I was originally going to make this a one-shot but I think I have too much storyline in my head to make it that way so Surprise! Series time! I'm really excited about this one so please let me know what you guys think, I'm having so much fun writing it already.

Also yes the Teaser is included at the beginning of the chapter, I added some stuff to it so I just put it in.

w/c: 4258

Chapter One: Handsome Stranger

The blaring sound of my morning alarm disturbs the dreams of a man sweeping me off my feet, his voice no longer sweet as honey but now Kick It by NCT 127. I guess I’m getting introduced to some New Thangs today So it was going to be that kind of day, no school but long hours at work as a gallery attendant but also archivist in training, the latter being an unpaid internship…of course. Yeah, long day. I got up, finally silencing my alarm and pulling myself out of my full sized bed, the only luxury I could afford on my own, to drag myself down the hallway to our shared bathroom and brush my teeth. Let’s hope I’m awake enough to remember not to drink Orange Juice again as I look for breakfast. Now how long until I have to catch my train? And if I miss it how long until the bus? It’s not a terrible walk but I need to eat. Maybe I can get to Uni from here. Why does London have to be so confusing!

I’m not originally from the UK but my parents moved back and forth for a variety of things while I was growing up so it’s like a second home. I came here for my graduate program in Art History and made a few friends…moved in with them and now there’s 5 people in an apartment made for 3. We all go to University College London and live off campus in the cheapest place we could find. I was fortunate enough to get a job and internship at The National Gallery here. I’m lucky and I can pay rent but that’s about it, I’m by no means well off and trust me I could use a few extra of any sort of money.

“You’re up early y/n” William, my flatmate’s boyfriend said passing by the open door.

“Work.” was all I mumbled as I head back to my room to pick out my outfit for the day. I stayed up writing this stupid research paper all night and what do I have to show for it…the not so designer bags under my eyes. Most days are filled with a plethora of alarms going off around the same time, lucky for my flatmates, I’m the only one with work today I guess. Alright, which combination of suit pants, blouse, and jacket am I going to wear today…All Black? All Black. I finished setting everything out before heading downstairs to eat just in case I got something on my shirt again. Last time I decided to make this beautiful breakfast sandwich with a runny egg and it broke onto the bright pink blouse I had picked for the day on the tube going to work, my boss was not happy about the spill. Did I cry, yeah…hey the saying is crying over spilt milk not spilt eggs.

“Oh hi y/n!” my other flatmate's girlfriend Emma cheerily said. “I’m just making Becks some breakfast do you want any?”

“Sure Ems…thanks.” I nodded. If I didn’t have to cook I wasn’t going to complain. Oh that’s the other thing you should know, I’m the only one single in this apartment anymore…or flat. Whatever you want to call it.

The two sleeping while their partners roam around are my best friends for 2 years, Becka (Rebecca) and Liz (Elizabeth), I only use their full names when I’m angry at them, there have been plenty of arguments in the small confinement of our apartment. There’s 2 bedrooms upstairs, one above the living room, one above the downstairs bedroom, the bathroom is in between the two and just up the set of stairs. Downstairs is the living room, and subsequent dining area. Kitchen is just through to the back and off to the right is bedroom number 3. Yes we all share one bathroom, no it’s not as fun as it sounds. I live in the room at the front of the place above the living room. I was going to take the downstairs room because I came home late and didn’t want to wake anyone until Liz and Will got together, when they started dating they went at it like rabbits. Becka offered to switch with me since she was barely home to begin with, she and Emma had just started dating so she was with her a lot, at school doing lengthy research papers, or at her internship at the hospital. Her internship slowed down so she had a lot of time to be home and spend time with the love of her life. They’re cute don’t get me wrong…just unfortunate to be the only one single here.

“Thanks again Ems.” I said cleaning the plate I used as I got up to finally get dressed. “It was really good, Becka is lucky to have you.”

“I certainly am.” said woman came into the room perking up at her partner. “Thank you again love.”

“I’ll be going before that breakfast makes a fast journey back up.” I laughed receiving a towel to the face. I put on the outfit I had picked out, touched up my hair so I didn’t look like I was coming out of bed, and set off for the day. Thankfully I didn’t miss my train so it was only 45 minutes to get to work. I know that sounds like a lot but it’s not so bad when you’re used to it. I get to listen to music and relax a little more before starting a long long day.

The opening of a museum is never exciting, there’s probably 10 maybe 15 guests in the first 3 hours of opening, not much to do, luckily the museum lets me work on my internship first on these long days so I’m not bored out of my mind by the time I’m done. I usually clock in around lunch time finally and sit or stand around for the rest of the day depending on what they want me to do that day.

“Y/n” you’re going to be in Room 43 today.” my boss Henry looked at me.

“Well at least I get to look at some of my favorites today.” I sighed, knowing I was going to be on my feet for the rest of the day was not something to invoke joy. Room 43 on Level 2 had our Van Gogh, Gauguin, and Seurat paintings, most notably Sunflowers by Van Gogh, Van Gogh’s Chair, and Motherhood by Picasso. One of my favorites was-

“A Vase of Flowers, Paul Gauguin,” said the smoothest voice I’ve ever heard. Like butter melting on bread.

“Yes, one of my favorites in the room.” I smiled before turning towards the man. My breath hitched, there before me stood a man about 6 foot 1, dressed in a suit that looks like I don’t know how to pronounce the designers name, oxford shoes, no tie,his nose had a slight point to it, a jawline that looked like it was sculpted by Michelangelo, full eyebrows, his eyes soft and warm, finally his black hair. He was perfect, absolutely stunning, I wanted to look at him more than the art around me.

“Can you tell me about it?” he smiled.

“Oh, yes absolutely.” Anything to talk to him. “Painted by Gauguin in 1896, painted with Oil Paints-”

“Ah so it needs something breathable to not ruin the paints?” he smiled. “When transported for cleaning?”

“Yes, since oils are very hard to fix if damaged and excess moisture can ruin them like the whole water and oil thing... So um anyways, Paul Gauguin painted 'A Vase of Flowers' when he arrived in Tahiti for his second stay in 1895. The vase is bursting with exotic flowers including hibiscus, white and yellow frangipani and white tiare. The flowers look as though they are past their best as some blossoms have fallen onto the table. This suggests that Gauguin was not interested in the horticultural detail but instead the decorative shapes and interweaving of colors of the display.”

“Very interesting.” his smile grew. “Sorry one of my friends is very interested in this piece but I never knew what it was painted with.”

“Excuse me ma’am.” an older woman called my attention. “I had a question about this piece.”

“Oh, well I’m glad I could help sir. I’m y/n.” I shook his hand. “Please let me know if you have more questions.I’ll um..be over there” I nodded, giving him time to look at the painting. A handsome stranger interested in learning about one of my favorite pieces…he’s probably married. I’m going to be alone forever.

“Thank you beautiful.” he flashed a smile my way.

The beautiful stranger hung around for quite some time staring at the piece, he even had a notebook where he wrote some notes and made a sketch of the painting. No I wasn’t staring at him…okay maybe I totally was but it’s not everyday you see someone that attractive in here, he was practically an art piece himself. No I wasn’t fantasizing about him taking me away in some fancy car with the engine revving going way to fast down the street to a fancy restaurant where the prices aren’t even on the menu and he tells me not to worry about it and to order what I like, he’d probably call me something cheesy like baby, honey, sweetheart, dear, starlight, honey bun….darling…his. NO! Oh my god you can’t fantasize about that stuff he asked you a question. You really are deprived.

Work was the same as ever after the man left, I was stuck making sure no one touched the art until the museum closed and then I got to go home after clocking out. Back to the happy couples…I put on my earbuds and walked to the station, after staring at someone all day I wasn’t really ready to be reminded I was single forever. Oh well, no choice…maybe I’ll stop and get food and just head up to my room so they won’t notice.

“Hey y/n!” a voice yelled in the tunnel. “Aww hey do you have your earbuds in?” he tapped my shoulder.

“I have mace!” I whipped around feeling someone tap me. Oh. “Wooyoung! Don’t scare me that way!” I hit him gently and took my earbuds out.

“Heading home?” he asked.

“Yeah, I just got off work.”

“I was hoping you were going to say a date,” he sighed.

“Can’t find one. I stare at paintings from the 1800s all day.” I chuckled and nudged him. “Let me know if you find Degas or Van Gogh walking around, I’m pretty sure I know more about them than myself at this point.”

“I’ll be sure to point them your way.” he smiled. “Not even one of your coworkers huh?”

“I went out for drinks a while ago with David but he was so boring, no spice you know. Plus he’s one of those water is too spicy guys.”

“Oh yeah, ew.”

“I don’t know, maybe I’m just always going to be single. I just want someone…who’s a little interesting you know?”

His eyes lit up, he had heard that sentence a few days ago from someone else, he knew what to do.

“Well maybe I have this friend?” he started.

“Oh god not matchmaker Woo again.” I rolled my eyes as we got on the train.

“Hey look I really thought you two would hit it off.”

“Woo he just wanted to make his ex jealous…and I ended up with a ruined dress and a large bill.”

“I apologized and paid you back for his meal. I’m sorry!”

“I know you did.”

“Okay but seriously, this guy is one of my best friends, he’s got some money, he’s actually single single, like hasn’t had a partner in years single, he likes art, he’s tall, he’s not a scumbag, and he’s interesting. I promise you’ll like him.” he pleaded.

“Woo I just-”

“Pleaseeee just one date and then if you don’t like him you can tell me to fuck off whenever you want, please please please!”

“Okay okay fine…one date. Just…one ok?” I sighed. I trust Wooyoung. I do. He's a good friend, great even…his matchmaking skills are just…hit or miss.

“You won’t regret it, and be sure to thank me at the wedding!” he got up at his stop.

“Woo there won’t-!” the doors closed… “be a wedding.” I groaned. Just what have I gotten myself into.

“Hey sour puss what’s with the face?” Liz asked as I came in.

“Ran into Wooyoung on the train.”

“Oh how’s he doing? Also what did he do, you’re not in a bad mood every time you see him” she smiled. “Will is in the bathroom.” I motioned to head up and stopped at her words

“He begged me to go on a blind date with someone he knows.”

“Oh god because that worked out so well last time.” she smiled.

“What did?” Becka came into the room.

“Woo set y/n up on a blind date…again.” Liz smiled.

“Oh god, you have my number I will come get you.” Becka chuckled.

“He promised it wouldn’t be as bad this time but I don’t know I’m still worried.” I rubbed my arm. “He did apologize for last time but still…that was so bad.”

“Do you know anything about this one?” Liz asked.

“Apparently he’s tall, very single, likes art, and has money?” I said remembering what Wooyoung told me on the train.

“Ooo tall handsome rich single man?” They both chuckled. “How does Wooyoung know someone like that?”

“Beats me honestly, but I said I would try…even though I regret it already.”

“And when is said date?” Becka asked.

“Dunno….he’ll probably text me about it later.” I sighed. “I mean I guess it couldn’t be too bad to try.”

“It’s probably worse to trust Woo than to go on the date.” Liz smiled and Will came down.

“Who’s got a date?” he asked.

“y/n” Liz said and made room on the couch for her boyfriend.

“Oh y/n has a date?” Emma sat next to Becka.

“I’m off to bed, it looks like a date night.” I waved.

No need to be reminded I’m still…very much single.

~~~~~~~~~

“Hyung Hyung Hyungie Hyung-ah Hyunghyunghyung” Wooyoung began annoying the older man at his desk.

“Yes Wooyoung?” Yunho looked up from his computer, blueprints and notes scattered around the desk. “Do you need another reference photo or something?”

“No no that’s fine, it’s all coming together.” Wooyoung brushed the man off. “I found you the perfect date!”

“Woo we’ve talked about this, I don’t date.” he sighed.

“No no listen really, she's perfect for you, she’s single and lives with two other couples so she’s practically begging to get out, she doesn’t ask a lot of questions, she knows a bunch about art and everything.”

“Wouldn’t that make it easier for us to get caught Wooyoung? She could tell fakes from the real ones?”

“Nah her eyesight is too bad for that unless she’s up close and personal. She could help us out with transporting them properly, you know, how to keep them undamaged. Plus she’s really pretty, you’d like her…oh and she’s funny, sarcastic, looks good on your arm at a party.”

“Why don’t you date her then?”

“Oh hyung don’t be silly, you’re the one getting old, you need to settle down, don’t you want to spend time with someone, you know spend some of that money on them, have someone besides us…help relieve some stress?”

“We’re the same age Wooyoung.” he closed his laptop.

“Oh no, my birthday is in November, yours just passed.”

The room got quiet.

“You’re not letting this go until I say yes are you?”

“Oh come on just one date! You’ll like her, I bet you’ll even get married come on! Please please please please please please please please please please please please pleasepleasepleaseplease-”

“Okay!!...Okay fine, just one date, and we’re not-” Wooyoung left. “Getting married…”

Yunho couldn’t help but think of the beautiful stranger he met at the museum earlier, he caught her staring a few times but couldn’t bring himself to say more in case she got suspicious, but man did he want to, her smile was infectious, her clothing choices mimicked his own, she knew about the art he wanted…but he’s a criminal, no one would ever want to be with a criminal, it’s not that he can’t do the time he just wouldn’t want to drag someone else into it, although he certainly wouldn’t mind coming out to that beautiful face…if he ever got caught that is, he has no plans on making that a reality.

“One date.” he sighed to himself.

~~~~~~~~~~

I smoothed over the dress I chose for tonight, Wooyoung couldn’t wait to text me and tell me his friend said yes. Why did I bother saying yes this is…no let’s..let’s be hopeful, maybe he’ll be nice, and funny, and hopefully a little good-looking….please Wooyoung…don’t do this to me.

“You look gorgeous y/n!” Emma and Liz squealed, their partners on the couch.

“We definitely won’t be seeing you tonight.” Becka chuckled.

“Oh please I’m definitely not going to sleep with this guy, it’s the first date and it’s a Wooyoung blind date.” I rolled my eyes.

“I mean if he’s lucky we won’t see you tonight.” Liz laughed. “He’ll certainly only have his eyes on you this time.”

“One can hope” I groaned. “I better go, I don't want to show up late.” I grabbed my purse and a long black coat to keep warm. Of course there’s a hole in the pocket…I really need to get this fixed.

“It’s going to be warm out, just forget the coat and get it fixed later.” Liz called out. “Go go! You’ll be late.”

It feels weird to walk around the city in just a dress and heels, I feel a little exposed but it’s not any different from the other people I’ve seen I guess…I made my way to the station to go to the restaurant Wooyoung had picked out, he told me to dress fancy so I got the fanciest dress I could. Black and white, a little lace, elegant but not over the top, stops at the knee, a cute little black heel and my hair pulled up into one of those fancy buns. Hopefully I remembered my glasses this time in my bag.

When Jung Wooyoung says fancy restaurant he wasn’t kidding, I’m pretty sure an appetizer here costs my entire rent, there’s not even prices on the menu how am I supposed to afford-

“Miss y/n?” A voice called. Sounds….familiar?

“Yes?” I turned around and it was the guy from the museum. “Oh hello.” I blushed

“It’s nice to see you again, are you waiting for someone?”

“My um..my friend set me up on this..silly blind date.” I chuckled lightly.

“How funny me too.” he smiled. “I wouldn’t be rude to assume you know a Jung, Wooyoung?”

“That would be the one.” I nodded gently.

“Well how funny would it be if I told you the very person sent me here on a silly blind date as well?”

“Well I suppose that would be…quite nice actually.” I sighed. “Last time I let him talk me into this…it didn’t go well.”

“Ah I know the feeling. She went after her ex after spending 30 minutes with me.” he chuckled.

“Ironic, mine used me to get back with his ex.”

“Now isn’t that just something.” he offered his hand to me. “Shall we go in?”

“How gentlemanly.” I let out a chuckle.

“Oh I’m Yunho by the way, Jeong Yunho.”

“Oh a James Bond type I see. Last name first.” I chuckled. “Y/n L/n. Sorry I went the other way.”

“Oh god!” they both thought. “It’s you from the museum! What should I do?...stay calm, it’s just a date.”

I never thought I’d thank Wooyoung for setting me up on a date but, I might after this one…he’s so…he’s almost too perfect to be true, he’s interested in what I do, he’s charming, funny, he’s handsome…I..I almost feel like I’m dreaming. I’m pinching myself and not waking up so this has to be real, please be real. If this is a prank Wooyoung I’m never speaking to you again.

“I should warn you beautiful, I’m quite dangerous.” he chuckled

“Oh are you now? Maybe I should’ve brought a bat.”

Time felt forgotten, it passed by so fast but so slow. Before we knew it the restaurant was closing and asking us to leave.

“Oh don’t worry about the bill.” he waved his hand at me reaching for my wallet. “It’s on me tonight.”

“I couldn’t possibly let you-”

“I insist beautiful.” he smiled and handed the waiter his card….A Black Credit Card!??!?! Oh my god.

“Next time is on me.” I said my cheeks were heating up. “A-As long as it’s pizza.” I joked…not really.

“Pizza sounds perfect if you’re there.” he winked. Oh man he is dangerous. “Can I walk you home? Or perhaps drive you?” he beeped his car…his very expensive silver car. A Rolls Royce?

“Oh my god.” I whispered. “What do you do?” I laughed.

“Oh I just inherited a lot of money from my uncle.”

“Oh sure, do you sell organs on the black market?” I nudged him gently.

“Oh no way, blood freaks me out.” he laughed. “I invest.”

“Sure.” I smiled and got in the car.

“Where to?” he asked.

“Oh right.” I gave him my address and we were off. It was bittersweet driving with him, I really didn’t want it to end yet. If this was going to be my only date with Yunho then…I just wanted to feel special for a little while longer. “Um, would you mind if we made a short stop first? It’s just…a really nice night out and I don’t want to…with my roommates and all.”

“Sure, I wouldn’t mind staying out myself.” he smiled.

“There’s a park just up ahead.” I said bashfully. “We could just…walk around?”

“I like that idea.” he pulled over to the park and before I could even think about opening my door he had sprinted around the car to open it.

“Ever the gentleman.” I stepped out and he offered his arm.

We walked around the park for a little just continuing our conversations from earlier, he shared about his childhood days, some of the stuff he and his brother used to do, his friends and how he met Wooyoung. It was all great until a breeze swept through.

“Here.” he shrugged off his coat and pulled it around me. “Better?” he smiled and his touch on me lingered slightly.

“Better.” I whispered and looked at him. “Thank you.”

“Sure.” he cleared his throat and pulled back slightly.

It was close to 11pm when we finally decided we had been out long enough, I would hopefully not get hazed about the date and he would hopefully be able to go back to whatever he wanted. Even if it was just one date, it felt like a million and it just felt wonderful.

“Oh your coat.” I started taking it off as we pulled up to my little flat.

“Just give it to me next time Beautiful.” he smiled and put his hand up to stop me.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded.

I leaned over the center console and kissed his cheek leaving a slight pink imprint there.

“Goodnight Yunho, thank you for the…probably most perfect night of my life listening to me talk about work.” I smiled and got out of the car. I’ll miss him.

“Goodnight Beautiful.” he smiled more to himself as he drove off when she walked in her front door.

Did I receive the interrogation of a lifetime? Yes absolutely.

Could I stop smiling? No..Not at all. He listened to me ramble about work and school and how overwhelming it is, he listened to me talk about different paints and how to preserve them and take care of them like it was the most interesting thing he ever heard. I almost hate him for how perfect he is.

“Jung Wooyoung, I'm going to kill you.” I said as he picked up the phone.

“What?! Why!? What happened!?” he sat up on the other line.

“How could you literally give me that after all the shit dates you’ve set me up on!”

“Was it bad? You guys have been out for hours!”

“No! It was amazing! I can’t believe you!” I groaned and flopped onto my bed. “He was…kind and sweet and charming and caring and…everything and I hate you for it.”

“...BECAUSE I WAS RIGHT???”

“BECAUSE YOU WERE RIGHT!” I sat up. “Why did you have to be right!?”

“Because I’m amazing, excuse you. You liked him.”

“Yes.”

“You liked him a lot?”

“Wooyoung I literally would drop everything right now to just listen to his laugh.” I sighed. “It's pathetic.”

“I’ll let you know what he says, I just heard the front door.”

“No Wooyoung please, it's fine. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.” I sighed. “I’ll have to give you his coat too.”

“He gave you his coat? Oh my god. See marriage.”

“Goodnight Woo.”

“I’m the matchmaker god after all.”

“Goodnight! Woo.” I hung up. I hate this.

I hate men.

`Next

#ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #yunho #yunho x y/n #yunho x reader #my writing #Beautiful Stranger #by me

51 notes · View notes