#and to not only tell people that world will never come

[nighttimealone]

Cw: Nsfw (A bet with Simon about wearing a vibrator secretly and not to come in public)

A bet with Simon brought you to the predicament now. Squeezing through the crowded station’s concourse with his hand around you waist, looking like a normal couple, but no one knows there’s a remote controlled vibrator—designed to stimulate your g spot and have a little curve hooked snuggly against your clit—buzzing freely inside you.

Don’t come in 10 minutes, then you can do anything to him, his words ignited the competitive fire inside you.

The weather is cold, allow you to excuse your flush with it, hide your face in the scarf slightly when your moans sneak their way out.

“Only 3 minutes passed, sweetheart.” He leans down to murmur as he lead you across the concourse, the sultry tone disguised within, only able to get noticed by you. You shoot daggers back at him, try not to drop to your knees whenever someone accidentally bump into you in this packed station, making your thighs shifted in the force and the vibrator digs further into the sweet spot.

You meet his eyes behind his disposal mask and black cap, and you know the bastard is laughing at you from the crinkles at the corner of his eyes.

Your eyes are glossy with the tears from the constant stimulation, trying to threaten him with those bunny eyes but failed adorably. He can tell you’re teetering on the edge, and he’s been enjoying your fluster too much, his trousers straining behind the cover of his long coat. How can he not when you look absolutely cute like this, stopping between of your steps to forbear the orgasm, arms holding with his tighten and press your cheek against his bicep to stifle the whimpers.

You let out a sigh of relief when he dials down the intensity, look up at him with a hint of disbelief. The vibrations keeps sending shivers down your spine, your legs are doing their best to stay straight, but it’s much better than they were seconds before. So you give his hand a squeeze, resume the walk across the massive concourse.

The walk is torturous, every steps is worsening the divine ache between your legs. You didn’t like how the vibrator rutting into your sensitive clit, your panties isn’t soaked with all the juices and you’re not clenching that tight cunny under the onslaught of pleasure. You brainwash yourself repeatedly, the vibrations never cease, and you’re dancing on the edge even after Simon turned it down a few notches earlier. One minute left, just one minute…

Of course it won’t be that easy, he just wants to prolong your pleasure and get the show go on as long as it could, before finally breaking you.

Just as you two almost reach the main entrance of the station, you almost tripped when he abruptly changes the intensity once again. Covering your mouth and fully cling onto him, you’re totally speechless when he leads you to stand aside in the station, pulling you into his arms and coos lowly.

“Come for me, love, let it out.” His fingers card through your silky hair when you bury your face into his chest, muffling all the cries as you get pushed over the edge, gushing in your panties and you know it’s definitely ruined by now.

A few people spare a glance at your way, curious about what just happened before going on their life. Yet you’re totally unaware of it, trying to quiet your whines and you keep tucking yourself in his arms.

Simon adjusted his coat, enough to engulf you in it, and he keeps crooning sweet nothings into your ears “You’re so beautiful, so gorgeous when you came in my arms, love.” His voice soothing you along with his palm rubbing on your back, hiding you in his coat and shield you from the world, even though he’s the one bringing you the luscious torment.

Supported by his strong hands so you won’t fall to the ground with wobbly feet, you lift your head from his chest after your breaths slows down, and you manage not to punch him in the face when pat your head and remind you the truth.

“9 minutes 47 seconds, you didn’t make it to 10 minutes. what a shame.” Simon’s chest rumbles with the quiet laughters. You see the mischief in his rich brown eyes, and hell, he’s definitely thinking about how he will get you to do from losing the bet.

[lovelookspretty]

WAKING UP TO YOU

au!rafe cameron x reader

— in which you wake up in a strange alternate reality that just so happens to be the outer banks universe, and to your disbelief, you’re suddenly in a relationship with the shows most unlikely character, rafe cameron.

warnings: safe, mention of drugs, like one f word

authors note: i need to stop making new series when i havent even finished my last 😭 i get so bored when i near the end of a series LMAO im so sorry. guaranteed this is about to be my next potential series if people like it !!

you wake up with a start, disoriented, the remnants of sleep clinging to you like a heavy fog.

the first thing you notice is the warmth of the sun pouring through the windows, casting golden stripes across the room. you blink slowly, your surroundings coming into focus, and that's when the confusion sets in. this isn’t your apartment.

it’s . . . tannyhill. the camerons’ house. the place you’ve only ever seen on screen, the walls adorned with the unmistakable coastal vibe of the outer banks.

you push yourself up on your elbows, heart racing as you try to piece together what happened. just last night, you were in your own bed, scrolling through your phone, drifting off to sleep amidst the noise of the city. how did you end up here, in this bed, in this house?

your mind races, trying to catch up with your senses.

the sheets feel soft against your skin, and you notice the faint scent of salt and something warm, familiar, clinging to the pillow next to you. it feels like a dream, and the longer you sit there, the more bizarre it all seems.

no.

your heart starts to pound. this is wrong. you were in your apartment last night, you were sure of it. how could you be here now? how could any of this be happening?

you take in the opulence of the room. it's exactly like the show, down to the little details you never thought you'd see in person. the bed feels massive, the room impossibly large.

the panic begins to rise in your chest, your breaths becoming shallow as your mind races to make sense of it all.

and then, from the corner of your eye, you see movement. the door to the balcony swings open, and your blood turns to ice.

rafe?

he steps inside as casually as if he’s done this a hundred times before. and he probably has—because in this world, it looks like waking up next to you is normal for him. but for you? this is waking up next to a stranger, someone you’ve only seen on a screen, a character, an actor.

and yet, here he is, in the flesh, shirtless with his t-shirt dangling loosely in his hand like he’s about to put it on.

you freeze, eyes locking onto his bare chest, the sight almost too surreal to process. his body is toned, like you’ve seen a few times in his films, but now he's standing here, so nonchalant, as if this is all part of your routine together.

your breath catches, panic bubbling up inside as your mind screams at you to make sense of it. but no sense can be made. he’s real. he’s right there.

he catches your gaze and pauses for a beat, his expression calm, almost indifferent, as he pulls the shirt over his head. there’s no shock in his eyes, no alarm at your presence. instead, there’s a faint, almost ghostly hint of a smile on his lips, like he’s seeing something that comforts him. like this is just another morning. another day with you.

“you were sleeping for a while,” he says, his voice low, calm, as if you’re supposed to know exactly what he’s talking about.

but you don’t. you can’t.

your heart is pounding so hard you swear he must hear it. you feel like you're glued to the spot, unable to move or speak. he words are there, tangled in your throat, but no sound escapes.

and rafe? he doesn’t even notice. he’s too busy pulling the shirt over his head, smoothing it out with one hand as he heads toward the dresser, rummaging for something—maybe his keys, maybe a wallet. your eyes follow him, wide and unblinking.

every little detail is telling you this is really happening. the weight of the sheets, the soft scent of the ocean drifting in from the open balcony, the way rafe moves so effortlessly around the space—it all feels too tangible. too vivid.

he throws a glance over his shoulder, not catching the absolute terror that must be written across your face. instead, he just adds, “you good?” like, yeah, just a weird morning. what the hell are you supposed to say?

he turns back to whatever he’s doing, seemingly satisfied with your silence, and your mind is racing.

your eyes dart around the room, looking for anything that could anchor you back to reality, something that tells you this is just a dream, that you’ll wake up in your own bed any second now. but nothing happens. you’re still here. still watching rafe cameron move around like this is just another ordinary day.

and then he looks at you again, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he’s starting to sense that something’s off. not that he’s alarmed—he’s just . . . curious. “one of those realistic dreams again?”

the question hits you like a freight train. the way he says it, so casual, so knowing, makes your stomach churn. it’s clear that, in this reality, the version of you he knows has had these ‘realistic dreams’ before. does he think this is just another one of those?

you know you have to respond, have to say something to keep him from getting suspicious, so, you muster the courage to mutter, “yeah . . . something like that.”

the words feel foreign on your tongue, forced, like they don’t even belong to you. your voice sounds small, uncertain, and you hope he doesn’t pick up on it. but rafe? he just nods.

“i’m heading out to take care of some business,” he tells you, vague, the way he always is when it comes to whatever shady dealings he’s involved in. his voice has that low, dry edge to it, like he’s not too concerned with explaining more than he has to.

you swallow, your mind racing. business. you’ve seen the show. you know what kind of business he’s talking about. barry, he’s a drug dealer. or his dad, ward, who’s capable of anything.

suddenly, you wonder just where you are in the timeline of this world. does it follow the plot of the show? or is this some kind of alternate version of it, where different rules apply?

your eyes stay locked on him as he steps closer, and suddenly, the air shifts. he’s walking toward you with a purpose, and something in the way he moves makes you realize what’s coming before it even happens. you’ve seen this before—rafe being possessive, intense. you know what he’s about to do. but knowing still doesn’t prepare you for it.

he leans down, his hand brushing your hair back gently as his lips press against yours in a kiss that’s too soft, too familiar for how absolutely terrified you feel. the moment his lips touch yours, your mind goes blank.

you feel it—the warmth, the pressure, the sensation of his breath mingling with yours. it’s real. it’s terrifyingly, unmistakably real.

when he pulls back, you’re frozen. your hand instinctively reaches up to touch your lips, your mind racing with the reality of it. this isn’t just a dream. dreams don’t feel this real.

rafe pauses, noticing how off you are, his eyes narrowing as he studies your expression. he tilts his head slightly, and for a second, there’s something almost tender in his gaze.

“hey . . .” his voice is low, murmuring like he’s trying to ground you. “i’ll see you later, alright?”

you can’t speak. your throat feels too tight, your brain too scrambled to form words. you just nod, barely, enough to make him think you’re okay.

he gives you one last look, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his face before he turns and walks out of the room, disappearing into the hallway.

you don’t move for what feels like minutes. the sound of his footsteps fading into the distance is the only thing grounding you as your mind whirls. you’re trapped in his world—his reality—and there’s no telling how or why. but the one thing you do know?

this is real. too real.

because if this isn’t a dream . . . then where the hell are you?

the slam of the front door echoes through the quiet house, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine. your breath hitches, the reality of everything sinking in, and you can’t help the way your hands start to tremble.

you sit up carefully, trying not to make a sound as you pull the covers off your body. your skin prickles from the cool air against your bare legs, and when you glance down, you realize you’re only in a shirt—one that definitely isn’t yours—and your undergarments. it hits you all at once: this is rafe’s shirt. his scent clings to it, the familiar mix of cologne and something inherently him.

your feet touch the cold wooden floor as you swing your legs over the side of the bed, toes curling at the sudden chill. every movement feels deliberate, cautious, like any wrong step could wake you from this strange, twisted dream—or worse, prove it’s not a dream at all.

quietly, you push yourself off the bed, heart hammering in your chest as you make your way to the door. you peek your head out, eyes scanning the hallway. it’s empty. eerily quiet. thank god. but the silence makes everything feel even more surreal.

you pull back into the room quickly, your fingers brushing your hair behind your ears, trying to still the panic rising in your chest. you need answers. you need to figure out what’s happening—and fast.

your gaze darts to the nightstand, where your phone sits charging. finally.

you grab it with shaky hands and immediately swipe it open, your fingers moving fast as you pull up your contacts list. the plan forms in your head as you scroll, desperate. maybe this is all some elaborate prank. maybe your friends are messing with you, and any second now, someone’s going to pop out and yell “gotcha!”

but as you scroll, the names that appear make your stomach drop. none of them are familiar. faces and names you’ve never seen before fill your screen—until you see his name.

rafe.

then sarah. wheezie. even ward and rose.

your breath catches in your throat as you keep scrolling. it’s his family. it’s them.

you swallow hard, continuing to scroll, fingers trembling as the names blur together until you see the ones that make your heart stop.

jj. pope. kiara. john b.

the pogues.

you stare at the names for a second, your brain short-circuiting. your thumb hovers over jj’s contact, the one name that stands out to you more than the others.

without giving yourself time to second-guess it, you hit ‘call.’ the ringing fills the silence of the room, and your pulse quickens with every passing second.

the ringing feels like it goes on forever. each tone stretching out the anticipation, the nerves, the sinking realization that someone is actually going to pick up. your heart races, and just when you consider hanging up, a click echoes through the phone line.

“y/n?”

you flinch, eyes widening, mouth falling open. it’s him. it takes a few seconds for you to even remember how to speak, your mind stalling out completely. then you somehow force out, “hey, i just wanted to see how you’re . . . doing.”

the words stumble out of your mouth in a mess, and you internally cringe at how awful it sounds. god, could you be any worse at this? you wouldn’t blame jj if he called you out for the obvious lie, the way your voice shakes just slightly with every word.

but, to your surprise, he doesn’t. instead, he sounds casual. like he’s known you for years. “yeah, i’m good. why? do you wanna come over? kie’s here.”

your mind reels. kiara’s there? you’re friends with kiara? that’s news to you, but good to know. in this world, apparently, you’re on good terms with the pogues, at least you think.

you quickly pull the phone away from your ear to glance at the time, realizing it’s probably morning. or maybe early afternoon. time doesn’t even feel real right now.

“yeah, i’ll . . . i’ll come over,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant even though nothing about this is normal. the words slip out of your mouth before you really think them through. “where is over?”

“the wreck,” jj replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. right. of course. “but be quick.”

your chest tightens. why do you need to be quick? fear creeps into your voice as you ask, “why?”

there’s a pause, one that feels like it stretches forever, before jj finally responds, his tone softening. “cause we miss you.”

and then, just like that, he hangs up.

you blink, staring down at the phone in your hand as if it’ll give you answers. it doesn’t. you’re left standing there, your mind racing, trying to process what just happened. they miss you?

the idea that jj misses you, that kiara’s waiting for you at the wreck, is both exciting and terrifying.

your eyes dart around the room, like maybe you’ll find some clue that explains how this is all happening, but there’s nothing. just the same four walls, rafes room, his scent lingering in the air, and the echo of jj’s voice in your head.

your mind spins as you sit on the edge of the bed. what is going on in this world?

the characters you know from the show are behaving so . . . normal, so real. there are these new relationships, bits of information that seem to imply some kind of history, things that don’t align with what you know. you’re in their world, but there are gaps—huge, gaping blanks that terrify you because you don’t know what role you’re even supposed to be playing.

you glance around the room, trying to calm yourself as you get up to grab some clothes, already dreading the ride to the wreck.

how the hell are you actually supposed to get to the fucking wreck?

a/n: let me know if u would like to be part of the tag list thru any replies, anons, dms, etc !! notifications are always on <3 this will also lowkey be a jj & rafe x reader series i fear

[paddockletters]

shattered hearts | lando norris

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: you break free from a toxic relationship, embarking on an exhilarating journey of self-discovery

warning: emotional abuse, infidelity, toxic relationship, angst

author's note:this was hard, so hard omg... as I always say, english is not my first language so sorry me if there are mistakes —feel free to tell me— and my requests are open!👀

I met Lando when we were barely out of high school. Back then, he was just a kid with dreams and a mischievous smile that made you feel like you were the only one in the world that mattered. For a while, I believed that was true. But as the years went by, I learned that Lando's smile wasn’t mine alone—it was shared with others, stolen moments behind my back. And somehow, I was always the one left picking up the pieces.

Our relationship was a whirlwind, the couple everyone thought would either crash or last forever. We did crash—over and over again. But somehow, Lando always found a way to convince me to come back.

“I’m sorry,” he’d say, voice low and pleading after one of his inevitable affairs. “But you know you’re my number one, right? None of them matter like you do.”

He’d wrap his arms around me, pull me close, and somehow, I’d believe him. I had to because after eight years of being with him, I didn’t know who I was without him.

The first time he cheated, I was devastated. It was in his early F1 days, just as his fame started to sink in. He swore it was a one-time thing that it didn’t mean anything. And like a fool, I believed him. But it didn’t stop. It never stopped. There was always another girl, another excuse, another lie wrapped up in the promise that I was still the "main one."

One particular night, I remember the argument that nearly broke us for good. Lando had been out late, and I found out through a mutual friend that he had been seen with another girl. Again. When he came home, reeking of alcohol and guilt, I confronted him.

“You said you were going to change, Lando!” I yelled, tears streaming down my face. “You promised me, over and over again, but nothing ever changes!”

“Why are you making such a big deal out of this? You always come back. You always forgive me,” he shot back, arms crossed, his face a mask of irritation.

His words stung like a slap to the face. I wanted to scream, to leave right then and there. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Because a part of me still loved him, or maybe it was the idea of him—the boy I met before the fame, before the lies.

As the years rolled on, our friends saw the cracks. One night during a get-together at a bar, I tried to put on a brave face. I thought maybe if I acted normal, I could convince myself everything was fine. But when Jess pulled me aside, her expression serious, I knew I couldn’t hide anymore.

“Why do you keep letting him treat you like this?” she asked, frustration evident in her voice. “You deserve so much better, and he’s just going to keep doing this until you realize it.”

“Maybe he’ll change. I can’t just throw away eight years,” I replied defensively. “We have a history.”

“You mean a history of him cheating on you? You have to stop putting up with this, or you’re going to lose yourself,” she insisted, shaking her head.

I didn’t have an answer for her, not really. I just wanted to believe that things would get better. That Lando would see how much I cared and finally choose me over everyone else.

Our mutual friends began to pick sides. Some supported me, while others were loyal to Lando. It was suffocating, a constant tug-of-war that made everything feel so much worse. I felt more isolated than ever, even when surrounded by people.

Then there was the jealousy. Lando was incredibly possessive, especially with his fellow drivers. During one race weekend, I was talking to Charles, who had just finished his session. Lando walked in, and his eyes darkened.

“Why are you always chatting up the other drivers?” he snapped, pulling me aside as Charles walked away, giving us a questioning look.

“Because they’re my friends, Lando! Just because you’re in F1 doesn’t mean I can’t talk to anyone else. You’re not my warden,” I shot back, feeling the anger rise in my chest.

“Don’t act like I’m overreacting. You know how it looks,” he hissed, jaw clenched, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

I knew he was being unreasonable, but I was too exhausted to fight back. Our friends watched the tension build, hoping to intervene. I overheard Max once whisper to Lando.

“You need to chill, mate. You’re pushing her away.”

But Lando always had an excuse for everything, often deflecting blame onto me.

“You just don’t understand how this world works!” he’d shout, leaving me feeling small and defeated.

The cycle continued, and I found myself in the same painful arguments over and over. One night, after he came home late from a party, I had finally reached my breaking point.

“Do you even care about how I feel?” I shouted, my voice echoing through our apartment. “You’re always out with other girls! How am I supposed to trust you?”

“I told you, you’re the main one! None of them matter!” he retorted, but his words felt hollow to me.

We spent that night in silence, and I knew I had to make a decision. I just didn’t know how to let go.

The more time passed, the more I began to distance myself from Lando. Therapy helped. I began to see the truth behind his words and actions. The way he manipulated me, made me feel guilty for his mistakes. The way he made it seem like I was the one at fault for staying, like I was to blame for the pain he caused me.

During one therapy session, I shared my frustrations.

“I don’t know why I keep coming back to him. He’s hurt me so many times, and I just can’t let go.”

The therapist asked me one simple question: “Do you love him, or are you just scared of being without him?”

It hit me like a ton of bricks. I didn’t know the answer.

One evening after another brutal fight, I finally left. For good this time. I packed my bags while he watched, silent for once. Maybe he thought I’d come back, just like I always did. But this time was different. I walked out the door, leaving behind eight years of memories, both good and bad.

The nights were long and lonely, and I often found myself thinking about the happy moments we had. One flashback struck me particularly hard: it was the first time he had taken me to the paddock during a race weekend, and we laughed like kids as he showed me around.

“Can you believe this is my life now?” he had said, beaming with pride. “I never would have thought I’d be racing in F1.”

“I always knew you could do it,” I replied, squeezing his hand.

But now, those memories felt tainted, and I needed to focus on myself. It wasn’t easy. There were nights I cried myself to sleep, wondering if I had made the right decision. But with time, and with the help of my therapist, I started to heal. I began to see that I deserved better, that I deserved someone who would love me the way I had always wanted Lando to.

One evening, after finally leaving Lando for good, I found myself at a racing event with friends. It was a chance to distract myself from the whirlwind of emotions I was navigating. As I wandered through the paddock, I was drawn to the sound of laughter.

“Are you lost, or just overwhelmed by all this?” a smooth voice asked. I turned to see Pato O'Ward, the charming IndyCar driver, grinning at me. His eyes sparkled with warmth, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a flicker of something hopeful.

“I guess a little bit of both,” I replied, smiling back.

“Come on, I’ll show you around,” he offered, his energy contagious. As we walked through the paddock, he shared stories about his racing experiences and the thrill of competing. It felt so refreshing to be around someone who was passionate and genuine, without the weight of expectations or drama.

Days turned into weeks, and I found myself spending more time with Pato. He was everything I had needed—funny, respectful, and utterly devoted. He listened to me, understood my past, and never once made me feel like I was in a competition for his attention.

One night, after a thrilling race, he took me to a quiet spot overlooking the track. “You know,” he said, “I’ve been thinking a lot about how important it is to find someone who truly sees you. I see you, and I want to be that person.”

His words resonated deep within me, filling the void Lando had left. In that moment, I knew I had found something special with Pato, something I had longed for but never thought I could have.

Meanwhile, Lando had his own set of problems. He was still juggling relationships, using his charm to keep people around while juggling jealousy over his fellow drivers. I heard from our mutual friends that he was still stuck in the same toxic patterns, always in and out of relationships, always claiming that I was the one who got away.

I remember a race weekend when Charles and Lando got into an argument. I was watching from the sidelines with Pato when Charles approached me, concern etched on his face.

“Are you okay? I know things with Lando have been… complicated,” he said, his gaze shifting to Lando, who was across the paddock, still fuming.

“I’m fine, really. I’ve moved on,” I assured him, but I could see the doubt in his eyes.

Later that evening, I got a message from Lando, who had obviously overheard the chatter.

“I know you’re happy with him, but you’re still mine. You always come back to me, remember?”

It took everything in me not to respond. I had a new life now, a new partner who respected me and didn’t cheat. Lando’s words were just echoes of the past.

Fast forward to our wedding day. I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting my veil, my heart racing with excitement. Pato had become my rock, my partner in every sense of the word. I knew this was the right choice, and my heart was finally at peace.

Then, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Lando.

“I heard you’re getting married. Just wanted to say, I hope you’re happy. But I still think about you. We could’ve had it all, you know.”

I stared at the message, my heart pounding. For a moment, I considered replying. But then I remembered all the sleepless nights, the tears, the heartbreak, and all the promises he had broken.

“Too late,” I typed back, hitting send before I could second-guess myself.

As I walked down the aisle, Pato’s face lit up with joy, and I couldn’t help but smile back. When he took my hands in his, I felt a sense of completeness I hadn’t known in years.

The ceremony was beautiful, I felt a sense of completeness I hadn’t felt in years. When Pato took my hands in his, I knew I was finally moving forward.

As we exchanged vows, Lando’s presence lingered in the back of my mind, but I let it go.

“I promise to love you through every challenge and to celebrate every victory,” he said, his eyes shining with sincerity.

“I promise to choose you every day for the rest of my life,” I replied, my voice steady and full of conviction.

We sealed our vows with a kiss, and I felt liberated. Lando was no longer my story; I was the author of my own life now, and it was a beautiful beginning with Pato. With him by my side, I was ready to embrace the future we would build together, thriving in a relationship based on trust, respect, and love.

As time passed, I learned to appreciate the small moments—the laughter, the late-night talks, the shared dreams of a future together. Pato supported my passions and encouraged me to pursue my own ambitions, something I had never fully experienced before.

One day, I received a message from Max: “Lando’s been a mess since your wedding. He didn’t handle it well.”

I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction. He had always taken me for granted, and now, he was the one left behind.

I hoped Lando would find peace eventually, but I also knew I couldn’t go back to the pain of our past. Pato was everything I needed, and I was determined to focus on our life together.

As our first anniversary approached, Pato planned a surprise getaway. “I want to celebrate us, everything we’ve built,” he said, a bright smile on his face.

We traveled to a beautiful beach destination, where we spent our days relaxing, laughing, and simply enjoying each other’s company. One night, under a sky full of stars, Pato took my hand and said, “You’ve changed my life for the better. I want to keep building this amazing life with you.”

I couldn’t hold back my tears. “You’ve shown me what real love looks like, Pato. I’m so grateful for you.”

His expression softened as he leaned in, kissing me gently.

Then, one day, I got a call from Lando.

“Can we talk?” he asked, voice shaky.

“What do you want, Lando?” I replied, my heart racing.

“I just need to explain… things didn’t go as planned after you left. I’ve made mistakes, and I want you back.”

I paused, memories flooding back. “You had your chance, Lando. I can’t keep going back to the past. I’m happy now. I’ve moved on.”

“But I still love you!” he pleaded. “You were always my main one!”

His words echoed painfully in my mind, but I stood my ground. “You had your chance to prove that. You made your choice.”

The phone call ended, and I sighed with relief. I looked at Pato, who was sitting beside me, and smiled. I had made the right choice.

I felt a sense of peace wash over me. Lando was no longer a part of my narrative. My life was filled with the warmth and love Pato brought into it, and I was excited for the future we would continue to create together.

With Pato, I had learned to love again, not just him, but also myself. And that made all the difference.

Lando’s chapter had closed, and I was finally ready to start anew, with someone who truly valued me, not just as the ‘main one,’ but as the woman I had become.

[lionneee]

Your sworn sword

English is not my first language, please be kind

Masterlist

Taglist

•Warnings: fingering, degradation (just a bit), 'just the tip', talking of sexual themes, piv, smut.•

{Request: I have a request! Aemond is send across the narrow sea to be the sworn sword/knight of a (verryy beautiful) princess from a noble house is esso’s. As punishment what he did to lucerys Thanks for reading dear 💙}

To say that Prince Aemond was grumpy was an euphemism.

He was rigid, stoic, and rude.

But your father loved him.

You couldn’t understand why, not after his most recent kill: his little nephew.

You remembered meeting Luke Velaryon once, he was a nice, gentle, kind boy.

His brother Jace was just the same.

Princess Rhaenyra had been invited as a guest at your father’s name day feast with her family, and you remembered spending a nice afternoon with her sons.

You actually kept contact with her youngest child, Jace. You two sometimes sent letters to each other, talking of your days apart.

You would have never said it outloud, but you had a weakness for the boy’s dark, beautiful hair.

But he was promised to her cousin Baela.

As soon as you heard the news, you thought he would have stopped sending you letters, but he didn't, and you almost cried of joy when the next letter came.

Then, your father sided with the greens.

He sided with rude, dangerous people, and named the worst of them as your sworn sword.

When he told you about his choice you begged him, you cried, you did everything you could to try to change his mind but it was all to no avail.

Now, all the other Ladies never sat with you, they were afraid to speak with you, all because of some dark, evil, scary person standing behind you, following every step you took.

It was so obvious how much he hated being a night, yet, he stood his role perfectly.

Aemond was always there, lurking like a shadow behind you, his presence cold and heavy, suffocating your every breath. He never spoke to you unless necessary, never showed any warmth or softness in his voice. There was nothing but formality and distance, a thick wall of indifference that made your skin crawl whenever he was near.

To be fair, the only thing you thought interesting of him was his dragon Vaghar.

Your days had become a game of silence, your once carefree nature now replaced with the constant awareness of his eyes on you. You missed the days when you could write to Jace without a worry, when his words brought you comfort and a glimpse of hope. Now, the letters felt like a secret rebellion, something dangerous, but you couldn’t give them up. They were the only link to a world that still held some warmth.

You still wrote to him, though your letters had become shorter, more cautious. You dared not mention Aemond, or your isolation. Instead, you spoke of mundane things, of books you were reading, of the changing seasons. Jace’s responses, too, had shifted, though he remained kind and attentive. There was always a note of tension, a hint of restraint. You knew he was aware of the shifting tides, of your father's allegiance to the Greens.

 You happily walked in your room, smiling as you held the newest letter on your hand from Jace.

Aemond was walking right behind you, but you couldn’t care.

Jace's letter had just come.

You chuckled to yourself as you closed the door of your room behind you, leaving Aemond outside, guarding your door. 

You jogged to your desk, sitting down on the chair and breaking the sigil, opening with trembling hands the letter.

There were only a few lines written.

You furrowed your brows, confused. He usually wrote at least one page.

Dearest friend,

I assume you have heard of my family’s recent loss, my sweet brother Luke, gone by the hand of my uncle Aemond. 

It saddens me to tell you this, but due to your father’s allegiance and your newest sworn sword, I believe it is time to end our communications.

Jace Velaryon

You felt a pain in your chest.

A deep pain.

You weren’t going to receive any more letters from him. 

I believe it is time to end our communications.

You stood up from your desk, leaving the letter to hit the floor as you ran to your bed, laying face down, your arms crossed under your face as you bursted into tears.

You didn’t eat lunch, you didn’t have dinner. You didn’t want to get up from your bed.

Your maids, even one of your closest friends tried to walk past Aemond to check on you, but he was impenetrable, he wouldn’t let anyone in, not if you didn’t want them to.

His behavior left you speechless.

You knew he was loyal, you knew he was one to do his duty, but the way he stood up for you, not letting anyone in just as you asked, left you almost flattered.

The hours dragged on as you laid in your bed, the room dark and suffocating. The weight of Jace's words still lingered, pressing down on your chest. It was as though the last thread connecting you to the warmth of your past had been severed. You felt utterly alone, the castle walls seeming colder, the silence more deafening.

But outside your door, Aemond remained, steadfast and unmoving. His presence felt different now, less like the shadow you despised and more like an unavoidable part of your life. He had become a constant, whether you liked it or not, and now, oddly, that constancy brought a shred of comfort in your moment of loss.

By the time the moon rose high in the sky, you hadn’t moved from your bed, save to cry quietly into your pillow. The pain of Jace's rejection, not just of you but of the friendship you had cherished, was overwhelming. You couldn’t bring yourself to think of anything else, let alone leave your room.

A soft knock echoed through the thick wooden door. At first, you ignored it, thinking it was another maid or friend trying to check on you, Aemond would have taken care of it in a moment. But after a moment, there was another knock, firm yet measured, followed by a voice, calm, collected, and unmistakably Aemond’s.

 "You haven't eaten." He said, his tone devoid of his usual coldness, though it was still restrained. You laid still, wondering if you could pretend you hadn’t heard him. But the silence lingered too long, and it was clear he wasn’t going to leave. He was your sworn sword, after all, bound to you, whether you liked it or not.

"I’m not hungry." You muttered into your pillow, your voice muffled and thick with the remnants of tears.

There was a pause, a moment of hesitation, which was unlike him. Then, Aemond spoke again, quieter this time. "It has been hours. You should take something, if only to keep your strength."

His words were filled with disinterest despite the meaning of them. He made impossible things possible.

"I don’t want anything." You repeated, more firmly this time. 

The door opened with a loud creek, and Aemond just walked inside. You scoffed, annoyed, but you felt too sad to think about him pissing you off.

“Leave me alone!” You groaned on the mattress, clenching your hands into fists. You could hear him moving in the room.

“That puppy of my nephew is what has reduced you in this state?” He asked, scoffing. You turned your head to look at him, and you saw him looking down at a letter in his hands.

Jace’s letter.

You bolted upright on the bed, fury boiling inside you at the sight of Aemond holding Jace’s letter. His tall, imposing figure seemed even more oppressive in the dim light of your room. His one good eye flicked over the page with a mixture of disdain and cold amusement, while the sapphire in his other socket glinted in the low light.

"Give that back!" you demanded, your voice cracking from the tears and frustration, but Aemond made no move to return the letter. He dropped the letter, letting out another scoff.

“You’re a fool.” He said, his rudeness making you red to your ear.

“How dare you talk to me like that?” You exclaimed, indignited.

“He’s a bastard. You’re sweet on a bastard, the son of my whore sister. That’s foolish.”

You felt your blood boil at his words, each syllable a sharp jab to your heart. “You don’t know anything about me! You think you can judge me just because you think you're so much better than everyone else!?”

He stepped closer, towering over you, his expression a mixture of contempt and something unreadable. “I am better than everyone else. I’m surely better than that boy who has no right on the throne he wants to claim so much.”

Your anger flared, but underneath it was a deep sorrow. “He’s more than just a name or a title! Jace has been kind to me, and you—” you pointed an accusing finger at him, “you are the one who brings darkness wherever you go.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, the air crackling with tension. “Kindness won’t save you, and neither will that bastard. This world isn’t built on sentiment. It’s built on strength and blood.”

“Strength?” you spat, incredulous. “Strength that comes from killing boys? That’s your idea of strength?”

He looked unfazed, his expression hardening. “Luke was weak. That’s why he’s dead.”

“You’re twisted.” You hissed. “It brings you pleasure, doesn’t it? Being feared, see people looking away from you –” He pushed you back before you could continue, as he started pulling off the upper structure of his armor.

You stumbled back as you looked up at him, confused and stunned, but he pushed you back again as he took off the lower part of his armor, making you fall back on your bed.

“You want to know what brings me pleasure?” He grabbed your ankle, dragging you down the bed until your butt was almost over it. He pushed the skirts of your dress up, exposing your legs.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You tried to close your legs, or pull down the skirts, but he raised your legs up, then he leaned down to grab both your thighs, spreading them apart, pressing his face against your underwear.

“This.” He mumbled against the thin clothing, his nose pressing against a funny spot against you, that made a strange sound come out of your mouth. “This brings me pleasure.” He growled as he pulled down your underwear along with the stockings. “Teaching stupid ladies their places.” He said as he dived his face back between your thighs, now his mouth pressing on that same spot, sucking and rubbing with his tongue, leaving you breathless for a moment, the pleasure was so high and so good you couldn’t speak.

You couldn’t see him, your skirts were covering the view, but you didn’t really care. Not when it felt this good. 

You didn’t think you'd ever felt this good. 

The one who was making you feel good, was a Targaryen Prince, a child murdered, the rider of the largest dragon in the world.

You could only squirm, your mind numbed by the pleasure, slowly overcoming all the alarms your brain was sending you, telling you to push the prince away, to not let him touch you in such an appropriate manner.

But then, all so suddenly it stopped, leaving you panting heavily. You saw Aemond raising his head from between your legs, coming into your field of vision.

His chin was wet, his only eye almost completely black as he looked down at you.

His hands moved on your skin, almost gently, caressing your skin as they moved up, your knees, your ankles. He wrapped his fingers around your ankles, securing your legs raised, your feet by each side of his head.

You should have stopped him.

This was improper, it was a sin. A sin you were committing with the worst man in the Seven Kingdoms.

You wanted to move, kick him back, telling him to stop touching you with his filthy, blood-stained hands, but under the dark gaze of his single eye you couldn’t move.

Aemond tightened the grip on your ankles, suddenly pulling you up so your hips lifted from the mattress. Startled, you let out a weak squeak, gripping the sheets tightly as your body moved forward, the back of your thighs landing harshly against him, your core rubbing against a protuberance on his pants, the impact sending another jolt of pleasure through your body.

“Yeah, you like it.” He hummed to himself as he dropped you back on the mattress. He leaned down, his body making space for himself between your legs as his face came to hover yours. “And you want to feel it more, don't you?” He smirked, looking down at you.

You could feel your face burning because of his words, more likely because of the truthfulness of them, because yes, you wanted to feel it again.

“No-” You mumbled as you looked up at him, directly in his eye, trying to sound firm, but he simply chuckled, grabbing your face with his hand, his fingers digging in the soft skin of your cheeks. “Such a liar. No wonder why my sweet bastard-nephew doesn’t want you.” 

That stang.

Your eyes immediately filled with tears and anger.

“How dare you?” You hissed as you tried to push him off of you, slapping his chest repeatedly, but he only smiled even more.

“There, there…” He hummed as his hand went back underneath your dress, finding you private again. No matter how much you fought, his body was keeping your legs apart, and he seemed impossible to move.

You only stopped when you felt a strange feeling, something filling you in a way you’ve never felt, that made you gasp out loud. You unconsciously let out a moan, your back arched instinctively, as your body almost contorted as he started moving his finger inside you.

“So easy to shut you up, mh?” He asked as he followed your face to be able to see every expression you made. “So easy to put into place.” He added then in a low voice.

You gritted your teeth together, trying to find in you the force to push him off, to not give him the satisfaction he was showing with that damn smile of his, but you couldn’t. The only sounds that came out of your mouth were whines or soft moans as his finger moved faster inside you, caressing everywhere inside you, and eliciting a pure bliss of pleasure.

“Jace is a fool for leaving you.” He said as he looked at you, your eyes half closed, your head leaned back, your lips apart. He didn’t even look like he realized he said that, it was like he was talking to himself and accidentally said it outloud. You turned your head to look at him, finding his eyes fixed on you, staring in appreciation. “You’re a rare beauty.” He said, his voice low and rough.

You blinked slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. A warmth spread across your chest, but you weren’t sure if it was the pleasure or the way his gaze lingered on you. 

No.

You thought to yourself.

Not him.

Please.

But the way he looked at you, like he was looking at the most beautiful thing in the world was doing something to you. It made your stomach clench, your head dizzier.

You’ve been told countless times by suitors that you were a sight to see, a beauty, but it did nothing if not make you blush or feel appreciated.

With Jace you felt your heart beat so loud you feared it could jump out of your chest.

You too were aware of your beauty, but you never thought of it as a rareness.

But now with Aemond Targaryen, the cold, mean, cruel man, who was doing unspeakable things to you, who looked at you like a Goddess, you truly felt like one.

Aemond’s gaze pierced through you, a silent intensity in his expression that made your breath catch in your throat. You wished you could deny the way his presence and actions were affecting you, wished you could ignore the way his words stirred something deep inside. But the truth was undeniable. 

As he slipped his second finger inside your thigh core, you felt it crushing on you. You didn’t know what, but for a moment, you forgot about everything, Jace, the war, Aemond’s sins, your worries, your anger and your sadness, it all vanished by the newfound feeling of ecstasy. You whined louder, making aemond clamp his other hand immediately over your mouth to muffle your sounds as he kept moving your fingers. You looked at him with wide eyes, you didn’t know what had just happened to you, but you wanted to keep feeling it, no matter what cost, you wanted to feel that good again.

He kept pumping his fingers inside you as you saw him starting to move, rub, against your thigh, some hardness pressing and caressing your skin. His brows arched slightly, his eye narrowing slightly as he pressed his hips harder against you, seeking more friction and pressure. 

You’ve never seen a man do a face close to that one.

You’ve never seen Aemond make a face like that, and it was beautiful, it was breathtaking, hypnotizing, you felt like watching him all day as he experienced his pleasure.

He didn’t miss the way you seemed affected, obviously. He looked down at you and found you staring at him, his eye darkened even more, his pupil dilating even more if possible as he clenched his jaw.

“You like this?” He looked down at you, moving his hand from your mouth to your neck, gripping it tightly, but not enough to actually cut your air off. You tilted your head back, wrapping your hands on his wrist and arm, gasping as he slipped his fingers out, passing them over your pearl just to see you squirm, his lips moving into a smirk. “No.” He said as he sat up in his haunches between your legs, forcing you to spread them to make room for his body as he started to undo his pants. “You love it.”

You tried to look down, trying to understand what he was doing but he squeezed your throat into a warning, keeping your head in place. “What are you trying to see, uh?” He growled as he pushed his pants down enough to let his cock spring free. “Such a curious menace, always getting into trouble.” He hissed as he leaned over her to look at you from above. “Always sneaking around, making my life harder.” He gritted his teeth. “Making me chase you.” He raised her skirts to your waist as he aligned his cock to your core, wet and warm, hot.

“No – “ You mumbled as you felt the tip pressing on your skin. “Y-you can’t- We’re not married-” You mumbled as you panted, shaking your head. Aemond smiled down at you, his thumb caressing the skin of her neck. 

“No one will notice.” He said firmly, pushing slightly, making his tip grace the inside your core, just slightly, enough to hear another moan from you. “Just…” He groaned as he repeated the movement, moving his hips forward as his face contorted in pleasure. “... the tip – Fuck –” He groaned as he started moving his hips, the tip of his cock was being sucked in every time by your cunt, as if it was trying to keep him inside. 

It didn’t feel bad.

She did feel like her cunt was being torn apart, but she found the pain mixed to the pleasure extremely pleasing.

It was good.

It was so good.

The pleasure was so overwhelming, so strong, so blissful.

“A-Aemond – “ You bit your lower lip as you arched your back, jerking your hips to find more pleasure as his tip kept slipping out and back in.

Aemond couldn’t tear his eyes off the sight, your core making a wet sound every time he slipped in, your walls forced open to make space for his thick cock, his red tip being welcomed in the warmness of your body, and then the sound of your weak wail every time he pulled back, only enough to be able to push back in.

“Yeah like that –” He growled as he tightened his hand around your neck, his eye still fixed on how your bodies connected, his thrusts regular, calculated and hard.

He was hanging by a thread, and he was showing a great amount of control, just by not slamming his whole long cock inside you, and making you scream in pain and pleasure.

“Grind yourself like a whore –” He snarled as he started rolling his hips faster, the wet sound growing louder along with his pace. “Fuck youre so tight – You’re squeezing me inside - ”

It didn’t bother you the way he called you, the way he spoke. If not, it only aroused you more.

You bit your lower lip harder, and no matter how low you tried to keep your noises, it became impossible as Aemond moved his free hand, using his fingers to circle your pearl, putting just the right amount of pressure. Your back arched violently as you threw your head back, your mouth open in an oval shape, grunts and moans coming out one after another as Aemond tightened his hand around your throat, starting to cut some of your air supplies, your eyes rolled in the back of your head.

It was all so much.

It was all so good.

“Come.” He growled as he finally looked up at you. “Come, before I lose it.” His eye fixed on yours. He looked feral. He looked like a chained animal, that once set free, would have hunted and killed everything in its path. “Come, before absolutely ruin you.” 

It wasn’t like you had any control over it, because when the pleasure reached you in such a hard, strong frisson, you could only surrender to it. Your eyes widened, your mouth opened, but Aemond tightened his hand on your throat even more, killing every sound you could have let out. Your eyes watered as your hips jerked, the pleasure washing over you in devastating waves.

He snarled, letting go of your throat, but you barely had the time to take a deep breathe because you felt a stinging pain, barely muffled by the aftershocks of you climax, as Aemond grabbed tightly your hips and harshly pulled to him, making you slip down on the bed and making his cock thrust completely inside you, as he moaned on top of you.

“So fucking tight.” His voice was strained, his breathing heavy, then, you felt a strange sensation of wetness inside you.

You whined as the bliss of pleasure slowly faded away, leaving you in an uncomfortable pain, so you pushed Aemond away, who retrieved with a groan, slipping out of you.

You slowly sat up, looking at him as your mind slowly registered the last moments. 

Aemond stood up from the bed, tucking himself inside his pants and starting to put his armor back on.

You didn’t say anything in the meanwhile, you just stared down at the bed covers, where you and Aemond were laying till a few seconds before, committing one of the worst sins ever.

A sin that felt so good.

You snapped out of your moment of trance only when you heard the door slam shut, and a strange smell of burned paper in the air. You moved to the end of the bed, on the floor, there was a piece of paper on fire.

Jace’s letter.

Taglist: @ka1afbr @cynic-spirit @ladythornofrivia @zenka69 @queenofthekeep @adorewhatever @diannnnsss @kotadislikesthissite @iloveallmyboys @valyrianflower @dixie-elocin @gelacat0413 @quinquinquincy @mamawiggers1980 @darylandbethfanforever9 @rhaethoughts @believeinthefireflies95 @urfavnoirette @summerposie @sk1mah1 @queenofshinigamis @anukulee @chlmtfilms @m-riaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @malfoycassimalfoy

[conundrumoftime]

One of the fun things about shipping Haladriel and about Galadriel's story in Rings of Power, for me, is that we know exactly where this is going to end up. And I wanted to babble for a bit about where that place is because I have seen so many people view it as "she is retired to some woods to be a passive wife-and-mother who can do magic but in a mystical New Age-y way", and: no! No.

So a quick overview of where she will end up by LOTR:

Very much not removed from the war against Sauron.

She is constantly mind-battling against Sauron: One of the lines that inspired McKay and Payne's whole show was her talking about this: "I say to you, Frodo, that even as I speak to you, I perceive the Dark Lord and know his mind, or all of his mind that concerns the Elves. And he gropes ever to see me and my thought." In one of the versions of the Annatar story in Unfinished Tales, Sauron immediately realises she will be his 'chief adversary', and has apparently not changed that assessment 3500 years later.

She co-ordinates joint efforts against Sauron: The White Council that Elrond talks about in LOTR, the combined force of Ring-bearers, wizards and elf-lords that first drives Sauron out of Dol Guldur - she's not just on that, she founded it.

She gets Gandalf back after Moria and the Balrog: Galadriel learns what's happened to Gandalf from the Fellowship when they arrive in Lothlórien. The the Fellowship are sad; the elves of Lothlórien mourn; Celeborn loses it a bit and says Gandalf 'fell into folly'; but Galadriel sends Gwaihir the eagle to get him, returns him to health, updates him on the situation with Boromir, gives him some messages to take to the others, and sends him back on his way.

She is possibly in Lothlórien because of its position of strategic importance: from Unfinished Tales here, she 'saw that Lórien would be a stronghold and point of power to prevent the Shadow from crossing the Anduin in the war that must inevitably come' and that's why she and Celeborn go there. (There are other versions as with almost everything else in Tolkien, but this is one of them.) She's not there to hide away from Events.

2. Calmer than in TROP, but not all-wise and all-sweet and still pretty scary.

She is still tempted by power and world domination: "I do not deny that my heart has greatly desired to ask what you offer [...] In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the morning and the night!"

And, she doesn't just turn down the One Ring because it's abstractly eeeevil. She turns it down because she knows what she, specifically, would do with it. Sam sees a vision of the Shire, and tells her "I wish you'd take his Ring. You'd put things to rights. You'd stop them digging up the Gaffer and turning him adrift. You'd make some folk pay for their dirty work," to which she says that yes, she would: "That is how it would begin. But it would not stop with that, alas! We will not speak more of it."

And saying she wants to rule the world here is not me joking about! This is Tolkien describing that moment in LOTR:

It was not until two long ages more had passed, when at last all that she had desired in her youth came to her hand, the Ring of Power and the dominion of Middle-earth of which she had dreamed, that her wisdom was full-grown and she rejected it

People are scared of her: The only scary moment we directly see is the Ring temptation, but she does other unsettling things. When she meets the Fellowship she tests them by reading their minds and offering something they really want to see if it would make them "turn aside from the road and leave the Quest and the war against Sauron to others." (She offers Sam a garden; the One Ring later on tempts him with the same thing.) Even the hobbits are a bit disturbed by this and Boromir, who's already said he doesn't want to go into Lothlórien because people who do that never leave again, absolutely does not trust her.

Éomer, a few chapters later:

'Then there is a Lady in the Golden Wood, as old tales tell!' he said. 'Few escape her nets, they say. These are strange days! But if you have her favour, then you are also net-weavers and sorcerers, maybe.'

She's scary! She's ancient and powerful and people are scared of her.

3. Married, but not in the character-limiting way the nerdbros want it to be and would have you believe it is.

I am not telling anyone they should ship Galadriel/Celeborn or even find it interesting just because I do, but, the angry nerdbros fancasting Celeborn as Henry Cavill and talking about how he'll come back to tame her and tidy her neatly out of the narrative are writing their own little AU headcanons because that is not what's in the text.

She's the more powerful one. Partly because she's one of the 'High Elves' - she's Noldor and has lived in Valinor seen the light of the Trees - which for various reasons about the way Tolkien's elves work just makes her more powerful, partly because she has a Ring of Power and Celeborn doesn't. It's her Mirror; she's the one reading people's minds; she's the one locked in endless mental battles with Sauron; she's the one the Rohirrim (whose lands border Lothlorien's) tell each other scary stories about. Celeborn at no point ever seems to have an issue with this, and calls her his 'treasure'.

They work together. Even in a big-action-sequences sense: after Sauron's defeat, Celeborn 'led the host of Lorien over Anduin in many boats' to Dol Guldur, where Galadriel 'threw down its walls and laid bare its pits'. But the rest of the time, too: she says of him that 'together through ages of the world we have fought the long defeat'.

You really get the sense that they have been married for a loooooong time. An actual sequence of events in LOTR, somewhat condensed:

The Fellowship reveal there's a Balrog in Moria;

Celeborn goes "!!!!", complains about dwarves waking it up and says he'd never have let Gimli into Lothlorien if he'd known that;

Galadriel smacks Celeborn down for being rude to their guest;

Celeborn apologises to Gimli;

Galadriel tells the Fellowship that Celeborn is accounted the wisest of elves;

Boromir says something about "old wives' tales";

Celeborn, whose wife is one of the oldest beings in Middle-earth, tells Boromir not to be so dismissive because "old wives keep in memory word of things that once were needful for the wise to know";

Galadriel hands Celeborn a drink.

Whatever is going on here is clearly something that works for them, is what I'm saying! And you don't have to find their marriage interesting just because I do, of course; but what it's not is some trad fantasy of domestic subservient-wife anything.

So where her TROP story ends up is ultimately with LOTR Galadriel: powerful, important, tempted to rule the world, a bit calmer than in TROP, a bit happier than in TROP, co-ordinating big strategic efforts in the war, married to someone who's got her back and adores her and they fall out a bit sometimes but generally work pretty well together, and still having Sauron constantly trying to get into her head. I am fine with this! I am more than fine with this.

[mcflymemes]

"I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT YOU" PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary

you expect me to just carry on without you?

you're the only one i'll ever want.

they don't know me like you do.

i knew i needed to see you again.

everything makes sense when you're near me.

it's you, or it's no one.

i'll do everything i can to give you the perfect life.

please give me a chance to prove i'm the one.

life's just not worth living if you're not in it.

what you and i have... it's special. it's more than special.

can't you see we're meant to be together?

you're my soulmate.

there has to be something i can say to convince you to stay with me.

but i don't want you to leave.

you changed my whole world the day i met you.

the last thing i want is a life without you.

i can't go another day without you.

please stay beside me.

i made a mistake when i left you. i realize that now.

you're the reason i fought as hard as i did.

no one compares to you.

you can't leave me.

i tried living without you. worst time of my life.

i don't ever want to know what life is like without you.

you're all i have.

they don't touch me like you do.

you're the only one for me, i've decided.

what will it take for you to stay here? with me?

nothing makes sense when you're not here.

you mean everything to me.

all right, i'll come right out and say it. i need you.

if you want me to get down on my hands and knees and beg, i will.

it's you that i want.

when i first saw you, i went "oh. that's the person i'm going to marry."

i don't feel safe when you're gone.

i think i was made with you in mind.

it's only you. it's only ever going to be you.

i wish you would stop trying to push me away.

ever since the day you walked into my life, i've been forever changed.

you have no idea your effect on me.

i want you in my life.

i'm going to fight to keep you in my life.

they can't take you away from me.

nothing can tear us apart.

tell me you want me the way i want you.

right now, i just want you close to me.

i never would have survived that had it not been for you.

i'll never love anyone the way i love you.

i don't see other people. i only see you.

you're the one that i want.

what's the point of life if you're not here with me?

don't go where i can't follow.

the longer we're apart, the more sure of it i am. you're it for me.

i think of you all the time, actually.

pretty sure i've been thinking about kissing you since the day we met.

you're my home.

do you believe in soulmates?

when we're apart, nothing makes sense.

that's why i want you here with me.

we're stronger together than we are apart.

[dreadfuldrip]

Torn between worlds

~~A ghost of a memory

or

Your Logan is dead, so how come he's standing in the doorway of Wade's apartment?

The worst!Wolverine/GN!Reader

a/n: No one asked for it, but take some angst. I hurt my own feelings with this one ngl. This blog has moved to @hiddenavenues

CW: MDNI 18+, GN!Reader, past partner death (major), grief, alcohol consumption (minor), physical violence, ANGST, hurt with eventual comfort, mild language

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You fumble with the paper sitting on your bedside table. The invite to Wade's party only had a date and address, which is a little strange, seeing that he is your next-door neighbour. According to the invite the party started an hour ago, but better now than never, right?

Shimmying into simple jeans and a t-shirt, you thought about what Wade could throw a party for this time. It's not uncommon for him to have impromptu get-togethers, but it had never previously involved an invite. Usually, Wade would just knock on your door and drag you down to his apartment, half forcing you to join in on the fun. So what was different this time?

Although the invite doesn't ask for it, you stand in your kitchen throwing together an ensemble of snacks ranging from fruit to chocolate to bring to Wade's. As you reach to put away the extra fruit, your eyes snag on an old photo of you and Logan on vacation. The two of you had taken a trip to Ireland; in the picture, Logan is smiling at you, eyes alive with something you can't quite tell, and your head is tipped back in laughter at something he said. The years since Logan died seemed to fly by in a blur; days of rotting in bed turned to months and would have turned to years if Wade hadn't dragged your sorry ass out. You never told him about your relationship with the famous Wolverine; you disliked talking about it. You already had to share his death with the rest of the world; you can keep your grief for yourself. Shaking your head, you take a few calming breaths before grabbing your plates and heading for the door. 

Stepping into the hallway, you could hear the hum of voices and laughter coming from Wade's apartment down the hall. It's a miracle the guy hasn't gotten a noise complaint yet, or at least none you've heard about. As you near the apartment door, you spot a man taking the stairs toward ground level before disappearing out of sight, and for an instant, you could have sworn it was Logan. The broad shoulders and tousled hair transporting you back to a time long since passed. Even as every fibre in your body screamed to check and make sure it wasn't him, you forced yourself to push open the door to the apartment.

People were littered around the room, talking and laughing with one another as music played quietly from somewhere. Placing your plates on the counter, you poured yourself a glass of something good from the fridge before looking for Wade.

Unsurprisingly, you find him seated on the couch with Vanessa beside him, talking to a young girl with long brown hair. You briefly lock eyes with the girl, and a strange sensation washes over you. Not quite recognition, but something tugs on the edges of your memory, just out of reach. 

You don't have time to dwell on it before Wade is bounding toward you, dragging you into a tight embrace before grabbing your face and kissing your forehead. "Look who decided to show up! My absolute favourite neighbour—right up there with that guy who blasts show tunes at 3 a.m.!" You can't help the smile growing on your cheeks while you swat him off of you. 

"Jesus, Wade, did no one teach you personal space?" You ask between laughter, swatting him away before letting him lead you over to the couch, babbling about some adventure he went on.

"You wouldn't believe who the cat dragged back from the multiverse," Your brows shoot up at that. Seeing the look on your face, Wade goes into a long-winded story of how the TVA wanted to destroy your universe for a reason you couldn't catch. By the end, you have more questions than answers.

"Sorry, what the fuck reason did they need to destroy our universe for?" You question, feeling ridiculous just speaking the words.

"Well, basically, each universe has an anchor person. Unfortunately for us, ours was sweet Wolverine who took impalement to heart." You can't hide your flinch at Wade's words, but no one seems to notice. "But now we have this cutie-pie over here. Meet Laura, better known as X-23," Wade wraps an arm around the girl who looks like she wants to be anywhere but here. "and Peanut is just making his hourly trip to the liquor store!" 

Your head feels like it might explode. Multiverses? Who the fuck is Peanut? "I need another drink for your bullshit." You huff, earning an offended scoff from Wade before going back to talking to Laura.

Standing in the kitchen, weighing your drink options, you think about that girl. The name X-23 definitely rings a bell, but it's like any memory of the name has a thick layer of fog surrounding it, like your mind is telling you it was better to forget. With a sigh, you pour yourself a tall glass of wine.

You hear Wade's excited shouting just before turning to see the door open, revealing the stranger you had seen taking the stairs earlier, only he isn't a stranger. It was Logan. All the air seemed to be sucked out of the room as you stared at the talking ghost. He was dead; you cried over his already cold body all those years ago, fell apart in front of his headstone daily, and went to years of therapy just to be able to hear his name without breaking down. Heads swivelled in your direction as the bottle of wine you'd been pouring shattered to the floor, splashing crimson on your clothes and shoes. A strangled noise bubbled up from your chest as Logan's eyes locked onto yours. Distantly, you heard people fussing around you, but right now, it felt like the room was empty besides the two of you. 

You didn't realize your knees were shaking until they buckled beneath you, your knees hitting the cold floor, red wine soaking the fabric of your jeans. The noise around you faded to a dull hum as your mind raced. Logan was standing there, alive, breathing- but you buried him. How many nights had you spent curled in the bed you used to share, grieving your last days with him, begging anyone who would listen for one more moment, one last chance to say goodbye? 

And now, he was standing in the doorway not 15 feet away from you as if no time had passed. You couldn't stop staring at him, terrified if you blinked he'd disappear again, like a cruel trick of the mind. He still had that haunted look on his face, the same one you used to kiss away and the same little tufts on either side of his hair you used to endlessly tease him for. Your chest tightened painfully; it felt like an old wound in your heart was tearing open, stitch by stitch.

"You're-" His voice, hoarse with emotion, cracked painfully as he stepped towards you, his face pale as snow. "You aren't my y/n," 

You could barely focus on his words, your mind reeling at the sound of his voice. For years, you've cursed yourself for forgetting the deep timber in his words, how it used to be so at odds with the sweet words he'd whisper to you each morning. You open your mouth to speak, but your throat threatens to close, a noise akin to that of a dying animal choking its way out instead. You can't speak, can't breathe. How do you talk to someone you've mourned for years when they are standing right in front of you? 

Logan's words sliced through the haze like a blade. Not my y/n. They echoed through your head, reverberating off the walls in your mind. What kind of cruel joke was this? You dragged in a ragged breath, your chest tight, eyes burning with unshed tears. Every cell in your body was begging you to run to him, to feel his skin's warmth and let the smell of him envelop you, but you couldn't move. The floor felt like it was swallowing you whole, and part of you wished it would just to rid yourself of this terrible ache in your chest. 

Logan's eyes, the same ones you would stare into and see your future in, looked at you as though he, too, was seeing a ghost. His gaze was filled with sorrow, mirroring the look on your face. "I lost you in my world." His voice was barely over a whisper, agony dripping off each syllable. "I lost you, I buried you, I am the reason why you-" He choked on the word, unable to finish his sentence as his gaze dropped to the floor. 

You felt a pit form in the bottom of your stomach. The weight of his confession nearly had you un-having dinner. Not only were you seeing the ghost of a man you loved, but he had mourned you. In his world, you had been the one who died. The cruel irony of it all left you shaking. 

Wade's voice cut through the heavy silence like a jarring chord. "See, isn't this multiverse crap fun? It's like a cosmic soap opera!" You felt something inside you snap at Wade's ignorance. 

Time seemed to speed up as you launched yourself at him, tackling him to the floor as a vicious growl tore through your throat. You could feel a distant sting in your knuckles as you landed blow after blow to Wade's face; it vaguely occurred to you that he had gone still and was taking it. When the pain in your firsts became unbearable, and Wade's face was black and blue, you stopped, panting over him. He turned his face to the side and spat blood. 

You felt weak, like your body wasn't your own. Someone hoisted you off of Wade, backing off as soon as you shook them off. The pit in your stomach grew, threatening to envelop you whole as you pushed past a Logan that wasn't yours. Your chest felt like it was about to explode, your vision blurring with tears. You needed air- needed space because the walls in Wade's apartment were closing in, and you were drowning in the memory of a past that's now come back beyond the grave. 

The cool night air hit you like a slap when your feet hit the pavement outside the apartment. You gobbled it down, relishing the cool embrace on your tear-stained cheeks. The city buzzed around you, indifferent to the waking nightmare you're currently living in. 

You didn't register Logan behind you until you heard the door slam. "Wait-"

"No." You snapped, spinning around to face him. The look of anguish etched into the lines on his face threatened to make your knees buckle, but anger still flowed through your veins. "Don't. Don't follow me." Your voice cracked, and you hated yourself for it. You couldn't do this again; your world was crumbling around you, but this time, it was someone else's Logan breaking your heart. You could feel the years of work and grief trying to move on falling in shambles around you. "You're not… You're not him." You watched your words land like a physical blow.

Logan flinched, his expression twisting in pain. "No, and you're not them." He bit out each word, like the mention of the other you put a sour taste in his mouth. "You think this doesn't hurt me? I've mourned you for years, and here you are, alive. I held you as you bled out in my arms, helpless."

You couldn't help the bitter laugh that escaped you. "Hurt you? You come into my universe, to my home, and you expect me to try to empathize with you?" You take a few strides forward and stare at Logan, an ugly snarl on your lips. "I fell apart every single day for years after I lost you, and now you-" Your voice falters, a tear slipping down your cheek. 

Logan's face softens. "I didn't know you were alive here, and I definitely wouldn't have guessed you'd be buds with Wade. But," He takes a breath before continuing, something new mingling with the sadness in his eyes. "I'm here now."

Something deep inside you broke. "No, this is a mistake. You need to go home. You're not him. You're not the man I-" Your words caught in your throat. Before you could finish, Logan touched a hand to your elbow. 

"I'm not him, the same way you aren't them. I know that." He whispered, his breath mingled with yours. "But can't you see? It's killing me to stand here, knowing I can't hold you like I used to."

His confession tore down the last of your restraint. The weight of all of your emotions - grief, anger, love you had tried to bury- came crashing down. Before you could think, you grabbed his face, pulling him into a bruising kiss. Logan hesitated for a moment, hands hovering over your waist, but he gave in, crushing you against him like a man starved. The kiss was messy and frantic, both of you clinging to each other as if this could mend years of pain and suffering. 

The world faded as your lips moved together, your bodies recalling each other like a forgotten melody from long ago. You barely notice stumbling into the narrow alley beside the apartment building; you gasp into his mouth as your back hits the cold brick wall. You were fueled with desperation and longing, revelling in the way his breath hitched as you kissed him harder. Right now, nothing mattered. Not the multiverse or the difference between this Logan and the one you lost. All that mattered was the way his body ground into you, his lips threatening to devour you whole. 

You broke away for air, foreheads resting together, your breaths ragged and uneven as you shared the same air. "Logan… I don't know how this…" You trailed off, unable to find the words to make this make sense. 

"I know." He murmured, voice low and raw with emotion. "We'll figure it out, one day at a time." 

You kissed him again, softer this time, letting yourself dream of a world with Logan again. For however long this would last, you hoped that at least this time, you'd have the chance to say goodbye.

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Notes and reblogs are appreciated! Hope you enjoyed :)

[tarotwithavi]

Stop making excuses

Every day, many of us dream big. We think about the things we want to achieve like getting a good job, becoming healthy, starting a business, or learning a new skill. But often, these dreams remain just that , dreams. Why? Because we make excuses. We tell ourselves, "I'm too tired," "I don't have enough time," "I'm not good enough," or "It's too hard." These excuses become walls that stop us from moving forward. But the truth is, we are capable of so much more than we think. We can do anything and everything if we stop making excuses and start believing in ourselves.

The world is full of people who faced challenges but still did amazing things. They weren’t different from us. They didn’t have extra hours in a day or superpowers. What they did have was determination. They chose to see obstacles as opportunities, not excuses. When life got tough, they didn’t give up; they pushed harder. They knew that doing their best was the only way to reach their goals.

When we make excuses, we limit ourselves. It’s like tying our own hands behind our backs. Imagine wanting to run a marathon but never training because you keep telling yourself, “I’m not a runner.” How will you ever know your true potential if you don’t try? The same applies to every area of life. Whether it's learning something new, starting a project, or making a change, the first step is to stop the excuses and start taking action.

Excuses are comforting because they keep us in our comfort zones. But remember, nothing great ever happens in the comfort zone. Growth happens when we step out of it, face our fears, and challenge ourselves. Yes, it might be scary, and yes, we might fail. But every failure is a lesson. Every setback is a chance to come back stronger.

So, next time you catch yourself making an excuse, pause and ask: “What if I tried instead?” Replace “I can’t” with “I can” and “It’s too hard” with “I’ll try my best.” You will find that your mindset changes, and with it, your actions. Instead of avoiding challenges, you’ll start seeking them. Instead of saying, “I don’t have time,” you’ll make time.

Believe in yourself and your abilities. You have the power to do anything and everything. Your only limit is the one you set for yourself. Stop making excuses and start doing your best today. The world is waiting for you to show what you can achieve. Remember, the journey to greatness begins with a single step and that step is choosing not to make excuses.

[bethanydelleman]

So of course whenever I write "Mr. Bennet is a terrible father" people come back at me with, "I can tell you about terrible fathers! How dare you use that word!" but I'm probably going to keep using it and here is why:

Her father was a clergyman, without being neglected, or poor, and a very respectable man, though his name was Richard—and he had never been handsome. He had a considerable independence besides two good livings—and he was not in the least addicted to locking up his daughters. - Northanger Abbey, Ch 1

Jane Austen knew that very extremely horrible parents existed, but that was not what she was interested in as a writer. To me, she seems to want to expose how parents can fail their children without anything that would be considered explicit physical abuse. Even General Tilney and Mrs. Norris only talk and scream, we have no evidence at all that they would hit.

And yet, the characters suffer a lot because of their parents. Emma's father has imprisoned her, but by loving her too much. Mr. Bennet doesn't harm his daughters in the present, but he's setting them up for a very precarious future*. Sir Walter would never let Anne go unfed or unclothed, but he still neglects her. Mrs. Dashwood is so emotionally fragile that Elinor feels that she cannot confide in her when she is suffering herself. Sir Thomas was so strict that his children hated their home.

Jane Austen didn't write Gothic horror or the worst side of humanity. She wrote very relatable and realistically flawed parents who still put their children through a lot of suffering.

*Going to add, letting Lydia go to Brighton explicitly to expose herself, which may reflect poorly on the other sisters in a world where reputation is everything, is another failure to consider his children's future. Even if you disregard the danger to Lydia herself, he was endangering all his children. He is very much a person who trades the future for a peaceful present.

[jockwrites]

LUST - p.b

warnings: angst, cursing, straight people

part: 1

part: 2

a/n: if u can’t tell i love chase atlantic and i love to base writing off of music so..hehe

this will have smut.. but that’s a few chapters down hehe anyway i’m gonna post the second chapter like 10mins after this hahhahaha ok bye

today was the day. the day you’ve been dreading, but you know it’s for the best regardless.

you’re breaking up with your boyfriend.

for 3 months, you’ve been cheating on him. not only are you fucking another person, that person is a girl.

you’ve never called yourself gay, ever. you wouldn’t even consider the term bisexual.

but after you met paige bueckers, your whole world flipped upside down.

she was perfect, in every way. the way she touches you, looks at you, cares for you, every. little. thing.

she made you feel the way a man never has, or could.

but this wasn’t just hooking up to you, even if it was. to you, it felt like love.

the late night drives, long walks, beach trips, she even took you to disney world, a place you’ve been dreaming of since a child.

the first time you two hooked up was at a party. you didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did.

you exchanged glances from time to time, she walked up, complimented your outfit, told you to meet her in the bathroom, & the rest is history.

it all happened way to fast. but it was like a fever dream. and you didn’t even care about the fact she was one of the biggest basketball players in America.

now the main reason you’re breaking up with your boyfriend? it’s because of paige.

she’s hated him since the beginning.

the night after the first hookup, you got her number. she shot you a text, but you told her it’s not something that can be continued because of your boyfriend.

God she hates that word.

you’d vent to her about him a lot. you’d mention his late texts, the constant back and forth between you and work. it was like he never made time for you.

but paige, oh paige. she always had time for you.

between water breaks at practice she’d text or facetime, when at events she calls, even in the locker room before games she sneaks to send you a little heart emoji or an “i’m gonna win for u. love you”

you loved it. actually, you love everything about her.

but the sad part is, your boyfriend is a good guy.

he doesn’t deserve this, and you know it. he can’t help it that he has a tight schedule. but it all feels so right.

as of right now, you’re driving to your boyfriends apartment. alongside the teary eyes and hurting heart, you can’t help but rethink for a minute.

is this what i want? is this what he would want? or is this just what paige wants?

but then again, you realized you want it. you want paige, you want every part of that woman. you love her.

as your car slowly approaches the building, you wipe your tears. you’re ready to face whatever he has to say to you. but the thing is, you have no excuse.

you don’t know what to say to him. you can’t just throw it on him that you’ve been cheating, with a woman.

you sit in the driver seat, thinking about the memories you’ve had with him. all of the good, the bad, it’s all to much for you.

but you have to keep in mind, you want this.

you regain you slowly regain composure, getting out of your car.

you walk into the building, getting on the elevator to go to his apartment.

as you approach the door, you take a few deep breaths. your thoughts are taking over, and that isn’t something you need right about now.

you knock twice, waiting for a response, or any type of noise that signifies he’s here.

as you hear the door knob unlock, you quickly put on a nervous smile.

“hi, jacob!” you exulted nervously.

“hey, what’re you doing here? i was just finishing up some work, so if you wanna come inside, you can.” he smiled, motioning for you to step in.

you walk in, hating this already.

as he closes the door, you turn around toward him.

“jacob, i need to talk to you about something.”

“what is it baby?” he said. “are you okay?”

“no, jacob. i’m not okay. that’s exactly why we need to talk..”

“okay well, sit down baby. you can talk to me about anything.” he smiled.

you sit down, tears ready to flow any second.

you hate this. you hate everything about this.

“jacob, first off, i just wanna say i love you. i love you so so much, and i hope this won’t change anything between us. i know it will, but i can only hope.” you cried.

“baby, baby.” he walked toward you, crouching down to your level to comfort you. “what’s wrong? why’re you crying baby? you can talk to me about anything.”

the problem is you can’t talk to him about anything. not after what you’ve done, or what you’re doing.

“i just want you to know it isn’t you, it’s me. it’s all my fault, and i don’t know what to do.” you whimpered

“what are you talking about?” he worried.

“i wanna end things. im so sorry.” you choked out.

“what? what do you mean? what’s happened?” you can hear the pain in his voice.

God make it stop.

“i cheated. i cheated and i don’t know how to make it up to you. im so sorry jacob, i didn’t mean for it to happen like this. one thing led to another and.. i don’t know how to explain it. but please believe me, i love you.” you rambled, tears streaming like a waterfall.

he sat there and stared at you. the look in his eyes, it hurts you. he seems so angry, hurt, disgusted.

you did this to yourself.

“are you serious? with who? i genuinely cannot believe this.. i love you. and you do this to me?” he rasped.

“i know, i know.” you whined, “im so ashamed. but i just feel happier with her.. i can’t help it.”

as soon as that word left your mouth you immediately back tracked.

“i mean- him. i feel happier with him.” you sobbed.

“her? are you serious? are you actually leaving me for a woman?” he fumed.

“how? how could you do this to me? after everything i’ve done for you. the things i’ve put to risk for you?!” the pain in his voice makes you want to kill your self.

you feel like a horrible person.

you are a horrible person.

“jacob. please hear me out-”

“no,” he cut off. “if she’s better than me then go be with her. i tried my best, and if it wasn’t enough then i hope she is. i hope she treats you better than i did.”

the problem is, that’s the truth.

she does treat you better, and it hurts you.

he’s not her.

“i’m sorry jacob. that’s all i can say.” you cried.

“she can take my place. she might appreciate your sense of humor, and she might just be as equally insane.” he huffed.

“i’m gonna go now. im sorry, i really am. and i love you.”

“i loved you too.”

loved.

you walk out, not looking back. the regret you’re feeling is heavy. but you have to keep reminding yourself,

you wanted this.

after a few minutes you make it back to your car. you get inside, and the first thing you decide to do is call paige.

“i did it.” you sniffle over the phone.

“i’m sorry, it’s gonna be okay. if you want, you can come over baby.” she spoke over the phone, her sympathy showing.

“on my way.”

_______________________________________________

“he didn’t deserve you. you know that.” paige says, comforting you softly.

for about a half hour, you’ve been laying in paige’s arms, pouring your heart out.

“i just feel like- like i made the wrong decision. but at the same time i love you paige.” you sob, your words muffled as your head lays in the crook of her neck.

“look at me. it’s not your fault. after everything you’ve told me, he was not the fit for you. i don’t wanna see you hurt by that moron, you don’t deserve it.” she expressed.

“you really care about me that much paige?”

“what? of course i do. you mean the world to me. i’ll love you forever and always.” she promised.

a/n: ok so this is bad lol but if u enjoyed read the next chap plz lol bye

[glassrowboat]

Imposter. Baizhu.

Summary: That time of your month was always dreadful, made you want to hide away and forget all about the outside world, but perhaps it wasn't so awful with someone there with you.

Word count: 800+

“Is this the part where you tell me you hate being a woman again?”

The bed dipped beside you, creaking with the effort to adjust and support Baizhu's weight on the mattress you were currently curled up on in a bundle of blankets and pillows. Nesting, he had called it, a hand over his mouth as Baizhu tried not to out right laugh at you when he knew it would only result in a pillow being flung at both his and Changsheng’s faces for only one of those two is capable of properly dodging your fury.

“I don't say that.” You grumbled into your shirt. Or, rather, his shirt you claimed as your own. In the end, the difference was all the same.

“You do. Every month, actually.” Changsheng remarked.

You didn't get a chance to tell the overgrown noodle to shut it before Baizhu was chastising her in your place with a “Now really isn't the time to argue with her.”

“Because she might have our heads?”

“Precisely.”

You rolled your eyes at the two's interaction. “I can hear you, you know.”

“Oh, I know, my petal.” His hand cupped your cheek, bringing your gaze up to meet his slitted eyes, staring back at you with a bathymsal nature you couldn't help but be curious about every morning he painted red eyeshadow to his lids in the grace of a fresh morning's light; an unasked question never failing to make your lips tingle. “But we can call it payback for having me run all the way to the store for you in the middle of working hours.”

Your nose scrunched when he tapped the tip of your nose before going to the bag he had dropped on the bed next to him when Baizhu sat down earlier, the rustling drawing your attention.

“You could have sent Qiqi.”

“I could have, yes,” Baizhu nodded, “but you can be rather peculiar about the things you need during this time. I doubt Qiqi would have been able to remember exactly what you needed even if I did write it down for her.”

“Picky.” Changsheng huffed, not bothering to soften her words like the man she's currently wrapped around had a habit of doing. Her scales shifted as she turned her head to look down at the box Baizhu pulled out. Tongue flicking.

“And I appreciated the walk. It's a fine day.”

You looked over at the closed blinds, the light from outside only barely peeking through to leave a glowing line of yellow on the floor. “Wouldn't know.”

“No, I imagine you wouldn't. Though, regular exercise helps with the cramps, my petal. I suggest that once you have had some time to let the medication I made you set in, you come downstairs, and we can drink some tea and share these.” Another item was pulled from the bag, one you didn't even notice until now as a package of fine tea, full moon cakes were held before you.

“You of all people encouraging me to eat something sweet? How ghastly.” You gasped, hand coming out from your nest of blankets to place it over your wide open mouth. “Clearly you're a Baizhu imposter.”

“Hush you.”

On his shoulders, Changsheng snickered, just like you were, at his half-hearted glare.

Taking his hand, you pulled it close, bringing it to your lips that had been bearing a grimace for most of the afternoon, only to now be sporting a smile at the sight of him before you. “Thank you, Baizhu imposter, you're the sweetest.”

He sighed, looking you up and down as your touch trailed over the black glove he wore, always hiding away skin he refused to let you see with claims it's not a pretty sight. As if anything about him wasn't pretty. “You are awful. Always teasing me.”

“Stop making it so easy, then.”

Behind his glasses, Baizhu rolled his eyes at your wink. “Kisses and flirting won't get you out of taking your medicine.”

Changsheng chimed in with a “You have to admire her willingness to try.”

“Oh, fuck you both.” You said, dropping his hand.

“Maybe later, my petal, but for now, I need you to rest.” A kiss fell to the top of your head, nose nudging itself into your hair, and the charm of his glasses, cold as it was, tickled your cheek. “Then we can have our treats later.”

Another squeak of the mattress sounded as he got up, moving to the door with Changsheng still stubbornly wrapped around his neck. Eventually she'd come wiggling back through that very same door to check on you for him, but for now her little head was bobbing with every step Baizhu took.

“Hey imposter.” You called, watching him turn his head, green hair swaying with the movement to look back at you. “I love you. And, thank you for your help.”

His lips quicked up, a fang barely poking out. “I love you too.”

[goatyuuji]

JJK 271: The death of Ryomen Sukuna

As a Sukuna fan, this chapter was everything I could ask for. Such a beautiful end for such an interesting antagonist. Okay coming back to the chapter, more specifically to Sukuna and Mahito conversation, we see Sukuna admitting that he had different paths he could have travelled, two to be more precise: one being with Uraume and one with a mysterious black hair figure who is dressed as a shrine maiden, so the question here is who is this mystery person...it's definitely not Yorozu since Yorozu has never dressed this modestly and I don't think this is Sukuna's mom either...so who is this???

I believe this is Kenjaku when he first approached Sukuna in the Heian era.

We previously had a panel of Sukuna's mummified body dressed as a monk by Tengen in the manga...so Sukuna might have grown up in a religious setting, and what better way to get close to him than approaching him as a miko or a shrine maiden.

But that's beside the point. The point here is Sukuna talking about the two paths he could have chosen, and he ends up choosing Kenjaku. He allows Kenjaku to make him as a curse object, allows Kenjaku to make a vessel for him to reside into, allows Kenjaku to rope him into the culling games, and even allows Kenjaku to trust him with Tengen and the merger. But the sukuna who chose this path was an angry version of him, the curse version of him if you will. He wanted to spit back the curses that were residing him, so full of anger anger anger hate hate hate. Even at his death bed his only response to kindness was "don't underestimate me, I'm a curse". So this version of Sukuna choosing Kenjaku over Uraume was no surprise.

But what changed then????....well.....HE LOST

He lost, not to Gojo or Yuta or Yuji or the serveral dozen sorcerers who jumped him, in the end he lost to MEGUMI FUSHIGURO. In ch 268 we see Sukuna trying to manipulate Megumi to give him all the control, to give up and leave it to him.

This curse version of Sukuna who doesn't know anything except cursing others back, recounting all the deaths Megumi caused to him, telling Megumi how he can't live a proper life anymore....somehow somewhere it feels like he is trying to delude himself too by saying after all the atrocities he caused in 1000 years there is no use fighting back, no use in living a proper life anymore. And this Sukuna has never lived for anyone except himself so it's easier to curse the world back, easier to give up all the control and just cause panic and doom and death.

But Megumi is not just living for himself, he lives for Tsumiki, for Yuuji, he can't doom the entire world when the world has people like Tsumiki and Yuuji in it and so he fights, he refutes the notion of proper life and says he wanna try living for someone else one more time.

All this could not have been done without Yuuji Itadori of course, Yuuji Itadori who came as a guardian angel to Megumi Fushiguro, who never gave up on Megumi once, who showed Megumi how to live one more time.

Not only that Yuuji Itadori showed Sukuna, the king of curses, the one person who kept cursing and ruining his life again and again, pity. Yuuji who was cursed by several people in his life, his grandpa, Nanami, Junpei, Mahito, Gojo, Choso, Nobara and Sukuna himself, still able to live his life without cursing others back, still able to live his life with compassion. And Sukuna reaction to it is understandable: rage. Because Yuuji is everything that his chosen path won't let him be, Yuuji is everything that that Sukuna could have been if only he hadn't chosen the path with Kenjaku...if only...

So after Sukuna who has lost everything and there is nothing more for him to lose, he decides to choose a different path, he chooses Uraume. And just like Megumi who decides to live for someone else (Yuuji) when given the second chance, Sukuna chooses to live for Uraume this time. He acknowledges his defeat with grace, does not condemn the path he chose the first time but instead he is regretful which is so raw and unfiltered coming from Sukuna, and moves on North this time with Uraume. This time Sukuna chooses Uraume instead of Uraume choosing Sukuna and serving him.

And with this the story of Ryomen Sukuna comes to an end. We never got his backstory, we never even got his real name because he never looked back behind him to acknowledge those measly things. To say in short, this is the death of the King of Curses who was just living to cause death and destruction around him and rebirth of someone entirely new.

[suugarbabe]

I had just gotten the cutest fluffiest tooth rotting sweet idea for a fanfic I've ever gotten.

You know how there is a type of color blindness called red green color blind? It's basically green turns to yellow and red to brown and well fellow and blue stay the same.

So what if reader is red green color blind and her favorite color is blue since it's the only special color she can see and since Theo's eyes are blue when she sees his eyes she gets really excited, wi excited that she just grabs Theo's face so she can get a better look.

I feel like the reader need to have a cherry and bubbly personality because she needs to be very very clueless to just grab someone's face because of how exited she would get.

i've quite literally been obsessed with this ask since you've sent it, and i've gone back and forth on how to write it completely, then went through a little bit of writers block altogether so hopefully i do this justice and close to how you might have envisioned it.

You were really young when it happened, the accident that caused it. Mum was proficient in potions, and you just wanted to be just like her. But a four year old really shouldn't have been messing with her things. It all happened so fast, your little mind just thought you were playing, copying what you've seen her do. Throwing a little of this and a little of that in the cauldron, pouring the pretty blue liquid inside. You had picked it because it was your favorite color, which, looking back seems incredibly ironic.

The explosion was quick but it shook your entire house. Your parents had come rushing in, only to find you sitting up against the far wall, eyebrows gone and lower lip quivering. It has taken about six months before anyone was aware of what it did to you. You were so young and the experience was, well, pretty traumatic so you never really said anything about the changes.

Everyone thought you consistently picked the blue things because it was your favorite color. And while that was slightly true, it was also the only color you were able to see completely. You could occasionally see very dull shades of other colors, extremely muted or like you were seeing them through a layer of grey tissue paper.

Your parents never made too big of a deal out of the situation, instead just teaching you how to by hyper vigilant for specific details you could notice to help you out. Like the difference in how a ruby felt to an emerald, or how gum root smelled versus hickory drip. So overall you had learned to manage. And truly you didn't think you were missing out on much.

In your opinion all of the best things were blue. The ocean on a bright summers day, the sky on a crisp fall morning, the shine on a sapphire, and of course, your Ravenclaw robes. Your 'condition' was spread throughout the school by Christmas holiday your first year. It wasn't something you kept a secret, but it also wasn't something you spread around like you'd won the quidditch world cup.

It didn't bother you that people knew, but it did change how some people saw you. When you were younger, they tried to tease you, tried to call you a freak, tell you that you wouldn't amount to much as "you'd never be successful with such a limitation." It's a wonder what a loving family and supportive friends can do to keep one grounded and happy. As despite all those negative words in your early years, you were still so bright and bubbly.

You had gotten used to how you viewed things a long time ago, but that didn't stop you from being marveled at new discoveries. Which is what had you following a very tall and lanky Slytherin boy down the hall. You had noticed it by accident, as he passed you in the hall. You knew who he was, were well aware of his and his little gang's reputation. But you liked to form your own opinions from experience, and you hadn't quite interacted with this particular member yet.

Your friends had called after you, but after seeing the determined pep in your step had just settled for following. When you had finally caught up to him you wrapped your arms around his bicep, spinning him round to face you. "What the-," he was cut off by your hands grabbing hold of either side of his face, delicate thumbs resting on his sharp cheek bones to hold him still.

"Merlin, Theo, your eyes they're...gods they're like water colors." Theo was thoroughly caught off guard. Not only by the pretty girl holding his face but by the words coming from her mouth. "Oh sweet Rowena, they've just shifted, what are you thinking about?" He did his best not to stutter, "Erm, I...," you could feel his cheeks heat beneath your palm and your smile was instant, "I've not heard that description before. Usually they just say like the ocean or the sky or whatever."

Your thumbs rubbed gently on the apples of his cheeks. "Oh, they're much more than that. They're like...when you first dip your brush into the prettiest pallet after a dip in the water, then when you make the first brushstroke, and the color spreads so perfectly, shifting hues of blue. That's them...your eyes."

No sooner had you finished your explanation were his lips on yours. It was unexpected, catching you off guard but not unpleasantly. His mouth slotted against yours seemingly effortlessly, your hands slipping form his cheeks to loop around his neck and his hands found solace on your waist. His eyes are what drew you in but his lips, merlin you could get used to those.

"Oi, Nott. Who're ya-," The interruption caused the two of you to break apart abruptly, you wiping your slightly swollen lips and straightening where Theo was gripping your skirt. "Oh, no fucking way," Enzo Berkshire's voice sounded as smug as the look on his face. Theo simply threw up his middle finger at the boy before turning to you, small grin on his face.

"Erm, sorry for bombarding you like that its just-," You shook your head, cutting him off, "S'okay." Theo's grin grew two times, "Can I see you think weekend? Coming to the Slytherin party?" You nodded, biting your bottom lip to try and contain your growing smile. Theo placed a kiss on your forehead before looking you in your eyes, more so so you could see his one last time. Then with a wink, he turned and ran to catch up with his friend.

[brodygold]

A Game For Bros

Nate and I had always been the same: two nerds, caught up in our own world of video games, D&D, and sci-fi movies. He’d been my best friend since high school, a skinny guy with messy brown hair, always wearing some oversized t-shirt of a superhero. Me? I wasn’t much different. Shorter, stockier, and always in retro game tees. We never got into sports—couldn’t care less, really. But that Saturday, when Nate invited me over to check out a new game, we did something a bit out of our comfort zone.

“I don’t usually go for sports games,” I said as I plopped onto his worn-out couch. The game case for The Golden Army: Rise of Champions sat on the coffee table, glowing in a strange golden light. “What made you pick this one?”

Nate shrugged as he plugged in the system. “The reviews were insane, man. People say it’s super immersive, like you actually feel the game.”

“Sounds cool enough,” I muttered, grabbing a soda. “Let’s see what it’s about.”

Nate’s apartment looked the same as always—cluttered with comic books, action figures, and old consoles. The screen flashed on, bathing the room in golden light as the title appeared: The Golden Army: Rise of Champions. The graphics were sharp, but what immediately caught my attention was how detailed the avatar customization was. We both laughed as we started making characters that were basically us but... stronger, taller, more athletic.

“Man, I wish I was this ripped in real life,” I said, chuckling as I bulked up my avatar.

Nate nodded, not looking up from his controller. “Same here, dude. If only, right?”

Once the game started, though, things got weird fast. It wasn’t like any sports game I’d ever played. It was too smooth, too real. Every movement of my character felt like it was coming from me, like my body was somehow connected to the screen. Nate was feeling it too; I could tell by how focused he’d gotten.

“This feels insane,” I muttered, my fingers flying over the controller as my avatar sprinted down the field. My skin tingled, and for a second, I thought it was just adrenaline from getting into the game.

“Yeah, it’s like... I can *feel* it,” Nate said, his voice lower, more serious than usual.

What I didn’t realize was that I really *was* feeling it. I was changing. My arms, once stocky but kind of soft, were slowly growing harder, leaner, and stronger. My biceps pushed against the fabric of my t-shirt, but I didn’t notice at first. I was too absorbed in the game. Nate wasn’t paying attention either, but he was changing too. His scrawny arms were swelling, his chest growing more defined, the lines of muscle slowly becoming visible under his shirt.

My legs were thickening, my calves bulging as they hardened. Nate’s shoulders broadened as his posture straightened, more relaxed, confident. His shaggy hair started to shift, styling itself into something neater and more athletic. It suited him.

Our avatar dominated the field. Every pass, every kick felt like it was coming straight from us. By the time the match ended, I noticed my t-shirt was stretched tight against my chest, clinging to muscles I didn’t remember having. But it felt normal. Like I’d always been this way. Nate was the same. His shirt had morphed into something sleeker, a fitted gold soccer jersey. I looked down, realizing mine had changed too. I wasn’t in my retro game tee anymore—I was in a gold jersey too, my name stitched across the back.

But we didn’t freak out. We didn’t question it. Why would we? We’d always been jocks, right? That’s how we met in the first place.

“Yo, that was sick, bro!” I grinned at Nate, flexing my now-defined arms. “We totally crushed that game.”

Nate smirked, his voice deeper now, his body lean and athletic. “Hell yeah, man. No one can take us down.”

The room around us had changed too, though we didn’t notice with how invested in the game we were. Gone were the stacks of comics and games. Instead, soccer trophies lined the shelves, photos of us in our golden jerseys, posing as champions of The Golden Army. It was as if our old lives had been erased, replaced entirely by something new.

As we kept playing, our minds continued to shift. I didn’t care about D&D or sci-fi movies anymore. All I could think about was training, getting stronger, being the best. Nate, once shy and quiet, was now exuding confidence. We were athletes, teammates, brothers on and off the field.

Our bodies had finished transforming. I looked over at Nate, admiring how ripped he was now. His short hair was clean, his jawline sharp. He looked... good. Really good. The thought lingered longer than it should have, but I didn’t push it away. Why would I? We’d always been close, but now there was something else there, something that had shifted between us.

I felt my heart race as I caught him looking at me the same way, his eyes lingering on my chest, my arms. The air between us felt electric, like something was pulling us together.

“Yo, Nate,” I started, feeling my pulse quicken. “You ever feel like... there’s more between us than just the game?”

Nate turned to me, his eyes locked on mine, and for a moment, the room was silent. Then he smirked, but there was something softer in his gaze. “Yeah, bro. I’ve been feeling that too.”

It happened without thinking. I reached out, grabbing his hand, and suddenly, I was pulling him closer. Our eyes met, and before I could stop myself, I kissed him. His lips were warm, firm, and everything clicked into place. It was like this was always meant to happen. Like this was who we were supposed to be.

When we finally pulled away, both of us were breathing hard. Nate looked at me, his grin returning. “Damn, bro. That was... intense.”

“Yeah,” I replied, still catching my breath. “But I think we’ve always had this, right? Just took us a while to figure it out.”

Nate nodded, his hand still on my chest, his thumb brushing against the fabric of my jersey. “Always. And now? We’ve got everything we need.”

We leaned in again, and this time, it felt even more right. We were no longer the nerdy duo, lost in games and fantasy worlds. We were champions—alpha jocks, leaders of The Golden Army—and we had found each other. As I held Nate close, our golden jerseys shining in the light, I knew that everything was just how it should be.

“Now how about round 2, bro?”

“Oh, you’re so on bro!”

[genderqueerdykes]

i think people who doesnt like men and despise them are just traumatized. i mean its the experience of being mistreated for years that it makes them unable to trust men again. their reactions is maybe too harsh but i can see it being "i just doesnt want to be hurt anymore"

i agree with this take and i don't care if that bugs people

it is okay for a person to say that they have experienced trauma due to the current patriarchy we live under. it's okay to say that. however it's not okay to project one's trauma with those specific things on to every man they encounter. we must not project our trauma on to people who are not hurting us. it does not help us heal. it keeps us trapped in the cycle of negative thought loops, paranoia, fear and disgust

i agree with you completely, people who take this trauma to the extreme without reflecting on their experiences and admitting that the trauma was at the hands of that one person, those people, or that organization just lose they ability to trust an entire gender and decide that pathologically avoiding and hating men is the way to move on and cope. it's not, it never is. to avoid one's trigger for the rest of one's life is to not going to help someone get over it. it has to be addressed at one point or another

there are many men out there who are horrible but there are horrible people of any gender. our current patriarchal society is flawed because we designed a structure built around worshipping men and placing them in positions of power over everyone, especially women, but only if they fit into a narrow box of what a man 'should' look, act and sound like. we torture men, women and everyone else in this society.

men are forced to be the 'perfect' man in order to be validated and accepted as 'real' men. men cannot have long hair or else they 'look like a girl' or are 'too faggy'. men have to be physically fit or else people are ashamed of them or tell them they are unattractive. men are forced to be the 'man of the house', boys are forced into this at young ages. men are only allowed to dress in certain ways depending on one's culture. in the US men have to wear very plain clothes with muted colors. gestures and mannerisms are also scrutinized as well as career choices. only 'masculine' career choices are approved of

we place insecure men into positions of power and tell them to control everyone and make sure that women don't get those same rights and abilities and that's a huge issue but not every man is doing this. our issue with men is systemic due to the patriarchy we live under- men are not genetically or inherently violent, evil or shitty. we are grooming men and certain men catch on to the programming and take it very seriously and many wish to live outside of it in order to be themselves

the way we treat women in this patriarchal society is abysmal. it is shameful to behold- yes women are treated in an absolutely subhuman fashion in most regards of life when it comes to what we experience. it's maddening. but we have to understand that if we stop programming men to behave this way, this will not continue to happen anywhere near as badly as it's happening right now

the average man you meet on the street is likely not a danger to you at all whatsoever. most people aren't. most men don't really want to be a macho stereotype. most men just want to go about their own personal interests. it's okay for them to do so its their right. opening up one's self to average men who are honest and in touch with their interests is pretty eye opening- men also come in all kinds just like anyone else. men can be gentle and caring just as much as they can be difficult to be around. men are people

i agree with you. people project their trauma of what theyve gone through on to people who have not hurt them and it's not a good way to approach community and how one interacts with the world. it's fine to call out men when they do something shitty, when they're misogynistic, when they're being violent, but we also have to let men be gentle, quiet, caring, creative, passionate, loving and so on. because men are capable of those things. it's that simple

hope you have a great day, thanks for stopping by to chat

[adoresia]

Hello there (　＾▽＾)

I read you were taking requests for JJK. I'd like to request something w/ Choso... maybe something along the lines of Reader frequents a small local coffee shop, Choso just happens to be the owner & barista on shift.

• Reader is a coffee connoisseur

• Choso remembers the flavors she likes & dislikes

• Fluff/Angst

• fresh coffee kisses ○o。..。o○

— Flavors of Us

⋆.˚ Featuring : Choso x fem!reader

⋆.˚ Sia here! : HELLO ANON THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SENDING THIS IN IT WAS SO FUN TO WRITE HEHEHEHDHSHDHHEHSHSHEHS (I Love these Choso requests. I love my man. Just look at him. ISNT HE SOOO FINEEEE 😫😫) okay anyways really sorry I took so long write this I hope you like it!!,

The cozy warmth of *Kurobai Coffeehouse* enveloped you the moment you stepped inside, the familiar scent of roasted beans and rich espresso curling around you like a comforting embrace. The quiet hum of the café settled in your bones, a welcome reprieve from the outside world. You weren’t a stranger here—this little corner shop had become a second home to you over the past year. But more importantly, your boyfriend Choso was here!

Behind the counter, Choso moved with his usual quiet precision. His tall, muscular frame was slightly hunched as he adjusted the grinder, his long dark hair tied back in a messy bun, the small parts of his bangs framing his pale, sharp features. Even from across the room, you could tell he was focused on his work, his sharp, pale features set in that familiar, pensive expression. Choso had always been a bit shy, and sometimes a little clueless when it came to people, but he had this way of paying attention to the things that mattered. Especially when it came to you.

He looked up as you approached the counter, and the hint of a smile tugged at his lips—a subtle gesture, but it was one you’d come to recognize as reserved just for you. His eyes softened, though there was still that flicker of uncertainty behind them, like he was never entirely sure what to do with the feelings you stirred in him.

“You’re early today,” he mumbled, his voice low and quiet, as always.

“Thought I’d change things up,” you replied with a teasing smile, leaning casually against the counter. “But I’m guessing you already know what I’m going to order, right?”

Choso’s brow furrowed slightly, his eyes narrowing in concentration. You watched as he silently replayed your usual preferences in his mind, the way he always did when you teased him like this. Over the months, he’d learned exactly what you liked and disliked when it came to coffee. You weren’t just a casual drinker—you were a connoisseur, and Choso never let you down.

“Colombian beans,” he said after a pause, his tone thoughtful. “Medium-bodied, floral, no sugar… but maybe not too strong today?” He glanced up at you, his expression uncertain as if waiting for confirmation.

You smiled, genuinely impressed. “You know me too well.”

A faint blush crept up Choso’s neck, and he quickly turned back to the grinder, his hands moving a little faster than before. “I just… pay attention,” he mumbled, barely loud enough for you to hear.

You bit back a laugh, charmed by his bashfulness. He was always like this, quietly remembering the details that mattered—what kind of beans you preferred, the strength of your coffee depending on your mood, and even the way you liked to linger at the counter just a little longer when the café wasn’t busy. He never made a big deal about it, but that was just who Choso was.

As he worked, you let your gaze drift around the café. The wooden floors creaked softly under your feet, the low jazz playing in the background adding to the cozy, intimate atmosphere. The shop was small, tucked between two towering bookstores, and the soft glow of amber light from the sconces bathed everything in a warm, golden hue. You loved the way it made the world outside seem far away, like you and Choso were the only two people in it.

Before long, Choso slid your cup across the counter. The familiar aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled your senses, rich and floral with a hint of brightness. It was perfect—just like every other time he’d made it for you.

“Thank you.” you murmured, your fingers brushing his as you took the cup from him. You noticed the way his hand lingered for just a second longer than necessary, and your heart skipped a beat.

Choso glanced away quickly, his cheeks tinged with pink again. He was always so easily flustered, especially when your hands touched, even after all this time.

You took a sip, savoring the way the flavors bloomed on your tongue. “It’s perfect, as always,” you said softly, meeting his gaze over the rim of your cup.

He blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the compliment. “I— I’m glad,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He was trying to play it cool, but you could tell your praise had gotten to him.

The café was quiet today, only a few other patrons scattered at tables, engrossed in their books or laptops. With the lull in activity, you leaned forward a little, resting your elbows on the counter. “You’ve really got this down, huh? I could never make coffee this good.”

Choso’s eyes flickered to yours, then back down to the counter. “It’s just… practice. I’m still learning.”

“You’ve mastered my order, though,” you teased, your voice low and playful. “That’s gotta count for something.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. Instead, he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he glanced at you from beneath his lashes. “I just… don’t want to get it wrong. Not for you.”

The sincerity in his words, paired with the soft, almost nervous look in his eyes, made your heart clench. For all his awkwardness, Choso always managed to say the things that mattered most without even realizing it.

You felt the warmth of the coffee in your hands, but there was a different kind of heat spreading through you now—the kind that came from being so close to him, from the way he looked at you like you were the only person that mattered.

Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers gently curling around his wrist, tugging him just a little closer. “You never get it wrong, Choso,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

His eyes widened, startled by the sudden closeness. “I—” He tried to speak, but the words died on his lips as your gaze lingered on his mouth.

Before either of you could second-guess it, you closed the distance between you, your lips brushing softly against his. The kiss was gentle, tentative, as if testing the waters, and for a moment, Choso froze beneath your touch. But then, slowly—so slowly—he melted into it, his free hand coming up to rest on the counter as if steadying himself.

The taste of fresh coffee lingered on both your lips, bitter and warm, mixing with the softness of the kiss. It wasn’t rushed or sloppy—just slow and sensual, like savoring the perfect brew. His lips were slightly parted, unsure but responsive, and you could feel the slight tremble in his breath as your lips pressed a little more firmly against his.

When you finally pulled away, the café seemed quieter, the world smaller, as if time itself had slowed for just the two of you. Choso’s eyes were wide, his cheeks flushed a deep red that stretched all the way to the tips of his ears.

“I—uh—” He tried to speak, but the words were jumbled, completely lost to the haze of what had just happened. “Was… that okay?

You couldn’t help but smile at how utterly flustered he was, his usual composure shattered in the most endearing way. “Yeah, Choso,” you whispered, your thumb brushing lightly over his wrist. “It was more than okay.”

He blinked, still dazed, but a small, shy smile tugged at his lips as he nodded. “I’m glad.”

And just like the perfect cup of coffee, the moment lingered—warm, comforting, and undeniably sweet.