#but moving things makes you really aware of how it exists in space

[abrielarnold]

i was able to snag a scene for the rephanimated project! (it looks SO good so far. everyone did an amazing job!!)(super excited to see the whole thing!!)

[areislol]

being transported into their world

►— pairings. honkai star rail men x gn! creator! reader

►— warnings. nothing really, not proof read 🙅🏻‍♀️, caelus is the trailblazer, romantic but you can see it was platonic if you want to! girls in the astral express are mentioned for a bit, i mentioned both dan heng and imbibitor lunae so don't mind that! mentions of self attempt/bodily harm for blade, boothill is ooc probably, spoilers of penacony quest, skipping herta space station (will be mentioned in other chapters though!), sahau (self aware honkai au)

►— synopsis. their beloved creator, the one who created many worlds, including theirs, had yet to return after thousands of years. but lately, they've been experiencing strange things, feeling like a heavenly, divine figure loomed over them. could it possibly be their one and only creator?

►— a/n. i've been thinking about a self-aware au but a honkai star rail version for a couple of weeks now after my reverse isekai'd genshin sagau series. also this may be a bit biased towards dang feng (imbibitor lunae) because uh i like him, maybe you can tell?

►— wordcount. 4.5k

part 2

for days they've felt uncomfortable, well, slightly. it only began to happen a couple of months ago when they felt as if something, no... someone was controlling their every movement and choice.

during their adventures, they felt an unsettling sensation creep upon them like a shadow in the night—a feeling of being watched, of a presence looming over their every move.

the presence was overwhelming, their body would stiffen, and they felt as if something like a heavy, invisible blanket was casted upon them.

at first, the passengers in the astral express dismissed it as mere paranoia, attributing it to the heightened tension of their journey or maybe the warping effects in the train. but as days passed and the sensation persisted, they couldn't shake off the unnerving feeling that they were not alone, that someone or something was observing their every action.

at times, they would catch fleeting whispers carried by the wind, faint voices that echoed in the corners of their minds. yet, despite their efforts, they could never make out the words, the words slipping through their grasp like elusive dreams.

as the feeling grew more pronounced, thoughts began to gnaw at their consciousness. who or what could possibly be speaking to them? why is it that every now and then they would feel a sudden boost and surge of power?

they knew deep down that the only being in the universe could make them feel that was,it could be no other than their creator.

the mere thought that their creator was dropping hints of their arrival was exciting. and only when the astral express crew noticed how each and every one of them felt the same exact things—looking around the moment they heard a voice, their body in sync as they tensed up... it was all too coincidental not to notice.

as they talked with one another and pieced the puzzle pieces together, using the information they found along the way travelling to each region, it all became clear.

it was a pivotal moment in their journey, the truth was revealed. in a flash of realization, they discovered that the presence they felt, the elusive voice they heard, was none other than their creator—the architect of their existence, the mastermind behind their trials and tribulations.

dan heng, himeko, welt, march and caelus had a hunch that it was their beloved creator, it couldn't be anyone else. everything added up, everything made sense. they acted like mad scientists, scurrying to their rooms and digging around every nook and cranny of their room, finding any evidence and papers that mentioned you, the creator.

as they all met up back on the train they carefully placed each and every newspaper and article about you. they had to make sure that it was really you. some of the articles that dan heng bought were from way back, thousands of years ago, he refused to tell anyone where he had gotten them from.

"in the vast expanse of the universe, where time flowed like a meandering river and galaxies danced in an eternal cosmic ballet, there existed a being unlike any other—a being known simply as a creator. born out of the primordial chaos, the creator was a solitary entity who traversed the endless void, seeking purpose in a universe devoid of meaning.

for millennia, the creator roamed the expanse, witnessing the birth and death of stars, the rise and fall of civilizations, and the ebb and flow of cosmic energies. yet, amidst the vastness of space and time, the creator found itself consumed by an overwhelming sense of ennui, a profound boredom that gnawed at their very essence.

then, the creator embarked on a journey of creation—a quest to fill the void with worlds of its own design, to sculpt realities from the raw clay of the cosmos. with a mere thought, the creator breathed life into barren planets, adorned them with oceans and mountains, and populated them with a myriad of creatures both strange and wondrous.

as creator delved deeper into their newfound passion, they discovered a love for the act of creation—a love that transcended time and space, a passion that ignited a fire within its soul. with each world it fashioned, each story it crafted, the creator found solace in the act of shaping reality, in the sheer joy of bringing something new into existence.

for six thousand years, the creator laboured tirelessly, weaving tapestries of worlds and galaxies, each one a testament to its boundless imagination and creative prowess. from the smallest blade of grass to the mightiest empires, the creator poured their heart and soul into every facet of creation, infusing each world with a unique charm and character all its own.

yet, amidst the infinite expanse of its creations, the creator remained a solitary figure—a godlike being adrift in a sea of its own making, forever yearning for companionship in a universe devoid of peers. and so, the creator continued their eternal quest, weaving worlds out of boredom and growing a love and passion for creation that would endure for eternity. and we, this universe, was crafted by none other than the creator, the place we call home. it is said that only after six thousand will the creator return to us, to watch over us once more."

the article itself looked worn, it wasn't signed by anyone, and no one knew who wrote it, or how they got the information. but it seemed plausible. millenniums... it has been well over six thousand years, it was about time the creator descended.

they had to be prepared, they had to tell the rest of their friends and families, the world. as much as they would like to keep the information to themselves they knew that you deserved a much better, bigger and more beautiful welcome.

sampo, gepard and luka were more than stunned and nervous, to say the least. their creator... was finally returning back? upon hearing the news from caelus they were sceptical at first, deep down they really wanted to see you in your glory, to finally meet the creator, but at the same time, it was nerve-wracking.

what should they say? what should they do in preparation and celebration? what gifts and offers should they give to you? nothing would do. they were positive that anything they bought, even if it got them in debt, would suffice. you deserved more than a measly couple of dishes and the most delicate and fitting garnets.

it was embarrassing really, their hearts racing as they tried their best to think of what to bring to your feet. but one thing they all had in common was their loyalty to you. if it was their life you wanted then so be it.

sampo is sampo, he was sure that his creator's glory and attractiveness were over the top, he would be sure to compliment you as many times as his mouth could allow, but he was sure that your beauty would be intimidating. no matter your looks your presence was more than enough.

gepard is nervous. his mind is full of "what ifs" and "what should i.." not even his sister can calm him down. every morning and night when he closes his eyes he's anticipating the day his sister barges into his room, yelling that the creator had finally descended. although he isn't quite sure of what to offer you he knows that whenever you need him, whatever you call him for he will be there in less than a minute, by your side or feet if you prefer.

whatever you ask of him, whatever favour you need from, he will never say no.

luka on the other hand is absolutely pumped to meet you! he had heard stories of you when he was a child, and from the stories told by the adults they described you as a kind being, who soon fell in love with the art, beauty and joy of creating. well, their most favourite was creating worlds.

he was absolutely sure that you would be the most kindest, heavenly person he had ever met, what was there to worry about now? luka knew that if he ever laid eyes on you he would fall in love no doubt, he would do anything for you. maybe you would agree to watch his wrestling matches?

jing yuan, blade, imbibitor lunae, and luocha are the most excited of all, sure, everyone is elated to finally meet you with their very own eyes. but them? oh lord... they all believe to be your worshipper, having heard tales of you from their parents, this alone caused them to be awe and love-struck with you.

they were a firm believer in you, you did no wrong in their eyes. all your actions and words were justified. they followed your principles, they made sure to announce their presence every time they came to your altar and placed down the most expensive jewels, dishes and gifts. (they had a shrine of you at home don't worry)

jing yuan was the one of the firsts to get hints that you were finally returning, the divine foresight fu xuan always looked so weary and cautious, but as time grew she began to be more... happy and elated, yet everytime he questioned her she was tense up and smile like it was nothing. and only when he pried did she say that she saw things, saw a blurred face, and heard a voice. "don't be alarmed... i'm here to tell you that.."

he made sure that everyone who worked under him and every prominent person knew of this, he began to make preparations of your arrival, he cancelled all meetings and plans, only focusing on you and your arrival. everything had to be perfect. he had even forgotten about the wanted criminal blade. jing yuan booked the most fanciest restaurant for a month max, he wasn't sure when you were coming, of course, so a month it was.

jing yuan prepared every entertainment and paid the orchestra, he wanted everything to be perfect, even the most minuscule details.

blade's loyalty was and is only for you and only you. he may be cold and stone-hearted (we all know it's false) but if it's you... whatever you ask for he will do it no doubt. he refuses to take orders from a stranger even if it is his friend, but if it's you? say no more. blade knew you were a kind soul, you needed protection from the other so-called "enemies" (he proclaimed it!).

he swore that you saved his life, years ago when everything was tumbling down, when his feelings got the better of him, he tried doing the unthinkable, as he blacked out he suddenly "saw" something.. a beacon of light, it was magical and airy, he tried his best to grasp onto the light but obviously could not.

it floated further and further away, and he followed it, his eyes glued only on the beacon of light. as it stopped moving, so did he, he continued staring at the light as it shrank into a ball, it didn't speak, it didn't look anywhere, it stayed there. suddenly he woke up, his chest heaving up and down as he tried to catch his breath. what was that?

sweat clung to his forehead when jingliu found him, concerned she rushed over to him, he refused to say a single word. he was left perplexed. what was the ball of light? why did he feel so at ease? why did it only appear after he...

he would make it his mission to meet you before the rest do other than the astral express crew and become your bodyguard, even if you deny his offer he will stick with you no matter what. of course, he would respect your boundaries but he knew that you didn't have the heart to deny anyone, especially your creation.

imbibitor lunae absolutely adores you, even if he was reincarnated the memories still pass on. and the tales being told by the grown-ups were famous around his area and still is. from the earliest days of his existence, tales of the creator had woven themselves into the fabric of his consciousness, painting a portrait of a being of boundless kindness and infinite compassion.

as a child, imbibitor lunae had listened with rapt attention to stories passed down through generations, tales of the creator's benevolence and the miracles they wrought upon the world. and in the quiet moments of the night, he would gaze up at the starry expanse above, whispering prayers to the creator, his heart overflowing with admiration and reverence.

when news of the creator's imminent return after six thousand years reached his ears, his heart soared with unbridled joy. in no time he set about preparing for your arrival, pouring his heart and soul into crafting the perfect gifts to present to his divine benefactor.

drawing inspiration from the tales of old, he fashioned intricate trinkets and tokens of his affection, each one imbued with his unwavering devotion and love. amidst the swirling maelstrom of feelings, one thing remained constant: his unwavering love for the creator.

imbibitor swore that once he felt or sensed a sign that would be arriving he would immediately act, he would be the first to meet and lay his eyes on your divine figure. slap him as many times as you want if you found it rude, he would only thank you.

luocha, despite remaining calm and composed on the outside, internally, he was freaking OUT. luocha found himself grappling with a myriad of conflicting thoughts and emotions. on one hand, he felt a profound sense of excitement at the prospect of meeting the creator, the architect of his existence and the source of all that he held dear.

yet, on the other hand, he couldn't shake off the nagging feeling of inadequacy, the fear of not being able to live up to your expectations.

his mind raced with a flurry of possibilities. what gifts would you appreciate? what could he offer to express his gratitude and reverence for the being who had breathed life into his world? with each passing moment, the weight of the impending meeting pressed down upon him like a heavy burden, filling him with a sense of anxiety.

despite his inner turmoil, luocha maintained a facade of calm and composure, determined not to let his anxieties show. with a steely resolve, he set about meticulously planning and preparing for your arrival, carefully considering every detail in his quest to find the perfect gift.

he even resorted to asking the children about what gifts he should bring, and yes, they did laugh at him but helped him nonetheless.

from ornate trinkets to rare treasures, luocha spared no effort in his search for the ideal offering, pouring his heart and soul into each carefully chosen item. yet, even as he laboured tirelessly to ensure that everything was perfect, doubts continued to gnaw at the edges of his mind, although one thing was for sure, if you didn't like any of his gifts he wouldn't be upset rather, maybe all you wanted was his whole body and life, and he would not hesitant once to give it up for you.

they all couldn't wait to meet you.

aventurine, sunday, gallagher and boothill are freaking out. horribly. mainly aventurine.. once the news had reached them from the astral express that it was possible (about 98%) that you were the comet arriving in a week... oh boy were they NERVOUS. everything HAD to be perfect. they had everything to thank you for, during their life and death situation they were lucky enough to survive—thanks to you.

it was only natural to return the favour, you created them, their personality, their arms, legs, their body, you sculpted their face, you made them. you made the very world they live in right now, the world they call home... they were sure you were by their side, making them make the right decisions and the right thing. aventurine? oh, the amount of MONEY he will spend buying everything he thinks you'd like, the fanciest, most elegant and most expensive shoes, clothing and accessories. he would rent out an entire week or months of work at a restaurant if you'd like to dine alone or with a couple of people. he knows his luck is a part of him, he can only pray that he'll meet you first with his luck.

sunday... just the sound of your name makes him tear up. he could've sworn that one time you spoke to him, your other-worldly echoing voice speaking to him directly about the loss of his dear sister. and here he stood in his room, looking out the window, and in the far distant a light shimmering as it swiftly dived down. a shooting star. he knows that with everyone getting the news they're all aiming to be the first to meet you, and trust me, he does want to meet you FIRST. the second you land he'll be there right with you and guiding you to safety—penacony.

but first, he must pinpoint where exactly you'll land. and with his power and influence he will most definitely try his best to find you and be sure to hide you from everyone else... he needs you, desperately.

gallagher and boothill have exactly the same thoughts. to present themselves good to you and spend every minute and second with you. but with everyone gossiping and spreading rumours about your arrival it's hard to be unique. everyone wants to be with you, everyone wants your favour. but they could never worship you as much as them. they had dreamed of this moment, it seemed unreal to meet their own creator but nonetheless, they clung to their hope and boy did it not go to waste.

boothill basically pauses any mission he needs to complete, that can wait. you are eternal. he's practically on edge with the fact that at any moment the comet would crash through and there you'd be, dozing peacefully.. like an angel. he won't hesitate to cause some trouble or initiate some violence if it means that they don't get to see you first.

gallagher on the other hand tries to stay hidden and in the shadows. of course, he'd like to meet you face to face but with the feeling of an overwhelming and looming divine presence, it's all too much. and if that's too much then what would he feel when you stand right before him? he's like an overprotective dog, fiercely loyal and clingy. even if you can't spot him he'll be right there, lurking and watching.

dr. ratio and argenti are absolutely and 100% loyal and would do EVERYTHING in their power to meet you, even a glance would do, anything to feed their curiosity and desperate need to know the creator. so when they get wind that you were supposedly descending down... they freeze on the spot, their breath hitches as their eyes widen. could it really be?

dr. ratio was always a curious boy, and he has you to thank for giving him consciousness and the opportunities to venture out and earn knowledge and eventually spreading his knowledge to his students (preaching i guess you can say). he's a bit biased when it comes to talking about you to his friends or students, and speaking your name in a more positive light, not that anyone minds, if anything they agree!

although he isn't much of a gifter or "i'll spend my money on you" he's more of a "anything you want just tell me". if you told him to drop his precious books to come and tend to your needs he would do it in a heartbeat.

to argenti you are the standard and epitome of "beauty". the beauty he has been searching for his entire life. he intends to shower you with compliments and roses freshly picked by hand unless you're allergic or not a fan of flowers, fear not! compliments should do! be ready to be bombarded with such positivity, compliments and gifts from the knight of beauty.

anything you wish for he will try his utmost best to get it done perfectly and quickly. "your hair looks so pretty like this..." say no more, he will always style it and keep it exactly like that! "my feet feel so sore from all the walking" ?!!? why is his dear walking anyway!?!? don't worry, he'll massage it for you! "ugh all this work is making me tired" move aside, let him do the honours!!

It was a long ride home from work, you were currently in an almost empty bus, glancing over the top of your phone you read the time. 11 P.M.

Was it that late already? You knew this office job would be the death of you. You never wanted to work at a place like this, the cubicle life bored you and it was just so... depressing. That was the only way to describe it.

You decide to pass the time by playing your all-time favourite game: Honkai: Star Rail. The soft glow of the screen illuminated your face as you began to grind relics and exp for an upcoming character. It definitely worked in keeping you busy and awake as time passed by slowly.

All was well, everything was fine. You had everything planned in your head. Get home as soon as possible, take a nice warm and rejuvenating shower, get five hours of sleep, go back to work and repeat.

The more you thought about your daily routine the more you realised how depressing it was, but what could you do? That job was the only one that was hiring and had average pay and things like that are rare, especially when you decided to live in the city which was your first mistake.

You were barely getting by in the city, the crime rate increased, there were more breaks in, pickpocketing and murder. But despite all of that you decided to rent an apartment where it was less populated, the rent in the heart of the city was way too high.

Pushing all those thoughts and information aside you let out a defeated sigh, leaning your head on the window as you continued to tap away on your phone.

If only life went just a little bit easier on you.

Everything was fine. The silence was comfortable and the low, soft rumble of the engine kept you awake, until a loud deafening crash jolted the bus, sending people flying and falling onto the ground.

Letting out a scream you grabbed onto whatever you could to keep you steady—the head of the chair in front of you. Although it didn't do a good job of keeping you still you couldn't care less, because as you lifted your head, your eyes caught something massive charging straight at you, and before you could react, a blinding light engulfed you, followed by an eerie silence.

When you regained consciousness, you found yourself tightly packed against something dark and rocky. Just great! Something had happened to the bus and knocked you out.

You looked around, it was pure blackness, like a void. Maybe this was what happened after death... Out of all things and especially the time too!

Feeling confused and scared you try to move your body to shift into a more comfortable position but due to the lack of space, you could barely even move an inch.

Suddenly, a crack was heard. And you froze.

Then another crack, and another, the darkness began to crack and splinter and not long after half of the egg-shaped looking ball broke in half as it fell to the side.

Shards of obsidian-like material fractured and scattered around. A large amount of dust, and shiny glitter-like specs flew everywhere, it was extremely dusty.

Unfortunately, you inhaled the smoke, coughing and sputtering, you waved their hand in front of your face, trying to dispel the particles as you squinted against the harsh light that slipped through the smoke.

As the dust settled and the steam dissipated, your surroundings gradually came into focus. You found yourself in front of... one, two, three, four, and... five.... wait.. what?

Right before you stood four male figures (with the other seemed to have a more feminine build), male figures that looked awfully familiar to you for some odd reason, just why was that?

You were confused and curious as you surveyed your surroundings, realizing that maybe this was death? You would've never guessed that "life" after death would look like this. It was very.... interesting.

The buildings that surrounded you were intricate and otherworldly. Dazzling celestial landscapes and luminescent structures piqued your interest as you slowly and carefully stepped out of what you assumed was a shell.

Its' architect and infrastructure reminded you of something, it seemed nostalgic—as if you've seen this exact building before. The more you observed and watched, your eyes tracing every precise curve and detail of the buildings your heart began to pick up its pace.

Your eyes searched every corner and inch, and finally, it landed back on the five figures you had spotted before and it wasn't until you caught sight of familiar faces that you were certain that you had to be hallucinating somehow after death.

There, standing in a circle, were figures that you could hardly believe were real: Caelus, Dan Heng, Gepard, and Bronya. It was unmistakably them.

Their presence, their unmistakable aura of reverence, left you no doubt.

They watched you, their gazes filled with awe and admiration as if you were the embodiment of some long-awaited prophecy (and in this case, it was).

You were in disbelief. Disbelief that you had somehow been transported into the very game they were playing moments ago, but now they were tangible, real.

It was a long silence, it was both comfortable and uncomfortable with their longing gaze. You remained still as you checked around your surroundings once again before settling your eyes back on the group of people.

At your gaze they felt a shiver down their spine, and the hair on their skin stood up.

"W—Who are you guys?!" You yelled, narrowing your eyes to see if it was truly the characters from the game you adored.

Dan Heng's breath hitched at the sound of your booming voice, your voice... it was just like how they described what you would sound like in the carved stones and ancient scrolls.

The more he stared at you the more he wanted to come to you, to kneel down at your feet and profess how long he has been waiting for this moment.

With his eyes trained on your figure, he steps closer, Gepard notices and swiftly stops him from moving any further with his arm. Dan Heng looks to his side, confusion strewn on his face.

Not a single word was spoken yet with a stern gaze and the shake of a head, Dan Heng understood. Now was not the right time.

Minutes passed by in complete and utter silence, it unnerved you. Why were they so quiet? So watchful?

Finally, after what felt like hours, the silence was broken just with a couple words.

"We have been awaiting your arrival, Your Gracefulness."

note: after 5 months WOW. i've been so busy with things i haven't had the time to really sit down and work. I'm so sorry everyone!

tags 🏷️: @tomansimp @one-offmind @miitchiji @dainsleif-when-playable @momoewn @stygianoir @irethepotato @imetsk @fiannee @sunnyf4lls @goldenglow149 @rhwm @urlocalheizousimp @saltylovetale-blog @toramune @oreo-ren @backintomykpopphaseagain @serenity-loves-red @flooofity @minteasketches @yurassia @chellazhef @fulldoves @kateybuggi @wanderingconstellations @mini-shower @160ccm @rosariashield @sickize @sarah22447 @dreamlessnight @gimmealmap @bebeluvs @caramelstarlight @sukiidreams @oceanist @achy-boo @alhaitie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @that-mom-friend @v-ish @merormerry @gojoulen03 @scarletttcrow @hadischara @kithewanderingme @keiqq @livelaughlovekuni @chirikoheina @wr1t3rfum1k0 @issacdaholi @yu-ulda @alysinbshsu @vanilla-sweets @your-local-reblogging-kazoo @be-gay-do-crime-ahaha @seipaws @clavichordcleffa @uhhhiwassup @youdontneedyoknowlol @the-lazy-perfectionist @issacdarknight @lucienbarkbark @bizzybkd @obliviousariies2007 @coffee-seed

(if the usernames aren’t highlighted that’s because I can’t tag you so I’ll dm you when I post a new chapter! if i forgot to tag you im so sorry!)

for those i've taged: if you do not want to tagged for hsr drop a comment or message me.

liking + following + reblogs are greatly appreciated!!!

[sos717]

Yes, Im Back

Here it is you guys, this is going to be the clearest and most simple explanation I’ve done so far of manifestation and your identity as conciousness and what that means for experience & the world unfolding. Don’t worry if you’re new to this, this will help!

THIS IS A MASSIVE POST, TAKE YOUR TIME AND GRAB SOME WATER, YOUR ABOUT TO CHANGE YOUR LIFE 😉🤭🤭

————————————————————

So around 7 years ago I started stepping into the world of what people typically call manifestation. I went down the rabbit hole of Subliminals, Law of Attraction, Law of assumption, NonDuality and finally to where I am now, the unlabeled.

I want to preface by saying, I have been through an unimaginable amount of turmoil, and growth while on my journey to understanding reality and the way the world appears.

I’ve spent all of my time from back to when I first found out about this side of reality, to today while I’m writing this post, constantly looking at a multiplicity of teachings and teachers to figure it out, except until the very end. I really want you to know this because it’s very important to not brush this off as if it’s not possible for you, as if you have to adapt a technique or secret. This isn’t something that’s to be exhausting. With that being said, let’s move forward.

We all want things, we all have ideas of a life we hope to live, we want to fill it with all the experiences and specific details that match our taste. But this is actually, where the problem begins.

The way manifestation is taught is inherently wrong, I’ve fully stopped watching and consuming content that has anything to do with manifesting all together, because no matter what it is, Law of assumption, Law of attraction, all of the other ideologies that promise your desires, they all have a fundamental flaw, identity.

They usually all entail a similarity: methods, techniques, specific things you can do and ways you can act to make an outcome happen. All the while throwing in a random “because you’re the god of your reality”. And instead of focusing on the phrases that relate to the center of all of it, YOU, it’s simply just brushed past.

And not just the typical “your source”, “your operant power”, “you are the manifestation,

We get it but wtf does that actually mean, and why should you care??? Well, let’s get into this, because once you start from point A, everything else makes sense.

What all these teachings of the world get wrong is the idea that you can want things and desire, as source. Fundamentally this is a paradox, you can’t exist in desire and want if you are the source of reality. It’s not to say you aren’t, but it’s to say, you don’t ACTUALLY want and desire, but the illusion of being separate from the world is what makes you want and desire.

Let’s break the illusion.

Ask yourself this for me. “Am I aware”.

The answer will always be yes. Undeniably. And no matter how many times you repeat this, the answer is always yes, no matter a feeling, no matter a pleasant or unpleasant experience in the world, no matter any circumstance, you will always say yes.

Why is this so important to explore?

Because you are able to see from direct experience what source is.

When you asked yourself that question, did you notice something weird that happened? It’s almost like everything paused for a split second and your attention went somewhere to find the answer, and a response came from there. Look closer, ask yourself the question again, and this time try to find where the answer is coming from.

You’ll find that it comes out of nowhere, and if you try to trace it as far back as you can, to even before you answer yes, there this empty space of knowing that the answer conjures in.

This is consciousness. This is you.

Whether you name it consciousness/awarness or knowing, it doesn’t matter, it’s all interchangeable. But the important thing to note is, this thing doesn’t ever go anywhere. That is your true identity, the starting point of all ideas, the starting point to anything that can possibly be known. Every decision is from here, every expression comes from here, everything leads back to knowing. When there is emotion, it is known, when there is idea, it is known.

You being able to know that you are aware comes from this. This is the unseeable, the thing that can’t be perceived in any way, this is origin, its source, and its you. Take a shot at it, try to see what knowing looks like, its weight, its shape, its color, its dimensions, what its favorite color is, what it doesn’t like or does like. You’ll be left with nothing, as in no descriptions, but definitely knowing that there is a presence there that never goes away. Now try finding its name, its age, its skin color, its voice. You cant, and yet, from this very nothingness comes your undeniable answer that you exist and you are aware of your existence.

You don’t need and feelings to know, you dont need sight, sound, and sense of perception, you don’t even need to acknowledge the body in any way, but you know you “are”.

At some point when there were no worlds and universes, there was an unseeable, dimensionless plane from what everything came from, does this sound familiar? Before there were things, there was no-thing, a presence yes, but no objects. And from this, reality was expressed, but source can’t go away, the fundamental key to everything there is today, has to remain, or else everything else would not exist.

Concouisness is what you are. And it IS the origin.

Now how tf do you live you dream life???

By understanding that the world is also just an expression of source, conciousness/you.

I need you to understand something that I thing we can all agree on, if everything has one source, it would only make sense for everything to be the extension of that thing that gives it life. The world is no different, and trust me I know this without a reasonable doubt. I’ve spent closer to a decade trying to figure this out. Everything exists in/on the field of consciousness/you.

I need you to trust me, because no matter how far you have been in your journey and how tiring it might have been like it was for me, I promise you, this is worth it all.

Step away from the ideas of wanting and needing, put on your neutrality glasses and perceive the world as 2 simple things, conciousness and conscious expression. These are the only 2 things that drive experience itself.

Understanding that you are source, more things become clear. Where do all the stories of all the unfavorable problems in your life activate from? Where does the idea of good events activate from? Where is it that any form of knowing come from, you. Whether it’s about struggling with money, or about someone loving you, the story or ideas, conjure from you.

We already know that we are conciousness, but now let’s acknowledge the second mosy important part, reality begins at us, draw yourself into something that you don’t really like, something you’d like to change, now notice where it activates from.

From knowing. Knowing the idea or story is its creation

Now when we see it casually, as just another thougt about something the world is showing us we brush it off and move on with our day, until we have to face that thing, but, what if this was actually in reverse?

Because if everything is an expression of source, doesn’t that mean the world is too? It would have to be. Doesn’t that mean, anything registered by the senses has to abide by its source? And doesn’t that mean, that the world is not truly something of its own will?

The short answer is yes absolutely. And I can tell you, this is it. THIS WILL BE VERY F$&#*NG IMPORTANT.

Admitting to the idea that there is one source for everything is literally acknowledging that everything can only show up IN ACCORDANCE AND RESPECT TO WHATEVER ITS SOURCE IS.

THIS MEANS, the the world is a PROJECTION of source, IT DOES NOT STAND ALONE. It does not OPERATE ON ITS OWN.

The world is the projection of consciousness.

Following me??

Like a hologram, like a school projector QUITE LITERALLY a projection.

From us, an infinite array of stories and ideas come, and they only become activate or exist if we allow them to, if we give permission to this thing to exist.

That story that you’ve had about SP (Specific Person) or Money or Success, has always been activated by you. TELL ME WHERE ELSE IT STARTS. You can literally even prove this to yourself right now. WHERE DOES THE STORY BEGIN.

And because the world is just an expression/extension of its source (YOU) it is ONLY GOING TO BE WHAT SOURCE IS. Because it is source, just with senses and perception. It is coming face to face with what you are aware of.

The way the world shows and all of its details are projections of whatever you decide to activate. How do you activate something? BY KNOWING IT.

How do you know “red apple” ? By knowing it. That is the origin for this idea. And you can run this test for every single story you play on loop, find its source, it will always be you.

Now, for the important steps moving forward. Stop treating this like an on and off switch, truly stop caring about a feeling, stop letting yourself get so swayed out of understanding your identity as the source, do NOT give up this beautiful opprotunity just because it seems or feels different.

You’ve been taught for so long that the world has to be struggle, so that’s all you know, you’ve been told that things don’t always come easy, this is all you know, take the time, take the days and weeks you need to break out of this useless cycle of exhaustion and understand who you are as source

Do not double down on doubts, double down on the truth, regardless of how you feel, take your time to feel, take your time to be, but never allow yourself to slip back into the brainwashing of the world.

Moving forward you need to understand the world objectively, not with the ideas of wants and desire, but for what it is. Source can’t want, you turn it into desire by creating a sense of divide for yourself. You pretend the world is something to change, drop this. You pretend that the body is all you are, drop it, you pretend that there has to be more to this but knowing, DROPKICK this into the damn ground.

This all is very simple. Everything being the expression of source is only projecting what source (You) are. The world is a direct projection of conscious activity. Whatever is know is given permission to exist, it’s given life. It’s created. THIS. IS. IT.

Whether it be blue butterflies, getting a free coffee, or changing your eye color, it all is just knowing. And this isn’t something that turns off. This is reality, this is you. Start noticing the random things the world shows up as when you were just thinking about it the other day or a few hours ago. It is not a coincidence I assure you.

That friend you were thinking about calling you? Yeah.

That song you were thinking about suddenly popping up? Yeah

That “problem” you were thinking about suddenly reappearing? Yeah

It is all the same, yes it will take getting used to, but please understand me when I say this, it took me a painful amount of time and effort to finally see this as the truth, the amount of months I’ve spent isolating from content and other teachings allowed me to take ONLY personal experience, I tested it day in day out and this IS it.

Currently I expand my comfort on how seamless existing is, and I can assure you, if I can come to this conclusion, you 100% can because it has NOT been easy for me, and it almost didn’t want to accept it. But the moment I did, and kept seeing it to be true time and time again, I knew I had to go fully in.

You create the idea of wanting by doing this.

��I really want Sp to text me”

This is what you’ve given permission to exist, this is now activated, it now is conscious activity, and because the world is source projected with senses the world IS this.

You treat it like an absolute, but when it comes to something like this:

“Sp loves texting me”

You treat it as effort, and something to do and wait on. Now tell me, does that make sense? Does the idea of waiting, wanting, desiring, changing, even make sense with the knowledge you have up to this point? Nope.

You need to understand. The world is not a story, it’s projection, and it can only be projecting you. Stop turning to the world as if it can make statements, as if it’s feeding you ideas, when you’re the one activating them. You NEVER actually change the world, it’s you that activates a new idea. THATS IT. It exists because you know it. A feeling cannot stop you from knowing, the world cannot stop you from knowing, ONLY YOU can stop yourself from activating a story. A story can’t exist if it isn’t known.

So, don’t you think it’s about time you see past the illusion of wanting and see for yourself what you are?

Don’t you think it’s time, to wake up.

[justmanifestit]

time doesn’t exist.

let me explain.

Time, as we conventionally understand it, doesn’t exist. We’ve been taught to see it as a linear flow (past, present, future) moving like a river we drift along. You’re not moving through time. You’re shifting from one reality to another, billions of times per second. What we call "time" is really just your awareness jumping frames, like flicking through still images in a movie. You’re not riding a straight line from past to future. You’re choosing the next moment based on your state of being. That’s it.

You’re Tuning Into Alternate Versions of Reality

Once you understand this, manifestation begins to make more sense. You’re not creating something from scratch. You’re not waiting for the future to deliver something new. You’re selecting, aligning with a version of reality where the thing you want is already true. It’s already happening. In this framework, manifesting is really about becoming aware of the version of yourself that already has the experience you desire. Everything already exists.

Time isnt linear

Most of us think of time as a straight line -> a past behind us, a future ahead, and the present as a thin slice in between. But that’s not how it actually is. Time it’s more like a loop, or even better, a sphere. Everything is happening right now, all at once. There’s no actual past or future, just this moment and your experience of it. The past and future are just perspectives inside this now. So when you think about time, it’s not something moving forward or backward — it’s more like you moving through different moments that all exist simultaneously.

The Trap of Waiting in Manifestation

If time isn’t real, then waiting around for something to happen is pointless. Waiting puts you in a space of lack and doubt — like you’re not there yet, so you need to be patient and hope the future will bring what you want. But manifesting doesn’t work like that. It’s not about pushing, forcing, or stressing over when your desires will show up.

The Future Is Just Another Version of Now

Once you get this, the whole idea of “future” changes. The future isn’t some faraway place you have to work toward. It’s just another version of now that you haven’t stepped into yet. The more you cling to time as a barrier, the more stuck you feel. But if you realize that time is just a perspective, you stop asking, “How long will it take?” and start asking, “Who am I being right now?” This shift in focus from “when” to “who” changes everything.

Stop Waiting. Start being.

It takes one shift from waiting to being that collapses all the possible timelines and bring you what you want. You don’t need to wait for the right time or the perfect circumstances because, in truth, they already exist in parallel with your current reality. The key is to consciously step into that reality by aligning your state of being with it. This is how you truly manifest, how you create real change, and why this post found you for a reason: to remind you that the power to shift your reality is always inside you, happening right now.

[claudaze]

⌗ 𝐓𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐎𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆

박지성 park jisung x reader ⋮ the rain keeps falling, the screen keeps flickering, and somewhere between comfort and curiosity, you and jisung cross a line you’ve both been tiptoeing around.

→ 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 ━━━ +18. mdni — virgin!jisung, softdom!jisung, virgin!reader, best friends to lovers, first time sex, unprotected sex ( pls dont do that. ), erection-through-clothes tension, praising, dirty talk, handjob with lots of mutual touching, fingering, overstimulation, post-orgasm cuddling, cum inside, and fluff !!

the rain’s been falling for over an hour now, tapping soft against the window like a lullaby. the living room glows dim from the tv, flickering light spilling over your socks, the blanket stretched over both your legs, and the half-empty bowl of popcorn between you.

jisung’s beside you, hood up, one knee bent on the couch, the other leg tapping restlessly to the beat of whatever song is playing faint in the background. he’s close — maybe a little closer than usual. or maybe it just feels that way tonight.

you’ve done this before. a hundred times, probably. movie nights with snacks and hoodies and dumb arguments over which version of spider-man is best. but tonight, something’s different. there’s a tension humming beneath it all — soft, almost shy, like neither of you want to say it first, but you’re both painfully aware.

you shift to get more comfortable, and your fingers brush. barely. but it’s enough to make him freeze.

you glance at him. “you okay?”

his eyes flick to yours, wide and startled like you just caught a secret spilling out of his chest. “yeah,” he says too quickly. then adds, quieter, “just cold.”

you nod, but your heart’s already thudding louder than the rain. you should leave it there — you know you should. but your fingers twitch, and then… you’re moving.

you climb into his lap, slowly, testing, your weight settling over his thighs with a soft shift of fabric. he stiffens beneath you like he’s trying not to breathe too loud.

“is this okay?” you whisper.

he swallows hard. his hands hover like he doesn’t know where to put them. “y-yeah. it’s… yeah.”

you smile, just a little. lean in, noses brushing. “then relax.”

you don’t move right away. just sit there, nestled in his lap, arms looped gently around his neck like it’s the most natural thing in the world. jisung’s hands stay planted on the couch, like touching you would make this real, would cross some line neither of you can uncross. he’s looking at you like you’re made of something breakable. or maybe like he is.

the rain keeps falling, steady and quiet in the background, a soft rhythm that matches the thrum under your skin. the movie still plays, but you’ve both stopped watching. the only thing that exists now is the warm press of your thighs around his, and the slight tremble in his breath every time your hips shift just a little.

his hoodie bunches where your arms rest, fabric soft beneath your fingertips. you toy with the seam near his shoulder. “you’re really warm,” you murmur, more to fill the space than anything else.

he lets out a quiet laugh — breathless and almost nervous. “you’re… sitting on me.”

you grin, but you don’t move. “am i making it hard to focus?”

his eyes flick down to your mouth, then quickly back up. “i haven’t been focused since you got here.”

that catches you. your stomach flips, heat curling low. you don’t tease him for it. instead, you lean in slowly — giving him time, space to pull back if he wants — and press your forehead gently to his.

“me neither,” you whisper.

his hands finally move. one settles at your waist, tentative, the other sliding up your spine so lightly it makes you shiver. he pulls you a little closer, noses brushing, and when your lips finally meet, it’s soft. careful. like neither of you want to scare the moment away.

he kisses you like he’s learning how. and maybe he is — because this is new. not the being close, not the warmth, but the kiss. the way your lips part for his. the way you sigh into it when his fingers curl against your hoodie. the way his breath stutters when you shift your hips just slightly, just enough to make him feel it.

he pulls back a fraction, eyes glassy, lips kiss-bitten. “can i…?”

you nod, already breathless. “please.”

his hand trembles just a little as it slides under the hem of your hoodie, fingertips grazing the warm skin just above your waistband. you feel it — the hesitation, the weight of what this means. it’s not just touching. it’s letting go of all the fear that’s held you both back until now.

you exhale slowly, leaning forward until your nose brushes his again, lips barely a breath apart. “it’s okay,” you whisper.

he swallows hard. his other hand moves too, lifting until his palm rests against the small of your back, holding you to him like he needs the contact to believe this is happening. you guide one of his hands up a little further, under your hoodie, until he’s tracing your spine with the lightest pressure.

your own hands move then — slow, exploring. fingers brushing his jaw, the curve of his neck, the slope of his shoulder. he shivers under your touch, breath catching when your thumbs graze over his collarbone through the fabric.

“you’re shaking,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“you’re in my lap,” he says softly, trying to smile. “and you’re touching me like that.”

you hum, amused, kissing him again — a little deeper this time. your tongue grazes his lower lip, just a tease, and he makes a sound you’ve never heard from him before — something between a gasp and a whimper. it punches heat through you instantly.

your hands drift lower, over his chest, feeling his heartbeat racing under your palms. you push at the hem of his hoodie gently, and he lifts his arms without a word, letting you pull it over his head. his hair is a little messy afterward, cheeks flushed and eyes wide.

you take a moment to just look.

he’s beautiful like this — bare-chested and slightly nervous, all soft lines and smooth skin, like he’s never been touched like this before. and maybe he hasn’t. not like this.

your fingers trace along his ribs, up to his chest, and he bites his lip to keep from moaning.

“you okay?” you ask.

he nods too fast. “yeah. yeah, i just… you’re really… it feels good.”

you smile, pressing a kiss to his jaw, then lower — the curve of his neck, the hollow of his throat. he tilts his head to let you, fingers digging into your waist now, like he doesn’t know what else to do with the ache building in his chest.

you shift again, straddling him more fully, and both of you suck in quiet breaths at the friction it causes — the unmistakable pressure of him, hard beneath his sweats, pressed against you through layers of cotton.

his head tips back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut. “fuck…”

you reach for the hem of your own hoodie, eyes on him. “can i?”

he opens his eyes, pupils blown. “please.”

you peel it off slowly, shy under his gaze even now. but the way he looks at you — mouth parted, chest rising and falling quick — makes it easier.

his hands move again, gently cupping your waist, thumbs stroking just under your bra. “you’re so…” he doesn’t finish. maybe he can’t.

instead, he leans up to kiss you again — deeper this time, more sure. his hands are learning you now. your curves, your warmth, the soft sounds you make when he touches just right.

and beneath all of it, the tension keeps pulling tighter. softer. hotter.

you can feel how hard he is through the thin layers between you, the slow grind of your hips making him twitch every time your weight shifts. his mouth is locked on yours now — desperate, open, deep — like he’s trying to breathe you in.

when you finally pull away, his lips are pink and swollen, his voice barely steady. “baby… i wanna touch you.”

your stomach flips at the way he says it — low and breathless, like it’s killing him to hold back.

you nod, voice gone soft. “please.”

he doesn’t rush. just keeps kissing you slow while his hand slides down between your bodies, slipping past the waistband of your shorts. his fingers find the warmth there instantly — the damp heat of your pussy soaking through your underwear.

he lets out a shaky breath. “fuck, you’re wet.”

you whimper as he presses a little more firmly, rubbing slow circles over your clit through the fabric. your hips jerk forward and he grips your waist to keep you steady.

“you like that?” he asks, voice wrecked already. “you been sitting on my lap like this, needing it?”

“yes, yes, i—” you can’t even finish. he pushes your panties to the side and slides one finger down, parting your folds so gently it makes you shake.

and then he’s touching your bare clit — slow, teasing strokes, just enough pressure to keep you gasping.

“fuck, baby… you’re so soft. so pretty right here,” he murmurs, eyes flicking down to watch his fingers move. “i’ve never done this, but i swear— i wanna make you feel so good.”

you let out a broken moan as he slips a finger inside you, your walls fluttering around the intrusion. he watches your face carefully, like every twitch and sigh is the most important thing in the world.

“so fucking tight,” he groans. “you’re gripping me so hard already, shit.”

he starts to move it — slow at first, dragging his knuckle with each thrust — and you swear you see stars. a second finger comes next, and the stretch has you clutching at his shoulders.

“that’s it, baby,” he breathes, kissing your jaw. “you’re taking me so well.”

his thumb finds your clit again, circling gently while his fingers curl just right inside you, coaxing out breathy gasps and needy little whines. your hips grind down on him helplessly, chasing more.

“please, jisung,” you whisper, voice cracking. “don’t stop.”

he leans in, voice right by your ear now. “i won’t, baby. i’m gonna make you cum on my fingers first, then you can ride my cock, yeah? you want that?”

“yes—fuck—yes, please,” you whimper, thighs trembling.

he groans into your neck, picking up the pace just a little. “god, you’re so good like this. such a good girl for me. letting me feel your perfect little pussy before i even get to fuck it.”

you cry out when his fingers hit a spot that makes your vision blur, your back arching instinctively.

“there,” he says, lips brushing your cheek. “right there, baby? yeah? that’s it?”

you nod frantically, breath stuttering, nails digging into his arms as the tension in your stomach coils tighter and tighter.

“cum for me,” he whispers. “let me feel you. make a mess all over my fucking hand.”

you do — hard.

your whole body shakes as you fall apart in his lap, cunt clenching tight around his fingers, gasping his name like a prayer. he keeps working you through it, rubbing your clit slow as your orgasm crashes over you.

when it finally fades, you collapse against him, panting, forehead pressed to his shoulder. he kisses your temple, still stroking you gently, so careful even when his cock is straining hard against you through his sweats.

“you okay, baby?” he murmurs.

you nod, dazed. “so good. too good.”

he grins, pulling his fingers out slowly, holding them up just to see the slick coating them. “fuck.”

you reach between you and palm him through his sweats. he groans, hips jerking into your touch.

“need you inside me,” you whisper. “please.”

he leans back just enough to get a good look at you — flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, lips still parted as you catch your breath. and when your hand wraps around the thick outline of his cock, pressing through the soft fabric of his sweats, jisung lets out a ragged groan that vibrates in his chest.

“baby,” he pants, grabbing your wrist gently, “if you keep doing that, i’m gonna cum before i even get inside you.”

you give him a lazy little smile, rubbing slow just to tease. “maybe i want you to.”

he growls — soft but real — then lifts you just enough to strip you fully, underwear and shorts left in a careless pile at your side. your hoodie rides up, and he helps you peel it off, letting his hands drag along your skin like he’s memorizing every inch.

then he’s flipping you carefully onto your back, laying you across the mess of blankets and pillows with the movie still flickering behind you. he pushes his sweats down far enough to free his cock — flushed, thick, already leaking at the tip.

you gasp a little when you see it, not out of fear, but anticipation. “want it,” you whisper. “please, jisung.”

he shudders. “fuck, you don’t know what that does to me.”

he kneels between your thighs, stroking himself slowly while his eyes rake over your body. “you’re so fucking pretty. i’ve thought about this— about you— for so long, baby.”

you open your legs for him instinctively, watching the way his gaze drops straight to your soaked pussy.

“look at you,” he groans. “all wet for me already. you want my cock that bad?”

“yes,” you breathe. “need to feel you. want you to fuck me.”

he doesn’t make you wait.

jisung leans down, lining himself up, tip nudging through your folds with the slick already dripping down your thighs. he hisses through his teeth. “you’re so wet— it’s gonna slide right in, baby. you ready?”

you nod, breath caught in your throat.

and then he’s pushing in, inch by slow inch, thick and hot and so careful — until he’s buried deep inside you, hips flush against yours, his cock stretching you open in the most delicious way.

you moan, legs wrapping around his waist.

he’s trembling a little above you, holding himself still. “fuck. you’re so tight,” he breathes. “feels like heaven.”

you squeeze around him and he gasps, eyes fluttering shut. “baby— don’t do that, i’m barely holding on.”

you giggle, a breathless little sound, and he smiles down at you — a little dazed, a little wrecked — before pulling his hips back slowly and thrusting in again.

“god,” he groans, “you feel so fucking good. pussy’s gripping me like you never wanna let go.”

he starts to move, slow but deep, each thrust hitting all the right spots. the sound of skin against skin mixes with the low moans slipping from both of you, the wet slick of your cunt taking him so easily echoing between gasps.

“such a good girl,” jisung pants. “taking my cock so well. look at you, baby. fuck, i’m never gonna forget this.”

you’re clinging to him now, nails digging into his back, every thrust pushing little whimpers from your lips.

“more,” you beg, voice cracking. “don’t stop, jisung, please.”

he kisses you hard, swallowing your cries, hips starting to move faster — still deep, still controlled, but with a hunger he’s not hiding anymore.

“you’re mine,” he growls against your mouth. “this pussy’s mine now. no one else gets to touch you like this. no one else gets to fuck you like this.”

“yours,” you gasp. “only yours.”

he reaches down between you and rubs your clit again, making your whole body jolt. “gonna cum again for me, baby? want you to cum all over my cock. make a mess.”

you’re already close — the pressure building fast, unbearable in the best way.

“i—i’m gonna—!”

“cum, baby,” he urges, hips snapping harder now. “cum on my dick. let me feel you.”

you fall apart under him, pussy clenching tight as your orgasm rips through you, back arching, eyes rolling back. you scream his name, hands scrambling for something to hold onto.

jisung groans loud and deep, cock twitching inside you.

“fuck— i’m cumming—”

he slams in one last time and spills inside you, warm and thick, filling you up as he gasps through it, body shaking from the force of it.

he stays there for a long moment, buried deep, breathing hard against your skin.

“holy shit,” he pants, forehead pressed to yours. “that was… fuck.”

you’re too gone to answer right away, just wrapping your arms around his neck and holding him close.

your bodies are still tangled, chest to chest, limbs limp with the weight of release. jisung hasn’t moved much, still deep inside you, his cock softening slowly as his breath evens out against your cheek.

your limbs are heavy with the kind of exhaustion that feels good — a little shaky, a little sore, but wrapped in something deeper. comfort. closeness. everything still smells like sex and skin, but it’s not overwhelming. it’s grounding.

jisung’s arms never left you. he’s curled around your body like instinct, face buried in your hair, breathing in slow through his nose as if trying to remember this moment forever.

“you okay?” he asks again, voice quieter now. there’s no edge to it. just care.

“i’m okay,” you say softly, brushing your fingers up and down his back. “i feel… warm. floaty.”

he lets out a breath of relief. “good. i was trying to be careful. you know… since it was both of our first time.”

you smile into his chest. “you were perfect.”

his hand rubs up and down your side under the hoodie, lazy and soft, like he’s still calming you down even though you’re already melted into him. your thighs are still a little sticky, sore in the best way, but his presence — the solid feel of him, the weight of his hand, the beat of his heart under your cheek — makes all of it feel safe. good.

he looks down at you like you’ve just won a war for him. “i love you, you know.”

you blink up at him, lips parting just slightly. “you do?”

“mhm,” he hums, smiling so softly it makes your chest ache. “i’ve known. i think i’ve just been too scared to ruin the best thing in my life.”

you prop your chin on his chest. “jisung…”

his fingers tuck your hair behind your ear. “and now i’ve had you like this… all of you. and i still feel like the luckiest idiot on the planet.”

you kiss him. slow, deep, full of the kind of love you’ve been holding onto in pieces for too long. he breathes into it like it’s saving him.

“we’re okay,” you whisper. “we’re more than okay.”

“yeah.” he brushes his nose against yours. “we’re so fucking okay.”

you both lie there for a while. the storm’s softened into a drizzle now. the movie is long over. the glow of the room is dim and warm, wrapping you both in something that feels like forever.

his hand strokes over your bare thigh, thumb smoothing circles there. “still comfortable?”

“mm,” you nod. “just a little sore.”

he presses a kiss to your shoulder. “let me know if it’s too much, okay? we’ll stay like this as long as you need.”

“i like this,” you say, letting your leg drape over his. “you. the rain. your arms.”

he hums, content. and then… you shift just slightly — thighs brushing his again — and pause. you blink. then blink again. you’re not imagining it.

the press of something firm against your hip.

you glance down.

and then look up at him with a teasing little raise of your brow.

“jisung…”

he makes a strangled sound and hides his face against your neck.

“don’t,” he whines softly. “don’t say it—i swear i’m not a perv, i just… i can’t help it.”

“you’re getting hard again.”

“baby,” he groans. “you’re naked in my arms. you smell like me. your pussy’s still warm, and we just—”

he cuts himself off, groaning into your skin like he’s punishing himself.

you giggle, a little breathless, because yeah, okay — that low whimpering embarrassment? hot.

“what do you wanna do about it?” you murmur, kissing his cheek.

he looks at you. wide eyes, flushed cheeks, his dick definitely straining against his boxers again.

“can i fuck you again, baby?” he breathes. “real slow this time… till you’re dripping all over me?”

your breath catches. your thighs clench.

you nod, heart racing.

“yeah,” you whisper. “i want that.”

“fuck,” he exhales, leaning over you, lips already chasing yours again. “i need you so bad.”

round two it is.

[melliemell]

HEEy !! It’s the nonnie with the glasses back at it once again >:)

I’ve been thinking, annd how do you think the bsd cast (as always i would love if u added both the idiots aka dazai and ranpo) would go abt asking their S/O to move in with them? Ofc add any chara u like!!

ur awesome love u Pookie🫶☺️, — NONNIE WHO FOUND THEIR GLASSES !!!! (YIPPIE FOR THAT!)

hiii babess, hope you're doing well!!

you never fail to deliver with the cool idea, do you 👀👀

BSD ft. How they'd go about moving in with their S/O

(Dazai, Fyodor, Ranpo)

Dazai

Dazai’s not an easy man to live with and he’s perfectly aware of that. 

Would play it off as a casual remark on a random Wednesday, a teasing smile plastered in place yet his gaze won’t leave yours as he observed your reaction while acting carefree.

“I’ll get to wake up to your angelic face every morning. What man wouldn’t want that?” he’d say, draping an arm around your shoulders as you’d roll your eyes at his antics. You’d be all too used to him by now. 

But the thought would swirl in Dazai’smind for days. Feeling your secure embrace was too sweet a treat, and your chest glued to his back had a calming effect he was steadily becoming addicted to. If Dazai had the opportunity to have your warm breath tickling his nape, mind not even fully awake to complain about it as he floated in that blissful oblivion of early mornings–he was getting it.

He’d be spacing out days on end, coming up with as many scenarios of domestic life that he’d end up completely engrossed by the idea. It would be too hilarious to miss out on the play-dress of adult life. Even cleaning chores would seem exiting to him, knowing fully that vacuuming the house could just as easily turn into rawdogging it on the kitchen floor–clean or not. 

Dazai’d have you all to himself. 

Don’t expect you’d be moving in with him. He’s occupying your place the moment he gets the green flag. He’s so used to not doing anything all day that finally having a constant source of entertainment might do him some good. Not you though. Probably. But at least you’d get your boyfriend trailing after you, puppy eyes abused to the brim as he pleads for attention at every possible opportunity. 

Good luck. 

Fyodor

That’s the thing… Fyodor’s so out of the loop of normal life-living that he’d probably not have a home. Places he stays at? Yes, sure. As lavish as he wants or acceptably modest and enough to meet his needs? Very likely. But a home–a specific location he comes back to time and time again, seeking comfort in its familiarity? Unlikely. 

It would start out as him simply needing you to do little tasks for him. Fyodor’d keep an eye out on you, making sure you arrive to the specific city before him as you checked around the territory. Never staying in the same place as him but still keeping you close by. Just in case.

He’d need to establish a secure enough dependance from your side before he lets himself explore any romantic paths with you. There’s a reassuring quality to it, and Fyodor’s not the type to rush into any idea unless he’s completely prepared for the desired outcome. But once you’re together…

Get prepared for an ungodly amount of surprise visits from this man. There won’t be so much as you moving in together–the topic most likely not even discussed yet–but you gradually getting accustomed to the sight of him already at your place, waiting patiently as he sipped his cup of tea by the kitchen table. 

He’d be really good at nestling perfectly into your routine, knowing exactly where you were at all times. Not living together exactly but… existing together, maybe? It won’t be so much about the physical part, simply being in the same space together bringing a smile to his face. He’d stop arranging for his own place eventually, opting to stay with you every time you had to move to a different location.

It was unusual, but Fyodor wasn’t a usual man after all.

Ranpo

Suspiciously too eager for the moving-in together. Until you realise his plan all along–he won’t need to take cabs every time he goes home; you’ll take him home. Now isn’t that just perfect? You know where you live, and you live together. 

Ranpo never really understood the excitement over domestic life. It was definitely a win for all the attention he was going to get constantly, but it’s not like anything too major has happened. You just have to share laundry now, no biggie. 

Until the day he gets back from work, tired to the bones from dealing with people too stupid to let him do his job quickly, and alone. It’s in those late hours that he stumbles though the darkness to your home and…

There you are. Snuggled up in bed and waiting for him with a tired smile on your face. Ranpo’s chest will feel light, the weight lifting instantly as he lays beside you, cheek smashed into your neck as your scent engulfed him. He’s out cold within minutes; just having this secure presence around him would set him at ease instantly.

Ranpo really thought nothing much would change between you after moving together. And he was right, the good old dynamic of you both was still there, but… there was something else. Something new lurking in the early mornings sometimes, or the hum of your voice as you sang under your breath as you washed the dishes. 

Little things. 

Things he was exposed to constantly now that managed to make him stop in his tracks and just–exist in that moment. With you.

Ranpo’s never felt more content after stealing you away like this.

[greenplumbboblover]

[WIP] TS3 UI "Krystal"

I figured it would be cool to finally publicly share what I've been working on behind the scenes, as well as some mockups!

A few of you on Patreon or Discord may have already seen sneak peeks/given feedback. I kept things quiet because I wasn’t sure I’d even do it in the first place as a next modding project, and I didn’t want to let anyone down.

Luckily, @lazyduchess’s Monopatcher made the job ten times easier. The biggest hurdle was that I would've had to make a core mod to override UI code (I’m normally anti–core mod), but the patcher solved that and let me push ahead.

(Psst, if you're looking at seeing the mockups bigger, I also posted this post on my site: Simblr.cc 😉)

Creating the Mockups

Fun fact: I actually have a degree in UI/UX design! (for websites) While principles like “How wide should this padding be?” or “Which colors send the right signal to the user?”—game UI is a whole different beast.😬

Main Menu

I started with the main menu:

Cut the SimPoints clutter and the “Buy TS4!” banner—after a decade, we get it exists 😉.

Grouped items into clean blocks

Added a text-free “Create New Family” icon

Swapped lot thumbnails for family shots (still baffled by EA’s original choice).

Dropped an options gear in the bottom-left; might label it if it’s too subtle.

Different backgrounds: one solid blue, one closer to the classic gradient.

A lil' sneek peek of where I'm at:

She's not finished, but it's definitely getting there! 😉

Load Screen

Not much has changed here! It's just less... busy I suppose, lol!

2 Different backgrounds to choose from

Moved the Game Tips to the bottom, so the main focus stays on that loading bar 😉

I also have a third option but I'm strongly leaning towards just having the loading bar as it's the most clear!

Live Mode

The hardest of them all lol. Kudos to EA for figuring that one all out! I really struggled with this one in regards to shape and what to even move around/remove!

I figured, it should be nice to pull really into that glassmorphism I've been using over the Mockups! Now I do realise that it can hamper user experience in the sense of not being able to read anything. But these are pictures! So that should be all fine and dandy.

The active item in the queue will now be more "visible". The queued item however, you'll see look a bit more "unactive" compared to what the current version has.

I also completely overhauled the thumbnails for your sims, showing their moods a bit better, and giving the active sim a tiny plumbob! :D

And now the real deal: The control panel! You might notice it's not the whole thing, but I'm still working on that part.

I removed the camera controls from the panel. However, upon feedback, I did hear that it's better to have them as some people are limited in their hand movements on their keyboard and that those controls are really useful. So I will make sure to share 2 versions :)

I also realised I completely forgot the Build/buy mode buttons 😬 So, err, stay tuned for that? lol.

Notifications I really just tidied up :p

I am aware that the space where the text is and the thumbnail is huge, and normally I'd wrap the surrounding text, but apparently in TS3's UI stuff that's practically impossible. Hence that they got this "2 column" effect to them 😉

About releasing the UI:

I'm hoping to release them all in bits and pieces! So first up is the Main Menu (and possibly the Loading screen given it's simplicity).

After that, I hope in my second "update" to release a big portion of Live mode, but that's a bigger task on it's own of course 😉

Any feedback at this point is also completely welcome by the way!

[yuutawe]

YUUTA OKKOTSU AS A BOYFRIEND! ﹕headcanons

꒰ warnings!!꒱ there is a nsfw part near the end ! aged-up yuuta (he's 21 here) ! yandere yuuta ! reader is implied to be into his obsessions + at least slighly aware ! delusional yuuta ! mentions of marriage ! manipulation (lovebombing) ! ⤷﹒✦┆mentions of bdsm + switch yuuta + overstimulation (implied) + dacryphilia (implied).

ꖛ about. * reader is gender-neutral. no anatomy specified + they/them pronouns and genderless nicknames.

ꖛ author's note * aaaaaghhh wanted this to be longer. got embarrassed writing nsfw, ngl. hope you enjoy ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎[ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎NOT PROOFREAD!]

PRE-RELATIONSHIP !! ꒱୨९

yuuta being yuuta, you probably were the one to ask him out. the life of a sorcerer was one where relationships didn't have much space on the personal agenda (unless he made a few extra efforts). initially, the big obstacle is yuuta's own shyness and the traumas he carries with his bruised soul.

when he starts to get interested in you, his first reaction is to panic. pure and fickle, sprouting in his heart like a parasite. it starts innocently enough: liking older photos on your social media. late-night messages. drinks at the weekend, until he notices his hand on your lower back as he guides a drunken you to the car.

you’re snoring on the passenger’s seat and yuuta is wide-eyed, his thoughts a mile per minute. this can't be happening.

yuuta can't dodge maki's taunts, toge's questions (which are too judgemental for someone who only talks in onigiri ingredients) and panda's cupid advice. nobody really understands how he's feeling.

even though he has learnt a lot from losing rika and eventually letting her go, he still fears and longs for true, pure love. it's almost a necessity. he underwent grief counselling and still got over his old crush in a surprisingly healthy way, for someone who was literally haunted by the ghost of said crush for years of his life.

then you arrive. with a gentle smile, sweet words and an unforgettable body. how could he resist? god, he wants to marry you in the spot. but yuuta knows it's a selfish desire.

he's very, very respectful, and tries not to let his interest show in a way that makes you uncomfortable. it's all about knowing how to read the smallest, subtlest signs, and he'll be well understood. yuuta is the kind of guy who will walk you to your car when you leave somewhere, the guy who remembers to take an extra jacket or offers you his when it's too cold, the guy who always remembers your preferences, allergies, and other small details.

an observer, he's always the silent one who rarely engages in conversation. initially, it's very much a ‘you talk, he answers’ kind of thing, but eventually he gains enough confidence to open up and constantly initiates and continues conversations with you.

his lingering glances at your body don't go unnoticed by you. maybe there's a bit of teasing coming from you, depending on your personality, but it doesn't matter. he's too shy to make the first move. so you do.

after the first date, that's when things blossom.

HONEYMOON PHASE !! ꒱୨९

the honeymoon phase is one of the best experiences you can have dating yuuta. things are new, slightly superficial, but overall very nice and gentle. he is unfortunately a bit prone to lovebombing, even if he doesn't realize it. he can be extremely smothering and hyper-protective at times, but an honest conversation of five to ten minutes can easily help him correct this behaviour.

he's a great listener, and fights are almost non-existent. gestures of love are constant and always innovative: flowers every week, homemade chocolates if you're a fan, reservations at places that interest you and even simple dates at home. marathons of series or films that end in soft kisses and warm hugs.

he does ask for you two to live together a bit too quickly.

POST-HONEYMOON PHASE !! ꒱୨९

even when the honeymoon phase is over, yuuta is never less romantic. he makes a point of doing little gestures like cooking, cleaning and organising the house for when you arrive. It starts as a surprise in a few days — surprise, love! Now you don't have to clean anything — but if you don't want to let him do all the work, he'll agree to a routine where the two of you can alternate housework. the only thing he asks for in return for all the hard work is a few kisses and a cute name as his contact in your phone (like ‘love’, ‘mine’, ‘promised’, ‘husband’).

he's clingy. yuuta is completely starved for touch. he always likes to end an evening by wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in the soft curve of your neck and shoulder. if he can leave a few kisses there before he falls asleep, even better. he doesn't move much during the night, but he's the type with cold hands and a warm body.

yuuta is the kind of man who, if you get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, when you come back to the bedroom, you'll see him sitting on the bed, devastated — why did you leave me. dramatic, but in a way that can end up being cute.

GENERAL VIEW !! ꒱୨९

in general, if you can ignore “petty” habits like stalking, overprotection and are willing to hug him and wipe the blood off his face when he comes back from missions, it's a great relationship. if you like men who are obsessed with you, he's simply the best possible option. always trying to touch you or be close to you, making sure you're comfortable — a sweet voice asking is everything okay, love? we can leave if you want.

he wants to take you away from the world and have you all to himself, sometimes, but he makes the sacrifice of sharing because it's what makes you happiest. yuuta is super supportive with your career or if you want to be the type to look after the house. whichever is best for you, he's happy! he's willing to listen to you complain about work while he massages your shoulders, takes your shoes off for you and carries you around the house to the bathroom.

“i'll love you forever.” he murmurs as he kisses your forehead.

SEX LIFE !! ꒱୨९

although it doesn't seem like it, yuuta has a relatively high libido. if this is a problem for you, he can get used to solving it on his own. however, all his fantasies involve you in some way. often, while spending days away on a mission, he begs for a photo or audio of your voice, because he can't enjoy it without you. “please, love, i need you.”

distance is a cruel poison, but he makes a point of not bothering you about it if he can sort it out himself.

his stamina is good. yuuta can last three rounds before having to give up. if you push his limits, he can last six, and fall asleep minutes later.

he's a switch. he's naturally a bit submissive, and the type who lives to give you pleasure. service sub and soft dom, it's basically him.

when he is the submissive one, he sounds more like: “please, please, please, more— don’t stop, don’t stop, i’ll do anything—”

and when he is the one domming you, he's more: “is this good, my love?” he presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder, smiling. “you’re so perfect.”

he'll do anything you want — hit him, push him to the limit, pull his hair. slap him, make him cry just to lick the tears off his cheeks (he loves that crap). he’s yours.

he likes it when you bite and leave marks on him. yuuta will often wear the hickeys and bites as a trophy. as living proof on his body that your love belongs to him, and vice versa.

he moans really, really loud. probably more than you do. it's the kind of whine and long moan that makes the neighbours complain. even when he's on top, he can't hold back the noise he makes when you're together. if you want him to be quiet, you'll have to gag him, or he'll need to bite your shoulder or have his face buried in the pillow.

always after sex, yuuta tries to make you stay in bed, clinging to you and hugging you like a teddy bear. he demands his cuddles. and of course, how could you deny anything to him?

he loves you as much as you love him, after all.

© made by yuutawe on tumblr. do not copy, repost, modify or translate my works in this or any other site — inspirations allowed with credits.

[justchillgurl]

Chapter 2: Smoking Mirrors.

Summary: Geum Seong-je isn’t one to care about school politics, but something about her—the girl with the chessboard smile and debt-tracked hands—gets under his skin. From hallway glimpses to quiet observation, he begins to unthread her method. Not to expose her. Just to see if she ever slips.

He doesn’t think she will. That’s what makes it interesting.

Warnings: none (not yet at least.) just seongje smoking.

Author's note: I'm not really confident about those chapters, feel free to give your feedback. English is not my first language, please don't hesitate to point out any mistakes. Thank you🫶🏼

Check this out!@

The lighter clicked once. Twice. Flame hissed, flickered, and died against the afternoon wind.

Seong-je exhaled through his teeth, dug the lighter deeper into his palm, and tried again. On the third attempt, it caught. The tip of the cigarette burned soft orange as he leaned back against the cracked brick wall outside the east stairwell, smoke curling lazily around his face.

He wasn’t supposed to be out here. Not technically.

But that was the whole point.

Classes were still in session. The school felt hollow in this part of the building—too far from the teachers’ offices, too quiet for anyone to bother checking. A graveyard for rusted lockers and long-forgotten announcements. Seong-je liked it here. It was predictable in its neglect.

His phone buzzed.

Seong-Mok: u gonna show up today or what?

He locked the screen without answering.

Seong-je didn’t skip class because he had better things to do. He skipped because nothing in that building made him feel awake. He’d already figured out which teachers didn’t bother calling names, which students kept their heads down, and which staff gave up trying to correct him.

He existed at the edge of Kanghak High’s awareness. Not low enough to worry about. Not loud enough to deal with.

Except now there was her.

He’d been watching her longer than he liked to admit.

It started in the convenience store. The way she measured every action, every word, like she was scoring a game only she understood. She didn’t seek attention, but it followed her anyway—hovering around her sharp shoulders and immovable stare.

He didn’t care about rumors, but even he’d heard things.

She was the one with the notes. The blog. The connections. She never raised her voice. Never smiled for no reason. And never helped without a trade.

A few days after their non-meeting, he saw her again.

She was sitting in the back corner of the library, laptop open, typing fast and without pause. Her phone buzzed three times—she ignored it. Her bag sat on the floor, half unzipped, with a folder of printed sheets sticking out like pressed wings.

He didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt.

He just watched.

The next day, she was walking across the courtyard, head tilted as someone tried desperately to gain her approval. Seong-je could tell. The body language was all there—hands fidgeting, voice too eager, laugh a little too loud. She listened with that same neutral expression, nodding only once before slipping a folded note into the person’s hand.

Transaction complete.

He lit another cigarette.

He didn’t want to interact. Not yet. That wasn’t how you watched people like her. You didn’t start by talking. You started by observing—finding the cracks. The inconsistencies. The rules she followed and when she bent them.

He already knew some of them.

She refused requests that weren’t worth her time. She wore earbuds in crowded spaces—not because she liked music, but because it gave her an excuse not to engage.

She smiled differently depending on who was talking.

To teachers: soft, respectful.

To classmates: polite, measured.

To those beneath her ranking system: almost invisible.

There was a system. He was sure of it.

And it intrigued the hell out of him.

One afternoon, he caught a sliver of her voice near the back staircase. Someone was begging—literally—for help on a scholarship essay. She didn’t yell. She didn’t even sound annoyed.

“Do you really think my notes are free?” she said calmly.

“No, no—I’ll pay. I’ll do anything, I swear.”

“I don’t want desperation. I want results. I want return.”

There was a long pause. Then:

“Make me a deal that makes sense. Otherwise, don’t waste my time.”

She walked off. Her steps echoed sharp and fast.

She didn’t glance at Seong-je as she passed.

But he noticed her thumb flick across her phone screen the moment she turned the corner. Probably logging the encounter. Updating a name. Moving pieces.

He tossed the cigarette butt into a gutter and kicked the edge of a bench.

The weird thing was, he didn’t want anything from her. Not really. He wasn’t looking for help, or notes, or connections. He wasn’t even looking for a fight.

He just wanted to know if she ever messed up.

If the game she was playing was as perfect as she made it look.

Because people like her didn’t run without cracks. No matter how polished. No matter how precise.

And Geum Seong-je had time. He had silence. And he had an unsettling talent for noticing what others ignored.

He could wait.

This is gonna be fucking fun.

So I decided to drop the chapter tonight, felt like it.

Hope you enjoy reading it🫂.

[writesvani]

coming down | 06

collegestudent! gojo x collegestudent! reader

SUMMARY: You and Gojo Satoru were once everything to each other, but now, the space between you is filled with nothing but silence and resentment. College is just a reminder of how far you’ve drifted apart, and every encounter only adds fuel to the fire.

You avoid him like the plague, but it doesn’t matter. You can still feel him in the shadows, always there, always watching, as if the past was never really gone. So what do you do? You (try to) keep your distance, pretending it’s easy to forget the history that’s weighed you down for so long.

But deep down, neither of you can let go. And as the tension between you grows, you’re forced to confront the truth: some things are never truly buried, no matter how hard you try.

best friends-to-friends with benefits-to-enemies-to-enemies with benefits-to?

TWs (for this chapter): drug use, substance abuse, addiction, toxic relationships, betrayal, manipulation, self-sabotage, emotional abuse, mental health struggles, emotional distress, anger, guilt, anxiety, depression, past trauma, self-harm, family issues, parental conflict, feeling unloved, verbal abuse, unhealthy coping mechanisms, power dynamics, control, emotional tension, abandonment, toxic behavior, emotional neglect

comment HERE for Coming Down taglist;

SERIES M.LIST

— previous chapter | next chapter

wc: 5,3k // date: 24th of March 2025

CHAPTER FIVE - The Knowing; proceed with caution...

AN: alright, listen up, you emotionally masochistic babies—this chapter is not for the weak. i am begging you to have a sip of water, take a deep breath, maybe even say a little prayer before diving in because this one? this one HURTS. like, "question your entire existence" levels of hurt.

also, my note goal is 150 notes. next chapter drops the second we hit that. i’m still testing the waters with Coming Down, and i need to know—who’s really reading? who actually gets it? because trust me, i’m watching. and if you’re just skimming through this like some casual sunday read, shame on you. pay attention. every word, every pause, every breath MATTERS. let’s see who’s actually built for this.

— love, vani

Ren’s gentle snores fill the apartment, each rise and fall of his breath stretching through the quiet like a slow, steady metronome. It should be comforting. Should make you feel grounded. Instead, it only amplifies the silence pressing in around you.

You’re too aware of your own breathing—shallow, uneven. Too aware of the fact that you are not alone.

Satoru is still here.

You can feel him without even looking. His presence snakes through the room, thick and suffocating, curling around you like an  invisible thread pulling tighter and tighter. He doesn’t have to say a word. Doesn’t have to move. He’s just there, heavy in the air, refusing to be ignored.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, restless. Your toes curl against the floor, seeking some kind of grounding, but there’s none to be found.

You stare at the walls. At the scuffed wooden floor. At the way the dim glow of city lights filters through the window, casting faint, shifting shadows. You let your gaze drift anywhere, anywhere but toward the one thing that has been taking up too much space in your mind for far too long.

But Satoru Gojo is like a gravitational pull, and no matter how much you fight it—

You know you’ll lose.

You glance towards Ren a few times, watching the way his body rises and falls in deep, drunken sleep. As soon as Gojo and you brought him back to the apartment, he collapsed face-first onto the couch and never moved. No shower, no change of clothes—just out cold, occasionally mumbling something incoherent.

He shifts a lot in his sleep. Arms twitching, legs stretching, body curling in on itself before sprawling out again. You sit next to him—or more accurately, at his feet—your body stiff despite the softness of the cushions beneath you. The television flickers in front of you, playing something you can’t focus on, something your heart refuses to catch up with.

Not when he is sitting right there.

Gojo Satoru, draped over a chair far too small for him, legs stretched out, ankles crossed, completely at ease like he owns the room. Like he always does. The dim glow of the TV casts shadows across his face, his features sharp, unreadable. His long fingers tap idly against his knee. His muscles flex beneath the fabric of his jeans, taunting, teasing—inviting.

You don’t dare look at his face, but you don’t have to. You can already picture the way his lips are curled into that infuriating half-smirk, half-smile, like he knows something you don’t. Like he always does.

And his eyes.

You can feel them.

Bright and sharp, gleaming under the dim light, locked onto you with an intensity that sets your skin ablaze.

You can feel him watching you. It's almost suffocating, the weight of his gaze pressing into your skin, a constant reminder that he’s there—still here, when you thought he’d be long gone. He didn’t leave after helping you settle Ren. No explanation, no words, just that eerie quiet between the two of you.

By the time you’d pulled off your shoes and hung your jacket, he had already taken off both his and Ren’s, draped Ren across the couch like a lifeless doll, and then he sat down in that small wooden chair. Not a word. Not a movement. Just… sitting there.

Like a ghost.

And it’s been 28 minutes. Not that you’ve been counting. But in the heavy silence, it’s impossible not to. 28 minutes of not speaking, of not acknowledging the tension that swirls thick between you both. You’ve never been good at this—the silence, the waiting, the not saying what’s actually on your mind. But Gojo? He thrives in it. He always has.

Your teeth graze the flesh of your cheek, the dull ache of tension spreading from your jaw as you focus on the task at hand. Your breath is shallow, coming in quick bursts as you pull out the weed you saved for the moment you’d get home. Your fingers move with practiced ease—weed. Tobacco. Mix. Paper. Roll. You’ve done this a thousand times, and each motion is second nature, a rhythm you’ve come to rely on.

The joint finds its way to your lips easily, the flame from the lighter catching on the tip before you inhale deeply. Smoke curls in the air around you like an old friend, familiar and comforting, and for a moment, you lean into it. It helps clear the haze in your mind, but it doesn’t stop the pounding in your chest when your eyes accidentally lock with his.

And god, it’s insanity.

His gaze feels like a slow burn, digging through you with a force that makes your insides clench. It’s maddening. Even worse is that he doesn’t need to say a word—because somehow, you already know everything he’s thinking about. The way his brow quirks up, just slightly, and the glint in his eyes—it's like he’s known you for more than a lifetime, reading you like an open book.

“You didn’t get enough earlier, huh?” His voice is low, teasing, and his eyes trail to the joint dangling from your fingers. The question lingers in the air between you, thick and heavy, and all you can do is refuse to reply. Because answering means acknowledging this moment, whatever it is. And you’re too drunk for that. Too overwhelmed.

You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of a victory, not again. Not when everything inside you is already at the edge of something you’re not ready to face.

So you just hum, a half-hearted “Mhm,” slipping past your lips. It’s a simple sound, but it’s all you can offer, and it leaves you wondering if he knows exactly how much it means.

He leans back in Ren’s chair, the smug smile never leaving his face as he watches you. “Tsk,” he murmurs, a sound laced with amusement and something darker beneath. “You still have no self-control.”

Your eyes betray you—almost involuntarily, they roll, and you know, without a doubt, that he caught it. He beams, clearly enjoying the effect he’s having on you.

“You’re the one to say that,” you mutter, trying to keep the annoyance out of your voice.

“What do you mean, I was always in control,” he quips back, and you feel your mouth dry up. It’s not because of Gojo or his teasing—it’s the effects of the weed starting to seep into your system, making everything feel a little too warm, a little too slow.

Gojo notices, of course he does. He always notices. You feel the subtle shift in the atmosphere, the way his gaze sharpens, and then—his arm darts out.

He snatches up a bottle of water that’s been sitting on Ren’s table for God knows how long. You watch, your eyes narrowing in on it, longing for the refreshing coolness of it. And just when you think he might, for once, be decent enough to hand it over, he does something entirely different.

He doesn’t just hand it to you.

Instead, his other hand moves with deliberate slowness, unscrewing the cap.

Your heart skips a beat as he brings the bottle to his lips, his eyes never leaving yours. You blink a few times, trying to process what’s happening. He’s drinking the water you wanted—your water, the one you’ve been craving ever since you started feeling the pull of the green.

And to make matters worse, small specks of it drip down his chin, falling messily onto his shirt. The sight makes something inside you tighten, and you swear—you swear he lets out a low, almost indecipherable moan as he swallows it. Salivating, or maybe savoring the moment.

It’s cruel, the way he drags it out, the way he tortures you with something so simple. Because if Gojo Satoru loves anything—it’s making sure you never get what you want most. Not without some kind of twisted game attached to it.

You watch him, almost frozen, as he finishes drinking the last drop, wiping the excess off his chin with the back of his hand, all the while still staring at you. It’s a look that’s too knowing, too intimate, and it drives you mad. You shift in your seat, uncomfortable, your body still buzzing from the weed and the lingering effects of alcohol. It’s almost like your skin is too tight, everything feels too sharp, and your brain refuses to shut up, racing at full speed.

“Better?” Gojo asks casually, as if he hadn’t just stolen your drink and somehow made the whole thing feel like a punishment. His voice is teasing, but there's something else underneath it—a challenge, a dare. His grin spreads wider, but there's no humor in it, only a sharp edge.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but the words don’t come out right. It’s like your tongue is too thick, the thoughts in your head swirling and crashing together in a mess you can’t untangle. Instead, you let out a breathless laugh, more for yourself than for him, a laugh that rings out in the silence, hollow and unsure.

“You’re ridiculous,” you finally manage, the words almost strangling you as they leave your lips.

Gojo’s smirk deepens. “You know, I think you're the ridiculous one,” he says, voice smooth like silk, yet laced with something that makes your stomach twist. “You’ve always been so much better at pretending you don’t want it. But we both know the truth, don’t we?”

You shift uncomfortably again, eyes briefly flicking to Ren, still out cold on the couch. His snores are soft, rhythmic, but distant compared to the tension that now crackles in the air between you and Gojo.

“I don’t—” you start, but the words feel empty. What’s the point? He knows. He always knows.

Gojo doesn’t let you finish. “You do,” he interrupts, his voice dropping lower, almost like a whisper. "And that's what makes this so much more fun."

His gaze is almost too intense, like he's peeling you apart with his eyes, like he's watching for every subtle movement, every flinch. It makes your skin prickle and your chest tighten. You want to look away, but you can’t. Not when he’s so close, when his presence fills every inch of space, a constant weight pressing down on you.

His eyes flicker to the joint still loosely held in your hand, the embers glowing faintly at the end. “You really think that’s going to make you feel better?” he asks, voice still too calm, too collected. “It’s pathetic, you know.”

You take a long drag from it, defiantly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of your response. The smoke curls around you like a veil, and you breathe it in like it’s the only thing that can keep you grounded.

Gojo watches you closely, his gaze unrelenting. “You think it’s gonna fix things? You think it’s gonna make the truth go away?”

You exhale the smoke slowly, trying to ignore the knot in your stomach, trying to push everything back, push him back, because you know what’s coming. You’ve always known.

“I don’t need you to remind me,” you snap, voice sharper than you intended, but it’s all you have left to hold onto.

His smile only widens, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Well, you do need me, don’t you?” His voice turns soft, almost a purr, and for a brief moment, you feel like you're drowning in it.

You want to shout, to tell him to get the hell out of your head and you know better than to challenge him when you’re this far gone. But you can’t help yourself. 

“I don’t get it, Satoru,” you shoot him a look, eyes narrowing slightly, letting the sarcasm drip off your tongue. Your words hang in the air, mocking, and you can't help but feel a small, bitter satisfaction when you see his expression shift. His lips twitch into that knowing smirk, the one that dares you to keep going.

“Seriously. Why are you still so obsessed with me?” You raise an eyebrow, silently giving yourself a mental high five for landing that one.

For a moment, he freezes, and you see something flash across his face—maybe surprise, maybe something darker—but it’s gone before you can pinpoint it. His fingers brush lightly against the fabric of his shirt, almost as if he’s trying to ground himself. Then, with a scoff, he leans back, like he’s not bothered in the slightest.

“Mhm,” he hums, the sound laced with amusement, “If I remember correctly, you were babbling about how you’d ‘totally give it to me’ to some random stranger just a few months ago. And now you’re acting like I’m the obsessed one?”

You let his words float between you for a second, watching as they settle in the thick, hazy air. Then, you smile, and it’s not the playful kind. It’s a smile that says you know something he doesn’t.

“So what?” you shrug, a puff of smoke escaping your lips, the haze curling around you like a comforting cloud. “I know you’re hot. And you do too.”

The smoke swirls around him, clinging to his form like it belongs to him, drifting lazily over his white hair. The dim light from the TV flickers over his face, casting shadows that make him look all the more dangerous. It makes your heart skip just a little, but you’ll never admit that.

“Not even gonna try to deny it?” He cocks his head, his voice low and teasing, arms crossed as he watches you with that infuriatingly smug grin.

Your gaze flickers to his, and for a second, you almost forget where you are. Almost. You force yourself to look away, your body tingling from the alcohol and the weed hitting harder than you’d expected. The heat between you two is suffocating, but it’s also thrilling.

“I never said I couldn’t stand your looks,” you snap, words coming out harsher than intended. The irritation that’s been building up in your chest is now spilling over. “I just can’t stand you.”

For a second, he doesn’t react. His gaze shifts briefly to Ren, who’s still passed out on the couch, unaware of the simmering tension in the room.

But Gojo’s eyes flick back to you, unreadable, and that infuriating smile doesn’t leave his lips. He’s unbothered.

“Plus,” you add, a little quieter but no less biting, “I did, unfortunately, sleep with you when I was younger.” You let the words sink in, your own bitterness mixing with the smoke filling the air. “And honestly? My roster’s full of tens—at least when it comes to looks.”

It’s a jab, a way to push him back, but you can’t help the knot of regret that settles in your stomach right after you say it. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, as Gojo’s eyes linger on you, waiting for your next move.

Gojo's expression doesn’t change at first, and for a moment, you think maybe you’ve finally thrown him off balance. But then, that damn smirk creeps back onto his face, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment. He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, his posture casual but full of that unsettling confidence.

“Is that so?” His voice is low, teasing, with just the right amount of challenge. The words dance in the air between you, and you can feel the tension building again. It’s like you’re both playing a game, but neither of you is ready to admit what the stakes are.

You try to ignore the way his presence fills the room, how his proximity makes your heart beat faster and your mind wander to places you really don't want it to. You focus on the heated edge of the joint in your hand, the weight of it grounding you, but it doesn’t help.

“Sounds like you’ve got a thing for me after all, huh?” he continues, a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he watches you, the light from the TV casting soft shadows on his face. His voice is almost too smooth, too effortless, like he’s toying with you.

You try not to let him get to you. You try to hold your ground, but it’s hard when he knows exactly how to push your buttons. Your throat feels dry, and you suddenly realize you’ve been holding your breath.

“I don’t have a ‘thing’ for you,” you snap back, the words coming out more sharply than you meant. “I just... I know exactly what you are.”

Gojo leans back in his chair, crossing his arms again, his eyes never leaving you. "And what is that?" he asks, his tone mocking but somehow still carrying that quiet intensity that’s so frustratingly captivating.

You pause, your mouth dry, your brain racing to find the right words. The tension in the room is thick, like you could cut it with a blade. You take another drag, the smoke filling your lungs and momentarily distracting you from his piercing gaze.

“You’re a…” you trail off, struggling to find the right word to capture what he is. Finally, it comes to you, simple and sharp. “A fixer.” You lean back, arms crossed, as if the words themselves might give you some distance.

Gojo lets out a small, almost amused chuckle. “A fixer? And what exactly does that mean?”

You glance at him, your eyes narrowing. “You want to fix people. You want to fix me.”

For a second, the room falls into a heavy, suffocating silence. His expression doesn’t change, but you can feel the weight of the moment. Then, without warning, Gojo bursts into laughter, loud and almost mocking.

You can’t help but look at Ren, a quick glance of concern—hoping the noise doesn’t stir him. If he wakes up, he’ll undoubtedly become a part of this madness, and you don’t want that. But Ren remains soundly asleep, lost to whatever dream world he’s in, leaving you trapped in this unsettling tension with Gojo.

The sound of Gojo’s laughter gnaws at you, each chuckle making your stomach sink. You feel a strange knot tightening inside you, something anxious, something unsettled. Gojo’s still here. Still laughing. Still taunting. And it’s all beginning to feel like a game you don’t want to play anymore.

“Oh babe, you still think that?” His voice drips with something almost playful, but there’s an edge to it. “I don’t want to fix you.” He leans forward, his eyes glinting. “I like watching you self-destruct. It’s… entertaining.”

The words land like a slap, but you refuse to let them hit you. You flick the remains of your joint into the ashtray, the sharp sound of it making the tension in your chest tighten. You look back at him, your eyes sharp with defiance.

“Doesn’t seem like it to me,” you mutter, your voice colder now. “Not when you’re still here, hanging around like some sort of unwanted critic, always pointing out what’s wrong with everything I do.”

Gojo shifts in his chair, smirking even wider, as if he’s enjoying this little verbal sparring match. “Oh, please.” He rolls his eyes dramatically. “I’m not here to fix you. I’m here to watch you fail. Over and over again. It’s kind of my favorite thing, you know?”

It hurts. His words slice through you, effortless and sharp, like a blade gliding against bare skin. Your pulse quickens, each beat echoing in your ears. The air between you feels charged—too thick with things unsaid, too heavy with things that should have been left buried.

“And just so we’re clear,” Gojo adds, his finger lazily tracing the curve of his cheek, voice as smooth as ever. “Back then, I wasn’t trying to fix you.” His words linger, curling around the room like smoke. “I was just trying to help you. And even if you won’t admit it—I actually did.”

The silence that follows is deafening. You can almost hear it screaming between you, clawing at the walls, pressing into your chest. You swallow hard.

“Really?” Your voice comes out quieter than intended, but there’s an edge to it, a wound left raw. “By betraying my trust?”

You shift in your seat, but it doesn’t ease the weight pressing down on you. His eyes gleam with something unreadable, something dangerous. It grips you, holds you still. Locks you in place.

And worst of all—doesn’t let you escape.

“I didn’t betray your ‘trust,’” he repeats, the word curling off his tongue like a taunt. His voice isn’t loud, but it vibrates through you, unsettling, seeping into your bones, coursing through your veins like venom.

“I got you the help you didn’t allow me to be,” he adds, each word measured, deliberate.

Your jaw tightens. Heat rises up your spine, coils around your ribs. “I didn’t need your help,” you bite back, the words sharp enough to cut. “Or anyone’s help. I was just a high school kid who wanted to have fun.”

Your lips press together so tightly it hurts, your teeth gritting against each other as if you could grind the frustration into dust. But Gojo—Gojo just watches, expression unreadable, like he’s already heard this a thousand times before. Like he already knows exactly how this conversation will end.

“Really?” His voice drips with sarcasm, taunting, as if he’s enjoying every second of this. “Then we clearly have different definitions of fun.” His gaze shifts away, drifting to the window, caught by the city lights outside. You watch him, a knot forming in your stomach, unsure whether he’s looking at the lights or at you. You can’t shake the feeling that he’s toying with you, pushing your buttons, teaching you some lesson only he understands.

Slowly, his head turns back toward you, his eyes meeting yours once more—steady, unwavering. “Because I always thought there’s more to life than hitting nose candy in high school.”

And there it is. The truth. Out in the open.

Your heart stops for a split second, the words stabbing into you like a sharp knife. The weight of them is too much to carry. Nausea creeps up your throat, thick and bitter. You didn’t want this—didn’t want him to finally say it. To drag it out of the dark where you buried it, where it never should have been acknowledged.

You swallow hard, but the words come out before you can stop them. “And your idea of helping me was telling my parents I was blowing rails?” Your voice is icy, bitter. “You made my life hell. They acted,” you scoff, your hands moving wildly through the air, “they acted like I was an addict or something.”

Gojo doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink. “Well, you were.” His words are blunt, sharp, and they cut deeper than anything he’s ever said before.

“No, I wasn’t.” You can feel the tension building, thick and suffocating.

“You literally snorted every weekend. Don’t fool yourself.”

The words feel like acid. They burn, they scald. But you’re not done yet. You clench your fists, fighting back the surge of frustration. “No, I only did it once or twice a month, and y’all made such a big deal out of it.”

Gojo’s eyes narrow, an expression of disbelief crossing his face as if he can’t quite wrap his mind around your denial. He leans forward, a dangerous calmness settling over him. “Once or twice a month?” he repeats, his voice dropping, each word heavy with the weight of his judgment. “That’s still too much for someone who swore they didn’t have a problem.”

You flinch, the sting of his words settling deep in your chest. Your fingers grip the edge of the seat, but even the pressure isn’t enough to calm the storm inside you. You can feel the anger, the frustration, boiling just beneath the surface. “You don’t get it, Gojo,” you snap, your voice shaky but resolute. “You weren’t there. You never saw it like I did. You just... decided for me.”

A shadow passes over his face, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I did what I thought was right. You were spiraling.”

“You don’t know shit about it,” you hiss. The words spill out, more vicious than you intended, but they’re too far gone now. 

He doesn’t back down, his gaze sharpening, his stance unyielding. “You were hurting. You needed help, and whether you admit it or not, I tried to give it to you. But you refused it at every turn. And then you kept running from everything.”

The room feels like it’s closing in, the air thick with every word that ghosts his lips, raw and unforgiving. Everything he says chips away at whatever wall you’ve been trying to build around yourself. The things you’ve convinced yourself were okay—the lies you’ve told yourself to get by—are unraveling in front of you, exposed and broken.

“Who do you think you are?” The question slips from your lips before you can stop it, bitter and harsh. “You think you can just swoop in and save the day like some fucking hero, but you can’t stand the idea that sometimes, people don’t want it.”

Gojo exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. His expression is unreadable, but something flickers in his eyes—something restrained, something exhausted. “You think this was about me playing hero?” he asks, voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “It was never about that.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Then what was it about, huh?”

He leans in slightly, elbows resting on his knees, and for a moment, the space between you feels suffocating. “It was about you,” he says simply. “You were hurting yourself, and whether you want to admit it or not, you needed someone to give a shit.” His gaze is unwavering, piercing straight through you. “And I did.”

Something deep in your chest twists violently at his words. You hate it. You hate that he’s saying these things, that he’s forcing you to face something you’ve spent years running from. “You ruined everything,” you say, but the fight in your voice is weakening, cracking. “You made me feel like I was broken.”

Gojo’s lips press together, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he says, “Maybe you were. And maybe that wasn’t your fault.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and deafening. Your breath catches in your throat, your nails digging into your skin. You don’t want to think about it. You don’t want to acknowledge it.

So you don’t.

Instead, you force out a laugh, hollow and sharp. “Wow,” you say, tilting your head. “Look at you, throwing around your profound wisdom like you have any right to talk about my choices.”

Gojo’s jaw clenches slightly, but his expression remains composed. “I’m not pretending to know everything. But I know what I saw. And I know what you were doing to yourself.”

You shake your head, suddenly feeling too exposed, too raw. The weight of his gaze is suffocating. “I don’t owe you shit, Gojo,” you mutter. Your limbs feel heavy, the remnants of alcohol and weed dulling your words, but you don’t care. “Not an explanation. Not an apology. Nothing.”

“You’re right,” he says. “You don’t owe me anything.”

The silence between you is suffocating, thick enough to choke on. It presses into your chest, wrapping around your ribs like vines, squeezing the air out of you.

“Yet, you stopped, didn’t you?” Gojo’s voice is quieter now, almost careful. But that’s the thing about him—he never does anything without reason. There’s always an edge, always an expectation.

Your throat is dry. You don’t know what he wants from you. Validation? A confession that he was right? Some proof that his interference actually meant something?

You let the silence stretch, the weight of his stare almost unbearable. Then, barely, you nod.

The second you do, his lips twitch, but the hint of satisfaction is fleeting. He shuts it down before it can settle, masks whatever flicker of feeling was there.

“I did,” you say, forcing the words out like they don’t belong to you. “But only because of my mom. Didn’t want her to look at me like I’m killing her anymore. Not because of you.”

There it is. The flinch he tries to hide, the subtle shift in his expression that most people wouldn’t catch. But you do.

His fingers curl against his knee. He exhales, slow, measured, as if weighing his words before letting them slip past his lips.

“You shouldn’t have stopped because of your mom,” he says, voice like a knife cutting through the space between you. “Or because of me. You should have stopped for you. But you never do anything for yourself, do you?” He tilts his head slightly, eyes gleaming, unreadable. “That’s why I don’t think you won’t go back to it again.”

It stings, the way he says it. The certainty in his voice, like he’s already decided that no matter what you say, he’s right.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Well, I won’t.”

“Good,” he says. But the way he looks at you tells you he doesn’t believe a word of it.

Frustration coils inside you, tightening until it’s unbearable. “Then why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t believe me.”

He leans back, arms crossed, his face unreadable. And when he speaks, his voice is quiet, final.

“Well, I don’t.” His gaze doesn’t waver. “And that’s on you.”

The words cut deeper than they should. 

The weight of his words settles over you like a curse, seeping into the cracks you pretend don’t exist. You should fight back—should tell him he’s wrong, that you’re different now, that you’ve changed. But the thing is, you don’t.

Because you don’t know if you have.

The silence drags between you, stretching thinner and thinner, like a wire about to snap. The city outside hums—distant car horns, laughter echoing through the streets, life continuing as if this moment doesn’t exist, as if Gojo Satoru isn’t sitting across from you unraveling everything you’ve tried so desperately to hold together.

You reach for your lighter again, fingers twitching as you flick the flame on, then off. On. Off. Anything to keep your hands busy, to keep yourself from doing something you’ll regret.

Gojo watches you, his gaze sharp, dissecting. And then—he exhales through his nose, something bitter curling at the edges of his mouth.

“You really don’t get it, do you?”

Your jaw tightens. “What the hell are you talking about now?”

He shakes his head, slow and tired, like he’s finally giving up on something he should’ve walked away from a long time ago. And for some reason, that makes you feel sick.

“I wanted you to get better,” he says, voice low, steady. “Not because I wanted to fix you. Not because I needed to feel like some kind of savior.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “I wanted you to get better because I fucking cared.”

The confession shouldn’t mean anything. It shouldn’t crack something inside you, shouldn’t make your chest tighten, shouldn’t make you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something you can’t control. But it does.

And it terrifies you.

“Then you shouldn’t have done what you did,” you bite out, clinging to the anger, because it’s easier than facing the truth. “You shouldn’t have told them. You shouldn’t have made my life a nightmare—”

“I did what I had to,” Gojo interrupts, voice cold, final. “And I’d do it again.”

The air between you shifts. Your breath stutters, and you realize—he means it.

You shake your head, standing too fast. The room tilts, the weight of the night pressing down on you. “I don’t—I can’t do this right now.”

You don't stop him. You don't say anything as he brushes past you, don’t move as he heads for the door. But just as his fingers curl around the handle, his voice reaches you one last time.

“You can hate me all you want,” he says, softer this time. “But at least I did something. At least I gave a shit.”

The door clicks shut behind him, but his words follow, lingering in your mind like a scar that refuses to fade.

taglist: @zeunys @charmstarr @ovela @kur0mii3 @dabisdolly @17362939 @krispywhisperswhispers @mintcheery @kazupop @heh123321 @hanakotateyama @choppersworlds-blog @eneiyri @suniloli @44ina. @s4ikooo1 @blushedcheri @dishs0pe @rhea-sylvea @eolivy @decadentcoffeecandy @4thansstuff @crankyarchives

[edwardteachswombtattoo]

The interior of Ed and Stede's relationship is well-tread both in analysis and the show itself. We know why they fall for each other, how they fall for each other, when they fall for each other. We've been inside their heads. We could, if we wanted to, probably compile a rough timeline of events from Point A (Ed hearing of Stede's existence) to Point Z (Ed and Stede retiring from piracy to open an inn). Has anyone done that? Someone should do that. I might do that.

But a thread the show keeps pulling on from their first meeting all the way to the end of Season 2 is the persistent showing that no one else seems to fully understand what Ed and Stede have going on.

There are exceptions to this. Lucius with his emotional intelligence and arguably the whole crew of The Revenge understand that Ed and Stede feel something for each other that is somewhat outside the framework. The Revenge is a safe space where they are allowed to explore and hold feelings like that and their influence (Stede's, but really the whole crew's) outgrows the ship and spills out into the wider culture of piracy. They don't fundamentally change the whole culture of piracy, but their influence forces characters who would otherwise be immovable and rigid in their personal philosophies (Anne and Mary Read, Zheng Yi Sao, Auntie, Ned Low's crew, etc.) to rethink their relationships with each other.

I already made a post about Jack and how he seems to think Stede is just a passing fascination, so I won't repeat myself. But this is not the first nor will it be the last time a character fundamentally misunderstands how much Ed cares about Stede. Izzy in Season 1 legitimately believes that Stede's death will force Ed back to normal, to the extent that he does not even try to comfort or console Ed during Stede's almost-execution. And he is caught totally caught off guard when Ed gives up his life to save Stede's.

Ned Low demonstrates an awareness of something being there, but he dismisses it the same way Jack did: Ed only cares about Stede because he's new and interesting. Ed will move on once that shiny new pirate smell wears off. "Ed only cares because you're interesting" and "Ed only cares because you're inexperienced".

These are easy assumptions to make when you only have one half of the picture. And when you don't understand that Ed exists as a multi-faceted whole thinking person outside of his Blackbeard persona and piracy. The distinction between "Blackbeard" and "Ed" was made very early on (Ed introducing himself as "Ed") and reinforced later with "His name is Ed". When other characters refer to Ed, it's useful to ask: are they talking about Ed or Blackbeard? Ed and Blackbeard are not fundamentally distinct personalities, but Blackbeard is a performance and a mask Ed puts on. His arc at the end of Season 2 deals with reconciling his past, Blackbeard, The Kraken, and all these other facets of himself into one cohesive person who is just called Ed.

Yeah, Ed is fascinated by Stede's things. His fabrics, his wardrobe, the model ship, the secret passages, the books. But even from their first meeting, Ed and Stede are not just connecting over Stede's clothes and his books. Ed is sharing his love of soft things with someone for probably the first time in his life, he's being vulnerable and truthful. He remains guarded through their first interactions, but he's being more open and candid than Blackbeard would be. "Do you fancy a fine fabric?" is not a question Blackbeard would answer honestly. And when Ed casually makes the reveal ("I'm Blackbeard") in the auxiliary wardrobe, Stede does not treat him any differently after the fact. Everyone else is like "big scary pirate Blackbeard!!" but Stede is like "That's Ed :) He's my friend :) He's very cool and he likes fabrics and did I mention he is my friend?? :)"

Ned Low, Izzy Hands, and Jack all ask the question Why does Blackbeard care so much about this fucking muppet? and collectively decide it must be because Stede clearly does not know what he's doing and/or he has a lot of cool stuff and Ed is into that shit. And there is a part of Ed who probably did at one point think it was just Stede's stuff he was into, that he just wanted what Stede had and then realized it was not about the fancy stuff it was about Stede as a person. That is why Ed starts to really fall for Stede at the end of "The Best Revenge is Dressing Well". They have their intimate moment and Ed is like oh fuck I might be in love with this guy for real oh fuccccck I want to kiss him so baddddd oh shit oh fuck. I've always been of the (maybe controversial? idk) opinion that Ed was flirting during their first meeting and making it obvious as possible he was DTF if Stede was into that, which is the maximum amount of physical intimacy and wanting Ed could allow himself to express without getting scared. He wasn't full bright lights in love with Stede at first sight, but he was infatuated at first conversation.

Interestingly, we never see this on the other side. It is always assumed that Stede just doesn't understand Ed, that he doesn't understand how Ed really feels about him and if he only knew The Real Ed (Blackbeard) he wouldn't have so many soft feelings. In Season 2, Stede is continuously confused when people suggest Ed might try to kill him. Because Stede alone knows that the last time Ed tried that, he ended up having a panic attack and hiding in Stede's bathtub. Izzy tries to pull the whole "you don't know him like I do" and Stede rebukes that fucking instantly by describing Ed's entire mindset in a single sentence while Izzy was just last season struggling to understand Ed's sudden shift in behavior. Izzy sees a change in Ed's behavior and is at a loss to understand, while Stede sees a change in Ed's behavior and instantly clocks what is going on.

"You don't actually know him" is how outsiders rationalize Stede's feelings about Ed and "he's just a momentary bit of fun" is how outsiders rationalize Ed's feelings for Stede.

The key to these intimate moments between Ed and Stede is that they really are between Ed and Stede. Ed never shares these memories with anyone. Even when he's talking with Mary Read in "Fun and Games", he brings up the stabbing because it's relevant and then tries to brush it off a little by saying he had to force Stede to do it and calling Stede "fragile". He does not even allude to the intimacy of that moment and his own being vulnerable. Stede and Lucius are the only people Ed reveals those parts of himself to.

[crystalandbow]

FEBRUARY MESSAGES FOR YOU

hi! welcome back

ik its been loonngg anyways just pick the pile that calls you and lets begin

PILES:

< PILE 1 >

THEME AND FOCUS

(the world, 8 of wands, 5 of pentacles. full moon in Scorpio - breathe through the tension)

I feel change right off the bat. The World as your theme shows that a major cycle is reaching completion, bringing discomfort along itself. The Wheel of Fortune tried to pop out of the deck, signaling that this shift is not random; it’s part of a greater plan. But endings, even the necessary ones, rarely feel easy. There may be moments of resistance, where you feel trapped. Which is absolutely okay. What's important is that you sit with it, learn what you need to, and allow the transition to unfold. Nothing about this phase can be rushed or avoided.

For your focus we have the 8 of Wands which is a call to action. Change is already in motion, and avoidance will only make it harder. Expect fast-moving developments—messages, opportunities, or decisions that require your immediate attention. There’s no space for hesitation now. Whatever you’ve been waiting for is accelerating, and how you respond will set the tone for what comes next.

The 5 of Pentacles suggests this won’t be a smooth ride. Emotionally, financially, or spiritually, you might feel the weight of this transition. But the Full Moon in Scorpio reminds you: pressure creates transformation. There is intensity in the air—desire, tension, even restlessness. You may feel drawn toward something (or someone) with an almost magnetic force. Don’t suppress it, but also don’t let it consume you. This is a test of self-awareness. How you channel this energy really really matters.

< PILE 2 >

What’s most important now is balance. When emotions run high, it’s easy to focus on loss, uncertainty, or what feels out of reach. But this is not the time to spiral—it’s the time to recalibrate. Instead of asking, Why is this happening? ask, What is this clearing space for? This is the moment before renewal. The discomfort will pass, and when it does, you’ll see that this was never about loss—it was about making room for what’s next.

Hope it resonates do lmk your thoughts below! See you next time

Okay I like how well the cards flow into each other and just how clear the message is.

THEME AND FOCUS

(8 of swords, the emperor, hermit. first quarter moon in Pisces- honour your feelings, new moon in Virgo- trust all will be well)

This month carries a sense of mental entrapment, yet also the structure and discipline needed to break free.

With the 8 of Swords as your theme, there is a strong feeling of being stuck—whether due to self-doubt, overthinking, or external restrictions. However, this is more of a mental prison than a real one. The way forward exists, but right now, it may not feel obvious. The challenge is recognizing where you’re limiting yourself and where you need to shift your perspective.

Your focus, The Emperor, calls for structure, control, and decisive action. Where 8 of Swords represents hesitation, The Emperor represents authority and order. This is about taking responsibility for your situation rather than feeling powerless against it. Even if things feel uncertain, discipline and clear thinking will be your strongest allies. There is no room for avoidance—this is about stepping up and setting firm boundaries, both with yourself and others.

The message from The Hermit and the First Quarter Moon in Pisces is clear: your emotions matter, but they shouldn’t consume you. If you’ve been suppressing what you truly feel, this is the time to acknowledge it. Pretending to be unaffected will only create more internal tension. That said, there is a fine line between honoring your emotions and getting lost in them. Reflection is important, but so is perspective. Look at the bigger picture before reacting.

< PILE 3 >

The New Moon in Virgo reassures you that everything is unfolding in divine timing. Patience is key. There may be a strong desire for immediate resolution, but forcing things won’t lead to the outcome you want. Instead, focus on what you can control—your actions, your mindset, and how you contribute to the world around you. Small, practical efforts will be more effective than overanalyzing the unknown.

Hope it resonates do lmk your thoughts below! See you next time

This month is about movement, ambition, and emotional balance. There’s an undeniable fire beneath the surface—excitement, restlessness, and a desire to push forward. But how you direct this energy will determine your results.

THEME AND FOCUS

(page of wands, knight of swords, king of cups. first quarter moon in cap- unleash your kindest self, last quarter moon in Gemini- clear your mind)

With the Page of Wands as your theme, you will be stepping into a period of curiosity, inspiration, and new beginnings. There’s a sense of exploration here—whether it’s a new idea, project, or mindset. The energy is fresh and exciting, but pages represent learning stages, meaning there’s still much to figure out. Stay open, stay eager, but don’t rush without understanding where you're headed.

Your focus, Knight of Swords, demands swift action and determination. This is a card of sharp intellect, rapid movement, and a strong desire to chase your goals. However, speed without strategy can lead to recklessness. The challenge this month is to balance enthusiasm with clarity—move with purpose, but don't let impatience cloud your judgment. Stay focused, but avoid tunnel vision.

The message from the King of Cups and the First Quarter Moon in Capricorn is about emotional control and kindness. While ambition is necessary, forcing things or being too hard on yourself (or others) will only drain your energy. Discipline is important, but it shouldn’t come at the cost of joy. A balanced approach—one that combines logic, emotion, and patience—will get you much further than rigid expectations.

The Last Quarter Moon in Gemini urges you to clear your mind. Overthinking, anxiety, or repetitive thoughts could be holding you back. Instead of dwelling on uncertainties, take a step back. Organize your thoughts, talk things out, and refocus on what you do want rather than what you fear. The mind is a powerful tool, but left unchecked, it can become its own worst enemy.

Hope it resonates do lmk your thoughts below! See you next time

[callingitquits]

What Changes (And What Doesn’t): Sleeping In The Same Space

This post is all about Johan’s sleep/routines and how you fit into that. Sharing a bed with him isn’t just about being close—it’s a huge deal for him. It takes a lot of time and trust for him to let someone in, and even then, it’s not easy for him. Not really a soft, romantic thing—it’s raw and a little unsettling, but it’s the closest he gets to being vulnerable.

Before Rest

Johan doesn’t prepare for bed so much as he prepares to be alone. He removes his shoes just so, placing them side-by-side. He washes his hands and face, almost obsessively. Everything is done in silence. Lights are dimmed. Not turned off, never entirely.

Solitude as a Ritual

Johan treats sleep like a battlefield he never quite survives. He lies on his back, arms at his sides, eyes closed but never truly resting. The silence is necessary. He drowns in it. Any movement, any presence, disrupts the fragile equilibrium he’s clung to for years. The bed isn’t for comfort; it’s for containment. On most nights, he’s not even there.

The Bed Is a Barrier

Johan keeps the space around him untouched, like a preserved artifact. To share a bed is an unnatural intimacy, disarming in its quiet vulnerability. Letting you into that space isn’t a concession. It’s a quiet collapse. It only happens after a long, unspoken trust has formed. And even then, it’s rare. Maybe once in a blue moon, and never predictable. He’ll be gone for days or weeks after, like resetting a switch.

He Doesn’t Sleep Easy

Insomnia is a constant companion. His mind doesn’t turn off; it recycles thoughts in endless, looping horror. When you’re there, it takes weeks before he can close his eyes without staying hyper-aware of your breathing. The first few times, he doesn’t sleep at all. He just listens—to your shifting, sighing, existing. Learning the rhythm. And then he’s gone again.

Stillness as Armor

Even when asleep, Johan barely moves. He lies flat, rigid, like he’s bracing for something. Death, a memory, the monster at the door. There’s no curling toward you, no unconscious seeking of warmth. His body stays cold, disciplined. But one night, maybe weeks—or longer—in between, his hand rests near yours. Not touching. Just close. A brief echo of something that might have been.

The First Night He Stays

It happens after a particularly vulnerable moment—maybe you see something you weren’t supposed to. He doesn’t speak, just walks into the room and lies down. There’s space beside him. He doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t ask. When you get in, he remains still. But his breathing changes…barely noticeable. Slower. Not quite calm, but accepting. And in the morning, he’s already gone.

The Unspoken Tea

When he does stay the night, there’s often a quiet ritual before sleep: he likes if you make tea—chamomile or lemon balm. He never asks for it. Never thanks you. But he drinks it every time. Always from the same cup. And the next morning, it’s rinsed and turned upside down in the dish rack like clockwork.

Eye Contact Before Turning Away

Johan doesn’t say goodnight. He doesn’t touch. But if you’re sharing a bed, he’ll look at you—long, unreadable—and then roll onto his back like always. It’s not romantic. It’s not soft. But it’s honest. And from him, that’s rare.

He Never Falls Asleep First

He waits. Watches. Not out of mistrust, but compulsion. Your presence changes the silence he’s used to, and he has to learn it like a new language. Only when your breathing evens out does he begin to let go…piece by piece. If he ever sleeps with his face turned toward you, it’s a sign of DEEP trust. But even then, you may not get the chance to see it.

Lighting is Symbolic

He prefers not to sleep in total dark. A low lamp always stays on. Enough to cast shadows, but not enough to chase them away. If he ever turns it off while you’re beside him, it’s not an accident. It means something. A night without pretense. A night where he’s not hiding from the dark, or from you.

He’s Beautiful, but Unsettling

Johan asleep is both eerie and beautiful. Too still. His features remain almost too perfect, too composed. Like he’s faking it. Even in sleep, there’s a tension in his brow, a tightness in his mouth, like the dreams aren’t kind. Sometimes his hands twitch. Once, he muttered something in Czech—just once. You didn’t ask what it meant. But other times, he’s utterly silent. Like a corpse. When he returns after days or weeks away, that silence hangs heavier.

Kiss to the Brow

Maybe you kiss his forehead once after a long, particularly quiet night. No reason. Just a soft, fleeting press of your lips near the cool skin of his outer brow. He doesn’t react, but the muscles in his jaw unclench. You don’t notice until later, when you realize he fell asleep not long after.

Unspoken Permission

Eventually, it becomes a pattern. Something you do every now and then, like a quiet ritual. You always do it just before turning over. Barely a second of contact. Sometimes to his temple. Sometimes his cheekbone. He never asks for it. Never returns it. But the one time you hesitate—wondering if you’ve crossed a line—his eyes flick to yours. “You forgot something.” he says, without smiling. And that’s the closest thing to a request you’ll ever get.

No Blankets Over His Chest

No matter how cold it is, Johan never pulls the blanket past his waist. He hates the weight of it on his sternum. Says nothing, of course, but shifts it off in his sleep. It’s an old, deeply wired discomfort…being pinned down, being trapped. Even when you pull the covers over him without thinking, he’ll quietly adjust it back once you’ve fallen asleep.

Restlessness

Some nights, Johan can’t stay still. The air feels too tight, the sheets too warm, the breath beside him too present. It’s not your fault. Or maybe it is. It doesn’t matter.

He slips out of bed without sound. Not abrupt, not rushed—just decisive. He stands beside the bed like he’s forgotten what to do with his body. His arms stay still at his sides. Sometimes he paces once, twice. Sometimes he just stands, bare feet on cold floor, staring at nothing.

He won’t wake you. Won’t leave. But he can’t lie back down yet. His pulse is wrong. The quiet is too loud. He might sit in the corner chair for an hour, eyes open. He might drink water he doesn’t want. Or just stand there, unmoving.

Eventually, when the tension passes—when he convinces himself the world won’t cave in if he closes his eyes again—he returns. Lays flat. Doesn’t touch you. Never explains.

And if you stir, if you whisper his name, he’ll pretend he’s been there the whole time.

The Rare Blue Capsule

Johan doesn’t believe in medication. He believes in control. But sometimes—very rarely—he makes an exception. A blister pack of zopiclone: mild, fast-acting, bitter on the tongue. Not enough to knock him out, just enough to dull the edges when the silence turns hostile. He doesn’t take it after violence. Never after a death. Only when everything is too still, and memory grows too loud. He never takes more than one. He never tells anyone.

The choice isn’t out of desperation—it’s calculated. A sedated sleep is a vulnerable one, and Johan hates that. But once in a while, he lets the pill dissolve slow on his tongue while sitting upright in the dark. It’s not about rest. It’s about erasure.

Sleep as Surrender

Letting someone see him asleep is one of if not the closest thing to vulnerability he can offer. It means he’s defenseless. It means he’s let his guard slip in front of someone he used to view as a variable. He doesn’t say this. But when you wake and find his shoulder barely brushing yours—on one of the rare nights he stays—it says it for him. And you know better than to ask when he’ll be back.

The Vanishing Morning

After a night when he’s slept beside you, he leaves before you wake. Every time. No exceptions. Sometimes there’s a note. Sometimes there isn’t. But his side of the bed is always perfectly remade. And the scent of him lingers in the sheets like a ghost that almost wanted to be real.

If You Dream Of Each Other:

Your dreams aren't romantic…certainly not conventionally. They're hazy, oppressive, filled with a strange light and quiet dread. Johan appears in them like an omen—but never harms you. That contradiction is what rattles you most.

The Hospital Dream

You walk barefoot through endless hospital corridors lit with buzzing fluorescents. All the signs are in German, but the words twist and rearrange when you blink.

Johan is sitting in a chair at the end of a hallway, hands folded neatly, dressed in white.

He looks like a patient, but his eyes say otherwise.

When you try to speak, your voice doesn't work. He only says, calmly:

"I waited."

The Domestic Dream

He's in your kitchen. Casual. Making tea. You enter the room like this is normal, but your chest is pounding.

You talk about nothing. Weather. Groceries.

You’re so aware of every sound.

The clink of ceramic, the scrape of a chair.

He brushes your wrist lightly as he hands you the mug, and you wake up with your heart racing and anger blooming in your throat.

The Gun Dream

You’re the one holding the gun this time. He's standing still, calm as ever. Not begging.

Just looking at you.

Your hands are shaking. He says:

"Do it right this time."

You scream awake every time before the trigger's pulled.

Johan's dreams are more abstract…he doesn't dream of scenes, but of atmospheres, sensations, and impressions. His subconscious doesn't render you like a person—it renders you like a force that unsettles his internal architecture.

The Silent Dream

You’re standing at the end of a long hallway, back to him. Your shoulders shake. The light above flickers, humming.

He walks to you slowly. Reaches out.

His hand brushes your shoulder. You stop crying and turn to face him. Your eyes are dry.

“Who are you?”

You don’t blink. Blood blooms down your front, soaking through your shirt. He looks at his hand. It’s already covered.

He doesn’t remember touching anything sharp.

The Sleeping Dream

You’re curled up in a twin-sized bed, asleep. The room is dim, dust dancing in the air.

He sits at the edge of the bed and watches you sleep. Your face is peaceful.

For once, you don’t seem afraid.

But when you open your eyes, you don’t see him. You look right through him. And smile at someone else.

The Writing Dream

You’re writing in a journal. Your hands are covered in blood. You keep writing, unbothered.

You don’t look up. Just murmur: "You wanted to see."

The words on the page blur and move like worms.

The Stairwell Dream

You sit side-by-side on a cold, endless stairwell.

No top. No bottom.

Neither of you speak. You just sit, shoulders brushing.

Time doesn't exist. Johan feels peace in this dream.

It’s one of the few dreams he has that doesn’t end in violence or fear.

He always wakes up disoriented by how much he wants it back.

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @dixonsbridexx @yikes-myguy @blackwidownat2814 @euqsia @lliteratii @imadisneyprincessiswear @satata @smashleywow @misspendragonsworld @captain-shannon-becker @i-doutt-it @bookies16 @brianna-merlim @staley83 @oceanticspace @insaneintheemembranev2 @dummylovewp @xmiaacxio @meyukoo @grilka @itsgivingdepression @timebomb1101 @inejghafasdagger @koshkahhh

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Gif from @daryl-dixon-daydreams

TW: walkers (Zombies), tooth rotting fluff, physical contact, mentions of past abuse (briefly)

Part 29

Dead Weight - Part 30

Dawn creeps through the gaps in the barn's weathered boards, casting golden slivers of light across the hay-strewn floor. You wake slowly, consciousness returning in gentle waves rather than the usual jarring alert that's become second nature in this world.

For a moment, you forget where you are—forget the walkers, the constant running, the gnawing hunger that's become your companion.

All you're aware of is warmth. Solid, reassuring warmth at your back and the steady rhythm of breathing that isn't your own.

Daryl's arm is draped over you, his calloused fingers splayed across your ribs where your shirt has ridden up slightly in sleep. His chest rises and falls against your shoulder blades, each breath stirring the hair at the nape of your neck. You can feel his shoulder pressed against you, a reminder of all the battles he's fought, all the times he's survived when others, so many others haven't.

For a moment, you allow yourself to simply exist in this space between sleep and waking, where the memory of last night lingers like honey on your tongue.

The storm had raged outside the barn walls, thunder shaking the old structure while rain pounded the roof in a relentless rhythm.

But inside, in your shared corner beneath a threadbare blanket, there had been only tentative hands. The ghost of his lips against yours, soft and hesitant, as if he was afraid you might disappear if he pressed too hard.

Daryl's hands had shook slightly, like he was handling something precious and breakable. The way you'd both settled afterward, foreheads touching, breathing each other's air, neither quite believing what had just happened.

You hadn't talked about it. Not really, you'd simply settled back into your sleeping arrangement—your cheek to his chest, his arm around your waist, protective even in sleep. But something fundamental had shifted between you, an invisible line crossed.

Now, in the soft morning light, you're hyperaware of every point of contact between your bodies. The way his thumb unconsciously traces small circles on your ribs. How his breathing changes slightly when you shift, telling you he's awake too. The fact that neither of you moves to break apart, content to exist in this quiet bubble before the world intrudes again.

"Storm's passed," Daryl murmurs, his voice rough with sleep and deliberately quiet to avoid waking the others. His lips brush your ear as he speaks.

"Mmm," you agree softly, not trusting your voice to remain steady. Your hand finds his where it rests against your stomach, fingers intertwining. Such a simple gesture, but it feels monumental.

Public, even though no one else is awake yet.

Daryl's fingers tighten around yours, and you feel him press his face into your hair, breathing deeply like he's trying to memorize your scent. "We should get up," he says, but makes no move to release you. "Others'll be stirring soon."

You nod but don't move either. Both of you understand the unspoken truth—once you separate, once the day begins, you'll have to navigate whatever this new thing between you is while surrounded by the group.

You'll have to figure out how to be around each other when everything feels different now, charged with possibility and uncertainty in equal measure.

Rick's voice cuts through the static, low but distinct enough to carry across the barn. "We need to find more supplies today. Food's running low."

The spell breaks. Reality seeps back in like cold water, reminding you of empty stomachs and dwindling resources. You feel Daryl sigh against your hair before he slowly, reluctantly, extracts his arm from around your waist.

"Time to go," he says, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. It sticks up at odd angles, and you have to resist the urge to smooth it down.

You sit up too, immediately missing his warmth, and begin rolling up the thin blanket you'd shared.

"You two sleep well?" Carol asks from nearby, her tone carefully neutral but her eyes dancing with something that makes your cheeks warm. She's packing her few belongings into her worn backpack, movements efficient despite the knowing smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"Fine," Daryl grunts, but you catch the way his ears redden slightly. He busies himself with checking his crossbow, hands moving with practiced precision over the familiar weapon.

You murmur something noncommittal and excuse yourself to use the makeshift bathroom area the group has set up behind a partition. As you walk away, you're hyperaware of Daryl's gaze following you, can feel the weight of his attention like a physical touch.

Once you're out of earshot, Carol sidles up to Daryl with the casual ease of someone who's earned the right to tease him.

She settles beside him on an overturned crate, close enough that her voice won't carry to the others.

"So," she begins, her tone deliberately light.

"Sleep well?"

Daryl's hands still on his crossbow. "Told you. Slept fine."

"Mm-hmm." Carol nods sagely, pulling out a small cloth to clean her knife. "You know, I've been watching you two dance around each since before the prison fell."

"Ain't dancing around nothing," Daryl mutters, but there's no real bite to his words.

"Right." Carol's smile widens. "That's why you're watching her like she might disappear if you blink. That's why you positioned yourself between her and the door last night without even thinking about it."

Heat crawls up Daryl's neck. He'd slept better last night than he had in weeks, months maybe. With you tucked safely against his side, your soft breathing evening out as the storm raged outside.

"Don't make it into something it ain't," he says, but the words lack conviction.

Carol chuckles, a warm sound that holds no judgment. "Daryl, honey, I already told you, your screwed."

Before Daryl can respond, you reappear from behind the partition, and he watches as you take Judith from Carl so he can pull on his boots, your touch gentle and patient with the baby as you coo gently and bounce her softly. Something warm and sharp twists in his chest at the sight.

Carol follows his gaze and smiles knowingly. "She might even be good for you."

She stands and moves away before he can protest, leaving Daryl alone with thoughts that feel too big for the cramped confines of his skull.

When you glance at Daryl, you catch him watching you with an expression you can't quite read. There's uncertainty there, but something warmer too. Something that makes your stomach flutter with nervous excitement.

You offer him a small smile, and hand Judith back to Carl's waiting arms, before making your way back over.

"You good ?" You ask quietly.

Relief flickers across his features, followed by something that might be gratitude. He nods once, a sharp jerk of his chin.

The moment of privacy evaporates as Glen approaches with his pack already slung over his shoulder. "You two ready? Rick wants to hit that cluster of houses we saw yesterday before we move on."

"Yeah," Daryl says, standing and reaching for his pack. "We're ready."

But as he passes you, his fingers catch yours for just a moment. It's subtle enough that Glen doesn't notice, but it sends warmth spreading through your chest.

A promise that last night wasn't a dream, wasn't a moment of weakness brought on by the storm and fear. It was real, and despite the uncertainty, despite the danger of caring for someone in this world, neither of you regrets it.

The group moves with practiced efficiency, gathering the few belongings you've accumulated in your constant travels. There's little conversation—everyone understands the routine by now.

Pack light, move fast, stay alert.

The barn had been a good find, sturdy and defensible, especially with the storm, but staying in one place too long is a luxury none of you can afford.

You're checking your knife and the small pistol you now carry with you when Maggie and Sasha appear in the barn doorway.

They're not alone.

"Rick," Maggie calls, her voice carefully neutral but with an undertone that makes everyone stop what they're doing. "We found someone."

The man behind them is clean. That's the first thing you notice—his clothes aren't torn or stained with blood and dirt like yours have become.

His hair is neat, his face recently shaved. In this world of perpetual grime and desperation, cleanliness is almost suspicious.

"My name's Aaron," the stranger says, raising his hands in a peaceful gesture as Rick immediately moves between him and the rest of the group. "I know how this looks, how I look. But I'm not here to hurt anyone."

Rick's hand hovers near his gun, and you can see the tension in his shoulders. "Then what are you here for?"

"To invite you to my community," Aaron says simply. "All of you."

The words hang in the air like a challenge. Community. It's a word that's become almost mythical in its rarity. You've all heard stories—settlements that fell, safe zones that turned into death traps, groups that tore themselves apart from the inside.

"Community," Abraham repeats, skepticism dripping from every syllable. "And what makes you think we're interested in joining your little club?"

"I understand your skepticism," Aaron continues, his hands still raised. "But I assure you, Alexandria is real. We've been watching your group, and we're impressed by how you've survived, how you work together."

"Watching us," Rick repeats, his voice deadly quiet. "For how long?"

"Long enough to know you're good people. The kind of people we want in our community."

Aaron's smile is patient, practiced. "We want you because you're survivors. Because you've been out here long enough to know how hard it is alone. Because you have children." His eyes find Carl, then shift to Judith in Carol's arms. "And children deserve better than this."

You feel Daryl tense beside you, his distrust radiating from him in waves. His hand unconsciously moves closer to his knife, a gesture you've learned to read as a warning sign.

"What's the catch?" Rick asks bluntly. "Nobody offers something for nothing, especially not these days."

"No catch," Aaron says. "Just an audition."

The word hits the group like a physical blow.

Audition.

As if your survival, your worthiness of safety, is some kind of performance to be judged.

"Audition?" Daryl's tone is low, edged with distrust. Not aggressive yet—but coiled.

"The hell's that supposed to mean?"

You watch as you glance between the stranger and Daryl. You can feel it, like heat coming off his skin—Daryl doesn’t trust this man. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

And when Aaron’s eyes drift toward you—lingering a moment longer then Daryl likes.

His posture shifts. Subtle.

One boot steps forward, placing himself just slightly in front of you. He doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t say anything.

Aaron's composure falters slightly at the hostility in Daryl's tone. "It means we need to know you're the kind of people who'd fit in with our community. That you share our values."

"And what values would those be?" Carol asks, her voice deceptively mild. You recognize the tone—she's gathering information, cataloging potential threats.

"Hard work. Contribution. Following the rules that keep everyone safe."

Aaron's answer sounds rehearsed, like he's given this speech before.

"Look, I know it sounds formal, but we've learned the hard way that not everyone who seems like a good fit actually is."

Glen steps forward, his expression thoughtful but wary. "What kind of community? How many people? Where?"

"I can't give you all the details until you agree to come with me," Aaron says. "Security reasons, I'm sure you understand."

Rick laughs, but there's no humor in it.

"You want us to follow you blindly to some mystery location and audition for the privilege of staying there? That about sum it up?"

"I have pictures," Aaron offers, reaching slowly for his pack.

Rick's gun clears its holster in one smooth motion, making Aaron freeze. "Just pictures," he repeats carefully. "To show you what you'd be walking into."

"Keep your hands where I can see them," Rick orders, nodding to Glen. "Check his bag."

As Glen carefully examines Aaron's pack, you catch Daryl's eye. He's coiled like a spring, ready for violence if this goes sideways.

The intimacy of the morning feels like it happened in another lifetime, replaced by the familiar wariness that has kept you all alive.

"He's got photos," Glen confirms, pulling out a stack of Polaroids. "And some kind of radio equipment."

Rick examines the photos, his expression unreadable. The rest of the group clusters around him, trying to catch a glimpse of what Aaron's offering. You see flashes of what looks like actual houses, gardens, people who look well-fed and clean.

"Looks too good to be true," Daryl mutters, voicing what you're all thinking.

"Because it probably is," you add quietly, earning a sharp look from Aaron.

"I understand your skepticism," Aaron says, his tone remaining earnest despite the hostility he's facing.

"You've been burned before. We all have. But Alexandria is real, and it's safe. Safer than this." He gestures around the barn. "Safer than constant running, constant fear."

"Alexandria?" Michonne speaks for the first time since Aaron's arrival. "That's what you call it?"

Aaron nods. "Alexandria Safe-Zone. We've got walls, solar power, running water. Houses with actual beds. A medical facility. We grow our own food."

It sounds like paradise, which is exactly why none of you trust it. Paradise doesn't exist anymore, not in this world.

"And all we have to do is audition," Rick says flatly. "Prove we're worthy of your generosity."

"It's not about worthiness," Aaron insists. "It's about compatibility. About making sure you won't be a danger to the people already there."

"And who decides that?" Daryl asks. "You?"

"There's a process," Aaron says vaguely. "People who make those decisions."

The evasiveness in his answer confirms your suspicions.

Whatever this Alexandria is, it's not the democratic sanctuary Aaron's trying to sell it as. There are people in charge, people who hold the power to accept or reject, and that kind of power structure has never ended well in your experience.

"Even if this place is real," Glen says quietly, "even if it's everything you say it is, what makes you think we'd fit in? We've been out here a long time. We've done things, seen things..."

"Survived things," Aaron corrects. "That's exactly what makes you valuable to our community."

"Valuable," Daryl repeats, his voice flat. "Like livestock."

"Like family," Aaron counters. "Like the kind of people we want watching our backs when things go bad."

The barn falls silent again as everyone processes this. The offer is tempting—more tempting than anyone wants to admit. Walls, safety, a chance to stop running, to stop watching over your shoulder every second of every day.

But you've all learned the hard way that safety is an illusion. That walls can become prisons as easily as they can become sanctuaries. That the living are often more dangerous than the dead.

"We need to discuss this," Rick finally says. "Privately."

Aaron nods. "Of course. I'll wait outside, give you space to talk."

"No," Rick says firmly. "You'll wait right here where we can see you."

As Aaron settles onto the ground with his hands visible, the group huddles together in the back corner of the barn.

Voices rise and fall in urgent whispers as options are debated, risks weighed, hopes cautiously shared.

Aaron voice rises after a few minutes. "I should mention—I didn't come alone. My partner Eric is waiting nearby. He'll come looking if I don't check in."

The threat is subtle but clear. Come quietly, or face the possibility of more complications. You see Rick's jaw tighten, and Daryl takes a half-step forward, his body language screaming violence.

"Easy," you murmur, just loud enough for Daryl to hear. He glances back at you through the curtain of his hair, eyes softening for half a second, some of the tension leaving his shoulders at your quiet intervention, before snapping back to Aaron, it's not the time or place for any kind of fight.

"Five minutes," Rick tells Aaron. "Then we'll give you our answer."

The morning that started with such promise has turned into another test of survival, another decision that could mean life or death for all of you.

Rick's paranoia warred with the group's exhaustion, their desperate need for something better than endless running and hiding. In the end, it was Michonne who tipped the scales.

"We need this," she said simply. "All of us."

The vehicles Aaron had mentioned were exactly where he said they'd be—a testament to either his honesty or an elaborate trap. You climbed into the back of the van with Daryl, Glen, and Maggie, while Rick took the driver's seat with Aaron riding shotgun, hands zip-tied as a precaution.

The second vehicle held the rest of your group, with Abraham behind the wheel and Eric—Aaron's partner—giving oddly enthusiast directions.

You found yourself next to Daryl as the van lurched into motion, he was quiet, his eyes constantly scanning the passing landscape for threats.

"You okay?" you whispered, low enough that the others couldn't hear over the engine noise.

His eyes flicked to yours, intense and unreadable. "Don't like this. Too easy."

"Maybe we deserve a little easy," you said softly.

He grunted, unconvinced, but his hand found yours in the space between you, calloused fingers swiped softly across the back of your hand, lingering almost like they wanted to curl around yours, before moving away. The simple contact sent warmth through you.

Glen was studying one of Aaron's photographs, showing it to Maggie. "Look at this garden," he said, wonder in his voice. "When's the last time we saw tomatoes growing?"

"Could be a setup," Daryl muttered, but you caught the way his eyes lingered on the image.

"Could be real," Maggie countered gently.

The journey took hours, winding through back roads and overgrown highways. You dozed fitfully against the window at one point, lulled by the engine's rhythm.

Each time you woke, Daryl was alert, watching, his hand never straying far from his knife.

Aaron kept up a steady stream of information about Alexandria—the wall, the homes, the sense of community.

Rick peppered him with questions, probing for weaknesses or lies, but Aaron answered everything with patient honesty.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, Aaron directed Rick down a narrower road lined with trees. "Almost there," he said, and you felt the group's collective tension ratchet up another notch.

Daryl's shoulders stiffened, you could almost feel his tension.

Glen and you shared a glance, a silent agreement that, no matter what happens, you'd all have each other's backs.

The wall appeared suddenly through the foliage—massive sheets of corrugated metal and reinforced with large metal poles. It stretched far in both directions, an imposing barrier between the world you knew and whatever lay beyond these gates.

"Holy shit," Glenn breathed.

The van rolled to a stop in front of massive gates, when the engine shut off the sounds of children playing could be heard, actual children.

Your mind wandered to Lil Asskicker, you couldn't help it, Judith deserved safety, you all did.

The gates squeaked open without preamble revealing glimpses of the world beyond—paved streets, intact houses, the impossible sight of normal life continuing despite the world's ending.

As your group slowly emerged from the vans, you stayed close to Daryl, he remained silent and watchful, his body coiled with tension.

You could feel his unease, the way every instinct screamed at him to be ready to fight or flee.

The people of Alexandria looked clean, well-fed, soft in a way that spoke of safety but it might be a lie.

[rafeysafterglow]

silver springs

pairing: rafe cameron x ex!reader summary: 5 times reader haunting rafe’s narrative (+1 when he finally moves on) warnings: angst, no happy ending, suggestive, mentions of depression, rafe x sofia in the end, paragraphs in italics indicate flashbacks a/n: my first 5+1 fic :p this is my fave work yet so pls don’t let this flop 😓 lowq hate the subtitles but oh well

1. the morning after

rafe opened his eyes, finding himself in the same position as last night, where you left him. his head pounding, body heavy, eyes bloodshot, he looks around his living room. the couch he unknowingly slept on caused his back to ache.

the whole room was a mess, bottles littered the floor, the air stank of weed and piss, and lamps knocked over. last night was another typical night for him, hosting a party while ward and rose was away. his eyes trained on the clock, noting that they would be back home soon. but that’s the least of rafe’s worries.

last night, you broke things off with him, which came as a great surprise to him. he tried the best of his abilities to recall exactly what you said, despite all the alcohol and coke clouding his mind.

“it just isn’t working out, rafe. i think we should break up.”

at first, he didn’t think you were being serious. for him, he had been having a really fun time with you. turns out, the feeling wasn’t mutual at all. for him, he really thought you and him could go somewhere, farther in a relationship than he had ever gone. this realization terrified him, but throughout the months of pure bliss that was the relationship, he learned to accept it. oh, how sideways things would go.

rafe remains lying on the couch, unable to move his body. he felt your absence intensely, mainly because, you used to be the person who helps him get back into shape after a hard night.

he felt your hand graze across his face, your warm and delicate fingers contrasting to his cold cheeks. although his eyes was still closed, he could feel how close you were, your scent invading his space, your breath caressing him.

“rafe. rafe, baby, wake up,” you whispered, gently nudging him. his eyes opened, confusion evident in his expression, before calming down after realizing it was you. “here, drink this water, baby.”

he took the glass of water from your hands before sitting up and drinking it. you took the now vacant spot next to him, your palm roaming around his back, your face pressed against his bicep.

rafe downed the water in seconds, droplets coating his lips. you tilted your head up towards him, catching the beads of ice water with your lips before pecking him. before you could pull away, though, he grabs the back of your head before smashing his lips against yours, making his way down your throat, and nestling his face into the crook of your neck.

he was always like this whenever he was hangover, clingy and needy. you tried to ignore the fact he was ever only like this when he isn’t himself. you two stayed like that until the cleaners arrived.

rafe plays that memory in his head, still in denial that you are no longer part of his life. no one will ever tend to him during a hangover anymore, a reality he needed to accept, fast.

2. the post-breakup

it’s been a few days since you left him. he hasn’t been able to get you off of his head. every minute, every second, he sees you, just a figment of his imagination. he has tried, many times, to reach out, but he held himself back each time, fearing that it’ll make things worse.

he’s been moving as if he does’t exist anymore. days pass, he wakes up, eats, showers, and goes back into deep slumber. his movements doesn’t register in his mind, he works like a wind-up toy, his consciousness far away.

sometimes, if he has a short window of awareness, he would acknowledge his depression-like ways, but then your face flashes across his mind, and the process repeats.

truth be told, this breakup hits him harder than he expected. the thing he hates most is that he had no explanation from you. just a short “we’re done, rafe.” he thought you were happy because, hell, he was. he really was happy with you. happiest he’s ever been. and he knows it’s because of you.

your kindness, gentleness, and tenderness touched him right in his heart. you showed him warmth and affection when no one in his life had.

no one comes to check on him. he has burned too many bridges with the people he cares most.

the day he breaks the pattern is the day you text him. he was lying on his bed, as per usual, when his phone chimes. he didn’t even hear it, before a second one comes in. he grabs his phone without changing position.

hey, rafe.

can i come over? i wanna get my stuff.

he stares at the message, words blurring together. after a minute to digest things, he slowly got up and scoured around his rooms for your things.

your hoodies, which you kept here in case you wanted to stay over. your skincare routine, which is stored in small travel containers. your charger, which you brought here because you two kept arguing over his. your glitter tumbler, which you call your “comfort water bottle” and bring it everywhere you go. and many more.

he gathers them all, ignoring the strain on his heart whenever he finds another item of yours. he shoves them all into a box, not even glancing long enough to register what it was. that is until he comes across the one thing he wanted to forget. your blanket.

the door clicks open, signaling that rafe was home. you were snugged in between a mountain of pillows on the sofa, tv already on and hamilton filling the screen.

rafe’s heart skips a beat at the sight. you, making yourself at home at his house. this is what he’s been yearning for all his life. somebody he could come home to. somebody for him to love and love him back.

“rafe! you’re finally home! i didn’t wanna fall asleep before saying goodnight to you,” you squealed, arms opening to invite him in. he immediately drops everything in his hands and joins you on the couch, your arms embracing him. after a long hard day, this is what he needed.

you and rafe curled up together, underneath a thick patchwork blanket, one he’s sure he’s never seen before. “this new?” he asks you, face buried into your hair.

“oh! i completely forgot! i made this, look! i sewed our old clothes that no longer fit together. see, this is your old varsity jacket,” you say, pointing to the logo, “this is my old onesie i used to wear a lot when i was a baby,” your finger moved upwards towards a soft-pink fuzzy square.

he swears, his heart couldn’t take much anymore, he felt like he was going to explode from your sweetness. what did he do to deserve somebody as caring and attentive as you? whatever god he prayed to, he would be doing a lot of thanking in his lifetime.

you continued to point out and mention every single square of the patchwork, not noticing how rafe was admiring you, barely listening. “i love it, i love it a lot,” he whispers, afraid that if he spoke one more word, his throat would constrict.

you two spent the night coddled up, the tv in the background softly buzzing, with your voice humming along to hamilton.

rafe wishes more than anything to erase that memory. no, what he wishes most is to hate you, to resent you. but, how could he? if only he could only recall the worst parts of you. then, maybe this grieving process could progress even faster.

he shoves the blanket roughly into the box before carrying down the stairs and dropping it on his front porch, not giving it a second thought. he would rather die than see your face again.

3. the accidental encounter

there comes a time after a separation that you, inevitably, run into your ex. rafe has spent the last month sulking around his house, only going out to places he’s sure you would never go to. this day, though, he was forced by topper and kelce to join them at a bonfire.

reluctantly, he agreed. frankly, he was tired of being a miserable loser who mopes over a girl.

he sits on top of a hill, drink in hand, already half empty. staring down at all the people mingling, he wishes he was one of them. even with the deafening music, blinding fire, and pungent smell of sweat and alcohol, he still couldn’t take his mind off of you. what were you doing right this moment? were you thinking of him, like he was with you?

he took a giant swig of his drink before his eyes landing on somebody in the crowd. you. it seems like his body instantly knows where you are.

god, you look amazing, blissfully unaffected by the absence of him in your life — a complete contrast to him. he hated how happy you looked, how only he was suffering from the aftermath and you continued living your life normally.

as if you could sense rafe’s gaze, your head turned towards him, your eyes meeting his straight away. your eyes widen just a little, not wanting to give him the satisfaction that you’re affected by his nearness.

quickly turning your head back, you nod your head along to whatever your friend was babbling on about. you tried your hardest to refrain from facing him again, to see how he was doing, to apologize to him with your eyes.

you could still feel his eyes on you, which makes you wonder what he was thinking about. little did you know, he was reflecting on the night he introduced you to his friends for the first time, on this exact beach.

rafe’s arms thrown over your back, he lead you towards his group of friends. no amount of debating or protesting from you could keep him from making his way across the bonfire, winding through the crowd.

topper, kelce, and a few other people who often mingled with them, sat around on tree stumps, in a circle around a small fire. “yo! rafe! where the hell have ya’ been man?” topper called out, raising his beer bottle in greeting.

you and rafe stopped nearby the group, your side pressed against his. the cool air breeze blew in between your coat, making you shiver. that, and the anxiety coursing through your body. “yo, guys, i wanna introduce you to my girl. we’ve been dating for a while,” rafe declared, definitively.

he nudged you lightly, which causes you to wave and introduce yourself with a slight smile. the whole group all said their hi’s simultaneously, with no sign of disdain, which you — secretly — expected.

rafe sat down at the only available space, in between kelce and a girl you’ve never seen before, pulling you down and placing you on his lap, not caring how others gave you the stink eye. the girl beside you started chatting it up with you, jabbering on about ‘girly things,’ rafe claimed.

as the conversation carried on, rafe couldn’t help but hold on to your waist tighter, feeling unreasonably content with how easily you integrated into his friend group, how comfortably you fit into his life.

by the time the reminiscing ends, rafe’s bottle is empty, telling him it’s time to leave. he bids top and kelc goodbye, ignoring the complaints spilling out of their mouths. he trudges through the sand, leaving everything behind him, you and the memories that haunt him.

but, it seems that fate has it out for him, because as he walks out at the same time as you. “rafe,” you call out, your face regretful.

he stops, mid-step. he debates whether to completely ignore you and walk away, or to hear you out. as much as he wants to do nothing but hurt you the way you hurt him, he chooses the latter.

“you look good,” you comment, your eyes going down his figure. he was sporting his typical asshole rafe facade, which, strangely, made you miss him more.

“yeah, yeah, uh… ya’ look good too,” he slurs his words, feet swaying a little. before you could voice out your worry, he opens his mouth, “look, uh… i gotta go. yeah, see ya’.” he raises his arm in goodbye, and stumbles down the hill.

you stare at him for a little while longer, trying to swallow the feeling that he was itching to get away from you.

4. the first date

after the unfortunate meet-up, rafe decides enough is enough. he’s rafe fucking cameron. he doesn’t get hung up over a girl, he moves on to another one. any girl on the island would be more than willing, at least, that’s what topper told him. but, he decided to finally give the bartender from the club, who has been making heart eyes at him, a chance.

sofia hasn’t been able to stop giggling since they arrived to the restaurant, and it’s getting on rafe’s last nerves. she’s practically jumping on her seat, hair twirling, and subtle leg grazes underneath the table that she thinks is turning him on.

coincidentally, he chose the exact same restaurant you and him went to for your first date. or, maybe, his subconscious chose it. in his defence, the food was good and he enjoyed the overall experience. he didn’t think that it was because of the company he had.

the waiter takes the orders and sofia opts for the salmon. oh hell, what are the chances she would pick the exact same think as you did? rafe stares at sofia, his mind away, before snapping back to reality as the waiter calls on him.

after the waiter leaves, sofia wastes no time before starting a conversation. she drones on about some nonsense that you couldn’t pay to make rafe care, as he’s distracted by the intrusive thoughts of you.

“rafe! you didn’t tell me we were going to somewhere fancy! i would’ve dressed better,” you berated him, following him towards your table.

“stop, ya’ look perfect as is,” he whispered into your ear and kissed your neck before pulling out your chair. you sat down as you wondered about how this is the rafe cameron your friends warned you about.

you both ordered — salmon for you and steak for him — before settling into a comfortable conversation. he asked you some basic questions about yourself, and you answer as truthfully as you can.

by the fifth question, you grew tired of the one-sided questions. “what is this? some sort of interview? why can’t i ask you something?” you teased.

“okay, go on, ask me something then,” he smiled against the glass of his drink, “but i thought ya’ already knew everything about me from the stalking ya’ did with your friends.”

your face burned with embarrassment, having been called out. you recalled the time you and your friends stalked his profile, and your friend, god bless her, accidentally liked his post from two years ago.

“yeah, i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, sheepishly. you looked around the room, trying to think of a question that would throw him off. “do you prefer cats or dogs?” you asked, not able to think of a better question.

“that’s your question? do i prefer cats or dogs?” he mocked, “oh, that’s too personal for me, sorry. ya’ stepped over the line.”

“hey! it’s an important thing to ask someone! for me, it’s a deal breaker,” you whispered.

“it’s a deal breaker, huh? well, i better answer this right,” he pretended to think for a moment, “cats. i prefer cats.”

“oh. good job, cameron. you answered correctly,” you tried your hardest not to seem that affected by him, you didn’t want to feed into his already-too-big ego.

the food came, you two ate while continuing taking turns asking each other questions, and after rafe payed and a quick make-out session in his car, he dropped you off in front of your door.

“so, is a second date in the cards for me?” he smirked, thumb caressing your cheek.

“hm. i guess you passed, cameron. today wasn’t half bad,” you tip-toed and pecked him on the lips.

“rafe? you okay?” sofia questions, fingers snapping in front of his face, gaining his attention and pulling him out of his daydream.

“yeah, uh, i’m okay,” he nods. even on a date with another girl, he still cannot get rid of you. he curses you in his mind, willing his best to listen to sofia.

5. the anniversary

sofia and rafe has been dating for over a month, and for sofia, it has been the best month of her life. for rafe, he feels like he failed — having a girl nearby only enlarges the void of you. everything sofia does, he can’t help but compare it to you.

on the count of it being a month of dating, sofia insists on celebrating the milestone. rafe didn’t even know a month was worth commemorating, but sofia was all giddy, he couldn’t help but feel bad.

sofia planned the whole day, starting first with gifts. as always with everything in his life, rafe didn’t give it much thought. he just bought the first thing he saw when browsing through her — your — favourite boutique. after he handed her the sloppily wrapped gift, she quickly ripped apart the paper before squealing with joy, which surprised rafe with how the windows in his house didn’t break.

now it was her turn, and the effort couldn’t be more different than rafe’s. the box is wrapped in a blue and green polka dot pattern, adorned with a white bow. rafe slowly pulls the bowtie undone, while sofia restlessly couldn’t contain her excitement beside him.

he looks inside, and it’s a heart keychain. he picks it up, and that’s when he sees the writing engraved on the surface.

rafe + sofia 4ever

even before rafe could react, sofia shrieks and wraps her arms around his neck, which catches him by surprise. “don’t you love it? you could attach it to your bike keys and be reminded of me forever!” she peppers kisses all over his face.

but rafe can’t seem to reciprocate the gesture because he’s transported back to the time he celebrated his six month anniversary with you.

“okay, okay, my turn now!” you clapped your hands in excitement, having been impatient for the past week. not to toot your own horn, but what you got him is probably the best gift you’ve ever given anybody. and it most definitely tops rafe’s gift.

you hid the gift as best as you could, which was hard, given that it was half the size of you. you forced rafe to put on a blindfold, which he told you he had never had to do his whole life, and to sit patiently.

you dragged the gift, painstakingly, all by yourself and set it in front of him. at first, you wanted to wrap it, but the gift spoke for itself — and it would take a whole village to wrap it.

“okay! open your eyes!” you bounced on your feet, waiting anxiously for rafe’s reaction. “tada!” you jazz-handed, failing miserably to hide your unease.

rafe just sat there, eyes wide and mouth agape. his eyes raked up and down, almost not believing what he was seeing.

in front of him stood a golf bag, complete with clubs.

finally, rafe broke his silence, “what. the. fuck.” he stood up and ran to you, picking you up effortlessly and spinning you around. you giggled as he showered you with kisses.

“i take it you like my gift?” you grinned once he set you down.

“you’re kidding, right? i love it!” he kissed you again, this time harder on the lips. once you two separated, he touched your foreheads together, his hands stabilizing the back of your neck. he whispered something against your lips which made your heart stop, “i love you.”

this was the first time any of you said those three words, but right now feels right. “i love you, too.” how could you not? “wait, wait, before i forget. there’s still more.”

“more?! what did i do to deserve you,” he whispered, mostly to himself.

you picked up a specific golf stick, angling the club head towards him. there, on the metal surface, was your name engraved in cursive.

rafe said nothing, which made you doubt whether this was too far or not. but then, “i think i’m gonna have a heart attack.”

you laugh at his ridiculousness, shoving him lightly. he pulled your arm and tugged you into your chest. “this is so perfect. you’re so perfect,” he kissed into your hair.

+1 the moving on

it’s been slightly over a year since sofia and rafe started dating. slowly but surely, he got over you. he no longer thinks of you whenever sofia does, well, literally anything.

he no longer thinks of you when she brings him a cup of water when he’s hangover. he no longer thinks of you when the two of them cuddle up to watch a movie together. he no longer thinks of you when he passes by that one specific restaurant. in short, he’s fallen deep in love with sofia that it pushes all the memories of you out.

it wasn’t always that simple though. when they hit the three month mark, sofia sensed that rafe wasn’t into her as much as she was into him. so, she broke it off. but, rafe found himself missing her, realizing that she mended his broken heart. he groveled, begged, for her forgiveness. in the end, the only thing that would win her back is opening up to her.

eventually, rafe confided in her, about you, and about how deeply affected he was by how the whole thing went down. sofia saw how hard it was for rafe to share all of this, and it warmed her heart how he trusted her, and she forgave him.

and as toxic as it seems, that was a sign for rafe that it’s time for the next step. any other woman would run at the mention of an ex, but sofia stayed, and listened. all his friends were encouraging him, having seen how sofia makes him happy.

so, that’s why he found himself on the beach, at sunset, down on one knee, proposing. with little to no hesitation, sofia jumped into rafe’s arms, nearly causing him to stumble, and repeated, “yes! yes! a million times yes!”

little did they both know, you were nearby, watching them. your heart ached, seeing how rafe moved on, yet you haven’t. it seems selfish, you acknowledged it, but a part of you wished he never got over you. because you never did.

when sofia is busy showing off her new rock to her friends, you took the time to go to rafe. to congratulate him, you told yourself. “hey rafe, congrats,” you say behind him, causing him to turn around.

if he was shocked by your appearance, he didn’t show it. “hey! uh, yeah, thanks,” he shrugs.

“listen rafe, i know i never told you why i broke it off, and i realize how fucked up that is. so, i wanted to let you know that-”

before you could explain yourself, he cut you off, “honestly, i don’t need to know. i’m gonna admit, yeah, i was pretty hung up over ya’ for a long time but, sofia helped me get over it. she’s been the light in my life despite how shit i acted at first,” he chuckles at the thought, “but, i’m truly happy now. and whatever reason ya’ might have, i don’t care for it.”

at that, he turns and runs over to sofia, surprising her by lifting her from behind. you stare at them, not knowing that a year earlier, rafe was a completely different person — a sad, miserable guy that wanted nothing but to have you back.

truth is, you ended it because, whether he realized it or not, whenever you two were on a date, you saw how his eyes would trail towards another woman. or, whenever you weren’t around, he would subtly flirt with other woman. he may not realize it, but you did, because you paid attention. towards the end, you came to terms with yourself that it was never going to change.

and, rafe will continue living his life with sofia without knowing why you ended things, meanwhile you have to suffer with the knowledge that the man you love changed for another woman, when you desperately wanted it to be for you.

[ll7esxs]

✧ Title: Logan Friends to lovers. [requested]

✧ Characters: Teammate! any! g! Reader X Logan walker.

✧ Summary: That’s a soft burn with sharp edges type of love. A quiet storm. The man doesn’t talk much, but when he loves, it’s with his whole chest—even if he doesn’t know how to say it out loud yet.

✧ Warnings: Nothing, SFW content.

Boy, how he wishes he could just voice his thoughts to you—say everything he feels without hesitation.

Logan’s a composed man, always keeping his emotions in check, keeping his look calm and unreadable.

But inside? He’s emotional. Deeply. He just buries it well, finding any excuse to brush the thoughts off, to pretend they don’t exist—because feeling too much is dangerous for someone like him.

He's the type to notice first, but not acknowledge it.

It starts with awareness.

How you always adjust your gear with purpose.

How your voice sounds over comms.

How you move through a room like you own the space but never demand attention.

Logan notices. Always. And it quietly messes him up.

"Don't be reckless," he tells you before a solo op. You shrug it off. He doesn't.He doesn't say he's scared. He just hands you a fresh mag without a word.

He doesn't talk about it. He just... starts doing more.

And let’s just say… you don't mind his company :)

He’s not clingy, never the type to hover or be constantly in your space—but he wants to be around you. Whether it’s casual chit-chat or just sitting in silence, your presence calms him.

If you’re talkative or social? Hooray, you’re his favorite kind of chaos—because honestly, he’s terrible at starting conversations. But he’ll listen to every word like it matters.

One time, he straight-up asked if he could clean your rifles or do your job for a bit—just to help, just to feel closer to what matters to you.

He always sits across from you at meal time, no matter who else is around. That’s your seat in his world.

And honestly hesh never noticed.

Once, during a casual conversation, you said, “Yes, well, Logan walker here is my teammate”

Logan’s lips parted slightly, eyes dropping to the floor. Teammates? I thought we are… dating. :(

The doubt started creeping in again. Especially when he saw you around the others—talking, working, joking like you always did. And with Kick? Yeah, that stung more than he’d ever admit.

He hated how bitter it made him feel. He isn’t the jealous type—He just wishes he make you laugh like this since he know he is damn well boring man or whatever you think about him.

But after you shared a laugh with a teammate and walked off alone with Logan again talking about the thing they talked about, something reckless slipped out.

Logan let out a dry laugh, brushing it off like nothing. “Yeah… can you imagine? He’s taken? Kinda Ridiculous.”

But beneath the sarcasm, it stung—because that wasn’t about them at all. That was about him.

It’s not a grand moment. It’s not a near-death confession. It’s a normal day where you two are laughing over something dumb someone did.

And Logan looks at you — really looks — and realizes: You’re the peace in the storm. The thing he never thought he deserved.

He doesn’t kiss you. He doesn’t confess.

He just… takes a breath.

"If I ever lose this, I don't know who I'd be anymore."

Logan is the type to keep things bottled. He doesn’t say much, but he watches. And he notices everything about you — the way you move during recon, how precise your movements are in the field, the way you handle weapons without wasting time. He admires it quietly.

"You didn’t miss a single shot today," he says one night, his tone unreadable. You raise a brow. "You counting now?" He shrugs. "Only yours."

It doesn’t feel flirty. It feels... like respect. Like interest he doesn’t know how to verbalize yet.

❖ How He Acts After He Knows

Logan’s not awkward, but he’s more… careful. Intentional. His protective nature turns up a notch, but subtly—he won’t smother.

More present when you’re talking, eyes calm and unreadable.

Always behind you in formation, but close enough that if something happens, he’s the first one there.

Noticing your habits, your tells, and memorizing the way you speak when you're tired, stressed, happy.

After realizing his feelings for you, Logan will become even more attuned to your actions and words.

He watches how you work, your posture, your mannerisms. There’s a slight shift in how he looks at you — not just out of respect, but with a level of curiosity he tries to bury.

His focus becomes sharper when you’re around, but he makes sure not to let it slip.

If you’re cleaning your weapon or checking your gear, Logan might catch himself staring a little too long, noticing the precise way you work.

He’ll look away quickly, trying to force his attention elsewhere. He’ll brush it off as nothing, but the truth is, his mind can’t help but wander.

Logan, after realizing his feelings, would likely become even more reserved with you, at least at first.

His calm, stoic demeanor will become more pronounced because he doesn’t want to make any mistake or seem vulnerable.

The last thing he wants is for his emotions to interfere with his professional behavior, so he keeps his distance, not in a cold way, but just in a "I need to stay focused" sort of way.

During a debrief or mission prep, he might address you the same way he addresses everyone else, but he might catch himself pausing for just a fraction of a second longer when you speak.

He’ll have that fleeting moment of wanting to say something — something personal — but he’ll stay silent, pushing those feelings aside to focus on the task at hand.

Despite his attempt at emotional distance, Logan’s care will show through in small, subtle ways.

It’ll be a glance when you’re stressed, a hand just a little too close to yours when passing gear, or a silent offering of something (like an extra water bottle or ration bar) that he knows you’ll need. (also wtf im writing)

After a long day of training or a mission, Logan might say something like, "I left a spare water bottle in your pack." It’s not much, but it’s a small, quiet gesture that shows he’s thinking of you without saying anything.

Another time, if you’re struggling with something, Logan might be there, ready to assist, but he won’t press. He’ll let you handle things your way, but if you need help, he’s right there.

Logan’s feelings for you cause him to question whether he has the luxury to indulge in them.

He's a man of duty, and being in a relationship might distract him from what he needs to do — his mission, his team, the bigger picture. This internal conflict creates moments of tension within himself.

During downtime, Logan might be sitting alone, looking out at the horizon or up at the stars, his mind caught in thought. He's thinking about you, but he's also thinking about the mission, his brother, his father, the team, his responsibilities.

There’s a sense of frustration when he doesn’t know how to balance his feelings and his role.

He might even mutter to himself, “I don’t have time for this.” But deep down, he knows he does, he just doesn’t know how to make space for it yet.

Confession

The air outside was cool, a crisp reminder that despite the tension of war, time still moved in subtle rhythms. You and Logan were on the outskirts of the base, sitting in the shadow of a makeshift barricade. The rest of the team had gone to bed or was deep in other tasks, leaving you two alone, as usual.

You had finished checking your tasks, doing the usual post-mission routine. Logan, who had been quietly focused on his own task, adjusted the strap on his rifle before leaning back, looking out into the endless horizon.

He’d been distant lately, more than usual. You could feel the shift, the weight in the air between you. You both knew something had changed, but neither of you had said a word about it — until now.

"Everything alright?" you asked, voice calm but laced with sweetness. You weren't sure if it was the mission weighing on him or something else, but you could tell he was in his head more than usual.

Logan looked over at you, his eyes briefly meeting yours. There was something in them, something you hadn’t seen before — vulnerability, maybe. Or maybe it was just the way he hadn’t really looked at you like that in a while. He sighed, just enough to show a crack in his usual composed demeanor. He sat up, his hand running through his hair.

"I don't know," he admitted quietly looking down, voice low. "Maybe I’ve been… too caught up in the mission, in everything else, and I've let things... slip." He turned his head to you looking at you, you made a slight frown expression in confusion and smiling "Or maybe I just thought if I didn’t acknowledge it, it’d go away."

You can't hide the amusement when logan spoke like this for the first time with you you smiled "What are you talking about?" The underlying tension, the glances exchanged, the silence after mission debriefs. He was talking about you — about how his feelings for you had grown, and how he had tried to ignore them, thinking that focusing on the mission was enough.

"Logan, if this is about..." you started, but he shook his head, cutting you off before you could finish.

"No. It’s not about that," he said, his tone firm, but his voice was shaking slightly. "It’s about... everything. I’ve been focused on this shit, on surviving, on doing what I have to do. And maybe that’s why I’ve been avoiding this — avoiding you."

He paused for a moment, looking at you, as though weighing whether or not to say more. You could see him struggling internally, his usual calm demeanor fighting against the storm of emotions he was trying so hard to keep buried.

"I’m not good at this," Logan admitted, a self-deprecating chuckle slipping past his lips. "Talking about...Emotions. It’s not who I am. I never expected to feel anything more than just... duty. But you’ve made that harder than I thought." His words were careful, but there was an undeniable truth to them.

You didn’t say anything at first, letting him continue.

"I’ve tried to ignore it," Logan continued, his voice growing softer now, as if he was finally allowing himself to be vulnerable with you. "Tried to push it down, make it go away. But that’s not how it works, is it?" His gaze locked onto yours again. "I can’t pretend anymore. The way I feel... about you."

The silence hung between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was as if everything had led up to this moment — all the tension, all the looks, all the times he had held back. Now, there were no more barriers.

"I think about you all the time," Logan admitted, his voice steady but quiet. "I can’t focus when you're around because all I can think about is what this is, what we could be. But I’ve been too damn coward to acknowledge it."

His words lingered in the air for a moment, and despite the vulnerability in them, there was still something in Logan's demeanor that remained composed, measured, like he was afraid of the consequences of saying too much.

He exhaled slowly, his chest rising and falling as if he was trying to steady himself. He leaned forward, his eyes dropping for a second, his hand subconsciously reaching for the strap of his rifle, then pulling it back, as if physically trying to distract himself.

"But I don’t want to pretend anymore," Logan said, this time with more conviction. His voice was softer now, more intimate. "I... I want this, I want you. I don’t want to be the guy who just runs from this anymore, thinking it’s just a distraction." He paused again, eyes still on the ground. "I’m not asking for anything. I’m just telling you how I feel."

The sincerity in his words was almost overwhelming, especially given how tightly Logan usually kept his emotions in check. He was calm, always calm — but right now, there was a softness to him that made you realize just how much he’d been holding back.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just watched him, letting the words settle. Your heart was racing. You’d known for a while that the tension between you was real, but hearing him admit it, hearing him say it so plainly… it hit you hard.

Finally, you spoke, your voice quieter now, but filled with emotion. “Logan oh my god...what kept you away from saying this!?.”

Logan didn’t move, didn’t react right away. He just stood there, waiting. The briefest flash of uncertainty passed over his face, but it quickly faded as you stepped forward, closing the space between you.

And in that moment, everything fell away — the tension, the doubts, the barriers Logan had built so high. He didn’t hesitate. His hand found the back of yours, pulling you in, and the kiss was slow, hesitant at first, as if both of you were testing the waters. But soon, it deepened, the weight of the moment settling between you both, the relief of finally letting it happen.

When you pulled away, you both just looked at each other, breathless, knowing that this was the start of something real. Something that, no matter how complicated or dangerous the world around you was, was worth fighting for.

Logan’s voice, now quiet, but full of warmth, broke the silence. “I don’t know what’s ahead... but I know I want to face it with you.”

And for the first time in a long while, Logan allowed himself to feel at peace.