#but now i have seen the light. i understand now. its so freeing. you can just Not See them or their words or anything. awesome

[duskittycat]

i literally love blocking people who piss me off or annoy me in some way it's really so therapeutic

[oceantornadoo]

lowkey public humiliation kink? sugar daddy (dark) simon riley x f!reader. nipple piercings. terrible daddy kink and this is literally just smut without smut

au where you’re simon riley’s sugar baby and utterly embarrassed to be because he’s so public. insists on taking you to popular restaurants seated in a center booth, like he knows your bullies from high school picked today for their weekly lunch date. orders oysters and hand feeds them to you, licking the salty corners of your mouth afterwards before slipping a hundred dollar bill between your tits. no shadowy corners or dark bars - you’re lingerie shopping in broad daylight, eyes skittering when you see an old teacher you once had at a rack near you. it would be fine if he was your boyfriend, had some stake in the game, but he’s the puppet master pulling the strings.

“would pay a grand to see my cum on y’r tits in this, love.”

he holds a dark blue lace bra to your chest, groping you through the cups of it like he’s trying to see it fit. the store worker can only gape next to you, before shaking her head and gathering three more similar styles in your size. he’s such a dog and you can’t say no because you need the money desperately, thoughts of your previous shitty apartment in an even shittier neighborhood floating through your head.

now, you live in a high rise with floor to ceiling windows. he pays you more when you let him fuck you against them, naked tits against glass as the rough feel of his denim grinds into your ass with every thrust. there’s no clear rules with him, not anything like you’ve seen on sugar baby forums and tip sites. he doesn’t give you an amount for each action, simply an overstuffed envelope on the table when he eventually leaves.

“how much to get these pierced?” he pinches your nipple through the bikini top you’re wearing, interrupting your relaxed suntanning on your apartment balcony. “simon.” your frustration bleeds into your lack of forethought. he raises an eyebrow by a hair. “say that again, baby?” you bite your lip and look down, already regretting your mistake. “i’m sorry, daddy. you caught me off guard.” he grunts. simon tugs your tit out of its nylon confines and tugs it this way and that in the sunlight, pinching like he’s imagining a piercing. “didn’t answer my question, pet.” you question where your limits are. if you even have any at this point. he’s bulldozed through every wall you’ve put up, but his money and sheer presence protects you no matter what. sure, you’re topless on your balcony, but he bought you the penthouse so no one above you could see.

what can he give you that you don’t have? any debt has been paid, retirement accounts funded, enough clothes and bags to last a lifetime. you want something immaterial, some proof you’re not like the others.

“i want exclusivity. and i want to know where you’re going when you’re not here.” his hands don’t stop, moving to your other breast to free it as well. it’s somehow more obscene to still be wearing your top, tight fabric pushing your hardened nipples out like you’re presenting yourself to him, asking for attention. “can’t tell ya where i go, pet. got lots of enemies, matter of security.” you frown at the rejection. his hand moves to the soft expanse of your stomach, groping the fat there like playdoh. “ask f’r somethin’ else.” he doesn’t mention the exclusivity. you don’t want to ruin it by asking again.

“i want to see you shirtless.” you murmur. he always fucks you with his shirt on. t-shirt, button-up, wifebeater - it doesn’t matter. he’s stripped you down to his own personal puppet and you want something back. “after y’r tits heal, maybe.” you frown harder as his hand slides down to cup your cunt. there’s a wet spot on the light pink fabric of your bikini bottom and he presses it into you. you keen, arching at the sensation. “since i can’t play with your tits, you’ll wear no clothes when i’m home. understand?” he taps your cunt to get your attention. you want to protest but his dark brown eyes are so forceful, beating you into submission.

when you get them pierced (by a handsy man named johnny who insisted on ‘checking for lumps’ five seperate times while simon grunted in the corner), simon insists on cleaning them for you. he makes you open your mouth and hold a bill there on your tongue while he cleans them. you only get to keep them if you don’t make a sound while he touches the raw area, saline solution dripping between your tits. it’s pocket change and at this point money is immaterial, but you want to please your daddy so badly.

a few weeks later and his non-answer to your exclusivity question rings in your head incessantly. it’s there when he stops mid-fuck to take a call and when he sits you on his lap facing forward while he spreads paperwork on your bare back. he’s been “called in” (whatever that means) and is counting cash when you finally give in.

“daddy?” simon grunts, eyes on his wallet. “you never…” you trail off, suddenly unsure. abandoning his cash counting, he drops a black card on the table before turning to you. you’ve been naked all week but suddenly feel exposed, stripped bare. “spit it out, baby. time is money.” against your will, you roll your eyes at his joke. “now that i got them pierced…you never answered when i asked about exclusivity.” he approaches the chair your huddled on and tilts your chin up with a gloved finger.

“you’re the only girl i pay, pet.” you swallow hard. “and what about the ones you don’t?” his eyes search yours, looking for something. “don’t have any tha’ i don’t. got tha’ in y’r pretty ‘ead?” you nod eagerly, ignoring the slight burn in your tits as they bounce. “yes, daddy.”

“good. buy y’rself some toys when im gone, don’t wantcha too eager when im back.” there’s no bite in his tone, so you grin eagerly.

“bye, pet.” he pulls you in for a messy kiss. you’ve give it as good as you can, saliva connecting your lips as you part. his eyes track it as it falls down your bare chest. you open your legs a bit, giving him a glimpse of the wetness between them. “bye, daddy.”

“fuckin’ minx.”

-

follow for notifications: @tornadoowarning

originally made this about john price but slimy rabid simon is my favorite. i had a dream about sugar daddy john (mainly from this fic) and then this was born (i’m PMS horny)

also pls take care of your piercings

[sunsherbet]

Car Kisses

In which you finally kiss your outrageously adorable best friend.

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

CW: brief mentions of food, unedited

The high-top table was cluttered with empty appetizer dishes and half-drunk iced teas. You and Spencer had been here for an hour or two, working through as many small plates as you could manage.

It had been nearly two months since you’d seen him. He'd been buried in back-to-back cases, and you hadn’t had the chance to sit together like this in forever. Now, as the moon started to rise, you felt blissfully content. Your stomach was pleasantly full, and your cheeks ached from how hard and often you’d been laughing all night.

“Do you want a ride home?” Spencer asks as he places his card on the tab.

“First you pay for dinner now you offer me a ride? Careful Spence, I’m gonna start thinking you’re trying to proposition me.” You laugh, taking his offered hand to hop off the bar stool.

“If a man ever tries to proposition you with the bare minimum give him my number.” Spencer glances at your entwined hands curiously but doesn’t brooch the subject. You know you should drop it but when you laxen your grip he tightens his.

You grin teasingly, “Ah and you’ll handle it will you?”

“What’s with the face! I’m an FBI agent!” Spencer makes an indignant noise.

“Mhm and what exactly will you do, Doctor? Give him a strongly worded talk about the probability of them getting a second date?”

He pushes the door to the bar open and leads you out into the winter air. “Or maybe I’ll let them know that I possess an... extensive understanding of how to get away with murder.”

The wind whips across your face, and you raise your free hand to shield your eyes from its biting sting. Spencer quickens his pace so that his body blocks the wind, his hand reaching back to keep yours gently entwined.

“They will laugh in your face Spencer, you’re the least intimidating person I’ve ever met!” You call out over the whipping wind.

He clicks the car to life and you see the red lights shine through the foggy night. You sigh in relief as the warm vehicle gets closer and closer to view.

Spencer opens the passenger door and you shove your skirt inside the door before he gently closes it. Damn was it too cold to have a skirt on right now.

He slides into the driver seat and turns your face to his, seemingly set on finishing your conversation, “For you, I can be anything.”

You try to stammer out a response but all you can manage is a weak nod.

Spencer holds your gaze for a moment longer, and you take in the sight of your incredibly attractive best friend. His hair has grown since you last saw him, soft curls now resting around his ears. His face is a mix of sharp and soft features, with high cheekbones and a gentle jawline. His amber eyes, framed by long dark lashes, draw you in.

“Damn it’s cold.” He blows into his hands before flicking the seat heaters on.

Maybe it's the way his slightly-chapped lips form an 'O,' such a subtle gesture yet it sends a spark through you, making your thighs involuntarily clench. Or perhaps it’s the slow, undeniable burn you've felt for your best friend over the past few months, a longing that’s been quietly building until now, finally taking hold of you in a way you can no longer ignore. You grab the hand that was previously in yours and pull him over the console and into your lips.

He rears back slightly in shock, lips parted and eyes wild and searching yours for the reason for such a change in behavior.

You’d give him an answer if you had one yourself. You don’t, though, so you tug on his collar once more in response. Spencer meets your gaze with a curious look, but then something shifts in his eyes—something deeper, something more intense. Suddenly, his hand gently cups your jaw and he pulls you closer, melding his lips with yours in a kiss that feels both familiar and new.

The kiss is slow at first, tentative, as if neither of you quite knows where to go from here, but the warmth of his lips against yours sparks something inside you. His thumb traces the curve of your jaw, coaxing you into the moment, urging you to let go of everything else. You can feel the pulse of his heartbeat against your chest, steady and sure, and for a moment, it's just the two of you—no questions, no doubts—only the soft pressure of his lips and the quiet electricity building between you.

Spencer smiles against your lips and suddenly you actually believe that he could be anything you need him to.

[fairyminnie444]

𝕷𝖆𝖜 𝖔𝖋 𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

му ρσѕтѕ ✮⋆˙

your subconscious is simpler than you think it is

you are NOT persisting if you are checking 3D and waiting for you DR!

you don’t try to manifest

Embodying the reality of your imagination

Manifesting is instantly

how should I see the role of other people in my reality?

ENDING the cycle of main frequent doubts that arise in our minds once and for all

“At your command”

EIYPO explained for you to understand and absorb

do you sometimes have that feeling that you NEED TO DO SOMETHING/TAKE ACTION to receive what you want?

“BIG” manifestations

What’s the “secret”?

Why You Can Change Your Physical Appearance and Overcome the Limitations of Biology

Why Others’ Manifestations Can’t Block Yours

I already know everything!! How do I apply this to my routine?

The “Sabbath State”

Yes, it’s perfectly okayyyy if you forget or get distracted by your routine.

affirmations to make it easier and “faster”

the ultimate post u need to LET GO

understanding your EGO so you don’t let it hold you back anymore

how to feel your desire in a natural way even if it seems unlikely?

even a negative view of circumstances can lead you to a positive one

manifesting $100,000 is as easy as manifesting $1

you already understood that! you are already there!

𝕔𝕙𝕠𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕕𝕖𝕤𝕚𝕣𝕖 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕟𝕖𝕘𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕔𝕚𝕣𝕔𝕦𝕞𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕤

manifesting is supposed to be fun, light and easy!

~bad moments~ along the way happen, instead of ignoring them how to deal with them?

Act like the GOD you know you are.

Breaking Free from the Need for Proof

࣪˖ ִִֶֶָָ࣪☾.࣪˖ ִֶָ𝓐𝓢𝓚𝓢 ࣪˖ ִִֶֶָָ࣪☾.࣪˖ ִֶָ

i want to increase my height

what if my desires stay in imagination ans never externalize?

can we manifest multiple sps?

time travel (2)

What if others also try to manifest my celebrity sp…

how do you/did you convince yourself that manifesting/LOA is real

dealing with the 3D when it comes to using LOA (living in the wish fulfilled)

doubts affect my manifesting?

How does one take a very famous person « off the pedestal » in order to manifest them?

I want to change my birth name but i have to sign documental stuff

How I could live in the end when revising smth that if materialized would totally change my live in the 3d?

SPEC method

will it still manifest what we want even if we don’t have a clear picture on it?

I need help with my imagination.

how do i know if it's just taking its time or if i'm doing something wrong?

Can you go deeper into days/weeks of the 3D not changing and how to persist throughout the whole day when you're doing things?

What are your thoughts about getting back people who have p@ssed away? REVISION

YT Channels (sub, meditations, mentors)

I want to manifest the absence of something I've been experiencing for a long time (health and wellness related).

work on my self concept / deal with people who criticize or make me feel drained

simple breakdown to help you manifest your SP even if it feels delusional right now

trying to manifest a modeling career

manifest changing appearance and dna, but i also want to change my past to always have been this appearance and my parents too

everytime i think something is "never going to happen" or "hmm i've never seen xyz" it ends up happening?!?!

How can I manifest when I absolutely don't believe that I can?

how can i use daydreaming and listening to songs while manifesting?

someone asked me about my sp. what should I do in this case?

why is consuming more information about this law considered to be coming from lack when doing something in the 3d that "opposes your desire" not considered to be coming from lack?

I have too many things to manifest so what should I do? advice to me in harsh way

struggle with is my celeb sp and my dream job

how would you manifest hectochromia eyes?

EIYPO everything like a puppet and me it’s master pulling the strings? Does it mean that “ancestors,” “angels,” etc. are not existent, only me?

Why Some Manifestations Work Effortlessly

advices for manifesting with mental disorders

can manifest such extreme beauty that everyone in a shopping mall turns to look at me. Even though I'm not the standard and I'm common

I’m manifesting a new face, but visualising it doesn’t make me feel anything?

how do i make sure that happens for certain? i'm scared it won't

What do you think about manifesting being immortal?

+ tips on manifesting a bf/significant other

struggling with feeling the feelings and believing that it’ll happen.

I can never manifest anything related to MONEY purely

date with the guy I like However, I am a very physically insecure girl and I am too scared and nervous.

i dont know what i did wrong, i really thought this would work, i was sure about it but it didn’t and i can’t helped but feel discouraged

I have a fear that some of my manifestation will dissapear

If everything we are seeing in the 3D is assumptions we made through our life, why does sometimes when we are like 100% sure of something and then we figured it is not?

was confident, my affirmation was "no matter how and what, i have all A's" but alas i did in fact not get all A's.

i WANT to see a people who actually manifested things that changed their past, their reality

i wanna manifest more lenient parents

I’m religious so I believe in a higher power/god, but I do still believe in my own power/ Will this hinder my manifestation process because I believe in a higher power?

What am I doing wrong? SP related

how can i.. like manifest or just "undo" it??

I want to manifest my natural hair color being blond, but i have black hair and also my parents, do i have to detail everyone in my family who is blonde for my new genes?

I feel like I can't anymore, that I'm giving in… I feel stuck

i’m really confused in the living in the end thing and others things in my manifestation

I simply want to be like those people who are successful in curing their illnesses

what do you recommend me doing to change my birth year while not ignoring the reality and still living in the end?

Can our negative thoughts manifest if we think them for a long time and then stop thinking them?

How to use chatpgt to clear doubts and manifest

Tips for beginners

why do some people's jokes manifest if they don't assume those jokes are true?

how to stop paying attention to old failed attempts

How do you deal with hopelessness or desperation.

i’m scared that my fears will manifest itself and it’s out of my control

waiting mode

I feel guilty wanting to manifest

I try to live in the 4D but catch myself expecting the 3D to immediately reflect it

࣪˖ ִִֶֶָָ࣪☾.࣪˖ ִֶָ PART 2 ࣪˖ ִִֶֶָָ࣪☾.࣪˖ ִֶָ

[pseudowho]

Daylight Robbery

Gojo Satoru likes when other men stare at what they can't have...but maybe he's underestimated Nanami Kento.

Warnings: 18+, cucking, I actually like Gojo so please don't misunderstand me 👀

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

When a cuckoo visits a nest, he brings a most precious treasure, places it amongst others like it (but not exactly like it), and leaves.

And this is, of course, the most crucial point; for he does leave, and takes nothing with him.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Oi! Nanamin. I've got a favour to ask."

Nanami Kento stood, abruptly, looking at his watch and flapping his newspaper shut-- "My, my. Just look at the time."

"Don't be that way-- Nanamin, come back-- it's about my girl."

Nanami stopped, his hand upon the door handle. Gojo's smirk grew fast, grinning wolfishly, a squirm of possessive pleasure unfurling in his belly and his cock.

"Thought that might stop you...yeah, I've seen you looking. Can't have her though, right? My girl."

Of course, he had looked, at first, Nanami thought, his fingers on the handle. He had looked upon you, in all of your finery-- those glittering smiles, the rubies upon your lips, the marble-carved touches, so deliberately and exquisitely formed. Only after your heart and the life of you, had granted you animation, had Nanami then watched, now art in motion, art with a story.

"You can have her. If you want."

Nanami maintained his composure. Barely. He turned to face Gojo, stern and impassive.

"For one night, and one night only."

Ah. I see. You would like that, wouldn't you.

"And I get to watch. What do you say?"

A dozen questions flew through Nanami's mind, and none of them for Gojo. Nanami's cock twitched now, despite himself, calculating on bated breath.

"Sure. I'd like that. Tonight? Tell her to wear something...comfortable."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You'd only have said yes to Satoru, for the other guy to be him.

As he stepped into Satoru's bedroom, gracing you with a gentle, reassuring smile, you softened, feeling so exposed and foolish in your lingerie. You glanced over at Satoru, barely lit in the dark, fingers on his temples with one pinched between his teeth, the other hand grazing lightly over his already hardening cock.

Nanami stepped over to you, sat on the bed and looking up at him with the tiniest glint of fear. His hand reached out, strong and soft, and cupped your jaw, brushing a thumb over your lips.

"I thought I said something comfortable," he chided without malice. Your lips parted just-so under his thumb, the briefest flick of your eyes towards Satoru, a half-hearted shrug and an awkward smile. Nanami snorted, derisive.

"I understand you," he purred, leaning down to you, both hands cupping your face as he whispered against your ear, "remember...you're in charge, darling, and I am entirely at your disposal."

"Nanami...I-- I don't know...where to start." Kento hummed, nodding, his thumb moving to stroke your cheek. Despite his outward self-control, your face was directly in front of his groin, and you could see a bulge, huge and heavy, under his tan trousers.

"Kento," he insisted, "please. After all...if I treat you as well as you deserve...it's my name you'll be crying out tonight. Not your boyfriend's."

Satoru shuddered in the chair in the corner, smirking, a hushed clink as he undid his belt, reaching down to hook his long, pale, pink-tipped cock free of its restraints. His hand reached down to cup his balls, rolling and fondling them in his palm, until beads of pre-cum began to dribble onto the neat white hair leading down his belly.

"F-Fiancé," you corrected, captivated as Kento's arms moved to bracket you, nosing at your neck, the shell of your ear, hips nudging you up the bed until you settled, feather-light, on sinking pillows. Kento huffed lightly.

"Yes. My apologies. Your fiancé." You were splayed beneath him, helpless as a kitten. Satoru was tall, and big, but...nothing like this bronze Adonis above you. Broad and mountainous, Kento's shoulders rolled, his breathing getting heavier, whiskey-brown eyes drunk on you. It was just he and you in the room, you were sure. And you felt so...safe.

"Well, then," Kento hummed, one hand reaching under your back to unclasp your bra, deft and dexterous, "I'm going to treat you like it's your very first time. Please, tell me if you want me to stop."

"Don't." You urged, swallowing a sigh of relief as your corseting bra unclasped, "Don't stop," and Kento's eyes smiled at you.

"Is that better?" He whispered, kissing your forehead with such tenderness, you could have wept. Kento felt the way you pressed up against him, thrilled, roiling with such righteous rage at your misuse.

If Satoru had not been so captivated by the way Kento trembled with restraint above you, at the way your nipples pebbled as your bra was pulled softly from your body, he would have felt the fine thread of uncertainty that ran through him, as Kento treated you like spun sugar.

Used to dulling himself, Satoru gripped his cock, sighing and cursing as he stroked himself slowly, reaching to the table beside him to grab a bottle of lube, pumping it over his twitching cockhead.

Hearing the little wet sucks of Satoru's hand, masturbating himself with practiced strokes, your head tipped to watch him, teeth gritted and hungry as he watched you graze your hands over Kento's thick, corded biceps.

"Get on with it, Nanami," Satoru sniped, "or do you not know what you're doing with a girl like her? Scared I've ruined her for you?"

You blushed, moving an arm up to cover your face, as Satoru teased you both. Kento shushed you, removing your arm, pressing a kiss to your inner wrist before plaiting his fingers with yours, calm, confident and ungoadable.

"She's a rare gem, it's true," Kento answered, more to you than to Satoru, "and certainly not one that could be ruined by something so...insignificant." You felt a hot appreciative surge in your belly, so overwhelmed by the want in Kento's eyes, by his advocacy of you. His thumb was brushing over your lip again, eyes flicking between your mouth, and looking deeply into the heart of you.

"I'd kiss you," Kento whispered, "but only if you wanted me t--"

All at once, you grabbed Kento by the tie, pressing your lips to his, your first drink after a month of summer, tangling your fingers into his blond hair. Kento grunted against your mouth, pressing his body down onto yours, letting you lead the kiss, but guiding you into unexplored waters. You waded through them, calm, exotic and unfamiliar.

Kento kissed you with all the warmth and precision he had promised. Each time you tried to push the kiss further, he held you warmly back, controlling your desperate haste for your own sake. He pulled away from your mouth, a fine string of spit connecting you, and you seared at his refusal to use you, your breasts untouched, pussy untouched, so virtuous. Kento's mouth sucked at your neck, leaving his mark, subtle and inconspicuous, as he spoke to you.

"Would you like to undress me?" He offered, your hand still clutching his tie. You felt like you'd been given a gift to unwrap.

"Yes," you pleaded, body thrumming with the need for his skin on yours, "god yes, I--I'd love it. I love--...yes. Please."

"Good girl."

Kento continued to lap at your skin, his hands now ghosting over your hips, the soft plush of your belly, the dimpling in your thighs. Your hands shook, never thinking for a second that you could be edged by something as simple as removing Kento's tie, unbuttoning his shirt; simplicity made erotic. By the time you had pushed his shirt off his shoulders, caught on his brown leather harness, your irritatingly stringy underwear felt tight, wet and clingy with your own arousal.

"How wet are you, baby? D'you think he can fuck you as well as me, hmm?" You jumped at Satoru's voice from the corner. Hesitating to answer, unsure if Satoru would like what he heard, you chose silence, whimpering softly as Kento's tongue moved over your breasts, achingly close to your sensitive peaks. Satoru's breathing came ragged, watching another man devour you, just so he could wrench you away after...his hand gripped the base of his cock, twitching and wet, gasping with the effort to not spend himself all over his belly.

Your fingertips ghosted over Kento's harness, thoughtful. Just as Kento was about to graze his lips over your plump nipple, he stopped.

"You like it? My harness?" He chuckled, his hand rising to brush over yours, still fingering the brown leather. You bit your lip, nodding. Kento understood fully; in moments, he had stripped his shirt, replacing the harness only. You almost melted at the sight of him above you, buckling the harness over the front of his pecs, his own nipples being grazed by the tight leather press.

Kento watched you shudder, taking your hand, stroking it over the leather, down his belly towards his belt, feeling the veins of his V-line tracking down to his cock. Your mouth watered, and Kento shivered as your fingers tickled just beneath his belt.

Not breaking eye contact, Kento lowered his mouth back to your breasts, resuming as he pulled your nipple into his mouth, moaning around you at the sweet yielding softness. His tongue traced you so gently-- too gently, for the relief you needed.

"Harder-- please, Ken..." Kento acquiesced, ever your servant, as he drew your nipple deeply, the pleasure tangy and sharp as your nipple grazed the roof of his mouth, his thick fingers kneading and rolling your other breast. Your hips bucked up against nothing, and you whimpered in despair, no longer used to such ceaselessly tender foreplay. Your hands tangled in his hair, trying to push his head down your body, and Kento mumbled, voice husky and rumbling against your spit-wet nipple.

"Where do you want my mouth?" Before you could answer, Satoru interrupted, his voice low and feverish, working at his balls again with one lube-wet hand, flicking at his own nipples beneath his white undershirt.

"Eat her out, Nanamin. I want to see how fast you can make her cum...or, if you even can." Kento smiled at you again, soft, not rising to the taunts, casting an embargo on the forced air of toxic masculine competition.

"Let me know...if it's too much," Kento offered, his mouth kissing down your belly. As he reached your underwear, all silky straps and ties, Kento paused, tongue grazing just above them.

"Do you like these?" He asked, sincere. You bit your lip, mortified at having been read like a book.

"No," you whispered into the back of your hand, too quiet for Satoru to hear, "not really."

Kento hummed. His strong hands gripped your underwear, snapping one side at a time. Satoru groaned at Kento's fractured restraint, his thighs and back prickling with the edge of his orgasm; "Oh fuck, baby...you see how bad he wants you? Shit. Gonna look so beautiful with his cock inside you...get on with it, Nanamin."

Kento knelt above you, removing the scrap of your underwear, tossing it aside to his shirt. He looked down at you in reverence, his fingertips grazing past the puffy lips of your pussy, to dip his fingers into your wetness, lubricating himself with you. As Kento brought two fingers back up to gently pinch your clit, rolling it between them, he sighed, whispering again at your mewls and cries.

"Beautiful...gorgeous. You take as long as you need."

Kento undid his belt, chest straining against his harness, abs and pecs twitching as he fingered you with devastating expertise. He had imagined you like this so many times, mathematic in his fantasies, calculating how he would orchestrate your divine undoing. His free hand undid his belt, lowering himself to his belly as he rucked off his trousers, boxers and socks, his desperately aching cock now sandwiched between his abs and the bedsheets.

When Kento removed his fingers from your clit, you shot up on your elbows to look down at him with a cry of remand. Your breath caught at Kento gazing at your slick on his fingers, dipping them into his mouth, long pink tongue licking them clean and shivering at your taste.

Satoru's head pressed back against the chair, arching into his hand with a breathless laugh; "Doesn't she taste good, Nanamin? Don't worry...I'll finish her off, if you can't get her there." Satoru didn't know how much longer he could keep going, his cockhead a deep, angry pink, balls tight and full from almost spilling into his hand so many times, determined to outlast Kento. The thrill of the chase consumed him in holy fire.

Kento's eyes twinkled at you, unflappable, chuckling at how you bit your lip down at him, embarrassed by him tasting you with such enthusiasm. He chuckled as you covered your eyes again, nuzzling your inner thigh as you giggled, sharing a moment of companionable silliness. Kento broke it swiftly, dragging you out of your wall-breaking moment, by nuzzling his nose between your folds, and you gasped, moaning, high and long.

Kento had built you up with such precision, that by the time the tip of his tongue slid between your folds, flicking from side to side to part them and lay claim to your neglected bud, you came with a jolted cry, one hand clutching the pillow behind your head, the other entwined in his hair, pressing his face down into your bucking sex.

"--oh fuck-- shit, baby, are you serious? For Nanamin, huh? Fff--fuck-- so fucking beautiful." Satoru was shaking now, competitive bile rising in his throat, sorely tempted to throw Kento off of you, jealously coveting you in a way he hadn't earlier.

Satoru yanked his balls away from the base of his cock with a stilted growl, gripping himself, staving his orgasm away. He wouldn't waste a single drop of his seed until he could throw Kento out, and show you how a real man could fuck you. Kento knew the rules; he could not stay after to watch, and he could not spend his seed inside you. That privilege was Satoru's alone. Satoru ripped his blindfold off with a hiss, tossing it aside, staring into you and Kento and seeing you both in his own unique completion.

Kento wrapped his forearms around you, looped over the top of your thighs, licking you softly down from one orgasm, nuzzling you until you trembled, before lapping you back into his lips, and beginning to build you again, delicate, piece by piece.

"Kentooo-ooooo...aaahhhhh--put your--put your tongue in me-- please please pleas--"

Satoru almost ejaculated untouched, hearing you beg and twist under Kento's hungry tongue. He could see Kento's euphoria from your taste and twitches beneath his tongue. He could see the way Kento subtly fucked himself against the sheets, denying himself, and looking so cool about it, but still undeniably just a man.

"Shit-- baby-- see the way Nanamin's fucking our bed, huh?...fuck, why wouldn't he-- taste so fucking good, should we even let him fuck you, hmm?"

As lights and stars fell in your vision, rutting your clit against Kento's nose, his tongue licking as deeply as he could penetrate inside your cunt, you wondered faintly, that Kento was not fucking you, but making love to you instead. You felt wholly possessed, worshipped.

With Kento at your altar, you revelled, divine and cumming over, and over, and over, lost in some blissful fever-dream. Time lost meaning as he made you fluid beneath him.

Satoru moved to stand, and, still with his face between your legs, guiding you down from another orgasm, Kento raised one impeding just-a-moment finger to Satoru. Satoru's breaths were ragged, and he released his grip on the arm of the chair, moaning weak little moans as his aching cock sat, sore and in desperate need of something softer than his own hand.

Kento kissed his way back up to your mouth, face cupped, swiping the tears from your lashes with his thumbs.

"What do you think?" He whispered, teeth nipping at your tilted throat as you panted and shivered beneath his touch, "Can I give you what you want, goddess?" You nodded, short and incoordinate, and Kento could have burst with covetous pride to feel you hook your legs up and around his back, urging him, inviting him in.

Kento growled, feeling his leaking tip ghost the puffy tight wetness of your entrance. His breath caught in his chest, pins and needles all over his hips and cock as he bit back his orgasm, his brain fighting him with the image of you with his seed dripping all over your folds.

"Like it's your first time," Kento repeated, dipping his thumb over your tongue, groaning in approval as you sucked it, doe-eyed and supple and desperate to taste him, "I'll be gentle...I promise." You shivered, born anew as he began to press his cockhead inside you, both of you balanced on a knife's edge.

Satoru could have wept; your insistence on Kento taking you in missionary, of all positions, shielded you from his view, Kento's cock about to penetrate you behind the plush of your thighs.

"Stop," Satoru ordered, voice rasping, dry, clipped, "I'm here to watch, and you're here to do as you're fucking told, Nanami."

Nanami caught how your face twisted in frustration, anger at having been interrupted. He rose one hand to plait with yours again, licking your jaw as he stroked his cockhead between your folds, teasing your clit, shivering as he slyly encouraged you to give him a pussyjob. You mewled, feeling a hot dribble of pre-cum over your clit, dripping down towards your entrance.

"I only follow one person's orders here, Gojo," Kento rumbled, pressing his slit over your hard little bud, wiggling them together with a hiss so your most sensitive spots slipped together as puzzle pieces for a moment. You felt yourself, shaking like a leaf, feeling such copious amounts of Kento's arousal seep out around the seal his slit had made over your bud. You felt dizzy, clutching Kento's beautiful, clenching arms.

The centre of your world focused so entirely on Kento, you had placed yourself into the palm of his hand, aching for him to control you in a way that was so thoroughly in defence of you.

"Besides," Kento said, pressing his cock deeper now, husky as he felt your tight, gummy walls suck him in, "you should watch her face instead of her pussy...it's the best part."

Satoru whimpered, moaning as he fucked up into his own fist, lube splattered onto his groin, white hair wet with fluids; all for the look on your face as Kento bottomed out, thick and long and filling you with his oozing perfection. Your jaw fell slack, eyes dewy as you drank in Kento's muscular form, still bound by his brown harness. You sobbed with relief at the blissful stretch of his cock within you.

"So good...not too big for you, sweetheart? So brave...move yourself around my cock when you're ready."

You gripped Kento close, your arm round his chest and gripping his harness from the back, face buried into his chest. Your sob of relief at having been filled, threatened to grow into full tears at the exquisite beauty of being possessed with no selfishness. Kento felt you, one enormous hand tangled in the back of your head, the other leaning above you, intertwined with your free hand.

Kento was stock still, mumbling into your hair, kissing your ear, as you rolled your hips upwards, sweeping your slick pussy up and down his length, fucking him as he caged you in. Kento cursed, sweating and groaning, the leather of his harness creaking as his chest strained against it. His brow furrowed, and he cupped your hip in one hand, guiding you to keep sliding your pussy around his throbbing cock, rutting deeply down into you to meet your thrusts.

Hearing your gorgeous little mewls at Kento's blunt cockhead kissing your cervix was Satoru's last straw. His hand stuttered around his cock as he threw his head back, his orgasm hurtling over him with force.

"--agghh shit-- no more, I can't-- fuck you Nanami, you piece of--piece of shit--" Satoru's seed spattered over his belly, dripping down his hand, cock and balls as he groaned, interrupted by breathless, fractured gasps. He watched Kento's hips pick up pace, and watched as you pressed your forehead to his, all honey-rich and sweat as you panted into each other.

Kento couldn't have cared less about Satoru's jealous spitting, for he was wholly possessed by a primal urge to take you, and make you his. He kissed into your belly with his cock, gasping, feeling your walls clench around him, milking so much pre-cum from him that he shook, hot and thirsty, grunting against your clamouring lips.

Kento locked your ankles behind the small of his back, tipping your hips back into a press, pushing you past your pussy's limit to take any more of him. He rutted into you hard, barely pulling back, bullying your spongy walls with savage attentions, fully feral.

"--come on, girl--such a good girl, gonna--ahhh fuck gonna--hold--hold onto me--"

Taking full advantage of Satoru's dopey post-orgasm laxness, Kento pushed himself past the point of no return, loving you greedily and with no intention to share. Kento felt his balls tighten up, his seed loaded and ready to spill.

Satoru realised a moment too late; "--Nanami--pull out--don't you fucking dare--"

Kento came with a bark, feeling his cum start to pulse into you in long, thick spurts. Satoru darted forwards, still messy with his own cum, still half-dazed. Kento slung out an arm, his fingers fixing round Satoru's throat as he grunted, deep husky moans as he continued to spurt inside you, Kento's face the picture of serenity and rage.

Fingers gripped tight around Satoru who stood, teeth bared and considering murder, Kento came down from his high, panting, still rutting lazily into you. You lay, euphoric and full of thick cum, so sticky that it coated your inner walls, clinging to your slick pussy, barely leaking out as Kento pulled out.

"Sorry," Kento huffed, voice uncharacteristically light, "not sure...what came over me. You know what it's like, Gojo."

Kento released Satoru, reaching down to swipe your hair from your eyes, his own amber and affectionate; "Want me to run you a bath?"

You laughed softly, trying to cover your blushes. Satoru gripped Kento by the shoulder, throwing him back. Kento stepped smoothly into it, still looking longingly into you like Satoru was less than the most fleeting of irritations.

"Shut the fuck up, Nanami. Get out."

Satoru climbed over you, pressing you back onto the bed. Feeling his once familiar, adored body and kisses felt so curiously alien. As if you had been overwritten by something so much...more.

Satoru mumbled sweet nothings into your throat, restraining and possessive, as he lined his cock up with your entrance. A core instinctive knowing took control, and you closed your legs with an odd finality.

As Kento did up his last button, you looked to him as his eyes caught yours, fire burning within. He stepped away with a gracious nod, and with the click of the door, your stomach fell.

For Kento had left something behind, blooming within you, and took a part of you with him, pocketing something which you would surely be obliged to follow.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

It took Satoru many years to accept his own mistake. He did not accept it, when you told him you were leaving him. He did not accept it, when Nanami opened his doors to you and your suitcases, in the wee small hours of the night. He did not accept it as he watched you bloom, belly round and full with Nanami's growing seed, Nanami's hand overlaying yours, holding you and your baby. He did not accept it as he saw something between you and Nanami, that he had never felt between himself and you.

His mistake, was that Nanami Kento would not partake in cuckolding.

For Nanami Kento was not a cuckoo at all, but a thief, of the highest calibre.

[revelboo]

This is a sandbox storyline- basically a story starter anyone can play off of. No set Transformers universe here so any partner or partners goes- you want to romance BW Wapinator, IDW Megatron, and TFP Ratchet? Go for it. The premise? Cybertronians trying to find a human who's a compatible match to their sparks and biofields (bit different than my normal stuff, where here, a match needs to be made to be able to bond). Due to how severely endangered their species is, the factions are cooperating even if there still is palpable tension. The agreement is to lure potential matches onto a massive cruise ship where they can interact as their holomatter avatars with their real forms stashed in the hold. Flirting, chatting up, and romancing humans they're drawn to with the intent to reveal their true forms when the cruise stops at its first and only port of call. An isolated island.

If you want to play: no minors in any context, smut is fine, dub-con/forced seduction is okay, but anything beyond that is a nope. Pick whatever characters you want from any TF continuity and carry on the storyline. You can do next/previous like I do and reference this starter if you want, but you don't have to. It's free real estate since it's a very old fic I haven't touched in forever and it probably wasn't getting touched again ever otherwise, so have fun.

Cruise ship concept inspired by Swim Away by themaskismyface on Ao3

Cybertronian Cruiselines

Squinting up at the massive ship as the sun bakes you, people move around you up the walkway alone or in small groups. And some of your doubts ease a bit seeing the ship up close, because you'd honestly assumed it was a scam of some sort. The brochure that had come with your ticket had indicated it was a fantasy cruise. That you could roleplay and romance crew members as funny as it sounds.

Rounding a corner, you run into a queue of people and the cause? The two tallest men you've ever seen. One's mostly silver hair is swept back from an almost sinister, scarred face and red eyes that have to be contacts sweep over the crowd. The other one's hair so dark a black it almost looks blue in the sunlight, his eyes startlingly bright. Yeah. You absolutely understand the backlog now. Everyone gawking at the eye candy on display. That one with the contacts, his eyes almost glow with a feral light, lips twisting in annoyance. And that duster he's wearing looks too hot for the heat, his shirt halfway unbuttoned to show an expanse of tawny skin and tucked into tight fitting jeans. His buddy's shirt stretched tight over a broad chest as he smiles and reaches to hook a finger against his tie, tugging slightly.

"Welcome to the Iacon. I'm Optimus and this is my co-captain Megatron," blue eyes says, his deep voice easily carrying over the whispers. "Please get settled so we can set sail without delay." And he's sweeping an arm to get people moving in the right direction.

Glancing at the two hunks, you follow the crowd, pulling your luggage with you. If the entire crew is that lovely? You're going to have some fun. The ramp enters into an expansive main area, and your neck cranes to try and figure out how many levels there are above you. Never seen a ship this big before. Everything gleaming gold, cream, and glass. Looking far too bourgeoise for you to set foot in or touch. And it looks like the entire cruise line crew is right here, mingling and drifting among the guests. Men and women both and there doesn't seem to be any real dress code going on that you can tell. The only way to tell the crew from the guests is the lack of luggage and the little pins they're wearing. Little colored badges that look like funny faces. And there's multiple versions it looks like. Showing what their duty is, maybe?

"I can't believe that the future of our race lies with these pathetic creatures," Megatron growls, watching the humans wander up the ramp to the ship, fingers flexing in irritation at this indignancy.

Shooting him a censoring look, Optimus watches the humans go. "The strong should protect the weak. Though, these forms do take some getting used to." Rolling his shoulders, he rubs his fingers together, playing with the sensory net and the sensations that feel as real as if it was his own servos touching.

"It's a miracle humans have survived as long as they have," Megatron mutters. No claws, no fangs. Disturbingly squishy and weak, and still very determined to murder each other from what he can tell. Shuddering slightly, he growls as more of them head their way. To come gawk at him. But after centuries of failed attempts to create a hybrid or artificial spark? Their numbers are dwindling. This is the last, best option and he despises it. And as carefully as they selected humans to invite, he can't deny the dread that maybe it won't work. That the medics and scientists got it wrong and this is all a waste of time. That Cybertronians can't be saved. Head turning, he sees Autobot and Decepticon avatars crowding the railing, leaning to watch the humans that might be their salvation with open curiosity.

Annoyed when he sees several head into the ship to greet the humans. And to get close enough to see if any of them trigger reactions to their biofields. Oblivious little organics smiling and gawking at them as they're fussed over on the pretense of getting closer. Because that's the game here. A fantasy cruise where the crew, his people, cater to the human guests' whims, trying to find a compatible partner. It's horrifying that they've sunk this low.

[stinkysam]

Choi Subong “Thanos” - No regrets.

Warning : canon typical violence, death, blood, drug use.

Genre : angst

Synopsis : Thanos, your friend of a few years, finds you after the green light red light and asks you to team up with him. Nothing bad can happen, right ?

Reader : male (you/yours)

A/N : bold is in English // 500 million won = 342 000$ // "No winner" was an exception so idk what this one is…

You have known Thanos for a few years now and you quickly became vital for each other, like attached to the hip and somehow along the way, feelings began to bloom, though neither of you ever acted on them.

Not that he’s shy, far from it, he even would’ve asked you out the second he realized his love for you. But then he remembered how badly the Korean people could react to a public figure coming out as queer, making it harder for him to reach his goal to become a popular rapper in Korea, no, the whole world.

So he waited, and waited, hoping to move on. But you were constantly with him, maybe he should’ve stopped inviting you at the rap contest he was participating in or his few concerts, cheering for him with his fans.

Moving on was hard, if not impossible.

Then, during the finals of the show he was participating in, he forgot the lyrics to his rap and lost. And it kept going downhill, to the point of losing everything on crypto money and being indebted of 500 million won more to the already big debt he had. Not seeing an end to it, the relentlessness of life with his feelings, dreams, and means, Thanos walked to a bridge, considering jumping before a man approached him to play a game of ddakji.

And so he found himself in a strange place with hundreds of people and armed guards with masks.

He thought he’d just have to play the games and win and waltz out of here debts free, but the stakes were higher than what he had thought after seeing the pretty player 196 die from a headshot after moving during the green light red light game.

Starting to panic, he popped a colored pill from his cross and swallowed it, waiting for its quick effects. He didn’t have to wait much and within a minute he was running dancing with a big smile on his face, even pushing to death three people before him.

It’s after the 5 minute timer that he saw you, catching your breath with wide eyes as you looked around in shock. What the fuck just happened ? You had some blood on your face and clothes, yet, Thanos still found you good looking, the blood not disturbing him.

He approached you, pushing anyone on his way and without waiting for you to notice him, he began to talk.

“What are you doing here ? You have debts ?” He said, tapping your shoulder.

Your eyes widened again at the sound of his voice as you looked at him, blinking surprised.

“Huh ? T ?” You said as he posed at the sound of his nickname. You had seen him on the screen earlier, but you didn’t expect to actually find him here.

“Das me, yea.” He posed one last time before continuing speaking. “How much ?”

“Huh ?”

“Your debts.”

“Why would I tell you ? You didn’t tell me how you lost all your shit.”

“Crypto money.” He replied without missing a beat.

You blinked at him, surprised, and pointed at him.

“You… too ?”

“MG Coin got you too ?” He looked at you with an equally surprised face.

“What ? No. Who ? I’m just shit at understanding how it works.” You robbed your forehead, remembering with irritation all your actions that led you here.

“Yeah and you’re fucking stubborn, I can see you trying and trying even after losing multiple times.”

“I don’t want any comments from you, didn’t you do the same ?”

“Nope ! Went all-in. In one go !” He said, moving his hands around as if to look cool.

You sighed before letting out a small laugh.

“This isn’t a contest but I feel like you’re winning and not in a good way.”

He smirked clearly not caring about your last words, he had won, that’s what mattered.

“Wanna play together, my bro ? I already have a small group, I can squeeze you in.” He asked, crossing his arms before raising one hand in the air, ready to dap you.

“Sure, what’s the worst that could happen ?” You replied, dapping him.

Since then, you stayed with Thanos and the group he made himself. A fan, a new friend that he kept butchering the name of, a shy guy and a cool girl.

The games weren’t easy even if it made you remember your childhood, but even with death flying around all of you, Thanos and soon Namgyu made things less intense.

The third game was over and you had survived once more. Then as planned the vote of the day came but ended in a tie to which the square guard told everyone another vote was coming but to take a break before it would start.

A lot of people from both sides went to the bathroom while you stayed on one of the beds of your now reduced group. The cool girl and shy guy had voted X, no longer wanting to play the games, and the fan, Gyeongsu, was dead, so only you, Thanos and Namgyu remained. But after 5 long minutes you started to wonder what was taking them so long to just take a shit. So you stood up and asked to be let out to go to the bathroom, a guard accompanying you.

As you finally approached the door, Minsu rushed out, running past you. Then you heard commotion and as you opened the door…

Chaos.

Everyone was at each other’s throat, punching, kicking and hitting one another.

You saw Thanos on player 333 as they strangled each other while he cursed in both Korean and English. Quickly you went to grab him, wanting to get out of here as fast as possible, but Thanos swiftly pushed you away, making you land on your ass.

As you moved and tried to stay out of the way of everyone you noticed player 333 pulling a silver thing out of his pocket and planting it in Thanos’ throat. You yelled, trying to get closer but before you could grab him, player 333 had stabbed him a second time before pushing him away and hiding inside the toilet stall, locking it.

“Fuck !”

You grabbed Thanos, cursing to yourself, and hid in the second toilet. His hand was shaking against his throat, holding the fork, blood spilling between his fingers. You moved his hand, placing yours instead, trying to stop the wounds from bleeding.

You had tears in your eyes as you began to panic, his were wide as he tried to breathe and cough out the blood, choking on it.

“Fuck dude !” You cried out, you could feel his heartbeat on the palm of your hand. “Why did you do this when I’m not here !”

You pulled him closer, shaking, his head resting on your chest as he continued to choke, his heartbeat slowing down dangerously.

“You fucking dumbass.” You didn’t know what to do, your favorite person was dying and you couldn’t do anything to help him.

He looked at you with horror as he realized what was going to inevitably happen, one hand grabbing your arm while the other went to your cheek, trembling, weakly caressing it, smudging blood on your skin.

“I” He managed to get out, coughing up blood on himself and your clothes, struggling, looking at you, scared. It was now or never, he thought. “I lo- …yo-” He tried to articulate, though panic, blood and pain were making it difficult.

You let out a frustrated yell before planting a kiss on his forehead.

“Fuck you, Subong ! Tell me when you survive this ! You can survive this, right, it’s just a fork ! Don’t fucking die, man !” As you cried, your tears fell on his face as slowly his eyes lost their light.

His heart had stopped beating, his hands falling to his sides. Thanos was no longer shaking and struggling against you but blood was still pooling by your hand and clothes.

You closed your eyes, his dead ones looking right at you. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Your body kept shaking as you held him tightly against you, too scared to get out, waiting for the fight to stop, for everything to end.

When it finally died out, you heard a knock, making you jump.

“Who’s that ?” You asked, your voice hoarse, quiet, it was evident you were still crying.

“Me. Namgyu. Is he… ?”

You unlocked the door, wiping your tears quickly, putting Thanos’ blood on your face inadvertently.

“Shit !” Namgyu kneeled, hands moving against Thanos’ shoulders. “That fucking MG Coin…”

And then, he pulled the fork out of his throat, from between your fingers, more blood gushing out. It almost made you puke in your mouth.

“For revenge.” He said with a weak smile, carefully hidding the bloody fork in his clothes. “Do you think… I can take this too ?” He pointed to the big cross Thanos had around his neck. “It’s just- You know…”

He gave you another small smile before unlocking the necklace and taking it before you could say anything. You didn’t have a good reason to stop him anyway.

“Once it’s empty, give it to me, okay ?” You finally said and he nodded slowly.

Then the bathroom door creaked open, the guards were there. Big guns and human sized black boxes to take in the casualties.

“Come on, let’s go.” Namgyu said quietly, pulling you by your elbow.

You didn’t want to leave, not ready to abandon Thanos’ body. But you had to, so you closed his eyes before slowly getting up as you laid him on the stained ground. Namgyu held you close, helping you walk away, the others followed you quietly, escorted by the armed guards.

When you entered the lobby, defeated and mentally annihilated, Namgyu immediately alerted the others of what had happened while you slowly realized you were drenched in Thanos’ blood, with no possibility to shower or change clothes. You felt sick, and while people approached as the two groups began to argue once more, you sat on Thanos’ bed, eyes empty.

Now, you really wanted out.

[pazziescapism]

Break Our Ice - Chapter 2

pairing: paige x azzi

wc: 4.2k

tw: light sexual content, alcohol

au fic what??, figureskater!Azzi x icehockeyplayer!Paige

fake dating, just like playful banter teasing relationship to lovers, basically paige and azzi dancing around each other

a/n: okayy let go, we're back. firstly thank you for all the interest in this fic, i was afraid it'd be a little boring. i may not be able to update everyday but i promise to aim for at least a chapter a week. as always, let me know what u think and feel free to send me reactions. also, i wanna preface this and say i have never written anything remotely sexual for wlw so if its kinda choppy...hopefully that'll just improve with time which is why i kinda skimmed it over. anyway happy reading!!

“What the fuck” Paige says that following weekend, starting at Azzi’s belly piercing, as she climbs into her car. “You understand we’re going outside, right? Like where other people are?

Azzi looks down at her outfit, frowning slightly “Yes? What’s wrong?”

Paige doesn’t move, even though she had been the one texting Azzi to hurry up. Azzi looks down again, trying to see where the issue was. She’s wearing a dark grey skintight long sleeve that cuts right above her midriff paired with some grey sweatpants.

“I thought it was cute,” she says, “like casual and comfortable or something.”

Paige makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat, Azzi was right, it was – it was also a myriad of other things she could think of like hot, sexy, beautiful, gorgeous - and that was exactly the problem. “No, yea it is, I guess I’ve never seen you not in athleisure wear before.”

‘So, I don’t need to go back in and change?” Azzi asks.

Paige looks physically pained by the suggestion. “No, definitely not.”

“Okay, so can you tell me what we’re doing now?” Azzi asks, as Paige starts her car.

“Yeah,” Paige says. Her hand comes around the passenger seat as she looks behind her and reverses, her arm stretching behind Azzi. Whatever she says next flies right over Azzi’s head and is lost entirely as she watches the subtle flex of Paige’s biceps, pale skin bulging just slightly. Azzi’s mouth feels dry.

“-and it just feels like it’s not going well,” she hears Paige say once the arm is removed and she tunes back in sharply.

“What?”

Paige sends her a questioning look that Azzi’s gotten used to the last few days. “This whole thing- we just are really not good at it”

“Oh” Azzi says, and lets her head fall back against the seat. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

Jayden, who’s stopped by twice over the last three days, is clearly suspecting Azzi of lying. The only thing keeping him from accusing Azzi outright is probably some sick twisted urge to catch her in the act, vindicating himself forever in the process. Azzi isn’t sure how many more questions she can nervously stammer out fake answers to until she ends up contradicting herself in a truly catastrophic way.

The situation was so terrible that Sarah had turned to Azzi before leaving the locker room yesterday and said, as casually as she were asking about the weather, “Are you and Paige pretending to date?”

Azzi had spluttered; the water she had been drinking threatening to drip down her chin “We- I can’t-”

Sarah had only looked at her, like Azzi was a partially strangled insect she held trapped in a jam jar. “You aren’t very good at it” she had added, killing any sort of response of Azzi’s denial.

“We’re practicing” Azzi had said in response even though her pride stung a little to be caught on by a seemingly new freshman.

“You both seem a little uncomfortable.”

Azzi hadn’t even known what to say to that and had eventually mustered up a defensive, “We’re still working on it”

“The pretend relationship” Sarah had said, as though confirming.

“Yes.”

“Ah well,” She had said, vague and incomprehensible as usual. “No one laps before learning to swim.”

The strange exchange had been weighing on Azzi’s mind for hours afterward.

The problem is that Paige is a really, truly, exceptionally bad liar. And Azzi, who is meant to cover for that, hasn’t been in a serious relationship since the age of fifteen. To her slight embarrassment, she’s forgotten what dating someone even looks like, much less how she should act in a relationship. Much less how to act when she’s pretending to be in a relationship to someone she’s actually incredibly attracted to. The whole thing is beginning to seem like self-inflicted torture, a slow bleeding-to-death kind of torture.

“it’s fine,” she says, like she’s said the last three days, “we’ll get it eventually.”

“I think I have a solution.” Paige says, making a right turn that would have sent Azzi careening through the side of the car, if not for her seatbelt. “Oops, sorry, anyway I think we just have to get to know each other better.”

“Know each other better” Azzi repeats dubiously.

“Yes, exactly” Paige says. She parks with a screeching of tires and turns to Azzi with the battle-ready focus of a military general. “I’m going to pick up a pizza. You go into that liquor store and get something for us to drink. We are gonna get drink and figure this out tonight.”

“Ah wait-” Azzi says, but Paige is already heading into the pizza place.

Azzi sighs and walks into the liquor store. Twenty minutes later she walks out to a baffled Paige that she needs to come inside with Azzi and vouch for her age so that the man behind the counter doesn’t confiscate her ID.

Then she patiently waits for Paige to stop laughing.

By the time they get the pizza and their drinks back to Paige’s apartment, its six in the evening and the sun has set.

“I’ve never seen your apartment before,” Azzi muses, standing at the entrance as Paige unlocks her door. “But your building is nicer than mine.”

The apartment is nicer than Azzi’s too. Bigger for starters, with huge windows in the seating and dining areas that make it seem more spacious than it is. The space is setup to entertain, enough chairs to seat any number or people, complete with matching soft plush cushions.

“It’s weird seeing you this quiet” Azzi says, watching Paige lock the door behind them. “Are you getting nervous or something?” Azzi giggles staring at the giant television hung on the living room wall.

Paige playfully shoves Azzi's back, pushing her forward. “Trust me, I’m not. I just haven’t had anyone here in a while...”

Paige brushes off Azzi’s questioning glance as she sets up the pizza and glasses, pouring their drinks and taking a seat on her expensive looking carpet, leaning against the couch as she eats.

Once they’re several drinks in, the empty pizza box lying between them, Paige gets up and comes back with a sheet of paper. Azzi can make out her handwriting going all the way down the page.

“Is that a list?” Azzi asks, taken aback. “Are those all questions? Did you write me a list?”

“We’ll start easy” Paige says, a little flushed.

“Hang on, this can’t be an interrogation” Azzi interjects as she plucks the piece of paper from Paige’s hand.

“Favourite colour?” Azzi asks.

“Purple.” Paige nods in response.

“Okay favourite animal?” Azzi follows up.

Paige winces “I don’t know?” 

“What do you mean you don’t know your own favourite animal?” Azzi asks, exasperated. “it’s just which one you like best, which one do you like best?”

“Can we do the next question or something”

“No,” Azzi says firmly. “What’s your favourite animal?”

“I don’t know!” Paige protests. “I never think about it. What’s yours?”

“Dogs” Azzi says immediately, and Paige nods.

“That’s a good one. Okay, that my favourite too.”

Azzi stares at her, and Paige stares back gleefully. That jawline is ever as sharp, and her blue eyes are looking directly into Azzi’s. Life is worth living after all.

“Fine,” Azzi snaps, petulant. “What’s your favourite ice cream flavour?”

Paige smiles innocuously. “I don’t know, what’s yours?”

Theres a moment of silence, Paige smiling, chin tilted down, looking up at Azzi innocently and Azzi’s squinting stare is fixed on her. Then Azzi pulls a cushion off her couch and throws it at her, and Paige bats it away breaking into laughter.

“Paige” Azzi complains, but she’s laughing too. “You can’t just steal all my favourites! Are you twelve?”

“Don’t ask me such stupid questions then!” Paige says, still laughing.

“You were the one who wrote these questions to begin with” Azzi says falling back into the couch as she buried her face in the cushions. 

Paige stands up to look down at Azzi still flopped into the couch her hair slightly messier than normal.

“What? Azzi says, adorably confused with her one incredibly adorable dimple peeking out.

“God” Paige says, mournfully. “You’re kind of a loser, huh?”

Azzi shoots up pulling Paige to fall on the couch with her, shoving a pillow over her face.

They abandon the questions after that and start a movie instead. Azzi complaining about Paige’s poor hospitality until Paige caves and pours them both new glasses. The movie starts to play, both of them siting appropriately on two separate couch cushions as some men in suits start fighting on the screen. Ten minutes through the movie, Paige’s glass is empty and she’s starting to migrate closer to Azzi. Squirming until Azzi is squished into the narrow spot between Paige and the arch of the couch, Azzi’s legs swinging over Paige’s lap, Paige’s arm coming up to encircle her.

This is Azzi’s favourite, she decides instantly, when Paige is all around her, and all Azzi can smell in any direction is her Valentino cologne, and they’re pressed up so close together that Azzi can feel her chest rise and fall with each breath. She’d forgotten, at some point, what it was like to be so close to another person, so that her space became their space, their breathing evening out into the same rhythm. 

“Paigey” she says, not looking up from where a man in a suit is now yelling something on the television. “I can’t lie, you’ve really broken through all the walls I know I normally have up, its honestly a little scary…so we’re friends now”

Azzi continues to keep her focus on the screen although whatever that’s playing is truly the last thing she’s thinking about right now as she can feel the heat of Paige’s stare on the side of her face. Azzi doesn’t look at her, so Paige resorts to having the hand on Azzi hip squeeze a little. Suddenly, Azzi is glad for the darkness, so that Paige can’t see how her face flushes at the fondness of her gesture. She leans her head on Paige’s shoulder. She thinks about kissing her. Azzi is once again suddenly very aware that she could be kissing her right now, could be pressing her tonged against that chiselled jaw and those pink lips, yet she isn’t.

She’s honestly still considering it when Paige kisses her.

It’s exactly the kind of kiss Azzi would have expected, except its better because its real, because its flesh and blood moving underneath her, warm hands holding her jaw gently in place.

“What” Azzi says, pulling away slightly, her breath coming heavier than it should be, “are we doing?”

Paige smiles at her, a little crooked, her face a little red. “I thought that part was clear, honestly.”

Azzi is fairly sure she should move away. Its only that she can’t really remember why in the moment.

Azzi is really terrible at denying herself she realises a little later.

“It’s fine” she says, panting slightly. “We are just two adults. Two adults pretending to date. If anything, it’s just convenient” 

“Right” Paige agrees, though she doesn’t seem to be paying much attention, her hands slipping down Azzi’s back to squeeze at her ass, fingers tightening in a grip that is almost bruising, making Azzi gasp. “Can I take your shirt off?”

Azzi shifts where she’s kneeling over Paige’s lap and leans back away from the hot mouth on her throat.

“You first” she says, pushing up ineffectually at the grey hoodie Paige’s wearing. She only succeeds in wrinkling it, until Paige makes an impatient noise and pulls it off herself, exposing a long stretch of lean but muscled skin. Azzi groans overwhelmed and thrilled all at once. Paige’s already got both hands up Azzi’s shirt tracing over her ribcage, the feeling making Azzi shudder.

The urgency doesn’t disappear, not when Azzi pushes away to breathe, not when Paige gasps a shaky exhalation into the curve of Azzi’s neck as she rolls their hips together. Not when she Paige lays Azzi down on the cough looking up at her through her thick eyelashes with her eyes dark, and hair messy, making Azzi whimper uselessly into her hand and Paige pushes a finger into her.

Afterwards, with sweat cooling, tacky on both their skins, Azzi reaches down off the couch and grabs the sheet of paper Paige had brought in, now lying discarded on the floor.

“Did you handwrite all of these” She asks, amazed, pushing Paige’s face away with a hand and she tries to take the paper back. “Stop that I’m reading this.”

The questions range from general- her favourite colour, music artists- to Azzi-centric; questions about the routines she likes to perform, how she met Caroline and Kaitlyn, where she practices when not on the rink. Azzi’s jaw goes progressively slacker as she looks through the list, floored by how much attention Paige has been paying to her, how much interest she’s taken in in her, somehow keeping her unaware of it.

“Careful, or I might start to think you like me after all, p” Azzi says lightly, hoping it distracts from the obvious affection she’s sure must be inscribed all over her face.

“You asked me for help” Paige says, apparently giving up on trying to grab the sheet back. “I wasn’t going to half-ass it.” Azzi shifts to look at her and nearly falls off the narrow couch space they’ve squeezed themselves into, far too small for two athletes. Paige’s arms come up fast, pulling her back up, shift so Azzi is halfway on top of her, their legs tangled together.

“Do you ever half-ass anything?” Azzi asks breathlessly.

“I’m a whole ass kinda person,” Paige tells her, and her hand strays lower from where its resting on Azzi’s back, as if to prove her point.

Azzi ignores this, as well as she can with the heat flooding her face. “Since you made the list, it’d be a shame to waste it,” she says, and passes Paige back the paper. “You can ask three, and then it’s my turn. Make them count.”

Paige doesn’t seem inclined to play along, lethargic from sex, her eyelids drooping over her eyes. “I though you said they were stupid questions” she says, “what happens if I don’t answer?”

“I’ll kill you” Azzi says, then amends. “For every three you answer, I’ll give you a kiss.”

Paige’s eyes snap back open. “Is that a reward or a punishment?” She grumbles, but she’s already holding the paper up, scanning the list for questions.

Two questions later, Paige has learned that Azzi’s favourite move to incorporate into her routines in a Bielmann spin – lifting one leg over her head- and that she has two younger brothers.

Paige clears her throat, not looking up from the list “Last one- why’s that Jayden guy so obsessed with you?”

Azzi furrows her brows. She didn’t remember seeing that one on the list. “Not sure,” she answers anyway. “Jayden used to live somewhere in Europe. I only met him about a year ago, when he came to help out with the business and rink.”

“Did you not get along?” Paige asks, Azzi shakes her head.

“Actually, I though he resented me at first, for taking so much of his dad’s attention because he’d never talk to me. He only got weird later.”

“So you didn’t date or anything?” it’s a casual question, thrown out as a follow-up but there’s something sharply honest in Paige’s voice that makes Azzi look up at her.

“That’s been two extra questions” she points out. “But no.”

Paige smiles, a little sheepish, and lets the paper drift off the couch and onto the floor, calloused hands cupping Azzi’s cheeks.

“Here,” she says, her hands moving to the side of Azzi’s face. “I’ll make it up to you”

Their first kiss (and a few following that) had been harsh, frantic. Teeth digging into lips, hard nails digging into flesh, desperate kisses followed by fumbling fingers.

This kiss is softer, sweeter. A hello, I’m home kiss and a goodbye, ill miss you kiss and a baby, you made it kiss. Azzi presses a little closer, small sounds leaving her lips, trapped between their mouths. Paige kisses her like she’s trying to memorize her, mapping out the spots that makes her melt, until half-formed whimpers are pushing their way out of Azzi’s mouth, tingling heat tracing its way up her spine.

Azzi pulls away with a wet sound that’s almost embarrassing. Paige’s lips are kiss-red, slick with spit and slightly swollen.

“If you keep doing that” Azzi says, her voice raw, “We’ll never get though that list.”

She must look similar because Paige’s eyes are heated as she scans Azzi’s face. “We’ll have time,” she murmurs, and pulls Azzi in again.

Azzi is in the midst of trying to get her key in the lock of her apartment, the only light to see by two small lamps on either side of the door. She keeps missing the lock, her hands a little shaky, scratching up the sides of the metal, creating loud noises every time she messes up.

“Well, well, well,” Caroline’s voice says from behind her, “look what we have here.”

“Don’t listen to her” Kaitlyn says when Azzi turns around. The two of them are standing in the doorway of Kaitlyn’s apartment, right across from Azzi’s, “Do your walk of shame with pride.”

“Caroline why couldn’t Kaitlyn live in your apartment complex.” Azzi says, more to the area at large than either of her friends. “Do I deserve this?”

“What has innocent Azzi been up to, coming back a little dishevelled?” Kaitlyn coos, ignoring her.

“It’s late you know” Caroline adds, faux disapproval lining her voice “you have practice tomorrow.

“Are you my parents?” Azzi asks snidely. “One of you come get my door open for me”

Kaitlyn steps forward and takes the key from her, unlocking the door, then entering Azzi’s apartment before she herself could even get in.

“Go on,” Kaitlyn says, taking a sea on her carpet, uninvited. Caroline sits next to her, both of them peering up at Azzi. She feels a bit like a kindergarten teacher. “Tell us about your date.”

Azzi makes indistinct grumbling noises and flops down beside them, cross-legged on the floor. Her socks are two different shades of black, she thinks, staring down at her feet.

“She’s stressed about her crush,” Kaitlyn whispers conspiratorially to Caroline.

“I don’t have a crush on her,” Azzi says, wincing. “That makes it sound so middle school.”

“Oh, sorry,” Caroline says, not sounding very sorry at all. “What would you call it? A lust-induced apoplexy?” 

Azzi stares very firmly at the carpet. Nice long wiry fibres in her carpet. “I don’t know. I think she’s hot, yeah. I like to make her a little angry but that’s just attraction (and maybe for attention), you know? I have eyes, so obviously I’m attracted to her.” 

Her voice trails off. Paige’s carpet was plush. You couldn’t see each individual rug fibre in it, like you could with Azzi’s. It probably cost a lot more.

“She’s a good listener too,” Azzi continues, “Better than you’d expect. I mean, you’d think she was a total musclehead, but she’s really smart. And she remembers things I say, like even small things. I like talking to her. I don’t know what you would call that.”

 She finally looks up from the floor, hoping to see some understanding, maybe some compassion in her friends’ eyes-

As Kaitlyn and Caroline struggle to contain their laughter, “You guys are the worst friends known to man” Azzi complains.

Caroline does not look particularly offended by this. “Sorry. We get caught up in the moment.”

Azzi stares. “‘The moment’ being the moment that my life choices start falling apart before my eyes?”

“Your life is always falling apart,” Kaitlyn says soothingly. “If I waited to have sex until you were free from crisis, I would still be a virgin.”

Azzi stares harder. Caroline pats her head, ruffling her hair. “There, there. Do you want a hug?”

“No,” Azzi says, pushing her hand off. 

“So, was the date good?” Caroline asks, raising her eyebrows. “Are the fake girlfriends now real girlfriends?”

“No!” Azzi says. “It was, you know, it was casual sex.”

Silence rings in Azzi’s living room.

“Uh-oh,” Kaitlyn says, muffled from behind Caroline’s hand. 

“You’re terrible at casual sex,” Caroline says, dropping her hand away. “Azzi, you are seriously bad at casual sex.”

“Azzi,” Kaitlyn says, horrifically sympathetic. “The two times you have tried to have casual sex have gone terribly. Please tell me you aren’t trying this again.”

“Tell a girl you want to die in her arms one time, and you get branded as bad at casual sex for life,” Azzi says. 

“It was two times,” Kaitlyn corrects, which is unhelpful. 

Azzi tips her neck backwards, stares at the patterns on her ugly ceiling. It had actually been three times, but she’s not going to volunteer that information. 

She had taken a cab home, alone, despite Paige’s slightly tipsy attempts to come with her. She had kissed her goodbye at the door, breathless and giggling, peppered small kisses across her face the way she had wanted to earlier, and then gotten in a cab and come home alone, pink with the rush of it.

“Third time’s the charm?” She tries instead. It doesn’t seem to be a comfort to anyone, much less herself. 

“It’s fine,” she says into the quiet. “Seriously. I’m not jumping into anything.”

Unbidden, an image of Paige’s face- smiling up at her, emotive and all, her hair splayed out against the carpet- flashes into her brain.

“You’re thinking something stupid,” Kaitlyn says, squinting at her. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“Don’t you have a house you need to go back to?” Azzi answers, tetchy.

Azzi’s sitting on a bench pulling her skates off of sore feet when Paige finally approaches her the next day, worn out after a long practice. Her fingers are trembling the lacing remaining stubbornly tight despite her efforts.

Its only when Paige steps in front of her and kneels to the ground taking Azzi’s ankle in one hand loosening the ties with the other that Azzi even notices her presence.

“How long have you been here?” she manages to ask her head feeling tight and too full, stuffed with cotton.

“A while” Paige says and adjusts her grip to pull the first skate off. “You’re really good.”

Azzi smiles, “I know.”

Paige finally looks up at her, blue eyes locking into her with a sort of amused irritation. “Of course you do.”

“Hey,” Azzi says, as Paige stands back up, passing her her skates. Paige looks down at her, and Azzi feels that awful shyness again, making her want to duck her head, hide behind her hair. She resolutely maintains eye contact. “About, I mean, you know. We can, um, keep it casual. The whole thing, I mean, we can just have it be, you know, part of the, um, situation.”

She’s babbling, unsure of what she’s saying or what she’s meaning to say, too afraid to break eye contact, as though Paige will disappear forever once she does. 

Paige smiles at her. “Do you want to add sex to your little rules list?”

“It’s not a rule,” Azzi says indignantly, the nervousness slipping easily away from her body. “It’s just, you know- if you want to.”

“Trust me,” Paige says, endearingly quickly. “I want to.” 

Azzi takes a second to process that, struck by the easy honesty, and then buries her head in her hands.

“Hey,” Paige says, nudging Azzi’s head with her hand. “You good?”

“You’re adorable,” Azzi says, lifting her face back up, slightly more heated than she would prefer. “I can’t stand you.”

She had meant to create some distance between the two of them today, a pre-emptive measure before the fluttering feeling in her chest became too big for Azzi to handle. Except, Azzi was beginning to realize that she missed Paige when she wasn’t around.

She had created a space for herself in Azzi’s life, so easily and quickly, filling an emptiness she hadn’t even realized was there. 

She’s still looking at Paige when a familiar figure brushes into her periphery. Jayden’s still got that terrible coat on, long and sweeping his ankles, heading towards Azzi like he’s got an agenda. One that involves asking Azzi multiple jagged little questions, that Azzi will inevitably have no answer for.

“Fuck,” Azzi murmurs, and grabs Paige’s elbow to yank her in front of her, a last-ditch attempt to hide herself. “Jayden’s here, pretend we’re, I don’t know-”

She cuts herself off when Paige sits down on the bench beside her, her back to the door, her face hovering next to Azzi’s, her hand covering the curve of Azzi’s jaw. 

The kiss is quick, a fleeting touch of lips that leaves Azzi wanting more, her eyelashes fluttering shut and then back open to where Paige is still so close to her. 

“Is he still watching?” Paige murmurs, lips against Azzi’s skin. An unpleasantness twists under Azzi’s skin, an unwelcome reminder that they’re only putting on a show.

Her eyes dart over Paige’s shoulder, to the entrance of the rink. It’s empty.

“Yes,” she lies, and pulls Paige’s face back towards her.

[fel-09]

A Woman who can't drink is a disaster 18+

Pairing: tommy Shelby x reader

Warning: Alcohol consumption ,Content 18+

Author's note:The only thing I did badly was the ending, because I could have written it much better. And I want to sleep

She doesn't often get drunk, but when she does, she turns it into an art form. Alcohol dissolves in her blood, softening her movements, making them smooth, graceful as a cat's, and yet completely reckless. Once she's had a couple of drinks, all her restraint goes to hell: she becomes talkative, sarcastic, unbearably free.

Thomas hates it.

He hates the way she absent-mindedly shakes the glass in her fingers, lazily watching the amber liquid play. The way she squints her eyes, trying to remember a word, and wrinkles her nose when her memory fails her. The way he stretches out the words, as if savoring them, and then finds a special pleasure in it and laughs, throwing back his head. He hates even that laughter itself - too sonorous, too lively, too frank.

He sits across from her, exhaling blue smoke, but he can't help but stare. Catching every gesture, every curve of her lips, every drunken sigh. He can't bear to see her gradually lose control, her guard dulled, and the world around her become nothing but a haze.

She doesn't belong to him, but at times like this it feels like she belongs to something else-this warm, clammy, foggy state that alcohol draws her into.

And that makes him angry.

Because she has to be edgy, defiant, sharp as ever. Should respond to his glances with equally barbed ones, full of hidden challenge, but now-now she's different.

And yet he doesn't take his eyes off her. Because even so - insufferable, drunk, unceremonious - she's still the one who keeps him in suspense.

And the funny thing about all of this is that she, on her fifth binge, decides to teach him.

Okay, he can understand it when she's sober when she's telling him her grievances. When she says, with her usual sarcasm, that he should be friendly once in a while, or, for example, "don't barge into the house like a torpedo". These are her words, her quotation, thrown to him once with an irritated wave of her hand when he came in too sharply, too impetuously, too ... Shelbyesque.

But now--now it was different.

Now he was looking at a woman who could hardly stand on her feet, who was lazily running her finger over the rim of a glass, speaking in a stammering tongue, talking nonsense. He doesn't even listen to what she's talking about. At first he tried to catch the meaning, but quickly gave up. At some point her speech became so ridiculous that even he, who had seen everything, became annoyed.

Thomas nervously lights a cigarette, taking a deep drag, one hand resting on his hip as if trying to keep himself in reality. He doesn't know what to do with her. Completely.

Chase her away? She'll only laugh.

Leave her here? Tomorrow she'll accuse him of being heartless.

Try to calm her down? It's ridiculous to even try.

He looks at her sideways, slowly exhaling smoke, and she, all in her drunken philosophy, doesn't notice his murderous stare. She keeps on talking. Something important, I guess. Something important to her.

And he--and he just doesn't know where to put this woman anymore.

And then it finally hit.

A phrase that would scar his mind forever. A phrase that made him wonder if he had made some fatal mistake when he let this woman into his life.

- Did you know that if you put a frog on a drum set, it becomes a musician against its will?

Thomas froze. Just froze in place, unable to even inhale. He stared at her, blinked once, then again, but the words still didn't make sense.

And she, satisfied with her thought, continued, finishing him off:

- "And anyway, someone looked at the cow first and decided: "I'll milk this one."

It was too much. It pressed on his psyche harder than war, than business, than any betrayal.

He took a nervous drag on his cigarette, feeling that a little more and his sanity would simply refuse to take it.

She opened her mouth again, but he raised his hand sharply, cutting short the nightmare:

- Shut up. Just...shut up.

Even Arthur preferred to disappear at times like this. He could be anything - reckless, irascible, irascible, boisterous - but not an idiot to voluntarily stay by her side when she was drunk.

John... John was already broken. She had plunged him into the abyss of her "fairy tales" time after time, and now he, traumatized, had been sitting in the closet for hours and didn't seem to have any intention of coming out. Perhaps he was trying to make sense of his life there. Perhaps he was simply resigned to his fate.

And Thomas... Thomas was now taking the fall for everyone.

He exhaled heavily, watching her stretch lazily, still carrying the hell out of her, satisfaction in her eyes. She's enjoying this. She knows damn well she's getting on everyone's nerves, but she keeps going.

Poor Finn. Finn escaped that fate. He was lucky.

He was the youngest, so he was entitled to be saved.

Another drop in the ocean.

A single drop in this never-ending barrage of nonsense, but it was the last.

Thomas couldn't stand it.

His gaze fell on her face, sliding over her squinting eyes, her eyebrows, slightly mockingly arched. Her lips - slightly swollen from alcohol and endless chatter, moist, unbearably irritating... but they were the ones he lingered on.

At that moment. he realized.

He realized that even though she pissed him off, even though she drove him crazy every night when she got drunk and started her nonstop stream of words, even though he was ready to run away anywhere to avoid hearing it....

He listened anyway.

Every word. Every goddamn letter. Not because he was a masochist.

It was because it was her.

- And you know, I--

He didn't let her finish.

Her voice-that melodic, slightly dragging, drunken voice that made him both mad and maddened at the same time-had to stop. Now.

His patience was wearing thin.

Thomas grabbed her wrist, and before she realized what was happening, he had her in his lap.

She blinked, but before she could even squeak, his palms firmly gripped her thighs, forcing her against his torso.

to wrap her arms around his torso.

Hot breath, heavy, slightly hitching-she was still trying to figure out what was going on, but he didn't leave her a second to think.

Their lips met.

Not gently, not slowly, not tenderly - greedily, demandingly, with a complete determination to shut her up once and for all.

She shuddered, her fingers pressing into his shoulders, instinctively clinging to the fabric of his shirt.

Lips hot, soft, yet firm, hard, commanding. Thomas wasn't asking, he was taking.

His breathing became confused. He wouldn't let go.

Kissed, going deeper, greedier, with the same desperation that built up in him every time she spoke, spoke, spoke....

Lips. The taste of whiskey and something sweet. Her hands lost in his hair.

She twitched as if trying to pull away, but he was stronger. He held on.

Until at some point he felt her respond.

Warm fingers traveled down his neck, slid into his hair, clawed.

He wheezed into the kiss as her nails scratched his skin slightly.

- Just shut the fuck up.

Deafeningly. Powerful. Deeper than a whisper, but louder than he wanted.

She gasped, but didn't push away.

Shit. She was letting him.

The heat grew, coating her head with heat.

Her body responded to his every gesture, every strong, insistent kiss.

His fingers gripped her thigh greedily, digging into the soft skin, leaving hot marks that would be felt for a long time to come.

She could barely breathe.

Thomas felt her breathing hitch, her body involuntarily pulling closer, pressing tighter against him.

He wasn't thinking anymore.

His hips moved on their own, measured, pressing against her center through her clothes, stretching this moment to the point of madness.

A deep exhale, slightly hoarse, tinged with raw pleasure.

She could feel everything.

The heat of another man's body, the weight of his hands, each careful but unbearably maddening thrust forward, as if he were testing her patience, pushing her to the brink.

His lips found her neck.

Hot, greedy, demanding. He wasn't just kissing - he was digging into her skin, leaving marks, absorbing her reaction.

Thomas moved, slow, steady, endlessly teasing.

And he could hear her breathing.

Nervous, short, barely contained.

Shit.

She was reaching for him.

His patience was breaking.

Her nails scraped his neck, her fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt as if she were trying to stay afloat, but things had already taken another turn.

Thomas squeezed her hips harder, pulling her against him, provoking her, forcing her to feel him fully.

Muffled, heavy, he exhaled through gritted teeth:

- I warned you, don't fucking bring me down.

Clothes had long since been lying on the floor, forgotten, unwanted. The room was thick, enveloping darkness, and the air, soaked with the warmth of their bodies, was heavy, rich, electrified

.

The climax came like a thunderclap, like a flash of lightning, shattering reality for an instant, leaving behind only a sense of finality.

She collapsed in his arms, barely breathing, lips slightly ajar, lashes quivering with residual impulses.

Thomas stared at her for a long moment, almost wistfully. Her features seemed softer in the darkness, a shadow falling across her collarbones, and her lips looked kissed to oblivion.

His heart was still pounding in his chest, but he was in no hurry to move.

Just watched.

She looked completely different. Not defiant, not cocky, not like she'd been in a drunken stupor when he'd been ready to throw her out the door, but different....

Calm. Real. His.

He was in no hurry to let her go, no hurry to speak.

Just ran his palm down her back, slowly, from neck to waist, letting her feel every movement of his fingers.

Thomas leaned over and touched his lips to her forehead, slowly, thoughtfully, discreetly but gently.

He knew that in the morning everything would be back to normal.

She'd argue again, claw at him with phrases again, pretend she didn't care again.

But right now - right now he was just being with her.

Thomas exhaled, ran his hand through her hair, letting himself freeze in that brief moment of silence, of peace, of truth.

And then, leaning back, he stared up at the ceiling and thought, for the first time in a long time, that maybe....

Maybe he didn't mind so much the whole damn disaster that was calling her.

She was just coming to, feeling someone else's warmth slowly drifting away from the sheets. The air in the room was saturated with cigarette smoke, the smell of whiskey, and something else-something that hadn't belonged to her before but was now embedded in her skin.

Her body ached. But it was a pleasant soreness.

She moved, feeling the soft fabric against her skin. The shirt was clearly not hers - too loose, slightly wrinkled, soaked with his scent. When she lifted her hand, the cuff slipped off, exposing her wrist.

She wasn't quite awake yet, but she could feel it - feel his gaze.

Thomas stood nearby, silent, smoking.

Naked to the waist, with a slight shadow of stubble on his face, he looked at her as if he'd already made up his mind.

There was none of the usual mockery, irritation, desire to leave.

Only a strange, unaccustomed calmness.

He smoked slowly, lazily, as if he were thinking something over, and then - without unnecessary emotion, simply as a statement of fact - he said:

- I take responsibility.

She froze.

The dream was gone instantly.

He didn't even look at her - he just threw the cigarette into the ashtray, shook the ash out with his hand, and continued smoking as if nothing had happened.

But to her, it had.

Her brain refused to make sense of those words.

Responsibility?

For what? For whom?

She sat up on the bed, one hand holding the collar of her shirt, her hair tangled, her breathing still ragged from sleep.

- Tommy...

He didn't let her finish.

He simply stepped closer, keeping his eyes on her face, and, slowly, with the same devilish confidence that drove her mad, he leaned over and said

her into a frenzy, he leaned over and said:

- Get used to it. You're mine now.

Get used to it.

It's not a request.

It's a sentence.

Part 2>>>>

[cosmicsully]

OBSESSED WITH YOU

aged up!Neteyamx aged up!human(f)!reader

Summary: In which…. Neteyam crosses paths with a human, but what is that sudden obsession with her, where did that need to protect her come from?

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: fluff, Y/N’s personal space is quite literally violated by Neteyam, Y/N is the first Human Neteyam has ever seen, Neteyam barely speaks/understands English, kissing, slight make out, lowkey unrealistic storyline lmao

My Masterlist <3.

What are you called? = fyape syaw fko ngar Stay calm = mawey beautiful: (of people) = sevin take it off = kämunge tsal I want to see = Oe new ne kame hurry up = win säpi nefä so soft = nìftxan 'ango

I hope you enjoy! If you do, feel free to reblog, I might consider writing more parts to this :) <3

I can still remember how it happened. The day that I met Neteyam still lingers in my mind, the young Na´vi boy consuming my attention at all times.

About a week ago, I can still feel the soft breeze of air flushing against my legs, I remember smelling the green plants that had just been drowned in the heavy rain the previous night. The loving light of the warm sun embraces my figure as I walk across a muddy path, trying not to step on any kind of animal. I was outside although I was not allowed to leave the lab. Secretly slipping out of the back door, the mask that is pumping oxygen into my lungs well secured on my face, as I made it my new goal to explore Pandora further.

It is a memory I cherish. The adrenaline that runs through my veins as I took one step after the other, putting as much space as possible between me and the lab.

With the feeling of well-secured safety and no one having caught me fleeing from my home, I slowed my steps, taking in my beautiful surroundings. All kinds of exotic colorful plants surround my form, my eyes darting to one and then another, trying to see everything all at once. My ragged breathing slowed down as I sprinted across the mud, my feet now slightly covered in it.

I can’t help but feel joy consume me whole.

The beauty of Pandora yet again swallowed me, pulling me in. I let my feet work on their own, deciding on taking a small walk to find new interesting and unexplored corners. My fingertips glide against a pulsating bluish plant, as it vibrates against my hand in return, letting myself smile at the uncommon feeling.

This world is so alive.

It is beautiful, I hope its owners treat it well, with respect and cherish it just as I do. Although from the stories I have been told, Na’vi are very spiritual species who inhabit these forests. And now that I think of it, I have never truly seen a real Na’vi.

Dreamwalkers don’t count.

Not letting my mind linger on the thought of facing a real Na’vi, I continued my exploration, It felt like mere minutes, but because it was slowly becoming darker around me it must have been at least a few hours. The only sound that reaches my ears is my breathing from behind the thin glass that is covering my entire face, and the nature that I’m currently moving in. Deciding that I have seen enough for today and that Norm is most likely worrying about my well-being, I take a turn and walk to the path I have been walking all along and slowly but surely make my way back to the lab.

Just as I took a few steps, I heard a quiet huff and leaves moving behind a tree a few feet away from me.

Midway through me turning my head, a blue figure emerges from the bushes. There he stands. A tall male Na’vi. His stripes-covered skin glows underneath the small amount of light that is still falling on Pandora.

He is beautiful.

So beautiful the nature around me is no longer on my mind. All my focus and attention is now drawn to him as I see his fist tightening around a weapon that is firm in his right hand.

With quick movements, he is pointing an arrow at me.

“Wait- Wait- Wait-“ I start as his face wears an angry expression, his frown-covered face facing my direction. I can see his ears perk up at the words that left my mouth. The foreign language fills his head as he decides on killing or spearing me.

“fyape syaw fko ngar?” he hisses, flashing his fangs at me. His white teeth sparkle in the sun as he takes a big step closer to me. His sudden movement made me trip over, my backside making contact with the now slightly dried ground. Him now towering over me even more, his height is scary.

“I- I’m sorry I don’t understand you, please talk slower,” I say, trying to speak slowly, he probably doesn’t understand my words. He tilts his head in confusion, his eyes widening as he takes in my form. Here I am, halfway sitting up in the slightly muddy forest of Pandora. My eyes are fixated on the Na’vi that is towering above me.

“fyape. syaw. fko. ngar?” he repeats, now trying to talk as slow as I did. His pronunciation is now much clearer, his eyes squinting close as if he can see the wheels whirring behind my eyes. This situation throws me back multiple years, remembering the Na’vi lessons we were put through at the mere age of ten. He must have said something about me. Asking about my age? No that would not add up to the situation I’m currently in. Maybe he asked what my name is. That makes way more sense, him emerging from the forest, probably taking me in as a threat.

Slowly, I raise my hands on either side of my head a little, to show that I have no weapons on me, and don’t mean any harm to anyone. At my gesture his ears stand up, their previous position flattened against his head long gone. While doing so, his curiosity must have grown, he lowers his weapon, no meaning to harm me for now. The unknown Na’vi male lowers himself into a crouching position, as he fixates his bow on his back and secures the arrow back in its holder. With me still staying put on the ground, he starts to crawl over my much smaller form to take in my face.

His expression is still confused, but the curiosity must be getting a hold of him. He slowly makes his way above me, his face getting closer to mine, I can feel his warm breath hitting my cheek, his sparkly yellow eyes boring into my own. Pupils now grown bigger and bigger with each second that passes.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, my questioning tone must have shown him that I asked a question. He shakes his head in a way to tell me that he has no idea what I just said, but he doesn’t leave his current position, instead, he’s only inching closer to my body. His face slowly moved to the left side of my face, flattened nose touching my cheek and slowly moving down to my neck. His way of moving and actions remind me of an animal, I can feel him take a deep breath through his nose when it hits my pulse point. It’s like he’s taking in my scent, trying to burn it into his brain to never lose the smell of me.

His actions makes a shudder run down my spine, a shaky breath leaving my mouth only now realizing that I have been holding my lungs oxygen-free for the past minute, them now aching and burning for more.

He breathes me in again, this time with eyes closed, my scent filling his nostrils. My breathing stays unsteady, his presence making my heart quicken in my chest, he seems to notice that, his eyes now fixated on my chest, watching it rise and fall again. When my eyes caught his never leaving my chest, a frown forms on my face, my mouth gaping at him and my arms moving to cover my chest. Slightly uncomfortable under his stare that is on one of my most intimate parts.

He quickly shakes his head and uses one of his three-fingered hands -that is at least twice as big as mine- to move them away, his now gained free access to my chest making him move his head closer, the side of his face making contact with me, his ear hovering above my heart. My heartbeat echoes in his head, its beating pumping hot blood through my veins. Although he does not seem to have the intention to hurt me in any way, my heart doesn’t slow its fast beats. His heavy head makes contact with my chest, I can feel him resting his head completely.

He stays put for a few seconds, the sound of soft breaths leaving his nose hit my ears. My heart still hammers in my chest, continuing to reveal my unsure feelings about the moment and this stranger who is quite literally breaking the definition of personal space. He stirrers up removing his ear from my chest, now much softer yellow eyes meeting mine.

“Mawey.” he whispers. His soothing voice makes it seem like a sweet gesture, the way he talks, the way his eyes move from me to my chest, no, to my heart, its like he wants to tell me to relax. The next thing that catches his attention is the oxygen mask that covers my slightly blushing face. With one of his fingers he taps against the glass, the tap rather harsh as it shoots through the glass and right to my ears echoing softly.

"Neteyam." he speaks up, the pronunciation lingering in my mind. As he speaks, he points the finger that just tapped my mask to his chest, gesturing to himself, it seems to be his way of introducing himself to me.

"Y/N." I say telling him my name. His ears perk up as my voice hits him.

"Y/N…" he tries to pronounce my name just like I did, but fails miserably. I can´t help myself but let a giggle slip past my lips at his terrible attempt at pronouncing my name, squinting my eyes closed in the process. He doesn´t exactly laugh at my reaction, but what seems to be a small smile makes its way across Neteyams face. I like the way my name sounds when he speaks.

"Sevin." he whispers pointing at me again. His hand glides downwards to my own and he takes a look at it, his eyes fixated on my little finger. He slowly but surely wraps two of his fingers around it, completely engulfing my pinky with his. His hand is huge compared to mine. If he wanted to, he could cover my entire hand with his and nothing of my hand would be visible.

"Sevin?" I ask, questioning his last words, why did I barely pay attention when we were told simple words that are commonly used by Na´vi?

"Beautiful?" he now repeats, his accent thick as he tries to translate his words.

"You mean me?" I ask a little unsure, it is not unknown in the lab that Na´vi and humans don´t usually interact with one another, let alone find any interest in each other. He points his finger against my chest again, still trying to get me to understand that he thinks I´m pretty.

I can´t help but blush at his actions, not quite used to being complimented by someone.

"You´re beautiful too" I answer, already aware of the fact that he probably doesn´t understand what I just told him. So I point my finger at his chest just like he did to me and say

"Sevin."

His eyes fall to my pointer finger that is currently resting against his chest, his hands now following his eyes, a blue hand yet again engulfing my own. I feel a certain warmth spread through my chest.

Am I supposed to feel like this?

Probably not.

No, definitely not.

Then why does his presence feel so good? Why do I feel this special security with him? When his warm eyes meet mine?

His attention is now back on my face, the way he is now directly in front of me, allows me to take a closer look at his facial features. His yellow, big, cat-like eyes are pulsating with warmth and softness, his slightly flattened nose wrinkling when he senses new smell. He seems to be studying me just as I do him.

"kämunge tsal" he whispers, now again tapping against my oxygen mask.

Although I could not exactly translate his spoken words in my head, it must have been something about my mask. I shake my head hastily, if his intentions are about me taking it off he can forget it.

"Oe new ne kame" he urges me on, his eyes filled with curiosity and desperate pleading.

"Off," he says quickly his demanding tone fitting to his accent, his hand already finding the bottom of the mask and lifting it off of my face. His sudden actions make me gasp and quickly breathe in, to catch another wave of oxygen.

The mask is now all the way off, Neteyam places it on one of his muscular tights, but his vibrant eyes are darting across every moving muscle on my face. He studies me carefully as if he is afraid of breaking me with a grip that might be too firm for my body.

His left-hand moves to the right side of my head, the warm palm of his softly meeting me. His palm swallows half of my skull, it’s like a puzzle fitting, his piece connecting with mine. A few seconds later I have a sort of ticklish feeling against my upper thigh, his strong tail curling twice around it. The movement makes me blush, I feel my cheeks and half of my neck warming. It’s like Neteyam is trying to be as close as possible, though I can not really tell why.

His face inches closer to mine, he’s so close again that I can feel his breath on my lips, his eyes dare to look at them for a quick moment but just as he meets them he averts his gaze again. I can’t help it but copy his movement, my eyes darting down to his lips.

I can feel the atmosphere between us get turned upside down within one quick glance at his lips, a sort of tension building up.

What I’m doing here is insane.

I should be home by now.

Just as I can feel him getting even closer, the need for oxygen is growing and growing, my lungs aching for relief. My eyes shoot down to his leg hastily grabbing the mask that my body so desperately seeks. The moment it hits my face I take a deep breath, my heart beating at a quickening speed. Neteyam groans in response his hand falling from my head, instead both of his hands land on either side of my waist. As I try to steady my breathing, he pulls my smaller form into his lap.

"win säpi nefä" he lowly whines, making my eyebrows raise in confusion at his whining. He waits a few seconds for my chest to raise at a normal speed again, his eyes boring through mine as if he is asking for permission, although I can not quite tell for what.

"Enough" he orders now quite needy ripping the mask off my face, but before I can respond in annoyance, warm lips are pressed against my very own. My eyes widen at his sudden actions, I can`t hold back the quiet unexpected sigh that sounds like a soft moan leaving my lips.

Neteyam responds eagerly, his tongue now parting my lips ready to claim my mouth, the taste of me lingering on his tastebuds, he pulls me closer by my hips, the close proximity making him groan. The kiss quickly becomes feverish and passionate as his desire for more keeps growing. His hand moves to the back of my head keeping me in place to continue his almost assault on my lips. His rough palms skim down my waist to hook around my hips, pulling me flush against his chest.

It is something I have never felt before, the adrenaline coursing through my veins making my head dizzy. Or maybe it was the lack of oxygen that was making me feel lightheaded.

I can´t help but try to pull away from him, his much stronger grip on me only tightening in response, in order to gain focus again I let my fingers tangle into his braids, softly tugging his lips away from mine. Neteyam growls in protest, chasing my lips with his but I lean back and reach down to put the mask that dangles down my body back on my face. As I keep filling my lungs with air, I look up through the thing glass with heavy-lidded eyes, my chest still heaving and my heart thrumming in my chest.

Neteyam pants softly, just as breathless as I am.

Behind Neteyam I can see his tail swaying with excitement from side to side, his own heavy eyes now focused on a part of my neck. He quickly connects his lips with my neck, softly coating it with open-mouth kisses. With his other hand, he gently tugs on my hair to expose my neck to his mouth. Not caring about the noises that could slip out of my mouth, I let a soft moan leave my lips at the feeling. That seems to urge him on further, his lips traveling from my neck, to my collarbone and lastly to my pulse point. It is the place he breathed me in earlier, he growls at the memory, lips quickly working at sucking on my delicate skin.

I close my eyes at the feeling of his soft but rough lips as they work against my sensitive skin, my mouth slightly agape at the pleasure that is shooting through every inch of my body.

"nìftxan 'ango" the Na´vi male moans against my neck, at the sound of a twig breaking somewhere in the distance, Neteyam quickly breaks away from my sensitive skin. His tail tightened around my thigh in a protective manner.

"Come" he hushes at me, now raising to his feet and full height, With one swift movement he claims my wrist in his hand sneaking around it in a soft grip. He pulls me up in no time as if I weigh nothing to him. I can feel myself hovering over the ground for a split second before he lets go of my wrist now fully placing me back on the ground I was laying on only minutes ago.

[heartfullofleeches]

What would happen if fast food reader tried to quit?

"I quit!"

Fourty minutes in - that's a new record. You're in the middle of a transition with a customer when the newest in a line of new hires comes storming from the back, apron and badge on hand.

"In the single hour I've worked here I've been yelled at till my ears bled, pelted with plastic balls, saw my reflection drown itself in the toilets, and had my wallet and keys stolen."

"I'd say you had an okay start...." You pause for a moment, centered on the task at hand. ".....So will that be cash or card?"

Your coworker stares at you like you've grown antlers which probably wouldn't be the weirdest thing they've seen, but still up there in rankings.

"You're staying?!"

"I can't quit."

Pity flashes briefly in their eyes. "Being jobless is better than whatever this is, but I'm sure there's something else out there."

"You don't understand. I literally can't quit."

Your ex-coworker scoffs. "I know the job market is pretty rough these days, but come on..."

Sighing heavily, you carefully remove your apron- folding and setting at atop the counter along with your hat and badge. Glancing apologetically at the customer, you mutter.

"I quit."

Really, it only took the first syllable for what happened next, but it felt weird not to finish the sentence.

The entrace doors swing to a loud shut. Music playing over the speakers descends into static. Caution tape peals and tears from the walls as management's door pries it from position. Darkness oozes from the cracks as a body presses against the frame. A hand reaches out - pointing behind you.

"So!"

Your ex-coworker and the customer scream. You look over your shoulder at your manager's grinning face as they grip your shoulders.

"Please don't touch me."

Your manager laughs. "Oh, you and your silly jokes. So, I hear someone isn't having the best time. Your little friend is free to go, but you are a valued member of our team, Y/n. Anything we can do to make you stay?"

"No."

Your manager hands their head in sadness, immediately perking back up as they remove their touch from your shoulders. "I see..... Well! We'll all miss you dearly, but we respect your decision. Allow us to give you a portion of your severance in hand as thanks for your service."

"Please don't."

"Lambchop!"

The lights flicker as the freezer door slams into the adjacent wall. They continue to flicker with every heavy click of hooves on titled floors. The hulking figure ducks beneath menu signs, narrowly missing its curving horns getting stuck as it rises to full high. The reds of it beady eyes cast you in eerie glow as it stares - pupils shrunk as it turns. It seems to blink away tears as it snorts.

In a flash, the store mascot picks your ex-coworker by the throat and slams them to down on the counter. It reaches for its belt, sorting the sharpest cleaver of its artillery and sporting it against its prey's neck. Your coworker shrieks and flails, ceasing all movement as warm blood runs down their neck. As your eyes meet, you remain perfectly calm - brows raised in a sort of "I told you so look".

They pathetically beat at the goat demon's arm. "What the fuck.... what the fuck?!"

Your manager clicks their tongue. "I do apologize, but it's in their contract. Money is important, but we value something more here. As payment for self-termination from our team, Y/n here is to receive the beating hearts of everyone in the building in loo of breaking our own unless... they've changed their mind."

You shrug. "Long as you're still cool with my taking cash from the registers."

"Wonderful! Lambchop, could you please let the spoiled meat go? I'm afraid they won't be any good trying to posion our dear Y/n like that and I doubt they'll even make it out of the parking lot."

Your coworker scrambles for the door as soon as they're freed. Their blood, which you refuse to clean, paints the front door seconds later. Your manager sighs.

"Now that that's out of the way, please see to comforting Lambchop. You know how they get when you threaten to leave."

You look over at the mascot would bleats softly as they knock their head gently against the side of yours. You pet their horns as you throw your hat back on.

"Come on, Choppy. You can feed me fries in the breakroom."

Lambchop throws you over their shoulder and heads for the back as your manager takes their leave as well - leaving the customer alone in the main lobby.

"They... never gave back my card."

[divatakesontruth]

Food for thought

So I’ve been doing a lot of…pondering (?) should I say, well something like that

Ultimately it is not news that everything is nothing however I do sometimes like to explore some certain “concepts”

This post is extremely garnered towards mature listeners , it contains a lot of words that might just send some of you into a spiral (just a disclaimer)

So, we all know absolutely everything we are aware of/seemingly experience/have a knowing of is basically in truth ‘0’ because every idea is fresh in awareness

‘I am sad’ fresh idea

‘Wait why am I sad’ completely unrelated fresh idea

‘Oh right I’m sad because…’ completely unrelated fresh idea

Which somehow gives the impression of continuity which therein in itself is another completely unrelated fresh idea all entering the field of awareness (lol that’s another false statement, it’s all nothing that we seemingly attach definitions to like the act of entering awareness or attaching definitions)

As I’m writing this I’m seeing why the mind need not bother understanding ( firstly cause the only truth is the awareness of this seeming concept I’m trying to explain)

No matter what,you land at ‘0’

However a fresh new idea , the instant it comes into awareness, it holds the same level of significance (which is nothing ) as any other fresh new idea

That’s usually why they say nothing is real both the seen and the unseen

Now still on that, there are certain ideas we see through and some we take to be real and truth , (that is the reason for most questions, there is an attachment to a certain idea ) and some we don’t for whatever reasons

So inadvertently what you are aware of in that moment is.

‘Why do I listen to the mind so much’ unrelated truth that there is awareness of but it is still what you “experience” well cause that’s what there’s an awareness of (because remember without awareness nothing can be)

‘Oh wait if I do this I’ll get this” in that moment what are you aware of? Not having something and getting it in a later time, also of being a ‘me’ in lack and want (which ‘later’ doesn’t exist btw, there’s only now because future is another baseless concept)

‘I have this’ again , awareness shines its light and gives concepts or ideas a seeming existence, so the awareness of whatever is.

remember past is unrelated to now, everything is fresh and new

So if you say “so why don’t I see xyz” what is there an awareness of? Not seeing xyz and since everything there is an awareness of is, then not seeing xyz is what is.

Let’s get a bit broader

Having a desire is another random idea that only exists because there is an Awareness of it

Having a need,being a person or whatever, all applies.

You literally can’t be anything other than That because when you think you are a measly human suffering guess what? That’s exactly what is and what is that? A concept that you’re aware of.

Same way you think you’re the one doing the thinking, well that’s exactly what is

Everything is just new random idea entering awareness including this statement

It’s a never ending cycle of stories , awareness of story rendering story as false on and on and on

But then what is there to do? Now you are free from the play , now you are on a cloud floating , now there are no rules or bondage except the untrue idea of one

There is nothing to achieve, nothing to be or do

Have fun if you want, or meditate for life

You’re (Self) calling the shots

Ps: just a random note , feel free to share your two cents !!

[levanterhaze]

── coup de foudre, HYUNJIN

♡  ― 󠀬󠀬 artist!hyunjin x f!reader mentions of sadness and anxiety. there are scenes of discrimination that can cause triggers. the rest is just a bit of drama and fluff.

♡ synopsis ― Coup de Foudre, a flash of lightning, a love that strikes without warning. When Hyunjin, an artist lost in the weight of being misunderstood, disappears for a month, he crosses paths with a free-spirited girl named Joy, who teaches him how to breathe again. Their bond feels destined — electric and undeniable — until buried secrets and quiet betrayals threaten to tear them apart.

[5k words ]♡― oh dear, here we are again! this story is based on my favorite k-drama, Lovestruck in the City. if you've seen it, you might notice some familiar elements in the chapters. but don't worry if you're not familiar with it yet! you'll gradually understand the plot, and I'm here to make sure you're comfortable with it. if you've read Gameboy, which is a completed series, you'll see that this one uses a different language because of the plot and storytelling style. I truly hope you enjoy this story and stick with me until the end!

IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED LET ME KNOW!

♡― THE PLAYLIST.

How could I know One day I’d wake up feeling more But I had already reached the shore Guess we were ships in the night

AFTER

Everyone at the table was laughing—loud, full-bellied laughter that made the cutlery rattle on the plates. Jokes were being tossed like confetti, some a little crude, others surprisingly clever, all of them soaked in the easy comfort of familiarity. The seaside restaurant was all clean lines and soft lighting, the kind of place you booked when you wanted to feel like your life was more put together than it actually was. It should’ve felt perfect. To most of them, it probably did.

But for Hyunjin, the place felt like a memory. Not the warm kind. The kind that presses its thumb down just enough to sting.

He drifted for a moment—just long enough to miss the thread of conversation—before Bangchan pulled him back with a laugh and a question:

“Do you remember Paris? That night we ended up sleeping on the street?”

Hyunjin managed a laugh. Not a convincing one, but enough to pass.

Later, when the plates were cleared and the bill was paid, he moved to the far end of the restaurant, toward the glass that framed the sea like a painting. He stood there, quiet. Let his head drop. 

Closing his eyes like that might help organize the mess inside. It didn’t. It hadn’t in a while.

“So,” Bangchan said behind him, “are you gonna tell me what’s going on, or do I have to beat it out of you?”

Hyunjin looked up, then away. A half-smile tugged at his mouth, but it didn’t fully land. Bangchan’s sharp humor had always been his way of handing out a lifeline—something bright and biting to hold onto when everything else felt heavy.

“The hottest woman in the office is practically begging for your attention,” his cousin went on, flicking a lighter open, “and you’re over here brooding like a heartbroken poet.”

Hyunjin turned just enough to spot Chaewon laughing with a couple of colleagues. She was beautiful—sharp in all the right ways, graceful without trying, competent in that quietly intimidating way some women had. He’d noticed her watching him more than once. 

Before Jeju, he might’ve responded to that. Now, it just felt... far away.

“You’re going to be a dumbass if you don’t go talk to her,” Bangchan said, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Somebody else will.”

Maybe that was true. Maybe it didn’t matter.

Hyunjin ran a hand over his buzzed hair, a slow, aimless gesture. The sea outside looked too familiar—too much like those days in Jeju. The scent of salt. The hush of waves. The kind of sky that felt like it was waiting for something to happen.

She was in all of it. Still. And he was so tired of trying to forget.

He looked at Bangchan again, and for the first time in weeks, he felt like maybe he could talk. Maybe if he said it out loud, it wouldn’t feel so much like fiction. Maybe it would finally belong to the real world.

“Let’s have a drink,” he said.

It was the perfect exit line. Bangchan stubbed out his cigarette on the patio ashtray and fell into step beside his cousin without saying anything. They slipped out of the restaurant unnoticed—almost.

As they passed the glass doors, Hyunjin caught it—just a flicker of something across Chaewon’s face. Not quite disappointment, not quite surprise. A shift, barely there, like the soft tug of a current underwater.

Once, that would’ve been all it took. He would’ve taken her home, kissed her in the elevator, maybe stayed up until morning pretending he could feel something again. And she would’ve let him—if only because it might’ve felt like something close to wanting.

But tonight, a quiet “Good night” was enough. Not cold, just final.

Back at the penthouse, the silence felt like fresh air. Hyunjin unbuttoned the top of his shirt, kicked off his shoes, and poured himself a drink. He dropped onto the sofa beside Bangchan with the weight of someone who’d finally given in to gravity.

“Anytime,” Bangchan said, stretching his arms behind his head. “I’m all ears.”

The whisky hit hard—burned on the way down and brought a sharp sting to his eyes. Hyunjin didn’t flinch. He just refilled the glass, slower this time, like that might slow down the ache inside him too.

“Something happened in Jeju.”

Bangchan turned to look at him, one brow raised.

“That trip in July?”

Hyunjin nodded. And then, without meaning to, he exhaled. Like the simple act of acknowledging it had cracked something open. His mind stopped spinning. His body stopped bracing.

And just like that, he started talking.

Not everything. Not yet. But enough. Enough to go back to where it began.

BEFORE

It had only been a few weeks since his father’s surgery—a procedure the doctors called routine, but no one in the Hwang family had really believed that. Not when the man who’d always seemed indestructible had come home thinner, quieter, slower.

The whole family had gathered like they used to when they were younger, crowded around the long dining table, but the energy was different this time. Not loud or celebratory. Just quiet. Tense. Everyone is trying to mask their worry with polite conversation and long sips of wine.

The Hwang & Co. had been in the family for generations—elegant hotels, strategic expansions, glossy photographs in business magazines. It wasn’t just a company. It was a legacy. And legacies had rules.

So when his father finally looked up from his notes and said, calmly, that Hyunjin would be stepping in to lead while he recovered—not Minseok, the firstborn, the obvious choice—it felt like something cracked behind his ribs.

At first, Hyunjin thought he’d heard it wrong. He blinked. Laughed, a little too tightly. Said Minseok had an MBA and ten more years of experience. That he’d always been the one preparing for this. But their father didn’t budge. His tone didn’t waver. The decision had been made.

And Hyunjin—who had always been the artist, the daydreamer, the one who’d chosen gallery walls over boardrooms—was suddenly being handed the weight of it all.

Yeji was the only one who tried to soften the blow. She reached across the armrest, squeezing his sleeve gently.

“Maybe it’s not as bad as it feels, Hyunnie. Maybe it just means dad trusts you.”

But trust, Hyunjin thought, didn’t always come without cost.

Hyunjin tried to believe it—tried to hold onto Yeji’s words like they might steady him—but the truth tugged at the edges of his mind, persistent and cold. His father’s decision had nothing to do with trust.

He knew exactly why he’d been chosen. It wasn’t confidence in his leadership or faith in his abilities. It was control. It was an attempt to course-correct a son who had always been too soft, too full of color, too unlike the men his father admired.

A good man, in his father’s eyes, was someone who ran a company with clean efficiency. Who made money, made sense. Who married a good woman and provided for her. There was a formula. A checklist. A blueprint for manhood.

And Hyunjin had always been a little off-script.

That didn’t mean he didn’t want to be a good man. He did. Desperately. He just wanted to get there differently—through beauty, through meaning. Through the things that made his heart feel steady in a world that often didn’t.

Art had always been his compass. Since he was a kid, he’d been inseparable from his crayons and sketchbooks, leaving trails of color on every scrap of paper he could find. He remembered being ten and already knowing what he wanted: to see the world and draw it. To capture its motion, its stillness, its soul.

He grew up chasing that dream, and somehow, he made it real. He traveled. He sketched in city squares, on trains, in tiny cafes. He picked up a camera somewhere along the way and fell in love all over again. His home was a gentle chaos of canvases, photographs, paint-splatter brushes, and light.

And yes, it paid. It paid well enough. But none of that ever mattered to his father.

To him, it was a hobby. A distraction. Something delicate and disposable—everything a man shouldn’t be.

Hyunjin never found the words to confront him. Not out of obedience, but out of something murkier—respect, maybe. Or fear. Or just the worn-in exhaustion of being misunderstood for too long.

But when the pressure became constant—calls every few hours, demands disguised as concern, urgent meetings that couldn’t wait—something cracked. It was less a decision and more a surrender.

So he called Felix. His oldest friend. The only person who never made him feel like he had to apologize for who he was.

“I need to disappear for a while,” he said, and Felix didn’t ask questions. Just gave him the keys to the tiny trailer in Jeju and promised not to tell anyone.

Hyunjin packed light. A few clothes. His pencils. His camera.

And he left.

No exit speech. No explanations. Just a quiet goodbye to the noise, and a quiet hope that maybe, on the island, he could finally hear himself again.

Disappearing had been easier than expected. Quiet, clean, and strangely comforting. And Hyunjin liked it that way.

The trailer, tucked a few steps from the shoreline, belonged to Felix’s family, but it felt borrowed from another life entirely. It was small, meant for two people at most, but it held everything he needed—his paints, his camera, his notebooks, and just enough stillness to hear his own thoughts again.

Each morning, he woke to the hush of the sea and the sharp cries of gulls overhead. The waves rolled in like a lullaby on repeat, soft and inevitable.

One day, after waking early and restless, he wandered into a place that overlooked the beach. He’d passed it almost every day, drawn in by the smell of strong coffee and something sweet he couldn’t name.

It was quaint, a little weatherworn, with wooden railings faded from years of salt and sun. The man behind the counter looked like he belonged there—silver hair, gentle eyes, hands that moved slowly, like they had no need to rush.

Over a quick exchange, the man told him he’d lived there for sixty-five years and had never once grown tired of the view. Hyunjin believed him.

The café was full of small, beautiful things: hand-painted signs, seashell mobiles, faded photographs tacked up beside handwritten quotes. It wasn’t polished, but it was warm. Familiar. It reminded Hyunjin of something he hadn’t realized he missed—places that didn’t expect him to be anyone but himself.

He sat on the porch with a cup of coffee that tasted like comfort and sketched quietly in his notebook, letting the ocean fill the silences.

Then something shifted.

A figure in a plain apron passed through the frame of the balcony, briefly catching the attention of a girl nearby. Hyunjin barely registered it at first—just another movement, another moment. But then the girl ran.

He looked up fully. And that's when he saw you.

She darted across the sand with the kind of ease that made it seem like she belonged to the wind. A summer-blue dress danced around her knees, and her hair was pulled into braids that bounced as she moved. She wasn’t rushing—she was gliding, joyful, effortless.

“Sorry, Mrs. Bae!” she called out as she reached the café, still breathless but smiling. “I was persuading the kids to join the surfing lessons.”

Hyunjin blinked, pen paused mid-sketch.

He didn’t know what it was—the dress, the laughter, the way her presence seemed to stretch the morning open—but something about her made the world tilt, just a little.

“I know, I know. Just don’t be late again,” the older woman replied with a half-smile, her tone a mix of reprimand and affection. “We’ll be full today, and I’ll need your help.”

The girl nodded, contrite but still glowing with the kind of light that didn’t dim so easily. She made her way behind the counter and pulled a black apron from a low hook, tying it over her dress with practiced ease.

And then, she slipped into her rhythm.

Hyunjin watched as she moved between tables, balancing plates and scribbling in a small notepad, her steps light and unhurried. She smiled at everyone. Not in the way people sometimes smile because they’re supposed to, but in a way that seemed real, lived-in—like it cost her nothing and gave her something back in return.

She laughed softly with an elderly couple as she refilled their tea. She crouched next to a child to take his order like it was a secret mission. Every gesture was thoughtful. Every moment, somehow full of color.

Can people really be like this all the time? he wondered, half in awe, half in quiet disbelief.

It wasn’t just her beauty, though there was that too—something undeniably striking in the way the sun caught in the curve of her cheek or how her braids swayed when she moved. But it was more than that. When she finally approached his table, tray pressed gently against her chest, he coughed and quickly looked down, suddenly aware of how long he’d been watching her.

“Good morning!” she said, voice bright and unguarded. “Was the coffee good? Can I get you anything else?”

Her tone was effortless—kind, open. And it caught in his throat like a note too high to reach.

He didn’t answer right away. He was too busy trying not to stare.

Because she was beautiful—undeniably so—but that wasn’t what held him there.

"That's great, thanks." And he meant it. The coffee was smooth, the pecan pie warm and almost too sweet—but not quite. You could tell someone had made it with care.

“Oh, wow.” Her voice lifted with surprise, head tilting slightly as her gaze dropped to the table. Hyunjin’s eyes followed the curve of her neck before realizing what she was looking at.

His sketchbook.

“You’re an artist?”

He blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “I try to be,” he said, letting out a quiet, uncertain laugh.

It always felt strange, this part—having his work out in the open, unfinished and vulnerable. Even now, with years of exhibitions and features behind him, there was something personal about someone seeing his art before it was ready. Before Felix or Jisung had the chance to tell him, yeah, this one’s perfect—this one feels like you.

She smiled, wide and effortless. “It’s really lovely. You can tell you care about it.”

He looked at her. And she looked at him like this was just another moment in her day—one of many. But for him, it wasn’t. Not quite.

“Thanks...” he managed, barely audible.

But she was already turning, already halfway across the diner, her attention now with someone else.

And just like that, the moment passed—but it left something behind.

Morning came too early again. Sleep had slipped away not long after sunrise, so Hyunjin gave up trying to chase it and went for a walk instead. The air was still cool, soft with salt and promise, and the sand welcomed his bare feet like an old friend.

His mind hadn’t entirely left Seoul. Somewhere in the back of his head, the usual worries stirred—about his father, the business, everything waiting for him back on the mainland. But here, with the sea stretching endlessly in front of him and strangers laughing as they passed, it all felt... quieter. Not gone, but smaller. Manageable.

He didn’t get far before something caught his attention. Or rather, someone.

The girl from the café was just ahead, not in her apron this time but in a wetsuit, her hair damp and clinging softly to her face. She looked different like this—sun-kissed and full of motion, surrounded by a small pack of kids who orbited her like she was the sun itself.

Hyunjin drifted closer, stopping by the surfboard rental shack, where a blond guy stood leaning against the counter, arms crossed, eyes following the same scene.

The breeze tugged lightly at Hyunjin’s hair as he watched her work—if you could even call it work. She moved among the children with ease, laughing, adjusting their stances, cheering them on as they clumsily attempted to mount their boards. She wasn’t just patient; she was invested, as if each child’s triumph was somehow personal.

One little boy finally found his footing, shaky but upright, and she clapped like he’d just won gold. Her voice carried above the waves: “You’ve got it! Keep going, you're doing great!” And he believed her. Hyunjin almost did too.

“Hey, man. Want to rent a board?”

The voice startled him. He turned, realizing the blond guy was talking to him now, half-grinning from behind the weathered wooden counter.

He looked relaxed, like someone who belonged there. Skin sun-kissed in a way that only came from time spent outside, not on purpose, just by existing in the light.

“No. I don’t surf,” Hyunjin said, eyes drifting back toward the girl. She was kneeling in the shallow water now, gently patting the little boy’s hand like he’d just conquered something big.

The guy behind the counter clicked his tongue, letting out a small laugh. “Too bad. We only teach kids.”

There was something else tucked behind his words—something teasing, maybe—but Hyunjin didn’t linger on it. Instead, he stepped off the wooden path and into the warm sand, walking slowly toward the group by the shoreline. 

Some days, that’s all he did. Watched from a distance while she ran around in the surf, laughing with kids, her voice rising above the sound of the waves. It became a quiet routine—one he didn’t admit he looked forward to.

Then one afternoon, she walked straight up to him.

Up close, he noticed something new: her hair had strands the color of sand, soft and sun-bleached. He wondered how he hadn’t seen it before.

“Hey, can I ask you a favor?” she said, already tugging the zipper of her wetsuit down halfway.

Hyunjin opened his mouth, but words didn’t come out fast enough. She looked relaxed, like asking a favor of a stranger on the beach wasn’t weird at all.

“Can you watch the kids for two minutes? I just need to run to the bathroom.”

And before he could say that he didn’t surf, or point out that he was in a hoodie and sweatpants, she was already jogging off. So he got up and made his way to the group of kids gathered in the shallows, damp sand sticking to the hem of his pants.

A girl with two tiny braids looked up at him and grinned. “Unkie, are you gonna surf with us?”

He chuckled softly at the title. Unkie. It made him feel older than he was, but in a weirdly endearing way.

He crouched beside her, pulling his pant legs up higher to avoid the water.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asked.

She nodded solemnly, eyes wide with trust.

“I don’t know how to surf.”

The little girl gasped like he’d just shared the most shocking secret in the universe. Hyunjin couldn’t help but laugh—it came out light, genuine. She leaned closer, eyes wide with excitement.

“No problem,” she whispered back. “Teacher can help  you!”

He followed her gaze, and there she was, walking across the sand with that same bright energy she carried everywhere. Her wetsuit clung to her frame, and her hair, still damp, framed her face in soft waves. She smiled as she approached, like she was already in on the joke.

“Is everything okay, kids?” she asked, stopping just by the water’s edge.

Before Hyunjin could even blink, the little girl pointed at him and blurted, “He can’t surf!”

A chorus of giggles broke out around him. The little girl, realizing her betrayal, pressed her lips together, eyes wide with mock guilt. So much for secrets.

“Secret revealed,” Hyunjin said, throwing his hands up in mock defeat.

The girl laughed, arms crossing as she looked at him with amusement dancing in her eyes. “So you don’t surf.”

It wasn’t a question. Just an observation. He nodded, lips curving into a small, slightly embarrassed smile.

She glanced at the kids and then back at him. “Well then, I guess we’ve got a problem.”

Hyunjin tilted his head. “Why’s that?”

She grinned, just as one of the girls ducked behind him like he was her personal human shield. “Because I think they’ve adopted you.”

He looked down at the kid hiding behind him, then back at her.

“Then I guess I better learn.”

The kids seemed to know more about surfing than he did. 

When she tossed him a wetsuit with a raised brow and a barely-there smirk, Hyunjin knew he had no real choice. Especially not with five pairs of hopeful eyes watching him like he was about to perform a magic trick.

He wasn’t great—not even close—but the kids didn’t care. They were thrilled just to have another person out there, someone who didn’t mind holding their hands as they wobbled on boards or laughed when they wiped out. That same little girl who’d outed his secret earlier squealed every time he shook his wet long hair like a dog, splashing her on purpose.

Children were easy, he realized. Easy to entertain, easy to win over. And, apparently, he was a natural at it.

The morning passed faster than he expected. One by one, the kids were claimed by their parents, wrapped in towels and promises of snacks. He stayed back, wiping the saltwater from his eyes, when he noticed her returning—not with the kids' tiny boards, but with one of the full-sized ones under her arm.

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow as she walked right past him, expression unreadable but undeniably smug. She stepped into the tide, wading out until the water reached her waist, and only then did she speak.

“You just gonna stand there looking pretty or actually learn something?”

She didn’t even turn around.

He smiled, shaking his head, then followed. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t this—wasn’t her making everything look so easy. The way she moved on the board, how her body aligned with the sea like it had been built for it. She explained the basics without overexplaining, guiding his stance with a quiet kind of confidence.

It looked simple when she did it.

But Hyunjin wasn’t sure if that meant he’d be able to pull it off. The ocean had its own rules, and he was still learning how to listen.

It was frustrating at first. His legs didn’t want to cooperate, and the board felt like it had a personal vendetta. But she was a good teacher—clear, patient, never once making him feel ridiculous, even when he definitely looked at it.

Within the hour, he managed to stand without toppling sideways like a cartoon. Every time he stayed up for more than a few seconds, she clapped or called out some encouragement, her voice cutting through the sound of the waves.

When he finally felt confident enough to just sit on the board and breathe, she grabbed another one and paddled out to meet him. The sun was higher now, casting a warm sheen across the water. It was calm, the tide lazy, as if even the ocean had taken a breath.

They floated side by side, not speaking for a moment. Just watching the horizon stretch out into forever. The wind swept at their damp hair, and sunlight clung to their skin like salt.

Hyunjin glanced over and caught her with her face tilted toward the sky, eyes closed, letting the sun hit her cheeks. She looked… content. Not the kind people perform, but the kind that comes from actually enjoying a moment, quietly and fully.

There was something about the way she moved through the world—like she wasn’t trying to impress anyone, like she didn’t have to. And maybe that was what pulled him in. She made being alive look simple.

The boards shifted slightly beneath them with the slow rise and fall of the water, but he was starting to get used to it—the feeling of not being entirely grounded.

She opened her eyes and smiled, turning toward him. “Thanks for helping with the kids. They really liked you.”

He held her gaze, something in him softening. “I liked them too. And you taught me how to surf, so… I’d say we’re even.”

Her smile widened, and she gave a small nod. For a second, it felt like they were the only two people in the sea.

“Have you been doing this for a long time?” Hyunjin asked, the words slipping out before he could weigh them.

He wasn’t trying to pry. But he was curious—and more than that, he wanted to understand this small piece of her world.

She pressed her lips together, thoughtful. “It’s not really a job,” she said finally, shrugging one shoulder. “I just teach them because I like it.”

That caught him off guard. Not in a dramatic way—just enough to make something shift inside him. Most people he knew didn’t do things just because they enjoyed them.

And like that she became even more interesting.

He was about to ask her name—realized then that he didn’t know it, which felt strange considering how familiar her presence already seemed—but before he could say anything, she adjusted her position on the board.

“My shift at the café’s starting,” she said, already paddling toward the shore. “You can stop by anytime. The kids would be happy to see you.”

And then she was gone—effortlessly, like the sea was part of her.

Hyunjin stayed where he was, sitting alone on the board, just a small dot floating in all that blue. He’d head back to the trailer, rinse off the saltwater and sand, maybe try to read something, maybe not. But he’d find her later.

Because this… whatever it was—it didn’t make sense to let it pass without at least knowing her name.

After finishing a canvas, Hyunjin wiped the ink off his hands and arms, then slipped into something comfortable before heading to the café. He’d found out they stayed open later on Fridays and Saturdays for karaoke nights. The food was always good, but lunch was especially memorable—warm, filling, and familiar. The bulgogi might’ve been the best he’d ever had. Something about the seasoning pulled at a quiet part of him, the way only certain things could. It reminded him of when he was younger, back when his mother still cooked for him and his siblings with careful, gentle hands.

That memory nudged him toward another—one he didn’t really want. His father.

No matter how far he came, no matter what he chose, it always came back to that weight. He didn’t want to be a disappointment. Or worse, a burden.

He had worked hard. Really hard. From the beginning, he pushed himself for the best grades, fought through the pressure of entrance exams, and earned his place at a top university. Yes, he’d had privileges. But effort? That had always been his.

And still, it never felt like enough.

Minseok had a clear path. Firstborn. Groomed for leadership. He took to the business world like it was second nature, like it had always been waiting for him. But Hyunjin was different. He knew that early on. He didn’t want to be shaped into something predictable, something safe. Something his father could be proud of only because it matched what he already understood.

That kind of life just didn’t fit. And he wasn’t sure it ever would.

Yeji had never quite felt the weight of the expectations the same way Hyunjin did. She spent years at a boarding school in Switzerland, only returning home after graduating. She pursued her own path, worked with brands, and naturally became the face of several companies. Her beauty and charm never hurt her either, and her father had never once complained about her choices. She had their mother’s backing, and in many ways, that was all he needed.

Hyunjin couldn’t help but feel like he had only Yeji and her friends on his side. His mother never spoke up for him or defended him against their father’s relentless pressure. Minseok, his older brother, was too busy with his own life and his own aspirations to be concerned with Hyunjin’s struggles. It felt like, no matter what, he was always trying to prove himself, always trying to meet an ideal that no one else seemed to need to reach.

He pushed the thought aside when she returned to his table, her smile as radiant as ever.

“I hope you liked the food,” she said, her voice light, almost teasing.

Hyunjin glanced down at his empty plate and gave a small, satisfied nod. “Liked is an understatement. It was amazing. Thank you.”

She followed his gaze to the table, her eyes catching on the worn sketchbook resting beside his plate, the corner of a page marked by a crooked pencil. “You carry that everywhere, don’t you?”

He blinked, caught off guard. Most people didn’t notice things like that. He thought he was just another quiet face in the crowd. “You noticed?”

A soft smile tugged at her lips, and a rosy color bloomed on her cheeks. It was impossibly charming. “Sorry,” she said, almost laughing at herself, “I wasn’t trying to snoop.”

“Not at all,” Hyunjin said, leaning in just a little, like sharing a secret. A half-smile ghosted across his face. “I guess I just like having a place to let my mind wander.”

She tilted her head, her hair slipping over one shoulder, a playful sparkle lighting up her expression. “Well, if you like letting your mind wander... and maybe singing a little too... we’re opening tonight for karaoke. Music, food, questionable singing—” she grinned, “—the essentials.”

For a moment, Hyunjin wasn’t sure if it was a general invitation or something meant just for him. The way she smiled made him hope it was the second.

“I’ll be there,” he said, and when she smiled again, he felt like maybe Jeju was exactly where he was supposed to be.

Hyunjin couldn’t quite tell if it was a personal invitation or just a casual pitch to all the customers. She probably said the same thing to everyone who walked in, but something in the warmth of her smile made him think it was more than just business.

Her smile softened, her cheekbones lifting with a blush that made him forget, for a moment, where he was. He smiled back, feeling lighter in a way he hadn't expected, watching her turn away with that easy, effortless grace.

But just as she disappeared into the back, it hit him—he let out a quiet groan, dragging a hand through his hair.

Of course. He had forgotten the most obvious thing.

Her name.

[zackmorriswifey]

Summary: Before Austin went off to play Elvis, he left your daughter with the cutest teddy bear. Your daughter can cuddle with something that smells like him. Sadly, the teddy bear was lost. You couldn’t find it after a fun day in the park. Now, it’s up to dad to come to the rescue.

───────── 🧸ྀི ──────────

You and Amelia had a wonderful and fun day at the park. Amelia couldn’t put down her bear. Even though. You took it just to let her eat her chicken nuggets hands free. She wouldn’t part with it. Feeding the little teddy bear some of her food.

As you pack your bags and get ready to go, you strap your sleepy little baby into the car seat. She mumbled something about wanting her teddy bear and that’s when you realize you haven’t seen it since lunch.

Oh, the meltdown was preparing to come. The little one beginning to cry, her lips began to pucker as her tears started to flow. This reaction was just the beginning, after which she began to scream and cry. She wants that teddy bear now.

You couldn’t believe you misplaced it. You lifted Amelia from her car seat and headed straight back to the park, where she snuggled comfortably against your waist as you looked around for the bear.

You couldn’t find it anywhere. It was a light brown bear with a pink bow tied around its neck. Austin made sure to spray it with his cologne before he left. He wanted her to have something to remember him by. That was something that kept Amelia calm while he went out to film Elvis.

You've lost the only thing that kept her sane. She began to cry more. The little one was so convinced that her dad would be upset and she would be in trouble. She didn’t want to be in trouble. She was angry with herself for loosing her toy. It wasn't her fault the bear had gotten lost anyways.

You couldn’t calm her down if you tried. You searched for a minute, but nothing appeared. You go back to the car and promise to buy her a new bear. The little girl protested it wouldn't smell like Austin. So that wasn’t a good idea. 

You finally got an idea as you picked up your phone and dialed Austin. You were sure it was really late where he was and he was probably very tired. A long day of filming will do that to you. She thought, maybe if Amelia could see Austin and hear his voice. Maybe, she’d calm down.

You dialed his phone number and waited for it to ring. He eventually picked up the phone. You explained what happened and Austin laughed. You couldn’t even begin to understand why he would find this situation funny.

You've spent the entire day with a fussy toddler. Whom now just lost her teddy bear and now they’re even more fussy. Austin calmly apologized and agreed to a FaceTime call. His face finally appeared on the screen.

“hi princess..” Austin's soft voice echoed in the car. He hated to see his little girl so sad. He knew how much she grew attached to that bear. Just along from all the conversations they’ve had over FaceTime. She never left without it.

Amelia’s head perked up. She was so happy to see her dad but also so sad. “the bear is gone daddy..” was all she could say. Her sad face told it all. “you told me not to lose it daddy and I did. I’m sorry.” your daughter cried out.

Austin shook his head. “it’s just a teddy bear lia” he told her trying to calm her down, letting her know that he wasn’t upset that bear was gone. To Amelia, that bear was everything. This item was a special gift given to her by her father who was away. She knew that whenever she missed him, she could just hug the bear.

“but you gave it to me and it’s special” She clenched her teeth again and began to cry loudly. She was devastated by the loss of her teddy bear. It was everything to her. She likes that little toy very much.

“I’ll get you a new one. For now, how about we sing your favorite Elvis song?” Austin offered as he began singing the chorus of Elvis Presley’s teddy bear. It instantly became their favorite song to sing together.

The song is a core memory for them. Because he loved to hug Amelia just as if she was his own personal teddy bear. They spent a lot of time dancing to the song at home. During preparations for the filming of the Elvis Presley movie. It was Amelia's love for the song that prompted Austin to buy her the bear.

This small gesture really cheered Amelia up. She ended the conversation with a smile. It finally got you guys home, and you got her to sleep that night. Leaving one of Austin’s very good smelling hoodies next to her to help her just incase.

The next few days passed and a big box was delivered to your house. You bring it in and Amelia’s eyes are so bright. You already know what it is because you and Austin shared pictures of it. When you open the box, you see a giant teddy bear.

It was bigger than the last one. There is a giant pink bow. It smelled so much like him. It made you tear up because you missed him dearly too. You didn't even get time to express that. Having a toddler was just so crazy.

She hugged the teddy bear and lay on it. “can we call daddy?” The little one asked. You nodded and pulled out FaceTime to call him. The two of you were sitting on the phone talking to Austin when he saw the teddy bear.

He was very happy to see Amelia smiling and in a good mood. He came to check on you as well, making sure you were okay and even bought you some flowers. They are your favorite kind. You also have your own little teddy bear. It smelled like him.

You and Amelia are the luckiest girls in the world. You couldn’t feel more loved by Austin. Counting the days and months only makes it all the more worthwhile. That way, you can be together again. You couldn’t wait for Amelia to see her daddy shine.

 ───────── 🧸ྀི ──────────

Here’s something short and sweet as a way to give you a break between all the sad stories I’ve been posting. This song is so cute, it made me think of an idea. So, I had to write something right away. I hope you guys enjoy it. 🤎

[rosemuc]

contents: very vague but also probably inaccurate depictions of first aid, angst, grief and mourning, reader has a semi-established backstory

wc: 906

"Brings back memories, doesn't it?"

Keith huffs out a hoarse laugh. The first aid kit sits at your heels, contents picked apart with practiced ease. You smile, the curve of a meteor trail, and coax his head to the side, fingers flitting over the breaks in his skin. A butterfly's touch on the flower it drinks from.

"Guess you could say that." He mutters.

You'd done this the very first night you met. It'd been closer to dawn than to curfew, sun dead in the sky, the unending abyss of the Garrison's labyrinthine halls marred only by the low light of a dying torch. The rustling of your surgical scrubs and his battered cadet uniform. The soft hum of understanding you'd let out when you moved to wipe down his bloodied knuckles. You hadn't even known Keith then, but you'd put him back together anyways. He averts his gaze, voice shifting, softening:

"You're so careful with me."

You hum noncommitally. "Am I not supposed to be?"

You're not, Keith thinks. Of course you're not. You've done this a thousand times before, but always your eyes are laser-focused, movements finely tuned like he'd shatter if you held him too hard. Who is he to accept this? Who are you to give it to him?

As if sensing his thoughts, you sigh.

"Just because you can handle pain doesn't mean you should have to." Your voice is devoid of its original levity; impossibly sad, and knowing beyond belief. It's a tone he's become accustomed to ever since you've gotten to know him again this war. "You're always getting hurt, Keith. You're a fighter; I know that." You lean closer, thumb sweeping over the gauze square pressed to his cheek. "I just wish you understood that it being in your blood isn't the same as it being all that you're meant for."

Your hand recedes, and Keith is left with the sight of your glistening eyes, the blunt edges of the cracks splicing through him in the wake of your touch. It's hard to conceive anything else; it's all he's done, all he's felt, for so very long. The fight comes easy. The healing does not - not the way it does for you. He can't imagine what it must be like to fix something over and over again, just waiting for the day it all comes undone.

"I'm sorry." Keith says, and he means it. “I know it's hard. I'm not trying to-"

His voice catches, brittle, on the jagged corners of his throat. It's a painful death. So small and so consuming at the same time.

Something flickers in your eyes.

"It's okay." You whisper. Fingers slope over his own. "You don't have to say anything to me. I trust you."

I trust you. To anyone else, beautiful words - lathered in starlight, something to make you feel like giving up the moon. To Keith, it feels more like an indictment - more revealing of you than it is of him. How little of the world you must have seen, to think that he, of all things, is worthy of you.

Keith doesn't hide himself very often - at the very least, not from you - but you watch the shutter fall across his face in real time. It aches indescribably, but you'd be a hypocrite to pry him open before his time.

(You have ghosts of your own, after all. Ones that appear not in fire or blood, but in the constant searching in your gaze, the way your hands twitch to hold someone who is no longer there. Forgetting is a liberty you cannot afford. There's a haunting that rips across your eyes, sometimes, when you look at Pidge, sight calibrating automatically the image of a chestnut-haired boy burned into the neocortex-

Now is not the time.)

You offer another smile, this one feeble at best, unsure if Keith can see how the waves crash behind your eyes. How each thunderous swell erodes the walls you have spent your whole life fabricating.

"You're all done, Keith."

Your voice trails off towards the end. He nods. You hesitate for just a fraction of a second before you reach your free hand up, brushing with infinite, tentative care a lock of his hair to the side. It sweeps against his cheekbone, illuminated gently by the recess of space outside. His gaze falls to you.

Violet eyes, you remind yourself. All the riptides of that vicious sea of memory could not drown out how you feel like it's your first time seeing them, each and every time you do. You think of all your barricades. One day, the dam will break. One day, the red will catch up to him, and what will you do then?

Keith's hand shifts beneath yours. His fingers thread into your own, firm to the point of quivering minutely as though trying to sear all the unspoken things into your skin. You understand. God, you understand it more than he will ever know.

Your eyes flicker shut, and pieces of your life ricochet past in the clamouring dark. Worn steel throttles. Red crosses. Summer nights. How it felt to have someone beside you to face the world head-on, hands just barely brushing your own - orbital paths circling a forsaken mission to the farthest edge of the universe, never meant to collide the way they did. Even if in the future it all amounts to nothing-

For now, it's enough.

end

notes: thank you very much for making it to the end if you're reading this! this is my first fic (!!!), and very appropriately for a show which melted my brain. sorry for any errors (english is a monster language), and have a wonderful day!

[starrysnowdrop]

Heyo! So I happened to see your recent ask response regarding Zenos randomly, and, honestly, I'm kind of curious on what people miss about his character! I'm not a personal big fan of him(ngl he kind of creeped me out with his, projecting himself on the wol it felt like? Note I say that as a WHM main who plays as truly heroic WoL(s) most of the time admittedly, so most of his stuff made me go no? alot XD I don't mind people who do like him tho! They're cool!), but I'm interested in understanding him better if possible, cause I know I miss things that others don't and I don't think I've seen anyone explain his intricacies without being somewhat rude about it, but you explained what you did without coming off as that. So I'm kind of curious on that essay you almost wrote if you'd be alright writing it XD (Sorry for being on anon, I am, very shy qwq)

In case you’re not familiar with what this anon is asking about, this is in response to my answer to this ask HERE. Feel free to go read that one and come back!

So, I first want to say thank you for being brave enough to reach out to me about this, even on anon!! I’m really glad that you didn’t find my comments to be rude, as that is the very last thing that I would want! If anyone did find me too abrasive in my previous post above, then I wholeheartedly apologize for that. I would never want anyone to be afraid to reach out to me because I came off as rude at some point, so I appreciate you letting me know that you didn’t think I was. 💖

Alright, now let’s get to the topic at hand: Zenos, and why I truly think that he is the most misunderstood character in FFXIV.

Zenos: The Most Misunderstood Character in FFXIV

((I wrote way too much, so it’s under the cut.))

Alright, so let’s start with what I have seen as the popular take on Zenos that I see as wrong: A lot of players see Zenos as a one dimensional character that has no depth, and doesn’t have a character arc in which he grows as a character. They see him as the annoying antagonist who has a battle boner for the WoL and that’s it. They only see his bloodlust and nothing else. They don’t think there is anything else to him, and that’s where I must strongly disagree.

So, how is he not a one dimensional character? Well, that’s because he really is a complex character, but you need to be paying close attention to what Zenos is actually saying and what his actions are throughout the story.

One can piece together Zenos’ complexity purely from watching the cutscenes, but just in case anyone is curious about going into more depth on his backstory, then I highly recommend that you go read his side story from the Chronicles of Light book entitled “The Hunt Begins”. It shows how Zenos was raised, and it reinforces why he thinks the way that he does.

Without going into his backstory too much, for brevity's sake, Zenos is actually a prodigy, someone who was born with not only incredible strength, but also incredible intelligence, and you know what happens when gifted kids don't get enough of a challenge? Yup, they get easily bored. So keep that in mind as we move along. Now, mix that boredom with a good dose of Anhedonia, or the inability to experience pleasure or joy. Now we aren't sure if he was born with Anhedonia, or if he acquired it through some mental health condition, such as PTSD, depression, etc. I'm no psychologist whatsoever, so I'm not here to diagnose Zenos with any particular disorder, but it is clear that he suffers from the lack of feeling joy or pleasure in his life.

This is actually what characterizes Zenos the most when we first are introduced to him in 4.0; he is suffering from Anhedonia AND Ennui, which according to Webster's Dictionary, is not just a feeling of weariness and dissatisfaction, but its a profound sense of boredom that arises from feeling jaded with one's life.

Zenos is suffering from a lack of joy and pleasure in his life, seeing the world as meaningless and dull, and he has found only one sole pleasure in all of it: The Hunt*. But what he means by The Hunt, is that he wants to fight the most challenging foes, challenging enough that he must put his all into the battle and be pushed to the brink of death. Only this kind of challenging battle will give him any sense of joy at all. For him at this point, there has been nothing else which has brought him joy, so he seeks out this sole pleasure.

And THAT is what Zenos' motivation is. He is not mindless in his pursuit of battle. His bloodlust stems from the desire to feel some kind of happiness at all, and unlike what some might think, not any foe will do. Zenos does not fight mindlessly against anyone at any time. That is not true. If an enemy is no threat to him, unless they purposely get in his way, he will not fight them.

This is true from the first time you see Zenos on the battlefield. At Rhalgr's Reach, Zenos sought out only the strongest fighters there, and two of them (Lyse and Y'shtola) got in his way first, and he defeated them easily. When he fights the WoL, the one who he has heard so much about, and definitely the strongest opponent among them, he becomes curious and hopes that we will give him what he wants. But in that first battle with him, he swats the WoL away like a fly, and they pose no challenge to him at all, to which he calls them "Pathetic", and then he immediately leaves, ultimately disappointed.

Note that Zenos had every opportunity to kill Lyse, Y’shtola, and the WoL if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. He leaves them alone after he defeats them. That’s not the sign of someone who is so sadistic that he’s only out for blood. The fact of the matter here is that Zenos is trying to feel something from battle, something that he has never experienced before: pure joy.

Zenos doesn’t experience this joy until he fights the WoL again several times; first he gets just a hint of it, a tiny spark, when the WoL breaks a piece of his helmet off, and he feels it even more later on when Zenos fights the WoL in the Ala Mhigan throne room. This is when Zenos goes into his monologue before he releases and takes over Shinryu, and note that the joy and pleasure he is describing seems to have a sexual tone to it, which I promise I have a point to make about that in a bit.

After the battle with Zenos as Shinryu, he finally feels the joy that he has never felt in his entire life, and because he doesn’t think he’ll ever feel anything like it ever again, Zenos takes his own life, happy to have played a bit part in the story of his “first friend”.

But as we know, Zenos doesn’t stay dead. He finds himself alive once more, and he has a singular goal: to feel that pure bliss, that overwhelming joy that he felt when he fought the WoL in the Royal Menagerie in Ala Mhigo. From ShB through EW, Zenos’ goal doesn’t change, but he does change in his understanding of what it means to have a “friend” and how he can feel happiness.

During EW, Zenos has several scenes where his understanding of his feelings seems to grow, and though that sexual tone to his descriptions of what he’s feeling towards his battle with the WoL is still there, I would argue that over time, it seems to have more and more of a romantic tone to it as well. And with this shift in his tone when describing his feelings, he also seems to question his understanding of it all.

Zenos’ character growth is the whole point of two very important scenes: the Scions and Jullus encountering Zenos in Garlemald while fighting the blasphemies, and later when Zenos goes to the Royal Menagerie alone. The first of these scenes reinforces the themes of EW with Zenos’ philosophy of life, but it is also the first time that someone says something that makes Zenos question his beliefs.

Alisaie’s words to Zenos hit him hard, and Zenos goes back to the Royal Menagerie, to the scene of where he had his one transcendent moment, his one time in his life when he felt joy, pleasure, and happiness. He realizes in this moment that, whatever you believe Zenos’ true feelings are for the WoL, which I personally argue that it is love that he feels for them, but regardless, Zenos cannot continue to be selfish and only think about his own wants and desires. He must act selflessly, and assist in the WoL’s battle against the Endsinger and stop the Final Days, in order for the WoL to give him what he wants in return. He finally realizes that it’s this give and take, this reciprocation between people, is the key to building bonds with others… Zenos finally learns what it is to be a “friend” to someone. After this moment, Zenos goes to Sharlayan to find a way to help out the WoL in their mission to save the star, and to finally be a friend to them.

And you know what that is? That’s growth. That’s having a character arc. That’s Zenos in all of his complexity. Which I still say that it’s perfectly fine to not like his character, but I only wish that people would not like him with a clear understanding of what he really is, and not what others think he is.

Alright, I think I have blabbed on long enough, but I hope that I have answered your question anon! If you need me to clarify anything further, please don’t hesitate to ask me! Thank you so much for your ask anon, and thank you to all who have read this! 💖