#every conversation i have every time i self reflect every time i read something really cool whether it be an academic article or a blog pos

[lokiandbuckysdoll]

𝙏𝙝𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙣 𝙃𝙞𝙨 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩

Pairing: Thor x Reader

Summary: You overhear a conversation between Thor and loki, making you second-guess the relationship you have with Thor

Word count: 2.3k+

Warnings: angst, miscommunication, and self-doubt.

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts since I first started writing, and I found the motivation to finish it. I'm not really sure how I feel about it, but I hope you enjoy reading it :)

Today was the day. The day that almost every little girl dreams of when they grow older. Their wedding day.

You were beyond nerves as the room buzzed with the soft hum of curling irons and the occasional rustle of fabric. Sunlight streamed through translucent curtains, casting a warm glow over the elegant vanity where you sat. Your heart pounded with a rhythm you couldn’t calm, hands clenched together in your lap as Wanda adjusted the final curls in your hair and Natasha dabbed a soft shimmer onto your rosy cheeks.

“You’re quiet,” Nat said, catching your eyes in the mirror. Her voice was calm, but her brows lifted knowingly. “Too quiet for someone about to marry the love of her life.”

You gave a small, almost embarrassed laugh, as your reflection betrayed the tight line of your mouth. “I know I’m supposed to be excited and I am, but I’m also…” You paused, biting the inside of your cheek before continuing, “I’m nervous. Like, terrifyingly nervous. What if I trip walking down the aisle? What if I forget my vows? What if I—”

“Throw up into Thor’s ceremonial cloak?” Wanda offered with a smirk, brushing a soft curl away from your cheek.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Exactly that.”

Nat chuckled and handed you a glass of water. “You’re not the first bride to feel this way, you know. It just means it’s real. The nerves, the pressure, it means you care.” Wanda nodded, her tone more reassuring. “And Thor? He’d think it was charming even if you did trip. He loves you, not some flawless performance.”

Before you could respond, a gentle knock came at the door. It creaked open, and in stepped Frigga, radiant in a deep blue Asgardian gown adorned with silver embroidery. Her presence was regal, yet her smile was all warmth.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Frigga said, her voice a melodic lilt. “I just wanted a quiet moment with the bride before the ceremony begins.”

Nat and Wanda glanced at you, who nodded quickly. They exchanged a silent cue, offering encouraging looks before slipping out of the room.

Frigga approached with graceful ease, sitting beside you. Her gaze was soft, understanding. “I remember the morning of my own wedding,” she began, her eyes twinkling with nostalgia. “My hands shook so badly I couldn’t even fasten my brooch. Odin had to do it for me.”

You laughed gently, some of the tension easing from your shoulders. “Really? You seemed so composed.” Frigga chuckled. “We all wear masks at times. But it’s all right to be nervous. Love is a choice we make every day, not just in grand ceremonies. The nerves only mean you’re about to make something real.” You nodded slowly, the words sinking in like warm tea in your chest.

“Now,” Frigga continued, reaching into the folds of her cloak, “there is one Asgardian tradition I wished to share with you.” She produced a silken ribbon, pale silver and embroidered with runes that shimmered faintly in the light. “It is customary for the bride to gift the groom a ribbon for his ceremonial cloak, something woven with love, to guide and protect him.”

You took it delicately, and your eyes were wide. “It’s beautiful…”

“It need not be perfect,” Frigga said, clasping her hand gently. “Only meaningful. Thor will treasure it more than any crown.”

Tears began to well in your eyes, but this time they were soft, not panicked. You clutched the ribbon close, breathing in deep. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Frigga smiled, brushing a hair from your face like a mother would. “Now go, my dear. You have a ceremony to shine in.” You hugged Frigga before leaving your corridor to find Thor.

The halls of Asgard shimmered with golden light, dressed in anticipation for the royal wedding. Inside, the palace bustled with excitement. The people adored you. They viewed you as Kind, brave, and loyal. You had stood beside Thor as he went into battles, smiled through the storms, and promised nothing but love.

As you approached the door to Thor’s chambers, you slowed. The door was slightly ajar. Light spilled out into the hallway, flickering with the glow of torches. You entered quietly, and you heard Thor's voice, low and steady, coming from the balcony. You steadily walk over, stopping just before the opening.

There, Thor stood on the balcony overlooking the Bifröst with Loki. The celestial sky was splattered with colors that should have felt like celebration. Yet, his heart was elsewhere. He couldn't help as his heart still beat with memories of Jane Foster, the other mortal who had once understood his soul in a way no other had.

Leaning against a marble pillar, Thor’s voice dropped low as he spoke to Loki. “I do not know if I’m ready,” Thor said. “They look to me as if I have all the answers, but I’m no All-Father.” You leaned closer, careful not to make a sound. There was a pause, then Thor continued, his voice tinged with something like regret.

“Midgard is changing. The cosmos is changing. And I…I still feel like I’m chasing the shadow of who I was supposed to be.” You furrowed your brows. “I wish I were marrying Jane,” he admitted, guilt dripping from every syllable. “Not because y/n isn’t worthy… she’s more than worthy. But my heart—” he paused, “my heart still aches for Jane.”

You stood frozen in place. You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but his words struck like lightning, clean through your chest. Dropping the ribbion, you turned and walked away, silent tears glistening in your eyes. You didn’t hear the rest of the conversation.

Loki, ever the observer, tilted his head. “You’re being foolish, brother!” Thor looked up, startled. “What?”

“You think you still love Jane, but you’re chasing a ghost!. I’ve seen the way you look at y/n when she’s not watching. The way your voice softens. The way you find peace when she’s near. Jane was a spark, yes, but y/n.. y/n is your storm.”

Thor stared into the distance, his chest tight. “What if I’ve already broken her heart?”

“Then you’d better fight for it back,” Loki said simply. “Before the only thing left of your love is regret.” Thor took in those words and realized he was indeed being ludicrous. You are all he ever needs. You have been there through the toughest times, where he questioned his worth and whether he was worthy of the life the gods gave him.

"You are right, brother!. What am I thinking y/n is the one for me," Loki smiled as he finally got to see his oaf of a brother realize his wrong. " I am always right, I tell you," Loki smirked as you patted his shoulder. " Let's finish getting you ready. I reckon y/n will be coming by any second to give you the ribbon for your ceremonial cloak," Thor smiled as they made their way back in from the bocany.

As Thor turns to walk in, he freezes. On the floor lies the ribbon, the one that was supposed to be for the ceremonial cloak. Thor kneels and picks it up slowly. His fingers tremble. He looks up at the open doorway. " She heard everything..."

You wiped fiercely at the tears as you stumbled out of Thor’s room. Your chest heaved, breath catching in sobs, you couldn't hold back anymore. The corridor blurred, the golden walls of the palace distorted by your tears. Your footsteps echoed fast, uneven as you walked away, your heart pounding with grief and humiliation.

You didn’t make it far before you nearly collided with Natasha and Wanda coming around the corner. Nat reached out instinctively, steadying you by the shoulders.

"Hey — whoa. What happened?" Natasha asked, her voice low but alert, already sensing something was wrong.

You tried to speak, but the words stuck in your throat. Wanda stepped closer, her expression softening as she looked at your tear-streaked face.

"Are you hurt?" Wanda asked gently.

You shook your head, trying to catch your breath. “No. Just... not enough, I guess.”

"What are you talking about?" Nat pressed, concern deepening.

“It’s Thor,” you choked out, voice raw. “He doesn’t want to marry me. He said... he’s not ready. Not like that. Not with me.” You looked away, biting your lip so hard it nearly bled. “So I’m leaving. I can’t stay here and pretend it doesn’t kill me.”

Wanda’s eyes filled with quiet sorrow, and Natasha's jaw clenched. They both moved closer, no words, just presence, just standing with you in that hollow ache.

“You don’t have to be alone in this,” Wanda whispered.

“But I can’t be here,” you whispered back. “Not anymore.” They try to walk you away.

Just then, Thor finally finds you, and He stopped in his tracks.

His gaze locked onto you, his y/n, and the sight of you crumbling in someone else’s arms felt like Mjölnir had slammed into his chest.

“y/n…” he started, his voice soft, uncertain.

You looked at him sharply, your expression hardening. “Don’t,” you warned, your voice hoarse from crying. “Just don’t.”

“I need to explain what you heard—” he stepped forward, hands open, as if approaching a wounded creature. “I heard enough,” you snapped. “I heard you say that you were not ready and that you wish I were Jane.”

“No,” Thor said firmly, the old thunder creeping into his voice. “That is not what I meant. You didn’t hear the whole—”

“I heard enough!” you shouted, cutting him off. “Do you know what it felt like? Hearing the person I trusted the most talk about me like I were some regret?” you wiped your tears. "Especially on what is supposed to be our- My wedding day!" you choked out.

Wanda stood, gently tugging Natasha with her. “We’ll give you two spaces,” she said quietly, casting a glance at Thor, who held a flicker of warning. As they walked away, silence settled between Thor and Lucy—until a new voice broke it.

“Is this how you handle things on your wedding, my son?” came the regal, calm voice of Frigga, stepping gracefully from the hallway. Thor blinked. “Mother?”Frigga gave you a warm, reassuring look before turning a sterner gaze to her son. “You speak of love and family, yet let pride and fear do the talking for you?”

“Mother, I—”

“No,” she said, lifting a hand. “You will listen. And then both of you will speak. Honestly.”

You looked hesitant, shoulders still tense.

Frigga approached you gently. “Child, pain clouds the truth. But so does silence. You owe it to your heart to hear him, and to let him hear you.”

Thor swallowed hard, his voice gentling. “Y/n… what you heard was taken out of context. I was confused. Not at you, but at myself. I felt unworthy of you. I thought… maybe you were better off without me. And I said something I didn’t mean, to someone I shouldn’t have said anything to.”

Your lip trembled. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me."

“I know. And I was wrong. But please… don’t let one moment destroy everything we’ve built.” There was a long pause.

Then you looked away, your voice barely above a whisper. “It felt like you didn’t want me.”

“I’ve never wanted anything more,” Thor said, stepping closer. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it, if you’ll let me.”

Frigga gave a small smile and stepped back.

“Now,” she said, “perhaps a walk together would be wise. Air does wonders for heavy hearts. I'll take care of the guest and the wedding.”

Frigga gives both of you a gentle nod and turns to walk away, letting you both find your words alone. Thor and you stand a few feet apart. The silence stretches again, not hostile now, but thick with emotion.

You fold your arms tightly, as if trying to hold yourself together.

“You made me feel like I was nothing,” you murmur, not looking at him.

Thor’s voice cracks. “You are everything, y/n. I didn’t mean those words — not like that. I said them in weakness. I thought… if I made myself let you go, you wouldn’t have to carry the burden of me.”

You finally meet his eyes. “I chose you, Thor. You don’t get to make that choice for me.” He steps closer, slowly, hands still open. “I know. And I’m sorry. Truly. I thought causing you to be away was protecting you, but I see now that all I did was hurt you. And myself.”

Tears spill again down your cheeks, though this time, you don’t turn away. “Why didn’t you just talk to me?”

“I was afraid,” he admits, with none of his usual bravado. “I’ve faced monsters, gods, and armies, but the thought of losing you by being honest… it terrified me. So I said something cruel, something I didn’t mean, because I thought it would make you walk away first.”

Your voice trembles. “You were the first person who made me feel safe. And then suddenly, I wasn’t.” Thor steps closer. “I will never do that to you again. No more pushing, no more pride. I love you, y/n. And if I’ve damaged that beyond repair… I’ll accept it. But I won’t stop trying to fix it.”

A beat passes. Then another. You slowly uncross your arms.

Your voice is quiet. “You hurt me.” “I know,” he says. “And I’ll make it right, however long it takes,” he hesitates, then takes one tentative step toward you. “Words aren’t enough, Thor.” He nods. “Then let my actions speak.”

Silence again, but softer this time filled with something lighter. Not perfect, not fixed, but open.

You look at him, studying his face. Then, finally, carefully, you place your hand in his. “Don’t ever shut me out again,” you whisper. Thor squeezes your hand, eyes shining. “Never again.”

You lean into him slowly, and he wraps his arms around you like he never wants to let go. The two of you stand like that for a long moment. Broken pieces slowly mending in the space between them. From a balcony above, Frigga watches quietly with a small, knowing smile.

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[dizzypplbecomeblurry]

sometimesSoMETIMES i catch a a glimpse of a life i could lead that is so beautiful and vibrant and lovely it’s THERE just beyond my grasp AAAAAAAHHHHHHH

[valyvinny]

╰┈➤ ❝ Love and deepspace boys *:･ﾟ✧*: Losing control ❞

PAIRING : Caleb x reader, Sylus x reader, Zayne x reader, Rafayel x reader and Xavier x reader GENRE : Soft smut WORD COUNT : 2.6k TAGS : MDNI 18+ NSFW, kissing, making out, grinding, dry humping, allusions to sex, rafayel is implied to be in heat, back scratching (only is sylus') A/N : PHEWW, I know I said that the next piece of writing may take a while but I also have no self control lol. Though this time I promise its gonna take a hot minute cause final year med school exams are kicking my asssss. Also, I didn't expect my previous piece to do as well as it did. Thank you all so so much for reading it and I hope you enjoy this one :)

The lads boys can't help but lose control around you

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Caleb

Caleb is addicted to your lips. It’s almost like he’s making up for the years he’s spent abstaining from you, littering fleeting pecks throughout the day. 

Caleb just can’t seem to help himself. He’d always kiss you hello and goodbye. He’d kiss you good morning and good night. 

He was always so gentle with it, tucking strands of your hair behind your ears before cupping your face in his palms, holding you like you’re made of glass. Afraid that with one wrong move, you’d break. 

He’d take his time to admire your features. Features that he’s cherished and adored his whole life, that he can probably draw out from memory. Your expressive eyes gazing at him in anticipation, the plush of your inviting lips, the dusty pink hue that’s settled on your cheeks.  

You were his entire world and he could only hope you’d be able to feel at least a fraction of what he felt for you and how much he treasured you in the way he kissed you. Soft and tender. Pouring all the passion he could as he moved his lips against yours. 

But perhaps most infuriatingly (not really, you secretly loved it), he’d often kiss you mid conversation. A light peck to stop you in your tracks. It was his trump card, especially when you were scolding him for something. And it worked every time, it always seemed to melt you into a puddle 

“You just look so adorable when you’re talking to me pip-squeak” he’d say, laughing at your display of annoyance. But the fact that you we’re fighting off a smile said you felt otherwise. 

But when he had the time to indulge himself in you, it was an entirely different experience. An entirely different Caleb. The duality of your childhood friend always gave you a whiplash. 

He’s pulling you close to him, savoring the feeling of your body against his. You’re caged against his imposing form and whatever surface he’s crowding you against this time. You’re pinned, completely at the mercy of the man that’s yearning for your touch. 

Caleb kisses you with the hunger of a thousand men. His kisses are feverish, demanding, ravishing every corner of your mouth like it’s the first time. He bites down on the plush of your bottom lip, taking you by surprise. 

“Sorry”, he breathes. But he isn’t really. Not when the sound of your wanton moans sends tingles down his spine. God, how did he get so fucking lucky. Having you here like this, so pliant and needy in his arms is his version of heaven. 

The feeling of you carding your fingers through the strands of his hair, tugging at the roots makes a filthy groan escape from his lips. You’re going to be the death of him. 

You’re impatiently pulling his lips towards you again, and it only spurs him on further, pressing one bruising kiss after another, leaving your lips swollen. All the while his hand is sneaking up your shirt to feel the intoxicating warmth of your body. 

You rarely ever stop him when he gets like this. You know he needs it, needs you. And you want him too. Desperately. So you take a hold of his hand and guide it lower, Caleb’s eyes darkening in response. It’s safe to say that neither of you are going anywhere anytime soon. 

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Sylus

Sylus is subtle with his affections, it reflects in his gentle and otherwise discrete mannerisms. 

The silver haired man has made a habit of kissing your hand in greeting.

“My lady”, he’s tease, smirking at the your cheeks tinged pink and your defiant pout. 

Occasionally, he’d press a kiss on the top of your head and interlace his fingers with yours. Other times, he’d wrap your hands around your waist, guiding you through noisy crowds. 

However, behind closed doors, your proximity was a drug to him. 

He’d rarely, if ever, be apart from you and your lips. Once he had you against him on his bed, perched on his lap, you’d be better off clearing your schedule. 

Sylus could spend hours savoring the touch of your lips against his. He’s a sensual kisser. Taking his time to draw out every moan, every whimper he can draw from you. 

He’s slow, concentrating first on your upper, then your lower lip, your mouth moving against his in tandem with a rhythm that comes with practiced ease. He’s thoroughly infatuated with the way you move against him, seeking more of his touch. 

He strokes your cheek with his thumb, before entangling his fingers in your hair, angling your face just right for him to kiss you deeper, while his other hand is wrapped against your waist leaning you against the headboard. 

It’s intoxicating. You’re drowning in the presence of this man, and with each kiss, you only want to sink deeper and deeper. 

His kisses are numbing. Your lips tingling with how much they’re being ravaged by his, but you don’t want it to stop. In fact, you want to break his resolve further. 

So you pull out his shirt that’s tucked neatly in his pants, your hand snaking up his back, feeling the muscles flex underneath your fingertips. 

You rake your nails across his back, the sting making the silver haired male shudder in response, satisfied at his break in composure. 

“You sly minx” he chides, black tendrils of his Evol emerging to bind your wrists over your head, freeing him to continue his offense. 

Each press of his lips steals your breath away, leaving you completely drunk with need, until the only thought consuming you was the man in front of you. 

As the minutes tick by, Sylus is emboldened with a new sense of ferocity and intensity as you find yourself grinding against his thigh, desperate to ease the growing warmth in between your thighs. 

And if you were willing to, he’d be very happy to indulge you, give you everything you want and more. 

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Zayne

Zayne is a sensible man. His logical reasoning and quick thinking, even in the most critical situations, is what makes him the most sought after Cardiothoracic Surgeon in Linkon. 

He’s very rarely swayed by his emotions. But that also means he comes off as cold and unfeeling to the people around him. 

Not to you though. Never to you. Zayne is the warmest presence in your life.

In the midst of all his responsibilities, you are his reprieve, a breath of fresh air. When he has you to himself, the doctor throws all sense and reason out the window. You are his ultimate weakness. 

You are his to worship. The need he feels for you is indescribable. It consumes him, swallows him whole, until he starts to let lose any remaining restraint that holds him back from you. 

The way Zayne kisses you can only be described as reverent. He takes his time with you. Worshipping you. 

Kissing featherlight kisses up your jaw, his lips just barely brushing your skin, trailing them to just beneath your ear, before tugging at your earlobe with his teeth. 

You shiver in response, angling yourself towards him, trying to press more of yourself to him in hopes that he will relent. 

But Zayne is in no hurry. Not at all. He wants to watch you unravel under him. Bit my bit until you’re completely pliant. 

He wants to be selfish with you. So he continues his ministrations, peppering kisses down your throat, feeling the vibrations of your hums and huffs with his lips. 

You’re struggling to keep your eyes open now, Zayne’s gentle but lethal movements sending a flush of warmth down your body. You need his lips on yours, you need it like you need air. 

“Please Zayne…kiss me” 

How could he deny you when you begged him so sweetly? 

The sight of you so debauched with just a few simple touches sends Zayne into a frenzy. It pleases him, knowing you want him as much as he wants you. 

So he relents, giving you what you want and kissing your lips, while you sigh in relief. Finally. 

Zayne kisses you with intent. His hands are at your hips, squeezing slightly as he devours the moans that leave your lips.

He moves his hand to touch your face, earning a surprised gasp from you, your eyes shooting open. His fingertips are icy cold. Only then do you notice, there’s frost creeping up his neck and hands. His Evol is responding to you. 

But Zayne pays it no mind, he’d die before ever causing you harm. So he grazes your bottom lip with the tip of his thumb, gazing into your eyes while nodding reassuringly. 

“I’m okay” he’d confirm before he captures your lips again, this time with renewed vigor, determined to finish what he started. 

He’s everywhere all at once, and you find comfort in each other’s kisses, touches and presence. Allowing yourselves to get lost in each other further into the night. 

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Xavier

Xavier is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. His unsuspecting and otherwise modest appearance only serves as a facade, concealing his genuine desires. 

While he comes off as quiet and unassuming, the truth is far from it. 

He can’t help himself. You’re his. The hunter wants you next to him at all times, kissing him, touching him, loving him. He wants your undivided attention on him, selfishly so. 

It always starts out so innocent. He’s pulling you into his embrace, kissing the tip of your nose in greeting. 

“Hello my star” he says, as you giggle under his affection. And God his heart clenches at the sound. It’s music to his ears. 

He repeats the action, then tenderly peppering kisses all over your face. Your forehead, the apple of your cheeks, the dip of your chin and the corner of your lips. Over and over again until you’re reduced into a fit of laughter. 

“Xavier, it tickles” you whine, with no real complaint in your tone. 

He ceases his playful gesture, only to wrap his hands around your waist, picking you up and placing you on the dining table with practiced ease. 

You often find yourself in this position. Perched on a surface with Xavier spreading your thighs, finding his rightful place between them. 

He’s burying his face in your neck, brushing his lips against your thrumming pulse. The sound of your breath hitching in response makes Xavier smile against your skin. He’s got you exactly where he wants you. 

“My light, can I please?” He asks, pleading for your permission to spoil you.  

You find it very hard to deny the hunter, especially when you know what usually comes next. And you want it so bad. Want him to come undone and take you for himself. You’ve never stopped him before and you’re most definitely not going to stop him now. 

The breathy ‘please’ that leaves your lips is all the confirmation he needs as he dives to nip at the nape of your neck. Your skin is soft and warm as he swipes his tongue along the line of your pulse. You throw your head back in response, inviting him to take more of you. 

Xavier worries the skin in between his teeth, sucking and tonguing at the spot until he’s satisfied with the dark splotch that blooms in its place. 

He continues a similar onslaught across your collarbone and throat, leaving you hissing at the delicious sting. 

The hunter trails his lips up your throat, finally connecting his lips with yours. He kisses you like a man starved, encouraged by the sight of the dark purple marks he’s left decorating your skin. 

It satisfies a primal part of him, knowing in a way, he’s claimed you for himself. 

He’s greedy for you, and isn’t ashamed to show it. Pressing chaste kisses one after the other, barely giving you a second to catch your breath, swallowing the lustful moans that threaten that leave your lips. 

And as his hand squeezes the fat of your thighs, edging his fingertips higher to the warmth that sits between your legs, you know that you’re not leaving his apartment until you’re absolutely ruined. 

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Rafayel

There’s only two things that Rafayel needs to survive in this world. One is his art, the second is you. The merman is needy and he isn’t ashamed to show it. 

Sometimes, it’s difficult to get anything done when the Lemurian is around. He’s practically glued to your side, sneaking kisses to your cheek, wrapping his hand around your waist and nuzzling into the nape of your neck.  

You aren’t complaining though, you find it endearing when he’s all pouty and clingy.

And then there’s Rafayel when there’s an insatiable need growing under his skin that he just can’t seem to itch.   

When he gets like this, you’ve learned to surrender to his mercy. That’s how you find yourself currently perched on his lap. 

His gaze is intense, half lidded eyes staring you down like you’re his prey. He’s breathing heavier than usual, a sheen of sweat coating his skin. 

“Raf, are you okay?” You question worryingly. He’s burning up, you can practically feel the heat emanating from his skin. 

Wordlessly, Rafayel takes a hold of your hand, placing it on his cheek, nuzzling into your palm. It’s not enough though, he’s growing more restless. He needs more of you touching him. 

On instinct, the merman turn his face to bite at the fat of your palm, laving his tongue over the skin. When he hears your breath hitch, he breaks. 

With all semblance of reason now completely disregarded, Rafayel grasps at your neck, pressing your body into his eliminating any space between the two of you. 

His lips are on yours in an instant, and your hands are in his hair, tugging at his waves as he nips and sucks at your lips, bruising them. 

“Y/n…” he groans. His voice dripping with lust, brows knitted as he struggles to catch his breath. 

You look up at the merman. He looks positively ruined. His shirt is in disarray, hair standing up in a hundred different directions, lips swollen. And his eyes, there’s a storm brewing behind them, having darkened considerably. 

You’ve never seen him like this. Rafayel’s always been playful, using his humor as a front to his true feelings, always keeping you at arms length. 

But right now, he feels so raw. Trusting you with his deepest desires as they erupt to the surface. 

Seeing him like this, so open, so vulnerable makes heat pool between your legs. You want him, God no you need him. So you crash your lips onto his with fervor, matching his frenzy with new determination. 

Rafayel is loud. He doesn’t hold back, reacting to every press of lips, every pull of hair, grinding himself against you to relieve at least some of the tension built up in his pants. 

His tongue is swiping at your bottom lip, begging for permission which you grant without hesitation. It’s wet and messy, one hand kneading your thigh, the other playing with the button of your jeans. 

It’s all a well choreographed dance then, motions you’ve been through many times. But somehow this moment feels different, a tangible electricity in the air. You have a feeling the Lemurian isn’t going to let you go until he’s had his fill of you. 

© valyvinny. All right reserved. Do not steal, copy, translate, repost or reupload any of my works. Do not use my work for AI

[cloudyluun]

Under the Dining Table

Summary: A casual dinner with friends takes an unexpected turn when Harry’s hand finds its way under your dress. What starts as a teasing touch quickly escalates into a dangerous game, his fingers stroking you in slow, torturous movements while you struggle to keep your composure. The thrill of getting caught only fuels the fire between you, and when dinner finally ends, Harry wastes no time dragging you into a private space to finish what he started.

A/N: So, uh… I was supposed to be writing something wholesome, but my brain took a sharp left turn into filthville, and here we are. 🫣 Blame Harry, not me. (Actually, blame me—I had way too much fun writing this.) not proofread so sorry!!

Also, OMG?? I hit 500 followers?!? WHAT?!? Thank you all so much for being here, for reading my unhinged little stories, and for enabling my questionable life choices. As a token of my appreciation, here’s an extra post—filled with chaos, tension, and Harry being an absolute menace. Enjoy, you heathens. 😈🔥

P.S. If you get caught reading this in public, that’s on you. I take no responsibility. 👀

Word Count: 6k

Warnings:

Explicit Smut!

Public teasing (Harry has no shame, and neither do you)

Filthy behavior at the dinner table (do NOT try this at a family gathering)

The risk of getting caught (adds to the thrill, obviously)

Harry being an absolute menace (as usual)

Y/N struggling to keep a straight face (good luck with that)

Zero self-control (from both of you, let’s be honest)

Possible secondhand embarrassment (for the poor, unsuspecting dinner guests)

You will never look at dinner the same way again (hope it was worth it)

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The dinner starts off casually—wine is poured, conversations flow, and laughter fills the air. The restaurant hums with soft chatter, the low flicker of candlelight reflecting in the deep red of your wine glass. Plates clink, silverware scrapes, and the warm scent of roasted garlic and fresh herbs lingers in the air.

It’s meant to be just another dinner with friends, nothing out of the ordinary. A night to unwind, to catch up after weeks of conflicting schedules. Harry’s bandmates are here—Mitch, Sarah, Ny, Pauli, Adam, and Elin. The whole crew, filling out the long table with easy conversation and shared memories from tour.

And yet… there’s an underlying charge.

It started small, like a current building beneath the surface. Harry had been seated beside you by chance—an open seat, a last-minute rearrangement. But now, everything about his presence feels intentional.

The way he sat just close enough for his knee to brush yours under the table.

The way his fingers toyed absentmindedly with the rim of his glass, his rings catching the low light.

The way his cologne—deep, woodsy, and devastatingly familiar—lingered between you every time he shifted in his seat.

You try to ignore it, try to focus on the conversation. Mitch is recounting a story from tour, something about a hotel mix-up that left him and Harry in the wrong rooms, and Sarah is already laughing before he even gets to the punchline.

You laugh too, swirling your wine in your glass, willing yourself to stay grounded in the moment.

But then, there’s him.

Harry leans back in his chair, one arm slung casually over the backrest, his fingers just barely grazing your exposed shoulder. He’s listening, engaging, but you catch the flicker of his gaze drifting—not to Mitch, not to anyone else at the table.

To you.

You don’t have to look to know he’s taking in every inch of your outfit. The silk of your dress—delicate, effortless. Thin straps, a neckline that just barely toes the line of appropriate, a hem that rides a little higher when you cross your legs.

And then, finally—finally—he speaks.

His lips brush your ear, voice smooth, controlled. Dangerous.

"You knew what you were doing when you put this on, didn’t you?"

It’s not really a question.

Your breath catches—just slightly—but you school your features, keeping them neutral as you bring your glass to your lips. The wine is rich, dry, but it does little to soothe the heat crawling up your spine.

"No idea what you’re talking about," you murmur, voice even.

A low hum rumbles in his throat, amused but unconvinced. His fingers—slow, calculated—skim the edge of your knee beneath the table, barely there.

You know it’s deliberate.

He knows you know.

"Right." He exhales softly, tilting his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. "Just a coincidence, then?"

His fingers brush higher. The tiniest movement. Just enough to make your pulse stutter.

"That this dress is driving me absolutely fucking insane?"

It’s maddening.

The setting, the people, the complete normalcy of the moment contrasted with the way his words slip beneath your skin like a match to gasoline.

The conversation around you continues uninterrupted. Pauli is cracking a joke. Sarah is leaning into Mitch. Ny is scrolling through something on her phone, laughing under her breath.

No one notices the way Harry’s touch lingers.

No one hears the unspoken promise laced in his voice.

But you feel it.

And when his fingers—light as a whisper—drag another inch up your thigh, your breath hitches just enough for him to notice.

The smirk that spreads across his lips is slow, knowing. He doesn’t push further. Doesn’t need to.

You know exactly what kind of night this is going to be.

It starts small—his pinky brushing against yours as he reaches for his drink. A small spark. A warning.

It could have been accidental, a mere slip of movement, but you both know better. The heat from his skin lingers even after the briefest touch, and your stomach clenches as your fingers flex against the stem of your wine glass.

You should pull away. Create distance. But you don’t.

Instead, you let the moment stretch, let it settle between you like the space between lightning and thunder. A crackling anticipation, thick and waiting to strike.

Then, his hand rests on your knee. Innocent at first. A casual gesture.

It would mean nothing if it were anyone else. A natural movement, a simple touch. But it’s Harry. And his hand—warm, heavy, deliberate—burns through the silk of your dress like an unspoken promise.

You keep your focus on the conversation around you. Mitch is talking about the festival lineup for next summer. Pauli and Adam are debating whether they should get another round of drinks. Sarah is laughing at something Elin said.

And Harry?

Harry is pretending he isn’t setting your body on fire under the table.

Then, his fingers slowly drag higher.

It’s subtle, measured, the kind of touch that feels unbearably slow because you’re already hyper-aware of it.

The first few inches are nothing—just the soft press of his fingertips against your bare skin. But then, he parts your legs just slightly. A silent question.

You inhale sharply, barely a sound, but enough for Harry to catch it. His lips twitch, amused.

Your brain is screaming at you to stop this before it goes too far. Before someone notices.

But instead, you let your legs fall further apart.

The moment you do, he exhales a quiet chuckle. Low, smug, so quiet only you can hear it. His fingertips dance along the inside of your thigh, teasing at the hem of your dress.

You can’t focus on anything else.

The conversation at the table continues as if nothing is happening. You nod along, force a small laugh at something Mitch says. But the second his fingers slip just beneath the fabric, pressing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, your grip on your wine glass tightens.

Your pulse is pounding in your ears.

You’re mid-sentence—mid-fucking-sentence—when you feel it. The softest graze of Harry’s fingers under the table.

Your body jolts in response.

It’s casual at first, almost innocent, as if he’s just adjusting his position. But then his fingers start tracing small, lazy circles over your bare skin.

You shoot him a look. A warning. A silent What the fuck do you think you’re doing?

But Harry? Harry doesn’t even glance at you.

His attention is fixed across the table, his expression easy, relaxed, engaged in conversation like he isn’t currently driving you absolutely insane.

The pads of his fingers press into your thigh, massaging slow, deliberate strokes.

You swallow hard, shifting in your seat, trying—failing—to pretend your body isn’t already reacting to his touch.

Then, he squeezes.

Firm. Just enough pressure to send a rush of heat down your spine.

And when his thumb drags up, up, up, pushing the silk of your dress just a little higher—

You realize you are completely and utterly fucked.

His fingers travel higher, skimming where you need him most, but he doesn’t give in. Instead, he taps his fingers—just barely touching over your underwear.

The teasing, the unbearable lightness of his touch, sends a slow, torturous ache through you. You let out the softest exhale, shifting slightly, but it only encourages him.

His breath is warm against your ear as he murmurs, “Keep still, sweetheart.”

Your pulse hammers. He’s playing a dangerous game, and you’re too far gone to stop him.

He keeps his touch featherlight, circling over your already damp panties, and your thighs clench involuntarily. He notices. Of course, he notices. The smug amusement radiates off him, the slight twitch of his lips betraying how much he enjoys this.

Across the table, someone calls your name, and you have to steady yourself before answering. Your voice is barely even, and Harry grins when he feels your body tense at the effort.

His fingers inch higher, slipping beneath the fabric of your dress. The shift is so small, so subtle, yet it sends a shiver down your spine. Your breath catches, but you try to remain still.

He leans in, lips just barely brushing your ear, voice low and teasing. “You’re so quiet. Something wrong, love?”

You glare at him, but it only makes him smirk. His fingers slide higher, the tips of them teasing the very edge of your underwear, and you fight the urge to squirm.

He resumes eating with his free hand, completely unbothered, while his fingers continue their slow exploration.

You try to focus on the conversation, to process whatever meaningless small talk is happening around you, but it’s impossible when he drags his fingertips along the inside of your thigh, getting dangerously close.

The heat between your legs is unbearable. The anticipation is excruciating. And worst of all—he knows it.

Harry’s fingers finally push your underwear aside, fingertips dipping between your folds, just enough to coat them in your arousal. The first contact makes your entire body jolt, and you have to bite down on your lip to keep from making a sound.

His touch is light, exploratory. He’s taking his time, as if memorizing every slick detail, as if he has all night to play with you like this. A single finger traces over your clit, slow and deliberate, and you swallow hard, your grip tightening around your fork. You focus on the weight of it in your hand, anything to distract yourself from the way he’s barely moving, barely giving you enough, but somehow, it’s already making you dizzy.

Your body responds instinctively, hips tilting toward him, chasing more friction, but he denies you that, keeping his touch featherlight. The smug bastard. His lips part slightly as he watches you struggle, his amusement barely concealed beneath the practiced ease of his expression. He’s reveling in this, in you.

"So wet for me already," he whispers, voice so low only you can hear. His breath ghosts over your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your fingers twitch under the table, reaching for his wrist. Your nails dig into his skin, but you don’t push him away. You couldn’t, even if you wanted to. Instead, you squeeze your thighs around his hand, a silent, desperate plea for more. He chuckles, the sound deep and knowing, vibrating straight through you.

His smirk deepens. “Needy little thing.”

Before you can snap back at him—not that you can form words right now anyway—he finally gives you what you want. His finger dips inside, slow and unhurried, sinking into your heat with a teasing curl. The stretch is minimal, barely anything compared to what you need, but it still steals your breath. A small, sharp inhale betrays you, and Harry has to bite back a laugh.

You’re completely at his mercy, caught between maintaining composure and succumbing to the slow, torturous pleasure he’s giving you. He works you slowly, teasingly, his finger slipping in and out with an agonizing lack of urgency. Every now and then, he curls it just right, pressing against a spot that makes your toes curl inside your heels. Your thighs tremble as you struggle to keep yourself still, as if staying quiet and composed will keep you from fully unraveling.

Meanwhile, the conversation around you continues as if nothing is happening. You try to focus, try to pick up on any part of it, but the words slip past you, meaningless and distant. Your plate is in front of you, the food untouched. You attempt to lift your fork, to act normal, but the second he drags his fingertip along that spot again, your grip falters. The fork nearly clatters against your plate, and you stiffen.

Harry chuckles under his breath, entirely too pleased with himself.

You shoot him a glare from the corner of your eye, but it only fuels his amusement. He’s enjoying this, savoring the way you struggle, the way your body reacts despite your best efforts to fight it.

Then—just as you’re about to lose control, just as your body begins to tighten around him, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter—he pulls away.

You nearly whimper at the loss, at the way the heat between your legs turns into a dull, aching throb. Your chest rises and falls, breath unsteady, hands gripping the edge of your dress in frustration. You dare to glance at him, and he’s already looking at you, smug as ever. He lifts his hand, slipping his finger into his mouth, eyes locked on yours as he tastes you.

Then, as if nothing happened at all, he picks up his fork and resumes eating.

Then—just as you’re about to lose control, just as your body begins to tighten around him, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter—he pulls away.

You nearly whimper at the loss, at the way the heat between your legs turns into a dull, aching throb. Your chest rises and falls, breath unsteady, hands gripping the edge of your dress in frustration. You dare to glance at him, and he’s already looking at you, smug as ever. He lifts his hand, slipping his finger into his mouth, eyes locked on yours as he tastes you.

Then, as if nothing happened at all, he picks up his fork and resumes eating.

You shoot him a glare, but he just shrugs, sipping his wine like nothing happened.

"Be good," he mutters, adjusting himself in his seat. "I’ll take care of you properly when we get home."

But two can play that game. You shift in your seat, letting your hand casually drop under the table—right onto his thigh.

His jaw tightens, a quiet warning.

You lean in, lips grazing his ear. "Don’t start something you can’t finish, baby."

His eyes darken instantly.

The night just got a lot more interesting.

Your fingers move with a lazy purpose, tracing circles along the inside of his thigh. You can feel the tension in his muscles, how hard he’s fighting to keep his composure. But you don’t stop. If he wants to play, so will you.

His fingers flex around his fork, knuckles turning white as you inch higher, teasing him the same way he teased you. His chest rises in a slow, measured breath, but you know him too well—he’s struggling.

“Careful,” he warns, voice a quiet growl only meant for you. “You don’t want to test me, sweetheart.”

You smirk, pressing a little firmer, feeling how hard he is beneath the fabric. “Oh, but I do.”

The conversation carries on around you, oblivious to the war happening beneath the table. You keep your touches light, teasing, making sure no one notices. The power shift makes you bold. You lean in, lips brushing against his jaw as you whisper, “You started it.”

His jaw clenches, his entire body thrumming with restraint. He doesn’t respond, just downs the rest of his wine and places the glass back onto the table with slow, deliberate ease.

Eventually, the dinner winds down. Harry is quiet as you exchange goodbyes, polite and composed, but you can see the storm brewing in his eyes. You drag out the farewells just to see how far you can push him.

By the time you slide into the car, the air is thick with tension. The driver pulls away, and you barely have a second to process before Harry’s hand is on your thigh, his grip bruising.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” he mutters, low and dangerous.

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a smile. “A little.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, his fingers digging in just enough to make you shiver. He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t need to. The promise in his touch is enough.

The ride is painfully silent. His fingers remain on your thigh, possessive and unmoving, like a silent warning.

As soon as the front door shuts, Harry is on you.

His hands find your waist with ease, firm and possessive, and before you can even think of teasing him further, he spins you around, pressing you against the nearest wall. The air between you is thick with tension, the kind that had been simmering beneath the surface all evening, igniting fully the moment you stepped inside. Your breath hitches, chest rising and falling with anticipation as he cages you in with his body, broad and unyielding.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” His voice is low, rough—nothing like the teasing murmur he used over dinner, when he was playing along with your little game. Now, there’s no mistaking it; he’s done playing.

A smirk tugs at the corner of your lips despite the heat crawling up your neck. You love pushing him just to see how far he’ll go, love the way his patience snaps like a tight string pulled too far. “A little,” you hum, letting your voice drip with defiance.

His jaw clenches, the muscle ticking in irritation—or maybe something darker. His fingers flex at your hips, gripping tighter, holding you still against the wall. He leans in, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear, warm breath sending a shiver down your spine.

“You have no idea what you’ve just done, sweetheart.”

The words send a thrill straight through you, pooling heat in your stomach. He doesn’t wait for a response. His hands are already moving, one sliding around to the small of your back, the other dipping lower, skimming the hem of your dress. He tugs it up just enough to expose more of your thigh, his fingers teasing the bare skin there, deliberate and slow.

“You think I wouldn’t notice?” he murmurs, his mouth trailing down, barely brushing the sensitive skin beneath your jaw. A shiver racks through you when his teeth catch just slightly, enough to make you gasp. “You in this dress, looking at me like that all night? Saying all those things just to get a rise out of me?”

You swallow hard, trying to steady your breathing, but it’s impossible when he’s this close, when his presence alone makes your knees weak. “And what if I was?” you challenge, your voice barely above a whisper.

A sharp exhale leaves him, and then his hips press against yours, pinning you in place. There’s no mistaking the hard evidence of exactly what you’ve done to him. “Then you’re about to find out exactly what that does to me.”

His hand trails higher, fingertips ghosting over the inside of your thigh, making you arch into his touch instinctively. The anticipation alone is enough to have you breathless, every nerve in your body hyper-aware of his movements, his touch, his voice.

“Tell me, love,” he murmurs, tilting your chin up with his fingers so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. It’s dark, smoldering, filled with something just on the edge of restraint. “Did you wear this just for me?”

Your heart pounds against your ribs as you bite your lip. “Maybe.”

His eyes darken further, and the corner of his mouth lifts in something that isn’t quite a smile. “You like teasing me?” His grip tightens slightly, thumb stroking over your jaw before trailing down the column of your throat, a silent reminder of just how in control he is.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Not when he’s looking at you like that, not when he’s so close, his lips hovering just over yours, waiting, daring you to break first.

“Because that little game you played at dinner?” His voice is lower now, thicker, dripping with the kind of promise that makes your stomach flip. “That’s going to cost you.”

And then his lips crash onto yours, all restraint snapping in an instant. His hands are everywhere—gripping, exploring, claiming—while his body presses you deeper against the wall, as if he can’t get close enough. You melt into him, into the heat, into the way his mouth moves against yours, demanding and desperate all at once.

He’s not just kissing you. He’s consuming you.

His hands slide up your thighs, pushing your dress higher, bunching the fabric at your hips. His touch is searing, fingers dragging along your skin with purpose, igniting a fire beneath every inch they explore. The rough pads of his fingers contrast against the softness of your skin, teasing, pressing, exploring. His grip on your ass is firm, squeezing possessively before delivering a sharp slap that makes you gasp, the sting fading into a pulsing warmth that sends a fresh wave of arousal through you.

He chuckles darkly at your reaction, his knee pressing between your legs, forcing them further apart. The pressure is just enough to keep you aching for more, but not enough to satisfy the growing need inside you. "Look at you," he murmurs, his fingers grazing up the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, slow and deliberate. "Still soaked for me. Such a desperate little thing, aren’t you?"

Heat surges through you at his words, your body betraying just how much his teasing affects you. His fingers skim over the damp fabric of your underwear, feeling the evidence of your arousal. He tuts, shaking his head as if disappointed. "I barely touched you at dinner, and you were ready to come undone right there in front of everyone." His voice is thick with amusement, but there’s something darker beneath it—something possessive, something that tells you he’s going to make you pay for every second of your teasing.

You shift against him, trying to grind against his knee, searching for any kind of relief, but his grip tightens instantly. "Uh-uh. You’re not in control, baby. I am."

With a quick, decisive movement, he hooks his fingers into your underwear and rips them down, the fabric sliding down your legs to pool at your ankles. The cool air against your exposed skin makes you shiver, but it’s nothing compared to the way his fingers brush over your folds, spreading your wetness, teasing, never quite giving you what you need. His touch is maddening, featherlight strokes that keep you on edge, keep you trembling with anticipation.

"I should bend you over this table and fuck you right here," he muses, voice dripping with authority, with the promise of something utterly sinful. "But that would be too easy."

Instead, he sinks to his knees before you, his broad hands gripping your thighs, keeping them spread. The sight of him there, between your legs, dark curls falling over his forehead, eyes burning with hunger—it’s almost too much. He looks at you like you’re something to be worshipped, but also something to be broken apart, unraveled slowly, piece by piece.

His lips brush against your inner thigh, his breath warm and teasing. His tongue flicks out, barely grazing your clit, making you jolt, a whimper escaping before you can stop it. But just as quickly as you feel him—he’s gone, pulling back with a smirk. "No, not yet."

A desperate sound catches in your throat as he licks up your arousal but never gives you the pressure you’re desperate for. He drags it out, taking his time, teasing you mercilessly. Every time your hips buck, every time you try to chase his mouth, he pulls away, making you suffer in the best way possible.

"Told you, baby," he murmurs, his voice low and taunting. His lips hover just above where you need him most, his breath sending shivers through your body. "You don’t get to be greedy."

He waits, watching you tremble beneath his touch, watching your chest rise and fall in ragged breaths. He wants you on the edge, wants you desperate, wants you aching for him in a way that borders on unbearable. And he won’t give in—not yet.

Not until you’re completely undone for him.

And then, finally, he gives in.

His lips wrap around your clit, sucking it into his mouth with just the right amount of pressure. At the same time, two of his fingers slide inside you, stretching you open, filling you in a way that has your back arching off the surface behind you. The moan that rips from your throat is wrecked, raw, and needy, the sound of pure surrender.

He groans in response, the vibration sending jolts of pleasure through your body. His free hand grips your hip tightly, holding you in place as your thighs threaten to snap shut around his head. But he doesn’t let you—he keeps you open, keeps you exposed, keeps you right where he wants you.

His fingers move with precision, curling just right, pressing against that perfect spot deep inside you over and over. Every movement, every stroke, every flick of his tongue is deliberate, calculated to drive you closer and closer to the edge.

"Fuck, you’re clenching so tight," he murmurs against you, his breath hot against your slick skin. "You gonna come for me, love?"

You nod frantically, your hands scrambling for something—anything—to hold on to. His hair, the edge of the table, the fabric of his shirt—none of it is enough to ground you as the pleasure builds, higher and higher, coiling tight in your stomach, threatening to snap.

And then—

He pulls away completely.

A choked, frustrated whimper leaves your lips, your body trembling, aching for release. But he only smirks, standing up slowly, towering over you as he watches you struggle to catch your breath.

"Did you think I’d let you come that easy?" he taunts, his voice dripping with amusement, but there’s an unmistakable edge beneath it. His hand grips your jaw, tilting your face up to his. His thumb brushes over your swollen bottom lip. "After the shit you pulled tonight?"

You barely have time to process the question before he reaches for his belt, unfastening it with slow, deliberate movements. The sound of the leather sliding through the loops sends a shiver down your spine, your thighs squeezing together instinctively.

"On your knees." His voice is dangerously low, dark and commanding, leaving no room for argument.

You obey instantly, your body reacting on pure instinct. Lust pools in your stomach as you watch him pull his cock free, thick and already leaking at the tip. The sight of him, flushed and hard, makes your mouth water, your tongue darting out to wet your lips as you look up at him with wide, wanting eyes.

He drags the head of his cock over your lips, smearing precum across them, teasing you just as much as he had been before. "Open up, baby," he murmurs, his tone deceptively soft, laced with something darker. "Since you wanna be a tease so bad, let’s see how well you use that mouth."

You part your lips obediently, your tongue flicking out to taste him before you take him in, inch by inch. You hollow your cheeks, sucking him in deeper, your throat stretching to accommodate his size. A low groan rumbles from his chest, his head tilting back slightly as his fingers tangle into your hair.

"Fuck—just like that, sweetheart," he rasps, his hand pressing lightly against the back of your head, guiding your movements. "Such a good little thing for me now, huh?"

He pulls you off with a slick pop, his hand shifting to your chin, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to look at him. His thumb drags across your swollen lips, smearing the mess of saliva and precum. His gaze darkens, heat rolling off of him in waves. "Think you’re ready to take what I owe you?"

Your breath catches, anticipation coiling in your stomach as he helps you up, guiding you onto shaky legs. His grip is firm as he spins you around and bends you over the dining table, pressing your chest to the cool surface. He doesn’t hesitate, one large palm sliding up your back before retreating, only to come down hard against your ass. The sharp crack echoes through the room, a stinging warmth blossoming across your skin.

"That’s for making me hard in public," he growls, kneading the flesh before landing another slap, watching the way your body jolts in response.

Before you can even catch your breath, he lines himself up and thrusts forward, slamming into you in one deep, punishing stroke. The force of it knocks the air from your lungs, a wrecked moan spilling from your lips as he fills you completely, stretching you to the point of delicious discomfort. He doesn’t ease you into it, doesn’t give you time to adjust—not after the way you teased him all night.

His grip is bruising, fingers digging into your hips as he sets a relentless pace, each thrust deep and deliberate, pushing you further into the table with every snap of his hips. He’s merciless, his restraint completely shattered, taking exactly what he’s been aching for.

"You feel that, love?" he rasps, voice thick with lust. "That’s what happens when you tease me all night."

A whimper leaves you, nails scratching against the wooden surface as he presses a hand to your lower stomach. He groans when he feels himself moving inside you, the pressure making your walls flutter around him. "Right here, yeah? You feel me right here?"

You can barely think, let alone respond. Your head falls forward, breath coming in short, desperate pants as pleasure coils tighter and tighter. He’s everywhere—overwhelming, consuming, ruining you in the best possible way.

"You’re gonna come like this," he grits out, his rhythm unrelenting. "Stretched around my cock, taking every inch like a good girl."

His fingers slip between your legs, finding your clit with expert precision, rubbing tight, insistent circles that have you teetering on the edge almost instantly. The combination of it all—his deep, punishing thrusts, the way he’s stretching you, the possessive grip on your body—sends you spiraling.

Your orgasm slams into you, pleasure crashing over you in waves, your walls clenching around him as you fall apart. A strangled moan tears from your throat, your body trembling beneath him.

"That’s it, baby—fuck, that’s my girl," he groans, his thrusts growing erratic, deeper, rougher as he chases his own release. He buries himself to the hilt, his grip tightening as his hips stutter, his cock pulsing inside you as he spills deep, a broken moan escaping his lips.

For a moment, neither of you move, both of you breathless and spent. His hands glide over your back, soothing, grounding, before he leans down, pressing a lingering kiss between your shoulder blades.

"You okay, sweetheart?" he murmurs, his voice softer now, tinged with something warm.

You hum in response, a lazy, satisfied smile tugging at your lips. "More than okay."

He doesn’t pull out right away. Instead, he stays inside you, his body pressed flush against yours, his breaths warm and uneven against your shoulder. His lips, still swollen from earlier kisses, brush over your spine—soft, reverent, like he’s memorizing you with every touch.

"You okay, love?" His voice is lower now, tender in a way that contrasts with the way he had just unraveled you. His hands move over your waist, slow and soothing, fingertips tracing lazy patterns along your skin as if grounding you both in the aftershocks.

You nod, a satisfied hum vibrating in your throat. "Better than okay."

A pleased sound rumbles in his chest before he finally pulls out, a groan slipping from his lips as he watches the way his release spills from you. His fingers brush over your inner thigh, as if resisting the urge to push it back inside. His jaw tightens, his pupils blown wide with something both possessive and enamored.

“Fuck—you look so pretty like this.”

Before you can respond, he scoops you up effortlessly, carrying you to the bed like you weigh nothing. The mattress dips as he lays you down with care, his touch never leaving you. He disappears for only a moment, and when he returns, the cool press of a warm, damp cloth against your skin makes you shiver. He cleans you up gently, his fingers barely grazing over sensitive spots, his touch tender despite the wicked gleam still lingering in his eyes.

Once he’s satisfied, he tosses the cloth aside and pulls you against him, tucking you into his chest. His arms wrap around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away, one hand splaying over your lower back while the other tangles into your hair. His lips press against your temple, murmuring something too quiet to catch, but the warmth in his voice says enough.

"Next time, you behave at dinner," he mutters, amusement lacing his tone, though there’s an edge of warning beneath it.

A smirk tugs at your lips as you trail a teasing finger over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your touch. "No promises."

His chuckle is low and dangerous, vibrating against your skin as he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark with promise, his fingers tightening ever so slightly against your hip.

"Good," he murmurs, voice husky and laced with anticipation. "I like a challenge."

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[seumyo]

Idia never thought he’d be the type to have a muse. Inspiration wasn’t something he sought—it either struck at odd hours between gaming marathons or never came at all. You, on the other hand, were the complete opposite.

You were effortlessly poetic, weaving words together like they were spun from moonlight and ink. You had a way of finding beauty in things he never noticed about himself, piecing together metaphors and prose that made him sound like something out of a fairytale.

A writer who’s ultimate weapon is a pen and paper.

You write like a poet who can never run out of words.

Effortlessly so.

The first time you showed him one of your poems, he had expected it to be about something grand and abstract—love, nature, time. Instead, it was about him.

It wasn’t grandiose or overly sentimental. It was simple. Soft. A quiet sort of admiration captured in careful lines—how his hair burned like foxfire in the dark, how his voice curled around words like an autumn breeze, how the glow of his screen reflected in his yellow eyes like constellations trapped in glass.

He had read it once, then twice, then a third time, his heart hammering so hard he thought it might short-circuit his entire nervous system.

God, it’s like reading a declaration of love from years ago.

“I-I… um… wow…” he had stammered, his fingers twitching at his sleeves. “You… wrote this?”

You simply laughed.

“Of course I did. Who else would I write about?”

He didn’t know how to answer that.

So instead, he drew.

A few days after your conversation, that is.

Idia had always been good at art—sketching was second nature to him, a quiet hobby he indulged in when he needed to clear his head. But now, every idle doodle, every sketch in the margins of his notebooks, was of you.

The tilt of your head when you peered into his screen. The way your eyes softened when you looked at him. The delicate curve of your fingers as you held your pen, lost in thought.

He didn’t show you at first. It felt too raw, too personal. Like, if you saw it, you’d know just how much space you had carved into his thoughts, how easily you had settled into his world without even trying.

Maybe that was the point.

To show you how much you meant to him.

But then, one evening, as you sat together in his room—you’re lost in your writing, your boyfriend sketching absentmindedly—you caught a glimpse of his notebook and gasped.

“Is that me?”

Idia tensed, his fingers twitching as if to slam the book shut. But you had already leaned over, your gaze locked onto the pages, your eyes wide as you traced the lines of your own face on the paper.

“You’re insane,” you whispered, your voice filled with awe.

“This is amazing.”

He hunched his shoulders, his hair flickering between shades of pink and blue. “It’s not a big deal…”

“It is to me.”

Your fingers brushed against his, and Idia felt the warmth of your touch settle deep in his chest.

“You write about me,” he muttered, his voice quiet.

“I guess… this is how I write about you.”

You smiled, nodding. “Then I guess we’re even.”

His heart pounded, his fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie.

“Y-Yeah… even…”

But you weren’t done looking. You turned the pages slowly, taking in every sketch. Some were detailed, inked carefully with soft shading that made your features stand out, while others were simple pencil sketches, quick and loose. Some had little notes scribbled in the margins—things like Her smile was really pretty today or I think she’d like this outfit—and the further you flipped, the harder it became for Idia to breathe.

“You’ve been drawing me this whole time?” you asked.

Idia swallowed hard, feeling like his soul was about to eject from his body. “I-I mean… you’re… I like drawing you.”

You hummed, shaking your head. “No one’s ever drawn me before,” you admitted. “And definitely not like this. It’s like a commissioned self-portrait.”

He ducked his head against his desk. It’s all too much for him, and yet, he yearns for more.

“Well… no one’s ever written about me before either.”

You reached for your notebook and flipped to a page filled with fresh ink. “I wrote something new,” you told him. “Do you want to hear it?”

Idia hesitated, but he nodded.

You took a breath, then began reading.

Your voice was steady and soft, weaving words like magic.

You spoke of constellations hidden in the depths of golden eyes, of firelight that flickered and burned but never consumed. Of hands that danced over sketchbooks, creating entire worlds with nothing but ink and quiet devotion. Of a boy who lived in shadows and blue-tinted neon, who never realized he shone just as brightly as the screens he spent hid behind on.

By the time you finished, Idia was gripping his sketchbook so tightly his knuckles were almost turning white.

“…T-That’s—” His voice cracked, his throat dry. “That’s… about me?”

“Of course, Idia.”

His mind was racing, his chest aching with something he didn’t know how to name. He didn’t understand how you saw this side of him—a version of him that is raw—in ways he had never expected. And for once, instead of wanting to hide, he wanted to let you see more.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached for his pencil and turned to a fresh page. “C-Can I draw you again?”

Your smile grew, and you leaned into his side, your fingers resting over his. “Only if you let me write about you again.”

Idia let out a shaky breath, his heart pounding.

“Deal.”

But somehow, he knew he would never stop drawing you. Even if time catches up to him and he could no longer hold a pencil. There will always be a way for him to draw his muse.

Just as he knew you would never stop writing about him.

Two halves of the same story—lines and words, ink and paper, art and poetry intertwined.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[a-d-nox]

pac/pap: a letter from your future spouse

take what resonates leave what doesn't - nothing is 100% for you because these aren't personalized so please no angry comments or dms about what i am saying not being a good fit for you or that you "don't claim" just keep scrolling if that is the case. be kind, self reflect, and have fun.

last pac/pap: a love life check-up

return to the masterlist of pap/pac posts

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pile 1

i wonder what you’re doing right now. are you chasing a dream you’ve started to question? laughing with friends who see only parts of the real you? or are you like me - reflecting on the strange twists life keeps throwing your way, trying to make sense of how it all fits together?

i don’t have all the answers, but i know this: our story is unfolding exactly as it should. the setbacks, the detours, the heartbreak - it’s all shaping us, preparing us for the moment our lives finally align. even in the moments when you doubt that there is light ahead, know that i see it clearly. you’re the hope i keep reaching for, even in the dark.

i often imagine meeting you for the first time. maybe it’s ordinary - a passing glance, a casual conversation. but there will be something unshakable about it. something in the way your smile catches me off guard or the way your voice pulls me in. i’ll know it’s you. and even if i don’t say it right away, you’ll feel it too.

right now, i’m still figuring things out. life’s been throwing me in every direction, and i’m just holding on, trying to steer clear of what i can. the funny thing about fate is how it works even when you don’t see it coming. every choice i’ve made, every chance i’ve taken, has brought me closer to you.

when the time is right, i’ll be ready to step up for you, for us. i’m not the person i was yesterday, and i’m still becoming the person i want to be. there is one thing i know for sure: when we meet, i’ll choose you - again and again, every day, through every celebration and every challenge.

yes - there will be celebrations. i want to laugh with you until we can’t breathe, to celebrate to our wins, big and small, and to hold you close when the night winds down. i want to share your joy, your dreams, and every quiet moment in between. you’re the person i want standing next to me through it all.

until then, i’ll keep working on myself, learning from the lessons life throws my way, and holding space for you in my heart. when fate turns in our favor and our paths finally cross, i’ll be ready to give you my love, my devotion, and my whole damn soul.

yours,

future spouse

pile 2

i’ve been lost before. trapped in my own cycles, chasing goals that felt hollow or moving too fast to notice what i was really missing. there were times i poured my energy into the wrong things, thinking that success or control could fill the void. but life has a way of humbling you, of forcing you to stop, slow down, and face the truth: none of it matters without you.

you’re the one who will make me want to be better - not out of obligation, but because i’ll see in you everything i’ve been searching for. you’re my anchor and the softness in need in my life, the one who shows me that love isn’t about perfection or performance, but about presence. when i look at you, i’ll see everything i didn’t know i needed - warmth, patience, and a kind of beauty that radiates from the inside out.

i know i’ve taken the long road to get to you. sometimes i’ve been stuck, unsure of what to do next, afraid to leave what felt comfortable, even when i knew it wasn’t enough. but you’ll be the one who changes that. with you, there will be no fear, no hesitation - only a deep, undeniable pull that i can’t resist.

you have this power, don’t you? to nurture and create, to transform whatever you touch into something extraordinary. you’re a queen in every sense of the word - abundant, radiant, and endlessly giving. i want you to know this: you don’t always have to give. you don’t always have to hold everything together. with me, you can let go. you'll be able to lean on me. i’ll be the one to carry the weight when you’re tired, to remind you how much you’re worth, even when the world forgets.

i know i’ll mess up sometimes. i’ll stumble, i’ll falter, and i’ll get caught in my own head. but i promise i’ll never stop trying. i’ll never stop choosing you. even in the moments when it feels like we’re standing still, i’ll be there, holding your hand, reminding you that we’re exactly where we’re meant to be.

there’s no moving on from you. no walking away, no running from the love i know we’ll have. you’re the one i’ll keep coming back to, again and again, because you’re home. and when we’re together, i’ll spend the rest of my days showing you just how much you mean to me.

my heart is your's,

future spouse

pile 3

if you’ve felt a restless pull in your heart, know that i feel it too. i’m not the kind of man who sits still for long - i’ve always chased what makes me feel alive, even when i didn’t fully understand what i was after. somewhere along the way, i realized what i’ve been searching for is you.

you’re the spark in the distance, the promise of something more. i can feel your energy even now, calling me to move, to grow, to become the man you deserve. i’m not perfect—sometimes i charge ahead too fast, speak before i think, or get caught up in chasing every wild idea that crosses my mind. but one thing i know for sure: when i meet you, everything will fall into focus.

you’re the kind of person who could make a man rethink everything. your passion, your curiosity, your fire - i want to match it and watch us both burn brighter together. with you, every day will feel like an adventure, every moment full of discovery. i want to know your mind, your dreams, and your wildest ideas. i want to be the one who makes you laugh so hard you forget to breathe and who listens when you need to share the thoughts you’ve never spoken aloud.

but i also want you to know this: i’ll be the one who gives you space when you need it. life isn’t always about the chase; sometimes, it’s about the stillness. when the world gets too loud, when the fire feels like it’s burning too hot, i’ll be there to remind you to rest. i’ll be your calm in the chaos, your quiet in the storm.

i know we’ll make mistakes - together and apart. we’ll say the wrong things, take the wrong steps, and sometimes, we’ll need time to figure it all out. but isn’t that part of the beauty? love isn’t about perfection; it’s about showing up, learning, and growing side by side.

i can’t wait to see where life takes us, to chase the wild unknown with you by my side. you make me want to dream bigger, run faster, and still, somehow, savor every single moment. i’m ready to throw myself into this with you, no hesitation, no regrets.

until we meet, i’ll keep searching, learning, and preparing for the day when i get to call you mine.

yours always,

your future spouse

[sheepispink]

A LIGHT THAT NEVER GOES OUT

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Masterlist AO3

pairings: Simon Ghost Riley/ Reader (platonic or romantic, up to you)

tags: probably loads of military inaccuracies, anxiety attacks (possibly?), heavy angst, angst and comfort, paranoia, bad mental health, cuddling and literal sleeping together (up to you romantic or platonic)

A/N: I’d appreciate if no one complained abt the accuract/realistic of the story (ofc if its the characterisation of ghost that’s perfectly ok!) i’m open for criticisation for how i write etc etc but this is a sensitive topic and.. based off personal experiences 😅😅 so it’s very realistic to me even if its not to you!

This technically takes place after this fic but it’s not a big deal in which the order you read it

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’re an introvert, even if you do get excited really quickly, loud around people you’ve known for a while and love meeting new people. Yet still, you call yourself an introvert, even if that technically still makes you an extroverted introvert. You don't like the sound of an extrovert— someone who thrives off of others' attention and loves to be the center of it, who brightens their days with their friends and always wants to make plans with anyone and everyone. You like the attention sometimes; when Price mentions your name in a conversation, praising your skills, your heart thumps a little louder. Being at the limelight of the party isn't always the worst thing either, especially when everyone laughs at your jokes so hard they double over, grinning so wide you can't help it either. You love your friends, your teammates, even the random soldiers you’ve only exchanged small greetings with. The love for others is held tight in your heart’s vessels, bursting each and every time they make you smile or you just see their presence. You feel so warm and alive when you give them a grin in the mornings, even more so when they seek out your presence throughout the day.

Though, that only applies sometimes— never always.

A familiar soldier could ask you out to lunch and yet your chest begins to twist uncomfortably, like someone is wringing your intestines with their hands. Something screams at you when they say those words, like an invisible line had just been crossed that had been clear in everyone's heads. You had only ever spoken to those soldiers in the gym or around base, there was nowhere else even remotely personal you’d think to take them to. One on one conversations were not common either, since it wasnt that often. It’s not that you don't like them, it’s just.. not right. You’d shake your head apologetically as you force an excuse between your teeth. The regret you then express is a lie, along with the love you felt before— only reduced to a being who could never hold any of those things.

The truth is, you have a sick little parasite in you, it claws at that heart muscle, tearing away the flesh and devouring any love you feel for the people you care about and replacing it with an empty feeling which is always followed by an unreasonable hatred. Your mind grows dark, headaches permanent, as you live through the day as a skeleton of yourself— no longer able to hold any love within you as it slips past your bones in seconds. You don't like the boundaries you’ve mentally set for each person to be crossed, even if it’s a perfectly normal task. In fact, some may even say you’re scared of change. You don’t like to put a label on these things, hell you don't even like to think too hard on these things. It begins to make sense when you sit and reflect, piecing all the reasons for your behaviour together until you hit the final point. Soon you’re done, finally aware of the most significant reasoning behind your antics. The only issue is, being self aware doesn't mean you get any better; no matter how many nights you sit and stare at that mirror, nothing changes.

The only thing you gained was the ability to squash down the parasite from prying eyes. Excuses fall from your lips quickly, no matter how bad you feel when they give you that look of disappointment. It’s not your fault— you know you won't be able to handle an outing like that, you’d get too worked up. Why? You don't need to dwell on it, not right now. This continues for multiple people, multiple soldiers for two weeks, until you're ‘normal’ and you hang around others again. People begin to subconsciously catch on and so your little routine continues to carry on moving so well, staying right on track.

“Sarge? You aint comin’ to team night? Why?”

Ghost stands at the door of your quarters, dressed in his typical training attire whilst you’re sitting in something cozy, made for home wear. You have to fight the urge to cover yourself up. “Oh right.. i, uh..yknow, lot of paperwork to do. Thought i’d stay in.”

You say with a small smile, attempting to ease any concerns he had before but little did you know, he was already growing aware of your little issue, or at least the fact there was one within you. “Paperwork? On a Friday? You should be relaxin’.” You grit your teeth a little, the burning urge inside of your chest returning just like the sick pit in your stomach. It felt so awful fearing just a simple team night out, but it was just so late and you were so tired— you didnt have the energy to be rational the whole time, to think of your next move constantly.

“It’s not a big deal. I’ll come to the next one.” You shrug, turning back to your small desk as you pull another small stack of papers in front of you. His boots thump loudly against the floorboards, sounding like the heavy thump of your heart in your ears. It stops, suddenly, behind your back and your body stiffens as he leans down, looking at the paperwork you’re going through. It’s a lie— naturally, you finished it all. He doesn't even have to stare at you first nor visibly raise a brow; you’re already waiting for him to call out your bluff just as quickly.

“You can just say you want some time alone, yknow.” That catches you off guard, half expecting him to just tell you to stop whining and grab some drinks. His words were still difficult though, how could you easily just say that? Of course, the words itself aren't the hard part, nor speaking it—it’s the implications behind said words. An excuse means you have other things to occupy you, so no one dares to disturb you much after that, however explaining you want some alone time gives way to more questions. Specifically the first being: why? Then they begin to wonder if you’ve been doing okay recently or if you’re struggling with something. You dont like the idea of that at all— people thinking about you in that way. It feels weird, almost like it’s wrong. Sometimes you wished people would just not care, and leave you alone to wallow with yourself.

“Sarge?” You snap out of it, sheepishly scratching the back of your head as he still stands behind you and you turn in your chair, putting the best meek face you can on for the night. “What? No, that’s not why I declined. I’m not really feeling any alcohol today and a new episode of a series I previously binged on the weekend just came out. Sorry.. didn't want to make it seem i was ditching anyone for a show.” Perfect, an awkward grin had tied it all off into a well constructed excuse. Even if it was partially true and this really wasn't fake, it sure felt like everything you did was an act. After all, you really didn't want them to think you were ditching anyone, and you didn't feel like having any alcohol tonight. “A new series” He says gruffly, and you nod with a tight smile, teeth gritting so hard you’re sure they’ll break in a few seconds. “I’ll join you then.”

You blink once, twice, three times in pure utter confusion. Ghost—The Ghost, whose name is rumoured across the battlefield and known for never giving into idle small talk—wants to watch the series you lied about, with you.

You’ve never felt more guilty in your entire life, practically fumbling for a solution. You could just tell the truth, say no and admit you needed to be alone. But this is the first time he’s ever expressed wanting to hang around you, actually together and alone— and miss out on a team night?! He may just want an excuse out of it, but still, you can't just say no now. “Well yeah, i just..” You hate how there’s no easy way out of this in the slightest, torn between saving your own mental health or finally getting close to the teammate who you’ve been on eggshells around for nearly a year now. “My room’s not exactly clean--“

He cuts you off with a gruff, shake of his head, a scoff resounding in his next words, promptly embarrassing you too. “There ya go— knew you wanted to be alone.”

You fumble, not understanding how he managed to pry it out of you so fast, just a simple lie blowing your cover. “I said it wasn't like-“

“See you tomorrow.” He’s gone just as fast as he silenced you, heavy footsteps disappearing out of your door and down the corridors. What you couldn't wrap your head around is how fast he had figured it out and made you confess to your lies that fast— it was a real problem, something you couldn't just let slide. If he knew, did others too?

Unfortunately for you, the very much needed alone time didn’t help as well as it usually did considering this new information has threatened everything that made up the core of your very being—specifically everything keeping you glued together. You just couldn't sit there and possibly relax like you usually did when alone (more specifically think over everything you’ve done wrong until you quite literally fell asleep mid thought)— not when Ghost could clearly read everything you had ever thought about in your life.

That being said, you’ve been a nervous wreck all week, concentrating so hard on looking sane that you’ve barely paid a second of attention to things you should’ve listened to. It’s not like you slipped up regularly, but before that day you were already feeling pretty uneasy and now with still no relief and the added stress, you feel like you really might lose it any second now. Every time you see him, every word exchanged with your teammates—with another person—it eats at you, tugging further on the ropes you’re hanging onto. They’re already been pulled thin, especially since you’ve been put in charge of a group of rookies for the past few weeks now. Of course, you had pulled the short straw when assignments went round because not only did your group love to talk back, but they loved to test every limit by asking the most stupid of questions possible. It’s the second time now you’ve had to lecture one of the rookies about why you can’t just ‘throw a grenade at the enemies’. It’s only temporary, just basic training exercises and medical procedures they need to know until the Officer, who usually oversees them, returns from their sick leave.

You let out a long breath as you enter the small break room, also known as taskforce 141’s meeting room but they’ve let you lounge in here too many times to count. It’s quiet in here, Soap and Gaz both on missions and you assume Ghost must be too. It’s the first time you’ve been able to relax all week, knowing damn well Price is down in London with Gaz. Your shoulders sag, the miserable look returning to cover your features now that you don't need to pull that tight smile anymore. Your chest physically aches from how anxious you’ve been all day, the weight of the day’s mistakes and fears of the future swelling deep in your gut. You know it’s a Friday, know you should just take a long sleep but you can’t help but think about all you have to do for the days to follow. You’re busy the whole day tomorrow, a team outing you can’t deny no matter how much you really do not want to go. Just thinking of all the final work you’ll have to cram in on Sunday makes a splitting pain run along the bumps in your brain. Even your breaths begin to feel shorter, an uncomfortable feeling that you just still cant rid of no matter how long you take deep breaths. Your eyes are weighed down with exhaustion and yet your brain refuses to let you sleep yet. No, you cannot. If you sleep the night away then you’ll only have Sunday left for yourself, and that won't work out, will it?

You pick up the mug you had just stirred, hoping the drink would soothe at least something if not your dehydrated body. Taking a small sip, the hot liquid spills down your throat, leaving a warm feeling in your ribs. “Alone by choice or force?” A gruff voice rings out behind you, along with an arm reaching around to supposedly grab a teabag as well, is enough to make you flinch. Stumbling on your own feet, your mug jolts and the steaming water splashes against your shoulder. If you were worried about someone catching you so vulnerable before, you were certainly terrified now, especially since your skin was burning from a small startle.

“Fuck— sorry—“

Ghost’s gloved hand settle on one side of your waist while the other quickly takes the mug from your hands and places it upon the counter. You cant respond, barely processing the situation and everything just feels like too much and your skin feels so hot, you know he’s seeing you fall apart and still there’s nothing you can do—

Your thoughts snap to a blank when he presses the cold rag against your burning skin. Thankfully the layers of the training uniform stops any severe marks from forming. His other hand rubs your cheek, his mask so close it could brush your face, and you can actually see every speck of brown in his irises. You can't look at him for long though, moving your gaze away quickly, not when you know what you’ve done. For the past week or two you’ve hated him, painting the most horrible picture in your mind. It wasnt even on purpose, you’ve just started seeing everything wrong about him. He doesnt give the rookies much mercy, nor does he particularly entertain any of Soap’s antics even when the situation is pretty lax. He’s boring, he seems to care about nothing but himself somedays, he refuses to let you do something stupid and he never takes that damn mask off even when you’re all supposed to trust one another. You’ve lied to him, yes, forgetting about your hatred when he made you laugh with those gruff remarks. But he’s not the only one— no, you’ve began to hate everyone in this task force, picking at them and every little thing. It’s weird, you don't want to victimize yourself, because you know you’ve done just as much wrong too. But still, somedays you really can't look past the list of things you dislike about your own friends.

“Are you alright? I havent seen you all week.”

Of course he hasn't, you’ve been avoiding them all. It’s nearly impossible to think straight these days and you knew you wouldn’t be able to fake it so naturally, you just stayed away. The more you did it, the better it began to feel. Avoiding them was the solution— you were just the thorn in their side with your tricky mood swings and anxiety always painting them to be the villain. You couldnt just allow this to happen, to destroy them with your issues even if they had no idea about it.

But now, face to face with him, all you feel is unexplainable guilt for everything you’ve done to them— how could you even hate them for a second? His hand is still rubbing at your skin, nudging your face gently upwards just so you’d at least look at him for a second. “Really? The silent treatment now?.” He sighs and you hate yourself, how did you let this spiral to this point— to where he’s apologising to you and yet you wish you could just disappear. Isnt this what you wanted? For everyone to be kind to you? So why are you running— why do you refuse care?

Your lips press together as your teeth bite down on the soft flesh, torn from how much you’ve picked at the skin the whole week. It aches with anxiety, and your teeth hurt from how often you’ve clenched them so hard they scraped against eachother. The only thing you can do is stand there as Ghost fusses over you, trying to get you to move a damn muscle instead of falling apart silently like some kind of broken watch, unable to move forward or backwards. Just still.

“Sarge— snap out of it, look, I'm sorry. Okay?”

His hands are still on you, and you’ve begged for a day where someone would care this much about you and still, you step back, almost afraid. “I’m sorry, Ghost.” You croak out, your hands reaching up to your eyes as you wipe at your skin obsessively, trying to hide and stop anything from leaking. “Why’re you apologising?” He says gruffly, confused by all of this, this sudden onslaught of emotion.

He’s not stupid, he had a feeling you weren't quite yourself this week. Stupidly, he figured you’d just deal with it on your own. That's what everyone did, right? He knows he just takes a breather when he feels a little rough— even Price had his own battles. Comfort isn't a strong point for Ghost, not even when he was Simon Riley, never has and he never thinks it will be. He’s born and bred on violence and the coldness that comes after it, the lack of warmth even as hot blood trickles and emptiness consumes the space where his fellow soldiers should be. So watching you crumble right before him, apologising profusely while your body wracks with shaken breaths, makes something stop in him too. He doesn't know how he’ll do it, but he knows damn well no one fights alone anymore.

“Look at me.”

He says firmly, both his hands landing firmly on your shoulders, one hand even tempted to just force your chin up but you shake your head profusely. “Why not?” He stays patient for you, even if he knows he may have to force you soon— its the least he can do for you. “I cant look at you. Not after everything i did.” He pauses, hands now settling on your jaw in confusion, he knows this is moving towards an interrogation but he has to know. “What are you talking about?! What did you do?”

“I hated all of you! I avoided you all and destroyed our relationship, i fucked it all up.”

With that he cant stand to see this continue, a gloved hand firmly planted over your mouth as the other wraps around your back. He leads you to the couch even as you squirm, not caring in the slightest. He knows he has strength and not comfort, so he’ll use it to shut you up whilst the truth comforts you instead.

“Look at me.” He says sternly and you do, eyes snapping up with wide fear as you look at him. “That’s not true— okay? None of us consider our relationship with you ruined, not one of us has even mentioned you in a bad light at all.” He makes sure your whole body is pressed against the back of the couch, considering that you didnt particularly look as if you could hold yourself up right now.

“Soap has only talked to me about you once recently— he told me you helped him organize the training schedules for the rookies. Told me to thank you for it because he felt he did not express his gratitude enough. Do you understand now? No one’s mad at you– not one of us have even considered anything to have gone wrong.”

His hand grabs your own, settling it on the center of his chest so you can feel the pattern of his breathing, silently praying you’d try and match it. You can only blink at him though, slowly processing his words with each passing second until his hand leaves your mouth and your lips part, breath hitched before you swallow a sharp breath. “I’ve avoided all of you– i’ve been hating all of you.” You choke out, chest clenching with regret and the weight of unreasonable guilt and his other hand moves to hold your face again, his brown eyes piercing into yours with his silence.

“What is like to hate someone?”

“What?”?

“What is it like to hate someone?” He repeats, his thumb pressing gently into the curve of your cheek.

“I-...” You falter, thinking for a moment before your lips part again. “I dont like things that they do— the way they act and everything about them.”

“You’d avoid them too, right? Like that general you hated. Remember when he touched you and you pushed his hand away?

You nod along in agreement, breathing a bit slower to hopefully ease the pressure on your chest at the moment.

“Y-yeah.. i’d express my dislike clearly..”

“So why did you never push me away the past few weeks? You said you avoided us, but you would always speak to us if we needed to. You still helped Soap too.”

You pause, blinking at him in confusion now, you had convinced yourself that you hated them so why did you never.. actually express it?

“You’re also letting me touch you now and last week you didn't want to hang out with us, but you didnt want to hurt our feelings by saying that.”

You’re left silent, baffled and confused because in your head, you were being horrible to them, hating their guts like it was nothing.

“I think… whatever is going on in that head of yours.” He says slowly, tapping at your forehead gently as you look up at him with widened eyes. “You’ve held it in for too long. You’ve dwelled on those thoughts, so self aware of your own anxieties that you’ve distorted reality. You think you’ve done something bad, because you can't understand why you always feel so bad.” His voice is softer than usual, even if his words are still gruff and holds his thick Manchester accent.

Somehow that alone reminds you that Simon has never lied, not even once, to you. That stern voice of his is straightforward, doesnt mess around and forces his way through any problem. Just like he had just pushed himself to the root of your mind and destroyed your seeds of doubt.

“You’re allowed to talk to us you know. I have a funny feeling you’re scared o’ somethin’. Not sure what just yet.”

He doesnt force you to respond, just speaking his thoughts even if that’s what you usually do when you’re together. The couch creaks as he stand up, pulling you to get up aswell beside him. He places a hand on the crook of your back, gently encouraging you to begin walking towards the door. “Cmon, back to my room. Lets get you cleaned up properly.”

Before you know it, you’re sitting against the headboard of his bed, something you had only felt months ago when you first came here, scared and confused over a stupid hornet. You trusted him to help you then, but you dont understand why you suddenly felt that fear again. Meanwhile, your shirt is half off, Ghost sat on the bed beside you as he inspects the burns on your chest from the tea. It’s harsh, the skin reddened but not enough to be something serious thankfully. He presses a cool towel against it, soothing the stinging skin but he knows it’ll fade out soon enough. You’re wearing his old shirt, and he gave you some comfortable sweatpants too for good measure. You just watch all his moves so quietly, feeling like a ghost yourself in this moment from how detached you are. It’s weird, feeling so much yet nothing at the same time.

“Nothing too bad, should be alright by the morning.” He hums, lifting the fresh mug of tea he brewed for you and brings it to your lips for you to sip before he steals some for himself. “Is your chest still tight?” You blink, not expecting him to ask that of all things because you hadnt exactly mentioned that part and yes, it was. “How did you know..?” Your hand reaches out, silently asking for more of the tea he graciously lets you sip, unable to fathom how he brews it so perfectly each time. “You were clutching at your chest before and your breaths are a little shorter than they should be.” He’s seen straight through you again so you slump your shoulders and just nod quietly. “Yeah, it’s really tight. It’s always like this and i dont know how to make it stop.”

His gloved hand reaches out, gently rubbing at your chest thus making you sink a little back into the pillows. Before he can respond, you speak up with a quiet confession. “That day, when you came ‘round, I was upset. You said you wanted to watch the series with me and I felt so bad. I didn't want to give up my only chance of spending time with you, but I knew my head couldn't take it.”

He nods along quietly, letting you reveal it all to him. “T-then you figured me all out and i got scared— i didnt want someone to know everything about me because i didnt want to be a problem. I want someone to listen but i dont want to be seen as something different. I just.. i dont know how to handle all of this. I dont feel like the person i am when i look in the mirror.”

The strangest thing of all is that it didnt actually take you long to figure it out. You knew all along, of course, but when you’re fighting against yourself, you’re supporting both sides and so a part of you decided not to dwell on a certain bit of information too much. The reason for that to be pushed aside is no part of you wanted to face it.

Your heart always secretly wished someone would find out— that someone would push past the walls you’ve banged so hard against even if they were crafted by the webs of your brain. You prayed and prayed that they’d read through it all, express their concern and one day, one day you’d be saved from this hellish feeling. It was a common daydream for you and yet you were terrified of it. If someone knew, there was no guarantee they’d follow the fantasy. They could ridicule you, or they couldnt be able to comfort you at all, maybe they’d try and it wouldnt even do anything or maybe, just maybe— they wouldnt give a damn about it. What happened then? If that daydream was real, and that was the final outcome, there was no turning back in time. It seemed like only one person would ever figure you out, after all, no one had up until this point.

But then Simon became aware, and you got terrified. You hid away because you were too scared to know his reaction to your problems, even more so his reaction to you. You wanted someone to help, you really did, and yet your brain feared to know the uncertain future of it.

His ungloved hands card through your hair, the callouses gentle against your scalp as he slowly scratches at it. “You need to speak with us, and the others. Your feelings are real— hell, we all have our doubts. I used to feel it before every mission. Soap began to tell me his, then Gaz joined too. Price always looks for a way to solve it, and i give my two pence when i feel i want to. Just cause you feel different, doesnt mean you are. Plenty o’ people felt the same way you did before.”

“Really..? I’m not like.. crazy?”

“No, never. Even if you do some stupid shit sometimes.”

That makes you finally crack a real smile, even if its small and you’re unable to stifle the small chuckle that bubbles in your throat and although he’s the epitome of stoicism, he smiles beneath the mask. “Everyone’s out on a mission, ya can't leave me alone tonight. C’mere.”

You settle yourself in the crook of arm as he lays back against the bed with you, propping up his laptop on his lap as he searches for a good movie.

“You better report back to me everyday this week, alright? I want you here at nine pm sharp, dressed in your pajamas. That’s an order.”

Thinking over all your previous daydreams of how this would eventually go, this was far from how you expected it to be. Firstly, you never expected Ghost, nor it to happen in the military at all. Perhaps you thought maybe later in life it’d occur or maybe Soap or Price would figure it out. Either way, you arent actually upset over it. No one would be your fairy tale saviour in life, coming forward to fight the demons that plagued your head all the time. Even so, the way Ghost had shut you up and calmed you down makes you think he’s pretty damn close to being one, even if knights usually dont scoff at their princess.

He doesnt even look like he’d be willing to give a little kid a hug, but still, you couldnt be happier with how this turned out in the end. Compared to fairytale princes and men in the movies, you knew Ghost and you knew he was serious— so if he wanted to help you, he would. And no, he wouldnt ridicule you throughout the process, nor ever feel like you’ve been misheard. You know that if you spoke to Ghost, he’d listen earnesty and never forget, carrying that around with him even if those anxieties eventually died out.

You knew he’d always linger around, never forgetting you or leaving you behind. Just like a Ghost.

“Okay, i promise i will.”

You say softly, pressing your cheek against the curve of his chest, the faint thump of his heartbeat drowning out any lost thoughts. He was your support, and no matter how bad it got for you, no matter how many times you get overwhelmed and lash out, not even when you avoid everyone— he’d never break away. No, he would always be beside you.

[starsworldd]

Solar Observations pt. 7

readings are open! ⛓️

please take with a grain of salt ⛓️

I used orbs of 3 degrees for aspects from whole signs ⛓️

👾 some of my best sr years have been the years where i’ve had the same sr venus as my natal

👾 looking at the persona chart of your profected year lord can give you a lot of insights for the year ahead i’ve found

👾 chiron on the mc (both solar or natal x solar) shows a year of yearning for something very badly (most likely to be career/goal/experience related)

👾 having positive mercury-saturn aspects (including conjunction depending on sign) is a year where you are on top of your shit, maybe you feel like you conversations with others are thwarted in some way but better than most you’re preparing for something bigger, plans, plans, PLANS!!

👾 saturn conjunct mercury is a really interesting aspect actually for a solar return. it maybe harder to categorize and to process the world around you in a productive way, but you may also learn new subjects/wisdom.

👾 having venus at 28 degrees can indicate an exciting love/crush/relationship happening for that year

👾 moon at 29 degrees can show that from that year on out you will approach life from a very different mindset to what you had before. this mindset can last for a year or your entire life but either way it’s an anaretic degree so BIG STUFF! the sign can show what mindset you’re “ending” (ex: i had moon at 29 degrees in taurus in 2020 and from that year on out i really prioritized productivity and worked to stop my lazy/indulgent habits)

👾 planets at 20 degrees and what house those planets are in can show what themes/events prove to be very mystical or witchy that year. (ex: i had mars and neptune at 20 degrees with mars in the 7th and neptune in the 11th and that year i got back with my old friend group out of random chance and went on my first date with someone from that group😭😭 not me telling you guys my life tea. dating within friend groups is weird and would not recommend btw! but to each their own🩷)

👾 planets at the 1st degree + their houses show where you’re ambitious and what you desire, expect lots of action in these areas

👾 1st house ruler in 1st (aka your chart ruler in one of its domicile places) may mean that your by yourself or more alone, but most likely NOT in a bad way!! (self-care, self-improvement, reflection, etc…). check other houses that the planet rules to see what other important themes are emphasized that year (ex: libra venus in 1st house —> 8th house themes are important as well because taurus rules over the 8th)

👾 going off from the previous observation, planets in angular houses (1, 4, 7, 10) will ALWAYS be prominent throughout your year especially if they’re in domicile/exaltation/detriment/fall.

👾 a lot of celebrities have gotten big time famous the year where they had their 11th house in their 11th (ex: megan thee stallion, doja cat, billie eilish, etc…)

👾 just a tip, but make persona charts of your solar planets! if you don’t know how, go to astro.com, charts and calculations, extended chart selection, blue plus sign in the top right corner then fill out info from your solar return chart. after making this, click the “natal chart” tab, scroll down to “persona chart” :)

👾 jupiter/sagittarius in the 3rd or jupiter-mercury aspects show a lot of activity for the year ahead. fire/air = adventurous/fun activity, water/earth = self-growth/learning related (but arguably the themes can overlap), mercury in the third house is also indicative of a busy year!

👾 when i had mars in my natal 12th house last year i stayed up souper late almost every night regardless of weekend/weekday

👾 planets at 5 degrees show where there’s a lot of exciting things happening (ex: venus at 5 degrees -> lots of interesting meetups with friends, starting new hobbies, etc…, juno at 5 degrees -> partnerships open up new feelings of happiness, feeling loved, etc…). creds to @astrosky33 for this one!

👾 pay attention to the aspects made to your vertex for the year! and also what house the vertex falls in in your natal house. a couple years ago i had venus in my solar 4th trine my solar vertex in 8th conjunc turanus and was able to spend more time resting and doing fun things at home because unexpectedly (uranus) responsibilities/burdens placed upon me were lifted

👾 mars in the 12th house (including solar x natal) can show that you’re trying to break out of bad habits

👾 moon in fire signs can show a time of unrest or lots of physical activity at home, you have a lot of energy to do activities whether they’re serious activities or not

💜🤍💜🖤💜🤍💜🖤💜🤍💜🖤💜

hope you enjoyed!

[charmedreincarnation]

Hey guysss! A lot of people have been asking for me to make a challenge for a while now. I honestly didn’t want to, not because I’m against them or anything but because the law will be different for everyone. Sometimes, it feels like tumblr needs a reminder - you are the only person who knows what you need to do to succeed. I wish I could imprint this realization on everyone's minds. I’ve also gotten so manyyyy asks about things that genuinely just feel like your doubts repeating in your mind constantly so I’m gonna talk abt my beliefs bc y’all are spiraling really hard. I get it you want your desires for Christmas and new years. It’s okay take a breath, you're alive and will be okay.

Firstly: at the beginning I used to spend countless time spiraling into depression, constantly changing my methods every time I saw a new success story, and every time I found a new foolproof' tumblr method. Methods that were supposed to guarantee results in a day so when they didn’t I felt rlly useless. It was annoying, to say the least, and I don’t want to help others do the same thing, but really all I can do is reiterate what I always say and hope you apply it to everything!!

A lot of you guys wanted something that didn’t involve the void state, so that’s what this will revolve around! But feel free to make this void orientated if you desire, and I’ll also add a void section so all my babies can eat!

Ok so you’ve over consumed, you have dropped the void, and now have switched to just assuming and knowing that you would wake up with your dream life - embracing states. Great! At first, it will seem like you're doing nothing but you aren’t! For example, I knew I was dwelling in the state of wish fulfilled when I went to work without shedding tears, when I looked in the mirror and didn't think I was ugly because, well, I'm beautiful! I didn't care abt not performing well on a test because I could revise my past etc. this isn’t to say ignore the 3D: don’t do that, please try and make sure you’re safe and okay. But know life is malleable. Slowly, things that used to bother me—my parents, grades, anxiety, self-deprivation—started to fade away. Even though my dream life hadn't reflected in my 3D yet, I felt the switch. That's when I decided, I know what to do.

I also remember finding this cute website a long time ago that I want to share that summarizes it in such a great and simple way.

So Before I knew or understood what LOA was, I found this gem of an article on I am Love'- "How To Shift Into A State & Stay There". I think I have a post abt it somewhere on my blog but I’m too lazy to find it so here it is again.

Basically it explains that the essence of shifting into a desired state and staying there. What resonated with me was her choice to dwell in the state of knowing that her desires are hers, no matter what.

The way she used colloquial language made the content relatable and easy to understand. It's like having a conversation with a friend who's guiding you through hard concepts with “dumbed down” language because at the beginning states made 0 sense to me.

Posts like this really helped me particularly because when I discovered Neville, it required three attempts on my part to not only intellectually grasp his teachings, but also to truly comprehend him as a whole, given his non-contemporary speaking tbh.

I recommend it if you find yourself stuck or not really grasping the law yet (which is more than okay) but, if you're looking to understand the loa better or just learn more give this article a read.

There’s also a particular quote from Neville that really got me to dive into his work after finding this article and it was- “The being that you really are, descended to the weakness of the flesh, causing you to experience the state you are now in. Contemplate another state, and the same being who brought your present form into being will restore and make alive the other state, the state desired. This he will continue to do until his purpose is fulfilled. That purpose is to follow a certain pattern back into the unity of being. You see, in the beginning we were drafted. We did not volunteer to fall into these states. We were made subject into futility, not willingly but by the will of him who sent us. But when we return we will discover that we are the very being who subjected us. We are now the sons, destined to return as God the Father!”

Now that you understand and are ready to apply state, Here’s a routine I’ve created to hopefully help you guys! It is very simple and not time consuming at all.

Scripting and writing: I love writing and feeling like the author of my own story, literally bringing my creation to life. I would write when I felt like it. Whenever I wanted to dwell in my state, I would simply write, "I have my dream life." It's so simple, yet it embodies everything I need. If you’re more of a picture girl, use Pinterest instead. Or both if you prefer it doesn’t matter.

Edward arts' "I am creator meditation": Again, do this whenever you like it. It's one of the few meditations that didn't bore me to death and seemed to work with my ADHD. I also love reading, so I would read his pdf whenever I felt like it and take mental notes. Reading his work was a reminder I was doing everything right, it resonated with me very well.

During doubt and overstimulation: When things get overwhelming, close your eyes and let the emotions pass. They’re just thoughts! repeat the words "I am" until your heart returns to its normal rhythm. It's a simple yet powerful way to ground yourself amidst the whirlwind of emotions. And guess what? You can use this technique for doubt too! So the next time you're feeling overwhelmed, remember the power of "I am". It's a gentle reminder of your existence, your resilience, and your capability to be whatever you want despairs any emotional turmoil.

Thank god: (yourself!!) When reminded of your desires. Thank you god. When you see your desires, (eg:Pinterest, online or you’re just reminded) thank you god! When you see an image of your desires, thank you god! When you dream or think about your desires. Thank god! Always thank the person fulfilling it aka you ;)! If you’re religious just thank the god you actually follow.

Nightly reflections: At night, ask yourself , "What would I do if I woke up in my dream life right now?" repeat this question throughout the night. Then, imagine whatever scene you want. What would you do if you could not fail? What would you do if you had all the money in the world right now. What if you looked in the mirror and saw the most ethereal being and it’s just you? What about if you woke up in your dream house with your dream family and pets? This is inspired by one of the first shifting methods I created that helped me fulfill my imagination before I knew what that meant. When you’re ready to sleep just remind yourself it is done, and drift off into your desires.

As I've always said, I've been a great daydreamer. I knew exactly what I wanted my life to look and feel like. I envisioned my walk-in closet filled with luxurious outfits, waking up in my dream room on a soft mattress with my pets purring nearby. I saw the decor reflecting my personality in every corner of my large, and pretty room. I imagined walking into my bathroom, seeing all my cool Sephora products lined up for my skincare and shower routine. I love taking care of myself because I know I deserve it. I saw myself looking in the mirror, knowing I'm "that girl" who turns heads wherever she goes.I visualized going downstairs in my boujee dream house,and seeing my family stress-free, smiling, and eating well. I saw plans being made on my phone, my friends were excited to see and talk to me. I went to my kitchen, filled with expensive ingredients ready for me to cook meals for my loved ones - because I love cooking. I saw myself checking my bank account and seeing multiple seven figures in my savings, checking, and investment accounts and opportunities easily presenting myself to make more if I wanted. I saw myself running errands in my car, shopping, getting Starbucks, having expensive lunch with friends, and making a trip to Target. Despite the simplicity of the day, I would come home and be like, "Ugh, what a long day!"like that one khloe kardashian meme. What if all this happened today? Visualize and feel the scenes so clearly that it felt like it's already happening.. not just in your imagination.

Most importantly: Define the law for you! Stop parroting bloggers and intertwine your own beliefs with the law. The only principle of the law is that through persistence assumption will harden into a fact. Other than that anything goes except for facts that are wrong.

Here’s old notes I found in my phone lol just so you know what I mean by define the law for you: ignore the writing I was kinda dumb and new to the law 😭😭

Now this is for my void babies if you made it this far.

Read this post.

This is it copied bc the links are wonky sometimes

“My previous method is based on the persistent assumption, which a lot of people don’t know how to do right and it might take some time even for those who have the right self-concept and the mindset, so today I was in the process of manifesting this method.

And I was successful!

This method is for everyone. It’s the easiest Void method.

Do you know that you get into the Void state at night automatically? At that time the whole perceived world disappears for you. Every single perception and assumption you have disappears while your consciousness in the calm and natural Void state.

Use it to your advantage. Now that you know about the Void that you enter when you sleep, the perfect state to manifest anything that you wish to perceive, with no “resistance”, no illusions of annoying solid things around, you only need to remember your scripted starting point in your DR and practice watching it all coming out of the Void.

Practice that scene with your eyes closed, say to yourself:”That is what I perceive. Next time I’m in the Void, I’ll experience this”. You won’t even need to be fully aware of yourself that way when you get into the Void while you are asleep. Your subconscious would do all the work as it now would have the instruction and a clear image of you expecting it.

Personal experience: as I was receiving information on this method, I almost stepped into my DR! I wasn’t even in the absolute void state, I was only creating the scene for this method and I felt it materialise with my senses!

I have great feeling that it’s going to give fast results for others! Try it, teach your subconscious what it needs to bring forth while in the Void, let it do your work for you!”

Lastly, I’m gonna talk abt my beliefs real quick bc the fear of shifting vs manifesting makes me sad for y’all. I understand you don’t wanna leave behind the people you love and that’s not fear to feel ashamed of having! I personally hate the npc mindset a lot of have people have adopted. The only thing we know for sure is that assumptions create realities, and consciousness is the real reality. Everything else boils down to assumptions, except for principles. For example, shifting is not lucid dreaming, even if you assume it to be. That is the principle. I’m just going to copy what I told my mutal bc I’m lazy and need to finish Christmas stuff 😭😭 but Our imagination and the 4D realm are products of our consciousness, which is indeed real. Our view of reality is shaped by our consciousness, since we can't experience everything all at once.

Unless, of course, you shift into a super omnipotent god. Even then, you’d probably still struggle with the concept of infinity because, well, infinity is infinite. And it’s constantly a never exnding expansion. As humans, we're finite beings, and our understanding of the infinite is naturally limited. Because you can’t and won’t ever experience everything at once, infinity is always expanding. Our awareness can be thought of as fragments of consciousness; it's like being a drop of water in a massive ocean. Even though our perception is limited, the infinite is always there, always existing. We simply adjust our awareness to perceive this infinite reality.

And through our consciousness, we are able to tap into other realities or 'multiverses', which give us a broader understanding of existence. This exploration of consciousness and the multiverse is a significant part of my journey into the world of manifestation.

The law of consciousness explains why, when you "shift" or change your perspective, you don't physically move. It's all about altering your state of awareness. This is also why time doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. You can become aware of any time or day you want, as long as you choose to be aware of it. It's like having a mental time machine. This law is why infinite universes exist. As long as you can be aware of it, you can assume and embody the state of that person. Whether that's someone with a billion dollars on Earth, or a person who lives in the Attack on Titan world, it's all about your awareness.Our awareness is just a fragment of the larger consciousness – hence the idea of the multiverse. Each universe is a different fragment, a different state of awareness. And we have the power to “shift” into any of these states, therefore shifting into any of these universes.

I’m telling you this bc there’s no need to be afraid of manifesting or being in a reality with robotic versions of the people you love. Ariana grande and Marilyn Monroe for example talk about loa without acknowledging it and we see their success. Neville Goddard and his followers saw each other’s manifestions and I manifest for my friends and they mnaifest for me.

Take a deep breath and let go of the tik tok clone mindsets y’all have they don’t exist. You can manifest and assume anything you want in your imagination. Y’all literally want to manifest things like millions of dollars, revising deaths, living in new countries, having immorality in your waiting rooms, and never aging which is all possible of course. So be for real, why assume and know that you can achieve all that, but it won't manifest exactly how you want? I've also wondered about what happens to the "old version" of people when they manifest their dream life. As far as I'm concerned, they dont exist because you choose not to be aware of them.

I really want to talk about this too, as I've received similar questions and, oh my god, I thought I was alone. I've always been a bit delusional and lived in my head, but when I became conscious of the law, did anyone else feel a sense of self-embarrassment? I don't know what that was, but I'd genuinely feel my soul wanting to throw up envisioning my desires that aren't mine, even though I've always been a daydreamer. It's kind of like when you feel you can't have them or it's strange to envision yourself with something you can't have, so you just purge yourself. 😭

I was thinking back to why that happened and laughing at myself because we need to be serious right now. Why are you getting sick by your own mind? Imagine if Van Gogh, anytime he pulled out a canvas and held a brush, was jump-scared by the brush. Picture him holding out the brush and just staring at the canvas crying because "well, the painting is going to suck 😐," "I don't know what to paint☹️☹️," "I already know it won't be like what I envision in my head 😡😡." Like, bro, the canvas is blank, just fucking paint. That’s why I really like his quote that's like...

“If you hear a voice within you say you cannot paint, then by all means paint and that voice will be silenced.” So If you’re scared of failing, if you’re scared of your desires, or scared of how it will come to fruition, for that reason alone is more so to and manifest it anyways.

But happy holidays guys! make some tea, scroll through Pinterest, read a good book and watch some Christmas films and remember if you can imagine/think your desires you can embody them bc where are you getting it from??

Here are some helpful documents I have read plus a cute vid I saw on insta reels : (let me know if the links are being weird)

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[ivystmblr]

“Minamoto Teru”

The Perfect Boy — Minamoto Teru

He's smart. Always perfect and answering correctly in academics.

Tests? Perfect. Quizzes? Perfect. Recitation? Perfect.

You can't help but be so grateful when he helps you out and tutors you in subjects that you're having a hard time with.

He's handsome, attractive. No wonder he has so many fans. I mean, who could resist such a handsome face?

His hair; Every strand was so soft to the touch that it felt like a gentle caress. You couldn't take your eyes off it and feel nothing but adoration for the golden hue that filled your vision.

The blonde tresses captivated your soul and forever imprinted itself inside your heart.

His eyes; The blue eyes sparkled like pools of sapphire, reflecting the sun in all of its brilliance. Every time you looked at them, there was a feeling of admiration and profound joy that you couldn't quite explain.

He is invested in his interests and engaging in conversation with him allows one to appreciate his positive outlook on life.

He takes action to bring his goals and dreams to fruition, and is resilient and self-sufficient in the face of adversity and challenge.

He has the poise and class to graciously accept every experience. He is encouraging and motivating of the people he loves and engages with.

He's kind. Some think that he's cruel when he rejects the confessions of the girls who have a crush on him.

But he isn't, not at all. He's not cruel, just straightforward but in a way you'll understand and not hate him for it. He'll apologize and then reject you.

He is caring, tender. He is honest about his feelings and empathizes with the struggles of his friends.

There's a reason to why you love Minamoto Teru but you can't seem to answer such a question when you are actually asked why.

It's because you can't pick which of the many things that Minamoto Teru has that makes you love him so much.

You watch him as he reads the contents of your love letter about your love for him.

As he finishes reading, he gives you a smile. You can't tell whether it's a smile of pity or if it's a sign that he accepts your love.

“I'm sorry—”

The first two words were enough for you to know what his response was.

That had happened years ago, if your memory was correct, maybe when you guys were still first years.

Ever since the confession, you guys have grown distant. From the occasional greetings in the halls to only pass by each other without making any eye contact.

You admit the sudden distance between your relationship was your fault. A day after the confession you were the one who would hide away from him out of embarrassment because you got rejected.

You avoided him like a plague.

Even when your classmates had told you that Teru was looking for you because he wanted to catch up with you and other things, you wouldn't go.

Even if it was Minamoto Teru himself who would walk towards you and try his best to start a conversation, you'd somehow be able to slip away from him.

Now, in second year, Minamoto Teru is still the perfect boy that you always admired ever since you guys first met.

I think back to when we were so close and I would wonder. What would have happened to us if the confession never happened. Would we have been more closer than we already were?

As the both of you pass by each other, a pair of blue eyes look back at the back of your figure. Once? No. Twice.

Unfortunately, you took no notice of the longing gaze.

A/n: This isn't really a long fic, I'm so sorry 🥹. I'm just adding plot to the reader and Teru's relationship. Man I'm a sucker for when the relationship has something like a distance and the guy is the one who is desperate to mend the relationship together again. Also I think I didn't really mention supernaturals/apparitions here 🫣 woopsy.

[0omillo0]

Model! Han Jisung x Interviewer! Reader

Love at first sight

Han is called by Balmain to attend his fashion show, but he doesn't know that that night his eyes will meet the ones of his soulmate

( 🫧 ) fluff!!

masterlist

The air buzzed with excitement in the heart of Paris as fashion enthusiasts and celebrities gathered outside the grand Palais des Congrès. Laughter and chatter filled the space, and the scent of fresh croissants wafted through the air, mingling with the high-end perfumes of the crowd. The sun cast a warm glow over the gathered throng, illuminating the diverse styles decked out for the Balmain fashion show.

Among the crowd, Han Jisung adjusted his tailored Balmain blazer, its sharp lines accentuating his slender frame. He smiled at the cameras flashing around him, but his thoughts drifted beyond the lenses. He was here for more than just the fashion; he craved something real, something he hadn’t found in the industry yet.

As the show began, the atmosphere shifted. Models glided down the runway, showcasing bold silhouettes and vibrant colors. Amidst the dazzle, a voice broke through the sounds of gasps and applause.

“Han Jisung! Over here!”

He turned to see a woman waving a microphone, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. She was a reporter, her name tag identifying her as Y/N. Jisung felt a magnetic pull towards her, a warmth that filled the air between them.

“Can we grab a quick interview?” she asked, her voice confident yet friendly.

“Sure!” he replied, taking a step closer. The noise of the crowd faded as their eyes locked. “What do you want to know?”

“First, what’s it like walking the Balmain show?” Y/N asked, her curiosity genuine.

“It’s exhilarating,” he replied, a grin forming. “The energy of the crowd, the designs... it’s all so inspiring. I feel like I’m part of something bigger.”

Y/N noted his passion, her heart fluttering. “What do you think sets Balmain apart from other brands?”

“Balmain is about boldness,” he said, his expression earnest. “Every piece tells a story, and I love being part of that narrative.”

Her pen scribbled notes furiously, but her attention remained on him. “And what story do you want to tell today?”

He paused, considering his words. “Today, I want to show that fashion can be both art and a reflection of self. It’s important to stay true to who you are. Also I’m glad Oliver himself gave me this opportunity.”

“Beautifully said,” Y/N smiled, captivated. “What’s next for you?”

“I’m working on some personal projects,” Jisung replied, his gaze unwavering. “I want to explore music more deeply, and maybe, a collaboration with some artists. Fashion is just one part of my expression.”

Their conversation flowed effortlessly, the buzz of the fashion show becoming a distant hum. Jisung leaned closer, as if sharing a secret. “And what about you? What brought you to Paris?”

Y/N hesitated, then chuckled softly. “I’ve always dreamed of being in the fashion capital, interviewing the most talented people. I guess you could say I’m living my dream, but it’s hard to keep up with all the glamour.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he countered, his voice low and sincere. “You’re doing amazing work. And you definitely have a way of making an interview feel... special.”

As the show concluded, the crowd erupted in applause. Jisung glanced at Y/N, who was still watching him, her eyes filled with admiration. “I really appreciate this time, Y/N. It’s not often I feel this connection during interviews.”

“Likewise,” she replied, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

“I just realized,” he said, his expression shifting slightly. “I forgot my phone at the hotel. Could I borrow yours to call someone?”

“Of course!” Y/N responded, handing him her phone, a flutter of excitement swirling in her stomach.

He took the device, his fingers brushing against hers as he dialed a number. But he didn’t call anyone, instead he gave her her phone back. Confused, she looks at her phone reading in the notes his number and ‘Call me when you want :)’

“Wait, you’re giving me your number?” she asked, surprised.

“Yeah, I mean, why not? We had a great conversation,” he replied with a playful smile. “And who knows, maybe I could use your help navigating the Parisian scene.”

Her heart raced as she took the slip of paper he handed her. “I’ll definitely keep this,” she said, tucking it away. “I’d love to help.”

“Great! Maybe we can grab coffee or something?” Jisung suggested, his eyes hopeful.

“Absolutely,” she said, feeling a surge of excitement. “I’d love that.”

As the crowd began to disperse, Y/N felt an urge to seize the moment. “Why don’t you come to my apartment after the show? It’s not far from here. We could talk more, maybe about that collaboration you mentioned. I don’t want to sound to.. hasty tho!! Feel free to refuse!”

“Really?” His face lit up, and a grin spread across his lips. “I’d love to. Just give me a second to change out of this suit.”

“Take your time. I’ll be waiting,” she replied, her heart pounding.

A short while later, they met outside, Jisung now in a casual yet stylish outfit. He walked beside her through the charming Parisian streets, the sun setting and casting a golden glow on everything.

“This city is incredible,” he said, glancing around. “I can see why people fall in love with it.”

“It’s even better when you’re exploring it with someone,” Y/N said, glancing sideways at him, the connection between them palpable.

They arrived at her apartment, a cozy place filled with eclectic decor and soft lighting. Y/N gestured for him to sit as she poured two glasses of wine.

“Cheers to new friendships,” she said, raising her glass.

“Cheers,” he echoed, clinking his glass against hers, their fingers brushing again.

As they sipped their wine, the conversation flowed easily, laughter punctuating the air. Jisung leaned in closer, his voice a soft murmur. “You know, I’ve never felt this way about someone I just met.”

“Me neither,” Y/N confessed, her heart fluttering as she met his gaze. “It’s like... there’s something special here.”

He sighed, a content smile on his lips. “We should enjoy this moment, whatever it is.”

Y/N watched him, captivated by the way his eyes sparkled. “Agreed. But I can’t help but wonder what happens next.”

“Let’s not think about the ‘next’ just yet,” he said, moving a little closer. “Let’s just enjoy what we have right now.”

With the atmosphere thickening, Y/N felt a rush of courage. “Jisung,” she murmured, “would it be too forward if I said I really want to kiss you?”

His breath caught, his eyes widening slightly before a soft chuckle escaped his lips. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

And just like that, the space between them shrank, the world outside fading away. Jisung cupped her face gently, leaning in until their lips met. It was a sweet, tentative kiss that quickly deepened, filled with the promise of something beautiful.

When they finally pulled away, both breathless, Y/N smiled shyly. “Wow. I didn’t expect that.”

“Neither did I,” Jisung admitted, his forehead resting against hers. “But I’m glad it happened.”

Y/N gazed into his eyes, feeling a warmth spread through her. “So, what do we do now?”

“Let’s keep this between us for now,” he suggested, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I think we have something worth exploring.”

“I like the sound of that,” she said, her heart soaring. “A secret romance in the city of love.”

“Exactly,” he replied, a smile playing on his lips. “Just you, me, and Paris.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the city lights began to twinkle, reflecting the magic of their newfound connection—a love that blossomed amidst the glamour and chaos, hidden yet vibrant, waiting to unfold.

As days turned into weeks, their secret meetings became the highlight of both their lives. They strolled through cobblestone streets, shared quiet dinners in tucked-away bistros, and found solace in each other’s laughter.

One evening, as they sat on a balcony overlooking the Seine, Y/N turned to Jisung, her heart full. “What if we told the world?”

He paused, his gaze thoughtful. “I want to, but I’m afraid of how it might change things. The industry can be harsh.”

She nodded, understanding the weight of his words. “But we can’t keep hiding forever. I want to be proud of what we have.”

“Me too,” he admitted, taking her hand. “Let’s give it time. We can enjoy this moment without the pressure of the world watching.”

Y/N smiled, feeling reassured. “Okay. We’ll take it slow.”

Their connection deepened, the love that had sparked in Paris growing into something beautiful and real. They learned to navigate the complexities of their lives, balancing their careers with their devotion to each other, always cherishing the moments stolen beneath the Parisian sky.

And as they embraced the uncertainty of their future, one thing remained clear—their love was worth every risk, every whispered secret, and every stolen kiss. In the city of love, they had found each other, and that was more than enough.

[insidekatmind]

Under the Liverpool Stars~Trent Alexander Arnold

It was a cool evening in Liverpool. The streetlights reflected off the wet pavement, creating a magical atmosphere. You were sitting in a cozy bar, lost in your thoughts, reading a book while sipping a warm cup of tea, when a deep, slightly hesitant voice pulled you from your reverie.

"Excuse me... is this seat taken?"

You looked up and found yourself face to face with Trent Alexander-Arnold. For a moment, you were taken aback, but quickly composed yourself.

"Oh, no, it's free. Please, go ahead."

He smiled, placed his coffee on the table, and sat down. He seemed relaxed, wearing a casual coat and a beanie that tried to hide his identity, but it didn't quite work. After a brief silence, he noticed your book.

"You're reading Pride and Prejudice? It's one of my sister's favorites. She always tells me I should read it, but I’ve never gotten around to it."

"Really? It’s a classic. Maybe you should listen to her, she has excellent taste."

He laughed, a warm, genuine sound that seemed to fill the space around you.

"You might convince me to read it... if you give me a good reason."

You tilted your head, studying him. "Well, if you like a good love story with sharp dialogue and complex characters, this is perfect. But what kind of books do you usually read?"

He scratched his head, a little embarrassed. "Honestly, I don’t read much. I spend most of my time training or playing. But I like stories that teach me something. Like biographies or self-help books."

The conversation flowed naturally, and Trent was curious, kind, and surprisingly humble. He didn’t talk much about football unless you brought it up, and he seemed more interested in learning about you—what you liked to do, your dreams, your hobbies.

After an hour, he said, "You know, I wasn’t expecting to have such a nice conversation tonight. It’s rare to meet someone to talk to so... authentically."

You smiled, a little shy. "It’s been nice for me too. It’s not every day you meet a... famous footballer in an ordinary bar."

He laughed again, but his tone grew more serious. "Listen, can I ask you something? Would you like to meet again? Maybe next time I could take you to a special place. Not just any bar."

Your heart skipped a beat. You weren’t sure what to expect from this meeting, but there was something about him that made you feel at ease.

"I’d like that."

---

Weeks passed, and you and Trent began to see each other regularly. He took you to beautiful spots around Liverpool, introduced you to some of his friends, and even brought you into his family circle, where they welcomed you warmly. One evening, as you walked along the Mersey, he stopped and looked at you with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"You know, since I met you, everything feels different. Football has always been my life, but with you... it’s like there’s more. Something bigger."

He took your hand, his touch warm against the cool breeze.

"I don’t know what you think, but I want to see where this takes us. I really want you to be part of my life."

Your heart melted. Looking into his eyes, you found nothing but sincerity and affection.

"I want that too, Trent. I want to be here, with you."

And so, under the stars of Liverpool, your love story began to take shape—a unique combination of two different worlds that had crossed paths by chance but were destined to intertwine.

[ofallthingsnasty]

tw: workplace harassment, mental illness, gn reader, make sure to read the last paragraph as well characters: Crocodile, Doflamingo word count: 1k

While I may be suffering from "I'm a total newbie and scared shitless of my boss" disease + an anxiety disorder, this would be so perfect for either Crocodile and Doflamingo.

Just think about it… You just started working for one of them - and both men certainly demand respect, can be quite scary when provoked, but you think you can weather any storm that might be coming your way. You’re grown, you’ve got bills to pay, they’ve been professional enough so far, it won’t be too bad, right? Oh, stupid, stupid you - because they can smell your little authority figure issues ten miles upwind.

Both notice that you're green, easily impressed and hurried by their presence, notice how sweaty your hands and furrowed your brow gets - and both definitely corner you; try to get you into a frenzied state, right into panic mode just because it’s fun to see how you slowly fly off the hinges. They both toy with you in their own ways - Crocodile is just always standing behind you, silently watching, only the smell of smoke and his cologne telling you he's right there, looming over your shoulder. He enjoys the way your hands shake with whatever it is you’re doing, how you cough and shift around while he does absolutely nothing. His mere presence makes you so antsy he doesn't even have to say something and his silence is easily interpreted as criticism and mistrust by your anxious little brain. It only gets worse when he never talks about his little staring/surveillance sessions, never explains why he randomly shows up at your desk or workstation, never asks you for a word afterwards - you always feel like you’re not good enough, that no matter how long you’ve been by his side, he needs to check up on you. He’s an imposing man, too - so much bulk and smoke, just the thought of him asking you for a vis-a-vis keeps you up at night. And every day, every week spent fretting over him and his perception of you (coupled with the fact that you really, really need this job) makes you more and more insecure, makes it hard to unwind after yet another long day, makes you overanalyze every single glance, every word and move of his. He slowly creeps into your after-hours, your conversations with friends, your weekends, even your vacations.  And he can tell. Crocodile notices the slight, subtle changes. The way you smooth over your clothes before talking to him, how you place an index and middle finger over sternum as if to shield yourself from him, the fucking cold sweat shining on your forehead whenever he does question a decision of yours with a gruff bark. The way you avoid his eyes, stumble over your own feet in a hurry, the way he can see that you sleep worse and worse - that’s how he knows he's got you hooked, fully and wholly. That all you're thinking about is him and work and pleasing him and being good at work and again, him and work and him and- Your job is the only thing in your life now, from the moment you wake up to the time you lay your head down to sleep, everything is consumed by thoughts of him and his opinions about you and your abilities, always aiming to please and so, so nervous to fail. It’s perfect.

Doflamingo is way more vocal about it. He'll throw your work right back into your face, all sneers and acid tongue. It’s just not enough, never enough, reflects badly on him, on his company - whatever it is you do, it hails nothing but criticism and mockery and late nights to fix your stupid mistakes. He doesn’t even give you moments of rest, he just constantly picks on you until you’re seriously considering just resigning for your own mental health. He’s methodically destroying your self-esteem, makes you doubt your own abilities - you know you shouldn’t let him creep into your head as much as he does, but when all you hear is that you’re so fucking bad at your job, how much you suck - it sticks. You’re so stressed because of him you almost have a panic attack over putting your two weeks in and despite your suffering, you keep procrastinating, keep telling yourself you’ll do it tomorrow, when you have had a full night’s sleep. Problem is - you never do. He can tell by the way you’re idling, fiddling with the straps of your bag whenever he comes in for the day that you’re trying to leave - but that you're simply too scared of his reaction to pull the trigger. And that right there; that fear, that pedestal you put him on is the perfect breeding ground for all sorts of unethical things he can push you to do for him. He starts out small; things like getting him coffee in the mornings when you never did that before, a too-warm, lingering hand on your shoulder, a comment about your outfit - every little thing is calculated, tailored to slowly destroy your boundaries while you fear him more and more, give him way more authority over your life than you should. He knows it’s psychological, that someone else might be able to flip him off and leave without ever thinking twice about him. But you… You have accepted him as the one part of your life everything hinges on - you give him all that power in your sick little brain. Oh, he’ll use it well. The fun has only just started, rest assured. 

And while Crocodile gets to click his tongue, scoff and tell you that he'll take over from now on because clearly - you're just not capable and you obviously need him (not only at work but also in your whole life, silly), Doflamingo taunts you and tells you to make yourself useful, then, if you can't even do your job right. Maybe sucking his dick is your true calling - come on, let's see if you can do at least one thing right. One man wants to take your life over completely, sees you as the malleable (perfect) mess that you are, with all the potential that comes with it - and the other just wants to fuck you up for the next decade of your life, wants to be reason you wake up in the middle of night because his vicious smile still bounces around in that head of yours

[daisymerollingg]

hiii i loved your flash falling in love fanfic sm it was so cute😭😭

your other idea of having a scenario of him falling for a reader that's strong also seemed very interesting. could you maybe write that but with like.. a short reader? like a reader whose power doesn't match their size at all? (hero or not)

(i may be projecting on the height part😔)

if not, that's ok. i just rlly like your fanfics/hcs, and i enjoy reading them a lot!! <3

Flashy flash, falling inlove? #2

Genre; fluff, hcs

Pairing; Flashy flash x reader

Short! Reader

side note; Isn’t projecting the whole point of x reader fics? 🤔🤔 I’m so glad you enjoy my fics ml! I appreciate your support sm sm 💋

not proofread (sorry)

Flashy flash doesn’t really focus on much.

well, what I mean is: his focus rarely strays to anything but himself and his duties, which sounds slightly narcissistic but he’s simply goal-oriented (and self-loving).

he merely wants to eradicate all evil and get stronger.

Truly, it’s surprising when you catch his keen interest.

You were strong. Possibly as powerful as him, that was the first thing that caught his attention.

The first time he caught you using the full extent of your power, he wasn’t sure if he was jealous or completely riddled with admiration.

but first he needed to test out how truly strong you were, and what better way to do that then accompany you on one of your hero missions, respectfully inspecting you as you slay the fiends bringing terror to the innocent.

very arrogantly asking you to a duel, apparently.

He’s very… stuck up about it. Which obviously doesn’t sit right with you, and your first impression of him isn’t the best.

He can’t help but look down on you, literally and figuratively, because of your miniature size.

However, when you finally have your duel, whether you win or lose or you end up in a draw, he does quickly learn he shouldn’t underestimate you.

After that interaction, he starts watching you more closely, maybe whenever you’re in the same parameter, or even going out of his way to find out what your schedule is and observing you from afar .He’s very subtle about it.

That was when he started experiencing something else other than respectful curiosity…

It’s how easily you navigate your strength and weaknesses, the immense sense of confidence that radiated from you and the power in your every move, it just kept pulling him deeper every time he witnessed it.

He began to talk to you more often.

He’d suddenly appear whenever you’re fighting any monsters and help you defeat them, then swiftly stir the conversation so he’s talking about anything that may be of interest to you, just so he can stretch out this conversation for as long as possible.

His tone is neutral and even a little cold, which fits the stoic expression on his face, so you can’t tell if he has any feelings for you.

Other people can though.

His quite oblivious to his own emotions. He just thinks you’re just another strong hero he can benefit from by being close to. Despite the fact he stares at you longer than he’s stared at anything else, and the fact he often times thinks about you and what you’d do, say or think in certain situations, or even the fact you give him a sense of inspiration he didn’t know he longed for.

ironically, the way it really dawns on him that he likes you, is when he catches himself adjusting how he looks on the reflection of a window before going up to talk to you.

Now that he thinks about it, he’s been taking even more care of how he presents himself ever sense he started hanging around you.

He starts growing more distant after really evaluating himself.

he doesn’t want these feelings to become a distraction for him in the future. He’s still a hero with a duty and a status to maintain.

It doesn’t last very long however, because in that small period of time he realized how much you meant to him.

it irritated him tbh, and he started cursing and insulting you in his head.

But all the negative thoughts dissipated as soon as he glanced at your face. The face that never left his thoughts or dreams.

His attraction to you manifests in subtle ways— He starts to stand closer to you. He compliments you a bit more but often times it’s (a little) back-handed. Whenever he’s in the hero association building maybe for a meeting or such, and he catches wind that you’re there too, he’s quick to ignore everyone else to look for you.

He’s still stuck-up, but he’s now a more gentle, patient, considerate AND stuck-up version of himself (to you at least)

He also invites you to spar or train together every now and then, and he gets so. Incredibly. Excited. If you make time for him. ESPECIALLY IF YOU’RE THE ONE INVITING HIM TO TRAIN/SPAR.

He pretends like it’s whatever, and he doesn’t care that much. But he can’t stop thinking about it, like he just keeps looking at the time and calculating how many hours, minutes, seconds are left before he meets up with you.

I can see him confessing to you in a ver stupid way, straightforward and stupid. Something that would keep him up at night because it was so embarrassing and out of the blue.

After one of your sparring sessions, maybe you two are just talking and catching your breathes. And maybe he says something… er, stupid like…

”you know, a lot of people are impressed by me. Obviously.” *pauses awkwardly* “I, uh… i guess I’m kind of impressed by you too. Don’t let it get to your head though, when you can’t even reach my head.” -flashy flash, with a snarky smirk.

”your back-handed compliments are getting a bit old, flash. I can’t really tell if you actually mean them or want to get a rise out of me.” -you

Shit.

He starts to panic internally.

and his heart starts racing.

and he gulps.

“No- I- Sorry- I’m complimenting you! You’re very impressive! I’m impressed!” He blurts out loudly, his face frowning but flushed with red. You blink, surprised by the sudden switch in his demeanor.

”oh, it’s fine. I wasn’t being that serious-“ -you

“I don’t think I can do this anymore, the fact is, I’m inlove with you.” -flashy flash

”Wha-”

The confession is so bizarre, you burst out laughing.

he’s very flustered when you do, and is a little hurt, thinking you may be making fun of him.

How he is in a relationship with you…

In public, he doesn’t really do much. Just makes an effort to be around you when he can, and tells you to stay safe whenever both of you have to part ways.

but behind closed doors, he’s like a new person.

He’s soft and gentle with you, holding you, caressing you, kissing you. Everything.

did I mention that he’s very good with words? He’s very good with words. He tries to charm you constantly, reiterating his devotion to you with a new set of vocabulary each time.

He teases you as much as he sweet talks you though. Especially when it comes to your height.

He doesn’t mind your height difference, but he does find it kind of adorable. The way you crane your neck to look up at him, of how you can slip through small spaces thanks to your size, and how it sometimes helps you with being flexible in battle. But most of all, he likes when you have to stand on your toes and pull him by his collar to kiss him.

if you steal his clothes, he’ll complain and act annoyed, but he adores seeing you wear them. They’re so big on, but that’s what makes it so nice, it’s like a part of him is able to protect you. (In a strange/unique way)

He’ll gift you one of his favorite shirts/hoodies and drench it in his cologne. And will say something like “You steal it so much you might as well just have it. My god, you’re such a hassle.”

He likes giving you pet names like, “gorgeous” or fucking “sweetheart” or maybe even “sweetness”, or the typical “love”, “darling”. He’s very diverse.

When he’s feeling cocky he’ll call you “tiny” or “short stuff” (corny ass)

Just loves spending time with you and generally watching you do stuff.

sitting in your presence is simply intoxicating to him, it provides him with such tranquility he’s never known in his life.

You’ll catch him warmly smiling at you a lot.

He does worry about you sometimes if you’re assigned a dangerous mission, he’s confident in your abilities but that doesn’t mean he isn’t afraid you might get hurt. He’ll send you a short text like ‘hey, you alright? Call me when you’re done’ and he’ll check his phone constantly throughout the day.

when you finally text/call him, he’ll breath a sigh of relief then pretend he wasn’t worried in the slightest.

[ilikekidsshows]

reading the things that have been said here and by literally every ml critic about how adrien and every other victim of abuse or anything else really in this show is just ignored made me think about how people have been saying that adrien should have been the main character. and i can see where they're coming from because like marinette is so irrelevant to all the plot points that actually matter in terms of gabriel's whole thing. i really do want ml to be a girl power superhero/magical girl show where the main character is a poc female but ml is just not that show.

marinette at this point is the main character because the narrative says she is. a lot of the things that happened, even way back in s1, happened because marinette kept inserting herself into things. she got to be the one to have the final fight with hawkmoth AND have that final conversation with gabriel even when they like barely spoke to each other and there's literally nothing to their relationship besides the fact that she's dating his son and also the obligatory hero-villain connection. like she's so disconnected from the actual heart of the original plot that they had to keep forcably shoving her in there to make her relevant in her own show, which keeps making her look like an annoying, jealous stalker who doesn't care about anything but her own desires, comfort, and happiness

just like, when you have a considerable amount of fans that say not even that they want him to have a spin off series where he deals with his own shit, but that adrien should be the main character of the main series because it would make so much more sense, it doesn't matter whether they're right to want that or not, what matters is that clearly the writing got fucked up somewhere for them to even consider it seriously.

---

It's not only that Marinette isn't plot-important enough to justify her bloated protagonist status. The fact of the matter is that Marinette just doesn't have enough to contribute as a fictional person to justify her protagonist status even in the civilian plots she gets shoehorned into. Part of this is the "lesson of the day" aspect of the show, where Marinette's contributions to the plots will have her do something blatantly insensitive, selfish or downright awful to someone when she gets involved in things that are none of her business, all so that the writers can turn that into a lesson that they then don't have the decency to commit to. The writers are too busy throwing her a pity party for her little oopsies that should totally not reflect on her character even when it's the very core of the character and the way she operates.

For all Marinette is supposed to be a kind, intelligent and heroic person, we just don't see her making the lives of the people around her better the way you'd expect from someone called "everyday Ladybug" once upon a time, or even the way you'd expect any halfway decent teen hero protagonist to. Like, would it kill the writers to write more than one or two episodes where someone actually asks Marinette for help with something and then at least Marinette's well-meaning but misguided attempts to help wouldn't be so self-centered? No wait, them asking for help instead of merely receiving it at Marinette's decision would give them too much agency and we can't have that in the puppet theatre!

Basically, the Miraculous writers are so bad at their job that the series actively suffers from Marinette, as she is being written, being the protagonist. Like, one of the first things I said about 'Sublimation' was something along the lines of: “I have no faith in these writers' ability to tackle the topic of physical disability from the perspective of their coddled, able-bodied protagonist,” not because I thought able-bodied kids couldn't learn understanding alongside an able-bodied protagonist, but because I knew the writers always consider Marinette's comfort paramount. Because Marinette's comfort is paramount, abuse victims and disabled characters are expected to cater to her if they're supposed to be seen as “good”.

As it stands, Marinette is so high-maintenance that it doesn't matter what anyone else is dealing with, Marinette being uncomfortable with them having needs is more important to the writers than those needs every single time. Like, Kim Possible, twenty years ago, had an episode where Kim was uncomfortable around a kid who needed a wheelchair, and the lesson of the episode was that it wasn't about her, so she just had to get over herself. Miraculous would never, and that's the problem. That's why Marinette has such difficulty acting like the good person she theoretically is; she’ll be kind and considerate when it's convenient for her, but, the longer the show goes on, the more the writers make every single moment inconvenient for her. 

I described this issue to my brother, who said it reminded him of how one of Miraculous' pitch phases had a version of Adrien who needed to use a walking stick as a mobility aid. Astruc was told that he couldn't give such a prominent character a physical disability because they were concerned over how hard it can be to depict with sensitivity, and now he's made an episode with a character getting her prosthetic legs broken but it's only relevant because it makes the protagonist who broke them upsette. I think the executives had the right idea when they told Tommy the Clown that they didn't have faith he could depict physical disability with the required sensitivity, even as Astruc's own arrogance insisted otherwise.

[antikittysocial]

looey character analysis because @ko-glitch-101 can't get him out of her brain

A H E M

yapfest alert. watch out.

Alright, let's start off with his in-game ability. "What's that got to do with anything", you say? Abilities often reflect toons' quirks and mindsets, for example Sprout's passive, Gigi's active, Rodger's passive, Shelly's active, Cosmo's active, et cetera.

ABILITY

Looey's ability is that every time he loses a heart, he gains an extra star in speed. I think this was a really great choice when it comes to his character as it combines the fact that he is a balloon and the fact that he does well under pressure. It also reminds me of how he is a performer, and as stated by Yatta, is somewhat a clown, and likely does slapstick comedy, so it could also have been something he did in the case of an onstage accident.

OFFICIAL ART

In his introduction card, looey is shown pointing a finger gun. In his voting icon, he is shown giving a thumbs up. This could possibly be insinuating that he is generally supportive of others, but I might be reading too far into it. It could also be him giving a thumbs up to that card he voted.

DIALOGUES (THE ACTUAL ANALYSIS)

*I am absolutely not screenshotting all those dialogues, so go onto the wiki if you want the full conversations. Sorry, I'm a lazy fuck.

Looey seems to be a generally optimistic guy who sometimes cracks jokes at other toons, for example with Brightney, and asking Finn for puns. He also notably laughs when he's nervous or on edge, and exhibits behaviours common in people with low self-esteem, as well as passive attention-seeking. Although, he can still be silly sometimes, for example with Poppy. Yatta, who is closer to him than pretty much any other toon due to being in the circus troupe with him, is very affectionate towards him, complimenting him back when he says she's doing so much better than him, saying he's doing perfect, and addressing him as one of her two best friends. Though this could be brushed off as Yatta simply liking him a whole lot, when you take into consideration the clear self-esteem issues we'll get to in a little bit and the fact that they're so close, Yatta could very well be so enthusiastic about it because she knows that if she doesn't say it outright, Looey won't actually feel appreciated, and she doesn't want that. Looey also deals with bullying from Shrimpo, where he outright tries to kill him with thumbtacks, shown in his conversations with Poppy and Shrimpo. However, he's not a doormat - denying Tisha's request to tell Yatta to clean her room, not wanting to get involved. He's also generally kindhearted, complimenting Boxten's square head, trying to cheer up Astro, accepting Razzle and Dazzle's request to join in on an act (if he gets permission from Blot and Yatta), offering to be entertainment for Teagan's tea parties and inviting Vee to see an act. He also writes in a diary, as shown in his conversation with Flutter, which is a great way to manage your emotions, and Looey seems to want to keep that fact a secret, so he most likely writes in it for that purpose.

ANGST TIME (GLITCH I SEE YOU RUBBING YOUR HANDS TOGETHER LIKE THOSE FLIES BEHIND THE SCREEN /j)

Looey laughs when he's nervous quite often, such as in his conversations with Rodger, Shelly, Sprout and Vee, and when he finishes a machine. In his conversations with Sprout and Rodger is where the attention-seeking behaviour shows itself, where with Sprout he asks if he really has to take care of EVERYONE'S health, to which Sprout's protective little brain of course responded with yes, and Looey states that he wouldn't want to be a waste of something, which we don't know exactly what since he gets cut off but we can assume it's materials, and Sprout says he's never a waste of anything, and with Rodger he asks Rodger if he would be able to do anything about it if he were feeling under the weather, and Rodger replies that it would depend on what was bothering him. Looey responds with silence, and Rodger tries to get his attention back, to which Looey deflects the concern and Rodger assures him he's there if he needs him. Both of those starting questions from Looey are a bit attention-seeking, as they both warrant a concerned response. He also deflects compliments, which is a behaviour common amongst people with low self-esteem. Yatta, though, encourages him to take compliments.

that's all I managed to extract ba dum tss so uh yeah ✨️✨️✨️