#on the condition that synonym

[latestnews69]

Dartitis: The condition where you try to throw a dart - but can't

Read more click here

[adhdo5]

LXC stealing QS's valor in the tags again. When did JGY gaslight LXC show it to me. 'Cause I can show you where he does something much closer to Qin Su

[slugass]

“”Neurodivergent" is a term that encompasses a wide range of conditions from ADHD to autism.”

“wide range of conditions from ADHD to autism”

“wide range” “ADHD to autism”

i am amazed that this is a real, unironic sentence that is NOT meant as a joke in any way, how is there not a single drop of actual intended sarcasm or satire in the “ADHD to autism” part alone

if youre going to list a wide range of mental disabilities/disorders maybe dont list two with THAT many similarities???

[lilacerull0]

yeah my sister was right about that one thing about me and i am not too happy about it. caring SHOULD be your default mechanism and you SHOULDN'T think of it as a big deal at all. yet, this is how it is. everyone should be human to you first and foremost... not their country or their accent or their background or whatever the hell you think comes first. this isn't even the first time that i am realising this about the way people think, but it equally disturbs me every time it happens and i wish i could get over it already. you're just a person to me. i mean exactly what i'm saying with my sentences, i don't have a secret agenda when i express my opinions.

[cometcrystal]

What i was trying to say last night is. I am insecure about the way i am shaped and i cant even try and eat better because my ARFID only lets me eat like 10 things total and every single one of them is making it worse

[sunnycitymac]

I might be an idiot but I'm pretty sure "narc" is a cop that goes into high schools and looks for drugs.

Sorry this is so funny. Not a single part of this is correct

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Other Words for "Look" + With meanings | List for writers

Many people create lists of synonyms for the word 'said,' but what about the word 'look'? Here are some synonyms that I enjoy using in my writing, along with their meanings for your reference. While all these words relate to 'look,' they each carry distinct meanings and nuances, so I thought it would be helpful to provide meanings for each one.

Gaze - To look steadily and intently, especially in admiration or thought.

Glance - A brief or hurried look.

Peek - A quick and typically secretive look.

Peer - To look with difficulty or concentration.

Scan - To look over quickly but thoroughly.

Observe - To watch carefully and attentively.

Inspect - To look at closely in order to assess condition or quality.

Stare - To look fixedly or vacantly at someone or something.

Glimpse - To see or perceive briefly or partially.

Eye - To look or stare at intently.

Peruse - To read or examine something with great care.

Scrutinize - To examine or inspect closely and thoroughly.

Behold - To see or observe a thing or person, especially a remarkable one.

Witness - To see something happen, typically a significant event.

Spot - To see, notice, or recognize someone or something.

Contemplate - To look thoughtfully for a long time at.

Sight - To suddenly or unexpectedly see something or someone.

Ogle - To stare at in a lecherous manner.

Leer - To look or gaze in an unpleasant, malicious way.

Gawk - To stare openly and stupidly.

Gape - To stare with one's mouth open wide, in amazement.

Squint - To look with eyes partially closed.

Regard - To consider or think of in a specified way.

Admire - To regard with pleasure, wonder, and approval.

Skim - To look through quickly to gain superficial knowledge.

Reconnoiter - To make a military observation of a region.

Flick - To look or move the eyes quickly.

Rake - To look through something rapidly and unsystematically.

Glare - To look angrily or fiercely.

Peep - To look quickly and secretly through an opening.

Focus - To concentrate one's visual effort on.

Discover - To find or realize something not clear before.

Spot-check - To examine something briefly or at random.

Devour - To look over with eager enthusiasm.

Examine - To inspect in detail to determine condition.

Feast one's eyes - To look at something with great enjoyment.

Catch sight of - To suddenly or unexpectedly see.

Clap eyes on - To suddenly see someone or something.

Set eyes on - To look at, especially for the first time.

Take a dekko - Colloquial for taking a look.

Leer at - To look or gaze in a suggestive manner.

Rubberneck - To stare at something in a foolish way.

Make out - To manage to see or read with difficulty.

Lay eyes on - To see or look at.

Pore over - To look at or read something intently.

Ogle at - To look at in a lecherous or predatory way.

Pry - To look or inquire into something in a determined manner.

Dart - To look quickly or furtively.

Drink in - To look at with great enjoyment or fascination.

Bask in - To look at or enjoy something for a period of time.

[glitchdollmemoria]

actually. that post about how its important to have weird kinky queer friends. i think the same is true of really every type of ostracized person but in particular i wanna point it out wrt mentally ill people.

if you watch a movie villainizing DID or schizophrenia or something, and you think, "hey, this seems sort of like its based on what my friend has and theyre just a chill person, why are they making my friends condition seem threatening?" thats good.

if you see someone use narcissist as a synonym for abuser and you think, "what, no, im friends with someone who has NPD and i know theyre a kind person, this isnt true at all," thats good.

if you hear politicians try to frame addicts as violent criminals who should be locked up and you think "no, my buddy sam is just sick, their withdrawals are really painful and they dont have a good support system, they shouldnt be locked up for that," thats good.

being able to counter ableist rhetoric with "i know from experience thats not how these people are" is a good thing. like yeah obviously dont make friends with mentally ill people just for brownie points but also try to make the conscious effort to be open to friendship with people who have stigmatized mental health issues. and maybe even more importantly, be someone who makes it clear to others that youre safe to be open about these things with, because chances are youre ALREADY friends with mentally ill people even if you dont realize it, because a lot of us with more demonized conditions try to hide those conditions out of fear, and it helps a lot to know our friends are allies - and then we might feel safe discussing our experiences, IF we want to, and in turn that can help you better understand the realities and diversities of our situations and be less susceptible to ableist rhetoric.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

just another list of "beautiful" words

for your next poem/story

Agelast - a person who never laughs

Afroth - in a state of lively or angry excitement

Apatheia - freedom or release from emotion or excitement

Biblioklept - one who steals books

Calendula - any of a small genus (Calendula) of yellow-rayed composite herbs of temperate regions

Deipnosophist - a person skilled in table talk

Ductile - easily led or influenced; capable of being fashioned into a new form

Eremitic - characterized by ascetic solitude in mode of life

Imbibe - to take in or up; to receive into the mind and retain

Intellection - the act of the intellect or exercise of the intellect; a synonym of thought and reasoning

Jentacular - pertaining to breakfast

Obliquity - deviation from moral rectitude or sound thinking; indirectness or deliberate obscurity of speech or conduct

Pernoctate - to stay up or out all night

Saccade - a small rapid jerky movement of the eye especially as it jumps from fixation on one point to another (as in reading)

Solitudinarian - a person who leads a secluded or solitary life

Solivagant - rambling alone; marked by solitary wandering

Troglodyte - a member of any of various peoples (as in antiquity) who lived or were reputed to live chiefly in caves

Umbrageous - inclined to take offense easily, belligerent

Variegated - having discrete markings of different colors

Vestige - a trace, mark, or visible sign left by something (such as an ancient city or a condition or practice) vanished or lost

If any of these words make their way into your next poem/story, please tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read them!

More: Lists of Beautiful Words ⚜ Word Lists ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[livelaughloveluffy]

love languages - trafalgar water d. law

a/n: i definitely needed this fic, i've been a bit sad today so writing this cheered me up a bit, hopefully it can do the same for you all as well!! i started a higher dose of sertraline today, so hopefully i level out and feel better soon.

nothing but fluff here 💗

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how he shows love:

acts of service - law is a silent lover. words have never really been his strong suit and he often has a hard time physically conveying his emotions. his silence, however, is not synonymous to lack of effort. law shows up for you physically. he does hundreds of menial little tasks for you (when he found the time to get them done, you'll never know). whether it's pre-packing your lunch, having your meds ready next to water and breakfast when you wake up, drawing you a warm bath, taking care of your laundry and other chores. and he'll never mention it at all, you'll just happen to find these things all done on your own. he'll constantly brush of your thanks and appreciation with a mumble of "it's nothing.. i was already doing it anyways..." but one restless night, you catch him in the act of secretly folding your laundry, a rare sight you savored and committed to memory.

quality time - it doesn't matter if the two of you are together but focused on your own tasks, attention divided from each other, or if you're wrapped up in each other's arms. law truly doesn't mind either way, just knowing that you're close by is more than enough for him. and while the captain of the heart pirates may do his best to act otherwise, he definitely prefers having you a minimum of an arm's length away. of course, law does enjoy actively finding activities for the two of you to partake in together or places to visit and explore, in his opinion, it's all worthless without you to do it with.

how he feels loved:

words of affirmation - as much as it flusters the captain, your small whispers of praise and affection mean the world to him. while law may have a hard time returning the gesture, the way his entire body seems to relax at your words doesn't go unnoticed by you. until finally just the melodious sound of your voice instantly brings him comfort, something that unconsciously conditioned him to unwind. law is the type of man to take every comment to heart, as if he's collecting and saving them in his very being. so your sincere admiration and words of encouragement hold much more power than you'll ever know, fueling him to keep going.

physical touch - despite the limited conversations the two of you have shared about the topic of his rough childhood, it is abundantly clear that law never fully got over a lot of his abandonment issues. he only truly feels safe when your arms are wrapped around him, lips pressing gentle kisses against his forehead as you softly stroke his raven locks. every kiss and hand hold is treasure in his eyes, and if he could freeze time, he'd live in those moments forever. while the crew of the heart pirates may roll their eyes and poke fun at your sickly sweet nothings and other expressions of pda, they will never comment on your physical closeness to the captain. your hands often resting on his thigh whenever the two of you are sitting down, or on the smalls of his back as you two stand together, are acknowledged but never discussed among the crew. though shachi and penguin can often be found with their faces almost turning blue trying to hold back addressing the amount of times you'll walk into meetings, just to stand behind law's chair, resting your chin of the top of his head while you rub his shoulders.

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tags ♡: @dindjarins1ut @twiishaa @chibinasuu @3v37773 @dreamcastgirl99 @acesdiary @suga-tofu @vamphoria @raddelusionaldive @sparkyvibes @chillerkiller @teewon @all-by-myself98 @moonpri @thissaintjessi @sunshineagony

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[fatphobiabusters]

People say weight loss is for sure possible...but no one agrees on how to do it.

Dieting works...but there's now an "ob*sity epidemic" despite people lining the pockets of weight loss corporations more than ever.

Weight loss products work...but weight loss corporations are making the Exact. Same. Claims. about their products that they did in 1910 with the products that were sold and then discontinued over a century ago.

Humans are all meant to be thin...but there are families of fat people who stay fat no matter how much "willpower" they muster and have fat ancestors going back generations.

It's about health and not looks...but people who are losing weight due to smoking, cancer, illness, mental disorders, and other health conditions are praised for their weight loss and told to keep going.

Fat people aren't oppressed...but fat people have no positive representation, no proper access to clothing, face a wage gap, endure deadly medical neglect and abuse, have their deaths by police brutality excused with their fatness, and countless other aspects of oppression that they deal with every single day.

Fat people are all fat because they overeat...but you can point to any fat person on the sidewalk and there's an extreme likelihood that they're on their 30th diet attempt in the past 10 years while there's thin people who eat whatever they want, however much they want, and don't exercise yet never gain a single pound.

Fat people are privileged because they gorge on unnecessary food...but fat people are overwhelmingly living in poverty, are not paid the same amount of money for the same work as their thin peers, are not chosen for promotions, are turned away from jobs that an employer wants more than a "pretty face" for, are at major risk of workplace harassment, and endure oppression even beyond just that.

Fat people aren't treated badly...but people use the word "fat" as a metaphor and synonym for "ugly," "unlovable," and "unworthy," while at the same time believing "fat," the most basic term for a specific body type, is a dirty, taboo insult you should never allow to leave your lips.

Professionals agree that fatness is inherently bad...but almost any weight-related research study that people, especially weight loss corporations, use to justify demonizing fat people has the worst methodology imaginable with validity errors and logical fallacies galore as well as conflicts of interest due to how many of these studies just happen to be funded by the corporations that make millions and billions of dollars off of the demonization these studies promote.

All health conditions a fat person has are caused by their fatness...but there is not a single health condition that only fat people obtain, many fat people developed the health condition in question when they were thin or thinner, weight gain is often a symptom of said health conditions, fat people are not given the same amount or quality of healthcare as thin people, and repeated starvation attempts (also known as "yo-yo dieting") have been shown to worsen a person's health.

Fat people can't have eating disorders...but fat people are the group encouraged to partake in disordered eating by this fatphobic world the most and then are not given any support to recover.

Thin privilege doesn't exist...but thin people who see the way fat people are treated in society do their absolute damndest and take whatever drastic measures they have to in order to prevent themselves from ever becoming one of "Them."

Fit and fat are mutually exclusive...but there are fat athletes as far up as even the Olympics, and sports are intentionally made inaccessible to fat people to the point of fat children even being turned away when trying to join a sports team.

Fat people are ugly...but all we grow up ever seeing in media are thin, conventionally attractive people painted with layers of makeup next to fat characters who were intentionally designed with an ill-fitting outfit, matted hair, and all other traits that fit the "ugly" stereotype that the character designer could manage to slap onto a single person.

Fat people are big, bad bullies...but studies show that weight is the number one excuse that children use to bully their peers, outcompeting a multitude of other oppressed identities considered.

Fat women are just men and vice versa...but sometimes they're androgynous, and sometimes they're basically nonbinary, and sometimes they're just things, and sometimes they're nothing at all depending on what labels a fatphobe decides will hurt a fat person most that day.

Fat people are subhuman...but fat people deserve the same love, respect, compassion, and support that all people are born inherently deserving.

Fatphobia isn't real, but—

-Mod Worthy

[no1onepiecefan]

luffy’s memory issues are one of my favourite parts to his character. apologies for the personal anecdote, i promise it’s relevant to the analysis, but i have memory issues too. and while i’ll never truly be able to articulate the experience, it’s a scary thing to not remember. people know who i was in the past better than i do, and i live each moment understanding that the present is all i have in guarantee.

i’ll never know the exact reason behind this, but i know at least some stems from what i have unconsciously done to soothe myself from past pains and loneliness. some part of me thinks that luffy has done that too.

luffy’s childhood was horrific. while not morbid and unimaginable like law or robin’s for example. and it wasn’t framed by specific moments of catastrophic tragedy like franky or chopper’s either. instead, it was continuously difficult in an everyday way.

from as young as we have seen luffy, garp has either been absent or cruel; his one family member. he lived in a jungle at age ten, thrown into the fire all but literally by his grandfather. it is inhumane and unjustifiable from garp. he was raised by mountain bandits, and yes, mountain bandits who did their best and were better, constant figures in luffy’s life, more than anyone who had inherent responsibility towards him; mountain bandits nonetheless.

dadan & co never asked to be guardians, and never quite learned to orientate their behaviours to be so. luffy was in less than ideal conditions, treated in less than ideal ways at times, and was never truly, gently cared for other than brief, fleeting moments with makino and shanks.

his brothers, while they grew to lean on and love each other, were initially so against even the idea of him. sometimes isolation is bearable until it is obvious. and luffy, who must’ve been so alone, was now also being pushed away. his one haven, ace, someone near his age in the exact same situation as himself, wanted nothing to do with him. and that jungle must’ve felt a lot bigger despite his situation not having changed.

luffy’s life has been a battle of constant, small problems. he has larger traumas like shanks losing his arm and losing sabo, and that all adds. if luffy sat and dwelled in his past memories, what would he find? not countless searing horrors but a day to day existence that was synonymous with tinging unhappiness.

it’s not far fetched to theorise that luffy’s unending clamber to simply live resulted in a memory filled with gaps, and a memory that will never adhere to names that well, or remember what happened that week. losing ace no doubt didn’t help, in fact it may have resigned luffy’s memory to its fate. a life of loneliness and constant struggle, united with an incomprehensible trauma.

it means a lot to me, and i see a lot of myself in him, as he forgets things which are important to him; as sombre as that is. like marco’s name, who he only remembered to thank and couldn’t remember anything more. it aches to not know, the fear of not remembering loved ones, losing what little i have. i wonder if luffy fears losing his memories of ace? i wonder if he curses never being able to forget the sound ace made as he fell to the ground, but not being able to remember how his smile reached his eyes.

[msfantasy-comics]

The Perfect Match

Damian Wayne x Reader

Summary: Ways in which you are Damian’s perfect match

Requested: Yes

Masterlist - Tip Jar

Damian Wayne at times yearned for a partner.

He never dwelled too much on the idea, as his way of life does not accommodate a nurturing environment for a relationship to grow.

The volatility of his lifestyle would always squash any ambers of romance.

But you are the outlier that defined all odds.

You were Damian’s perfect match.

Independence and Sense of Adventure

Damian is a free-spirit so to speak and generally thrives in personal space.

Since Damians life has always centred around independence and self sufficiency, he requires his significant other to reflect similar qualities.

Whilst you could always go for extra-Damian-time. You’re quite content on letting Damian have his personal space.

But that doesn’t mean your going to sit around and wait for him.

Damian: “I’m heading out, will probably be back whenever….”

Y/n: “… Kay, see you later.”

During Damian’s frequent disappearance acts, you often take advantage and go on spur of the moments girls trip with Kori and Steph.

Damian: “I just got back home, where are you?”

Y/n: “Los Vegas with Kori and Steph.”

Damian: “I- … Fine send me the hotel address I’m on my way.”

Y/n: “Girls trip only!”

Damian: “I’m part of the gir-“

Y/n: “I’ll see you tomorrow, Byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.”

Similar Interests

Whilst you might not be on the Streets of Gotham, dirtying yourself with the likes of criminals.

You support Damian from a distance behind the very safe bat computer.

Often you excitedly present him with his next case.

Y/n: “So I’ve found our next case! An advocate for West Papua was attending a world submit to advocate their people’s freedom, but in the middle of his speech he just disappeared!”

Damian: “Government did it. Case closed.”

Y/n: “Except not case closed, his monitor is still registering his heartbeat, oxygen and sleeping statistics and his tracker is still locating him in the same room!”

Damian: “A supernatural anomaly… interesting… tell me more.”

Abrasive

Damian has had an incredibly volatile up bringing which has conditioned him to act and behave in certain ways that isn’t easy to handle.

You’re generally very empathetic and flexible as a result.

But at times Damian is incapable of knowing his limits which means you need to step in and put your foot down.

Damian: “- the team needed me-“

Y/n: “This isn’t a debate Damian! You disappeared for an ENTIRE month without warning! That’s not an acceptable way to treat your partner, it is objectively and fundamentally wrong. You cannot do as you please and expect me to just accept your every whim.”

Damian: “You were preemptively warned about the demands of my lifestyle.”

Y/n: “Precaution is not a synonym for absolute submission. Your actions are not permissible, there are steps that could’ve been made, but you chose not to because you thought I’d blindly accept what was happening.”

Damian: “Forgive me, I did not intend for things to get out of hand like this.”

Y/n: “…I forgive you this time, be warned, I have my limits.”

[rivereverie]

Astarion and Learned Cruelty

Spoilers for all of Astarion’s story through all acts of BG3. As always, this is all just my interpretation of the character. Feel free to disagree. 

I love the writing choice to make Astarion genuinely immoral at first. They could have easily pulled the overdone trope of "I only pretend to be evil because I'm traumatized. I'm really just a sad little guy who wouldn’t hurt anyone". Now I do believe his behavior is a direct result of his trauma, but I'll get to that in a minute. The point is that he does genuinely relish in violence, although his actions will be swayed by whichever moral direction the player decides to go. But he does enjoy combat, spilling blood, and even some more cruel and unusual things. However, what makes this so compelling and narratively rich is that this is a learned mindset.

I think that a lot of people don't acknowledge that going into act 1, Astarion has just come out of a situation where he was quite literally forced to participate in horrific crimes, with severe consequences if he refused. That absolutely does not excuse the fact that he's okay with if not outright enthusiastic about murder, but we do see that he was not always this way (e.g., he tried at least once to let a target go because he couldn't bring himself to take them to Cazador). I just think it's worth acknowledging that that mindset was the product of centuries of torment and active overt and covert conditioning. He became who Cazador wanted him to be; who he had to be in order to survive. Astarion and Karlach are two sides of a coin in this regard, in that they represent opposite responses to trauma and loss of autonomy. Karlach was forced into martial servitude, which in my opinion explains why she's still kind of bloodthirsty even though she's such a good and kind person bent on protecting others. She's shaped by the role she was forced into, and it's the same with Astarion. Again, not to say he isn't morally dubious, but there's a big difference between someone evil and someone who was never allowed to be "good" suddenly being thrust back into freedom and forced to figure things out.

To a degree, I do also think that his over-the-top declarations of his love for violence are another piece of his mask. Just like with his feigned hedonism and sexual forwardness, he's trying to hold power over people by controlling their perception of him (as well as his own self-perception). He's holding a big sign that says "I'm selfish and evil, and you shouldn't like me unless you are too", when really he's not anywhere near as selfish and evil as he pretends to be. He does this in part to keep people at arm's length, but also to convince himself; to craft his own reality wherein he is the person he needs to be to get through this situation. His worldview has been warped to see domination and control as synonymous with strength, and so he's being strong in the way he knows how. As the story progresses with a good player on his side, he's beginning to learn how to be something better. And that's why it takes time: because he's unlearning 200 years of conditioning and survival instincts.

It's worth talking about that it's not unheard of for abusers to force victims to participate in the abuse of others. I think that representing that experience in this game is important and valuable. We should all walk the line between holding these kinds of survivors accountable for what is appropriate, and to offer them oceans of understanding and empathy for them over what they were forced into. Even if Astarion weren't magically forced to do Cazador's bidding, I hope that we all could still understand the power that abusers hold over their victims, empathize with him, and see that those actions were an extension of Cazador, not himself.

Official D&D definitions of "evil" aside, I don't think he's ever truly evil unless he goes down the evil route with the player and/or ascends (Ascended Astarion is a whole other can of worms I’m not going to get into in this post). By the end of the spawn storyline, Astarion does have a lot more concern and care for others, and most importantly, he takes responsibility. To me, that shows profound strength and goodness. He's never a saint, but in my opinion he's never really evil, either. He's still learning how to live in a world where he doesn't need to be cruel in order to survive. 

Concerning the early access backstory about him being a "corrupt magistrate", it's up to the individual how to headcanon that information. Personally, I think he was probably a little self-interested, but not evil by any means. I think he was probably just a pretty normal person before Cazador, not predisposed to cruelty.

In summary, I think it’s important to talk about what makes people “bad”, especially in the context of the cycle of abuse and victimization. In Astarion’s case, much of his taste for cruelty came from implicit conditioning over his years of being forced to hurt others. There are a number of lines from him during the dungeon/crypt sequence where he keeps insisting, defensively and desperately, that he didn’t have a choice in bringing victims back to Cazador. That it was all on his orders and he couldn’t say no. This might come across to some as him trying to shirk blame, but the thing is… he’s right. He didn't have a choice, other than death, but I think Cazador would deny him even that. He wanted to make his spawn into obedient tools, but also to break them. To make them an extension of his own monstrous cruelty. But in the end, Astarion takes responsibility as best he can, and begins to forgive himself for being a part of Cazador’s evil. This is part of what makes the line “I am so much more than what you made me” so powerful.

[wbbfannnnnn13]

Almost, Always - Chapter 7

paige x azzi fic

Previous chapters: Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

A/N: Alright, for real this time, I feel like this is just straight fluff :) this is a bit of a filler chapter, but I think it's important to draw those connections as to why the characters act the way they act... maybe I've just gone too deep on this whole writing thing, so if that didn't make any sense, just ignore me and enjoy lol.

WC: 2.7k+

Warnings: None

Chapter 7 – The Parts They Pick Apart

It started with a headline. One article. One photo. One moment that was supposed to feel like progress—something brave, something real—turned into a spiral she couldn’t stop.

Paige stared at her phone, eyes locked on the screen as her and Azzi’s names trended, not because of her triple-double or Azzi’s 30-point game, but because of a photo. A moment of vulnerability turned spectacle. Azzi's jersey on her back. The world saw it. And now the world wanted more answers, proof, and exposure.

Her chest felt tight, breath shallow. It wasn’t panic exactly; it was worse. It was familiar. That creeping dread wrapped itself around her lungs and squeezed until her thoughts blurred. A thousand what-ifs echoed in her head, loud and unrelenting. What if this was a mistake? What if it all crumbled now? What if Azzi saw the cracks in her she was trying so hard to hold together?

She tried not to let Azzi see it. She smiled when Azzi looked over. Shrugged. Made a joke. But inside, her heart thudded hard and loud, like her body knew she was lying. Like every beat was a warning bell.

She wasn’t fine. Not even close.

I’m fine, she told herself. I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine.

But the words were hollow, brittle things, crumbling under the weight of her fear.

Because this was what she had feared all along. The noise. The attention. The invasion. Not just of their love, but of their lives.

She slipped into the bathroom under the excuse of needing a shower, closed the door, sat on the edge of the tub, and let her head fall into her hands. Her chest rose and fell like she’d just finished a sprint.

This wasn’t about Azzi. This was about her. About everything she’d never fully unpacked. Everything she thought she’d buried.

The flashback came hard and fast—the first time she truly felt the pressure.

Her freshman year at UConn had been a whirlwind. She had come in with hype, but no one could have predicted how fast her name would spread. Suddenly, she was everywhere. Headlines, endorsements, commercials. Her face became synonymous with women's college basketball, and that pressure was intoxicating and suffocating all at once.

The accolades piled on. She smiled through it all, signed autographs, posed for pictures, and delivered perfect postgame interviews. But beneath the surface, she was struggling. There were nights she’d lie awake staring at the ceiling, wondering if she’d already peaked. If the world only loved her because of the narrative—not the real her.

Then came the ESPYs.

She wanted to say something meaningful. Something that mattered beyond the box score. Her speech had been short but heartfelt, a few lines acknowledging the trailblazing Black women in sports who had inspired her, who deserved more of the spotlight.

The backlash was immediate.

Too political. Out of line. Just stick to basketball.

She remembered sitting on the edge of her dorm bed, scrolling endlessly through Twitter, reading cruel comments until her stomach ached. It was like a slow-motion unraveling—each swipe another blow to her confidence. Even messages from people she trusted, people she thought would always have her back, gently suggesting she ‘tone it down,’ chipped away at her resolve. Friends, former coaches, family members—they all meant well, but every carefully worded message felt like another way of saying, 'Be smaller. Be quieter. Don’t rock the boat.' The praise she’d lived on turned sharp, cold, conditional. Suddenly, it felt like she’d stepped too far out of bounds—not as a player, but as a person. Like her voice, her choices, her existence beyond the game was too much. And that realization carved a hollow space in her chest she didn’t know how to fill.

She pulled back. She started choosing safer words. She started letting others speak first. She dimmed the light she’d once carried so boldly because boldness had made her a target.

Practices became her only escape. She’d train longer, push harder, thinking if she could just stay perfect on the court, maybe the noise off it wouldn’t matter so much.

Until Coach Geno sat her down.

She’d walked into his office that day exhausted, burned out from a spotlight she couldn’t escape. Her limbs felt heavy, like she was dragging the weight of every headline, every expectation behind her. Her eyes were rimmed with fatigue, her hoodie pulled tight around her frame like armor. She hovered in the doorway for a second longer than necessary, hoping maybe he wouldn’t notice just how close she was to cracking. But Geno always noticed. He hadn’t even looked up from his desk right away. Just gestured for her to sit with that calm, commanding presence that made her feel both exposed and comforted all at once.

"You’re spiraling," he said flatly.

She shrugged. "I’m just tired."

He looked at her then, eyes steady. "You’re not tired, you’re scared."

She blinked, trying to find a rebuttal.

"They’re gonna talk regardless," he continued. "So you might as well give them something worth talking about. You didn’t get here by staying small, Paige. Don’t start now."

She’d held his gaze, a lump forming in her throat. For a moment, she felt seen—not as a player, not as a brand, but as a person trying to navigate a world that didn’t always feel kind.

He leaned back in his chair, voice softer now, but still firm. "Listen, Paige—you don’t have to apologize for being who you are. You think everyone’s gonna like it? They won’t. That’s just how this goes. But you can’t live your life waiting for everyone else to get comfortable. You play your game, you speak your truth, and you love who you love. If they’ve got a problem with it, that’s their problem—not yours. You didn’t come this far to play it safe now."

She hadn’t said much after that. Just nodded and left. But his words stuck. They burrowed deep, even if she wasn’t ready to believe them then. She’d tucked them away, a whisper she’d return to on the hard days.

And now, years later, she could still hear his voice echoing in her head.

And this time, she didn’t want to tuck it away. She wanted to live by it.

She’d nodded, tried to believe him. And for a while, she did. She walked out of his office with those words echoing in her head, trying to let them settle beneath her skin, to believe that she could hold onto herself no matter how loud the noise became. But the fear still lurked in corners she never fully cleared, quiet but present, like a shadow cast by a light she wasn’t yet brave enough to shine at full strength. It would creep in at the most inconvenient moments, catching her off guard in the middle of a press conference or when scrolling too long through comment sections. And no matter how strong she tried to be, there were always those slivers of doubt that whispered maybe she’d never be enough.

Now it was back. And this time, it had Azzi’s face tangled in it. That made it worse—so much worse. Because it wasn’t just Paige’s anxiety anymore. It wasn’t just her career, her name, her spotlight. Now, every headline twisting their story, every comment dripping with speculation or judgment, had the power to hurt Azzi too. And that terrified Paige in a way she couldn’t even express. Loving Azzi so openly meant exposing her to the same scrutiny Paige had barely learned to endure herself. And what scared her most wasn’t that people would talk—it was that they’d say something cruel, and Azzi would begin to believe it.

So she did what she hadn’t done in far too long—she called Geno. The one person who had seen her at her highest and lowest, who never sugarcoated the truth but always knew how to anchor her back to herself. It wasn’t just a call for advice—it was a lifeline, a need to hear the grounding voice of someone who still saw the real her beneath all the noise.

He answered on the second ring. "You’re alive. I was starting to think you forgot about me."

She laughed, but it sounded thin. "Hey, Coach. Got a minute?"

"For you? Always. But don’t tell me it’s nothing, because I can already hear it in your voice. What’s weighing on you, kid?"

She hesitated. "It’s… complicated."

"Let me guess—you let the outside noise get in your head again, didn't you? The headlines, the speculation, the comments from people who don't know the first thing about you or what really matters."

"You forgot the part where I’m trying to be a good girlfriend while my past trauma tries to eat me alive."

Geno chuckled. "Ah, that old song and dance. You know, you kids today get more rattled by tweets than by missed free throws. But alright, let’s hear it. Don’t hold back."

She did. She told him about Azzi. About the photo. The headlines. The internal tug-of-war. The fear she didn’t want to name but couldn’t ignore. How she didn’t want to fail Azzi. How she didn’t want to fail herself.

When she finished, the line was quiet for a beat.

"You love her," Geno said.

"I do."

"Then don’t run from it. Fight for her. You think it’s supposed to be easy? It’s not. But love isn’t about hiding. It’s about choosing each other, every damn day, even when it’s messy. You’ve already walked through the fire before, and you came out the other side. The only difference now is, you’ve got someone standing in it with you. Don’t push her out because you’re scared she’ll get burned. Let her in. That’s what real love looks like."

Paige felt her throat tighten. She nodded, even though he couldn’t see.

"Thanks, Coach. I needed that."

"Sure. Now stop overthinking it and just be who you’ve always been."

When she hung up, she felt lighter. Not weightless, but stronger. Like she'd finally let go of something she hadn't realized she’d been clutching for years. Her chest no longer felt like a pressure cooker. The air around her wasn’t quite so heavy. There was still fear—there would always be fear—but it felt quieter now. Manageable. Something she could walk beside, not something she had to outrun.

She’d still be scared. The noise would still be loud. But she wasn’t going to let it drown them out. Not anymore. Not when she finally remembered what it felt like to breathe.

She’d start with one step.

A post.

A caption.

And then maybe, eventually, a love out loud.

Still, even after that call, the anxiety clung to her like static. It lingered in the way her fingers hovered over the 'share' button, in the way her breath caught before she hit send. She’d picked a photo—one snapped by a media photographer during the game. She was courtside, dawning Azzi’s jersey, caught mid-cheer, hands clapping and smile wide as Azzi sank a three-pointer on the court. The photo had gone viral for all the right reasons, but Paige knew exactly what it implied—and she didn’t care. It was honest. It was real. And it felt like the right place to start.

Her caption was simple: “Guess I’m just a really passionate fan.”

She turned her phone face-down the moment it posted.

Paige walked back into the living room, where Azzi was curled up under a blanket with a book, a mug of tea on the table beside her. Her presence was calming, like always. Paige paused in the doorway for a second, just watching her. The way her fingers moved along the page, the way her brow furrowed as she concentrated, the way she always unconsciously tucked her knee up against her chest. She was beautiful—painfully so—and Paige felt that familiar ache of wanting to be good enough for her.

Azzi looked up, sensing her watching. “Hey,” she said softly, setting the book aside.

“Hey,” Paige said, walking over, sitting beside her and tucking herself into her side. She let her head rest on Azzi’s shoulder. “You feel like home, you know that?”

Azzi smiled, resting her cheek against the top of Paige’s head. “Good. Because you are mine.”

She paused, then added softly, “I know you’re trying,” Azzi said, her voice low and thick with emotion. “I'm sorry for putting so much pressure on you, I can see how much fear you're carrying. You’re doing your best to push through it, and I see that now.”

Paige lifted her head slightly, eyes meeting hers, something soft and searching between them. She reached for Azzi’s hand, threading their fingers together. “You had every right to want more from me,” she said gently. “I get it now—really get it. You weren’t asking for too much. You were asking for what you deserved. I’m sorry it took me this long, but I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

Azzi’s eyes glistened just slightly as she squeezed Paige’s hand. “I know, P. Sometimes I get scared too. Thank you for showing up, for fighting through the fear, for choosing me.”

Paige leaned in, brushing a soft kiss to her temple. “Always. I’ll keep choosing you, Az. Every time.”

Azzi smiled, leaning forward to rest her forehead against Paige’s. "I love you," she whispered, letting the words settle between them like a balm. It was simple, but it was everything. Paige closed her eyes for a moment, breathing her in, letting the warmth of that truth anchor her. When she opened them again, all she saw was home.

For a while, they just sat there, wrapped in each other and the quiet.

But even as Paige felt comforted by the warmth of Azzi’s body next to hers, that old pressure still pulsed in her bloodstream. She knew it wouldn’t go away overnight. She knew fear didn’t vanish with one decision or one caption. But she also knew that healing wasn’t about the absence of fear—it was about showing up despite it.

Azzi glanced at her phone and raised an eyebrow as a notification lit up her screen. “You posted? What did you tag me in?”

Paige nodded, moving her hand to rub small circles on Azzi's back. “Yeah. Just a little something.”

Azzi opened the app and found the photo instantly—Paige in her jersey, cheering from the sidelines. She stared at it for a beat, and Paige could see the way her expression softened. There was warmth in her eyes now, something tender and shining beneath the surface. A look Paige wanted to see for the rest of her life—pride, affection, belief. Azzi didn’t say anything at first, but her smile said enough. Paige had moved forward, and Azzi could feel it.

Azzi tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly before a slow grin tugged at her lips. “Wait a second… didn’t you say you were going to shower like an hour ago?”

Paige’s brows lifted, sudden realization she had been caught. She smirked. “I got distracted—important fan duties.”

“Sure you did,” Azzi said with a teasing laugh, nudging Paige’s hip gently. “You’re really committed to this ‘passionate fan’ role, huh?”

Paige stepped closer, their bodies almost brushing, a playful glint in her eyes. “Maybe I was waiting for some company,” she said, her voice low and suggestive, the tension between them thickening in the space of a heartbeat.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, is that so?”

“Mm-hmm,” Paige hummed. “Thought maybe you’d like to join me.”

Azzi’s grin deepened, her gaze dropping just briefly before locking back onto Paige’s. “Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint my number one fan.”

Paige reached for Azzi’s hand, gently pulling her up from the couch with a sly smile. “Then come prove it,” she murmured, backing toward the bathroom and tugging Azzi along with her, their fingers intertwined as the teasing glint in her eyes deepened.

Azzi followed without hesitation, the bathroom light flicking on behind them as the door clicked softly shut.

[uchispeach]

Tyrant (One-shot)

Dark! Topper Thornton x Fem! Reader

Warnings: DUB-CON / NON-CON, dacryphilia, manhandling, size kink, jealousy, controlling & manipulative behavior, toxic relationship, deep rooted classism…

A/N: For the plot’s sake, let’s just pretend Sarah doesn’t exist…

“Hurricane Agatha continues its steady march towards Kildare Island on the Outer Banks of North Carolina…” The journalist’s monotone voice didn’t entertain your mind for much longer, as the only thing you had seen plastered on the news for days were warnings and recommendations dedicated to your community.

Every paradise had its flaws, and the lack of functioning generators was the only downside to your dad’s 200 year old mansion. So when Agatha came, she did not only take down your step mother’s luxurious outdoor decor and furniture, but also any source of electricity you had ever taken advantage of.

Summer in Outer Banks was a synonym for fun and a deadly heat stroke if you didn’t have access to Air Conditioning. That’s why, you and Wheezie had claimed the 92 foot boat all to yourselves - a place to cool off and sleep without having to wake up to a puddle of sweat -.

“Fuck!” Loud cursing was accompanied by louder footsteps, the individual interrupting your sleep seemed to struggle with coordination as they bumped against everything in sight. “Wheezie, be quiet.” You said with your eyes closed, still half pulled in by unconsciousness.

The staggering figure slowed down, decreasing their disturbing presence to allow your sleep some peace. That didn’t last long though, as the strenuous noise of metal clanging completely woke you up. “God!” Your surprise was accompanied by a high pitched gasp.

“You’re not Wheezie,” the obvious was said. John B did not look even remotely similar to your little sister. “I’m sorry…” Was the first thing the blond pronounced, feeling caught as he held two heavy bags in his naked arms. “What are you doing?…Oh” Your eyes followed his, finding the lacy bralette exposed by your lifted T-shirt. You were quick to pull the fabric down, causing the Pogue to blush.

His rosy cheeks added to his flustered look, combined with the profuse sweat glistening over his entire body. “I’m sorry…” John’s messy hair covered half of his face as he stared down, suddenly interested on the teak floor. “Um…I’m just dropping off some scuba gear.” A tang of dizziness caused you to rub your forehead when sitting down.

“Did you..um…top up the tanks?” Your usually soft voice was polluted by some grogginess. The blond’s biceps flexed shamelessly at you. “No, power’s down, so the compressors were off.” His movements were made with clumsiness, showing the anxiety pumping through his veins.

Your head automatically tilted to the side, still searching for his hazel eyes. For some reason, watching him try to play it cool while failing so miserably had him looking really cute in your eyes. “So, you’re sneaking into Ward’s boat at 5 a.m. with empty tanks…I’ll make sure to tell him.” You got exactly what you were looking for; the boy looked like a fish caught in a hook as he peeled his eyes at you.

“I, I- will just drop this off and-” His light stutter made you chuckle. Without much thought, you walked to his side -closing the distance between both of you with a playful glint on your eyes-. “Let me help you…” He continued to look shocked, remaining frozen when you took one bag from him.

It was not until you both reached the storage room when he finally spoke again: “Hey,” His skin was hot against yours when his big palm gripped your shoulder. “please don’t tell your dad.” You didn’t remember him being so tall.

A messy hair strand fell over his soft features as he towered you against a closed door. “I did borrow your stuff…but-but I brought it back.” You blinked innocently at him, hearing him beg was an unusual sound for your ears. “Intact and unharmed.” He remarked in a quiet tone, going down your eye level.

You hummed in response, pretending to think while biting your lower lip. “All right!” Your shoulders lifted in agreement. And John B gave you a small pat while exhaling in relaxation. “I could be a lot of things but I’m not a snitch.” The whisper was lighthearted -reaching his ears with sweetness-.

Your proximity allowed his warm breath to tickle your lips. “Now, leave. Before I regret helping you poach.” The blond blinked at you as you backed away, making your way back to the boat’s outer part. “Yeah, bye.” His short legs were quick to outpace you, quickly getting him out of the room and onto his jet sky. You only giggled at his velocity.

“Well, I’ll see you around.” You leaned on the boat’s edge, watching him start the engine. “Later” He waved with a half smirk decorating his tanned face. “Later” You repeated to yourself, admiring the speed in which he disappeared between the waves.

Tiredly, you got back to your old position. Your eyes closed in complete calmness, totally oblivious to the nosy girl hiding behind the stairs.

(…)

All the sleep you had gotten on The Druthers had barely prepared you for the exhausting list of chores Ward had put you on as soon as he saw you were awake. “Dad, do we really have to finish the whole yard today?” The black plastic bag was starting to make your right arm go sore from its weight.

The family man only lifted his gloved hand as he continued attending his business call. “Yes, just wait a second.” He said while covering the phone’s speaker. “Sweetheart, you haven’t even filled a whole bag.” You looked down at your own gloved hands, specks of trash decorating the red plastic.

“I’ll finish tomorrow…” You were quick to promise, putting both palms together in a polite plea. “Please,” you made sure to drag the last vowel. “All right, baby girl.” Your father shook his head in defeat, finally dismissing you from a long morning of picking up garbage.

“Thank you!” You expressed your gratitude with effusiveness, quickly abandoning the cleaner’s garments to roam free around the property.

Sun shone comfortably on your skin, and you couldn’t help but feel enthusiastic about the warm weather, very contrasting to the last few days of intense storms and disaster. In the distance, you saw a pair of familiar faces.

Your boyfriend looked slightly annoyed, furrowing his brows together as Wheezy spoke to him. “It was almost like she was flirting with him.” You heard your little sister say, as you neared her grumpy self from behind.

“What’s up, guys?” The black haired jumped slightly when your arms wrapped around her waist. Even under Wheezie’s thick glasses, you could still notice her eyes turning upwards in adolescent irritation. “Hi, top.” Your plump lips stretched on a warm smile at Topper’s handsome presence.

The blond didn’t react at your appearance, a distant grimace in his normally sweet features. Slowly, you pulled away from the girl. Closing the gap between your lover and you to give him a quick peck.

The sound of your lips colliding had your sister grunting in disgust. “Whatever, I’m leaving…” Her small legs took her away, leaving the two of you completely alone.

Affectionately, your arms wrapped around his strong neck. Eyelashes fluttering up at him in a loving stare, “is something wrong?” A stoic look was the only response you got.

Topper was a moody person, often altered by small details and irrelevant interactions. Still, you always made an effort to cheer him up, even in his darkest days.

“C’mon, babe. It’s such a pretty day.” You closed your eyes while whispering on his face, warm breath brushing against his mouth. You kissed him once again, looking to intensify the sensation by grabbing his jaw.

He tensed under your touch, only giving in when your tongue fought to be let in. After a few seconds, he gave in, holding you by the waist as his rough fingers brought you impossibly closer to his toned chest.

The grunt he let out while you threaded your small digits through his hair was animalistic, barely buried by the wet noises your soaked muscles made. One of his palms was already sneaking down your lower back and onto your ass when a strenuous interruption made you stop.

A line of spit kept you connected as you both looked around for the noise’s source. A lawnmower passed right next to you, being obnoxiously loud. The blond pogue smirked playfully, toothpick being toyed around in his snarky mouth.

“Sorry, lovebirds…but I gotta’ do my job.” JJ stood shirtless, gripping the machine like a weapon. You threw him an uncomfortable look, completely pulling away from your boyfriend while adjusting your lifted up top.

The Thornton boy gave him a disapproving look, holding his own waist like a father would do when scolding his kid: “Then get back to it, before I get you fired.” The shorter boy opened his mouth in fake surprise, clearly enjoying the Kook’s angry display.

“All right” The tanned young man raised his arms in a peace sign, moving on with his task. “Tch. Fucking asshole” Your lower lip suffered at your own teeth’s attack, a painful manner of liberating the stress. “Hey, it’s okay.” Topper’s body went stiff under your touch, muscles flexed while he puffed his chest out.

“C’mon, let’s just go inside.” Your fingers weren’t able to go around his huge bicep, still, you tried to get him in the house. The blond mumbled a few curses before finally following your way.

(…)

Your giggles were carried away by the salty breeze. Both of your arms were extended as you carefully walked on the roof’s clay tiles. Each step was taken with a hint of confidence, showing your past experience with this particular spot. “Fuck. Slow down!” Topper was still struggling to take his legs over the window, long calves barely fitting in the wood frame.

“Don’t be scared, I got you.” You took a seat on the sunny ramp, shorts going over your thighs as your skin went in contact with the roof’s warm material. The Kook’s hand-sewn leather shoes weren’t particularly made for climbing up irregular surfaces, and the way in which he wobbled with each move made it clear. “Here!” Your small palm reached out for his, finally impulsing the blond to sit besides you.

“Shit, Y/N” His strong thigh brushed against yours as he shook his head in disagreement. “What?” His tone was aggressive, complementing the sharp look he gave you when a small smile appeared on your face. “Nothing…just admire the view.” The finger pointing at the calm coast was as enthusiastic as you.

Your boyfriend listened, remaining serious while staring at the gentle waves. A sense of comfort washed over you, your hugged knees against your chest and a gentle hand looking for your companion’s touch.

The Thornton boy tensed his jaw when your fingers finally reached for his, nonchalant to the loving grip caressing his harsh knuckles.

You ignored his rough mood, concentrating on the shiny water and graceful sand; noons like this would always be encrypted in your brain - a reminder of how beautiful life could be in the island -. Your small worries were starting to drift away, a soft sigh proving your carefree state. In contrast, Topper was ready to let his concerns out.

When the blond spilled, he stained everyone around him - his morals and rules too stiff to be bent by any one -. A heavy exhalation announcing the arrival of a new conflict, his palms turned into a fist - taking your delicate digits with it -.

“Hey, uh…” His voice went deeper and his stare turned firm when burning into you. “I heard you had a Pogue sneaking’ around here.” The lighthearted smirk you once wore, dissolved into a scowl. “Who-” You had to swallow before continuing: “Who told you that?” Your lashes fluttered once again, but this time in nervousness.

“That doesn’t matter,” And just like that, the sun seemed to hide, allowing a somber shade to pose itself over the blond. Your throat went dry as he opened his sharp mouth once again: “You gotta be careful.” His head tilted slightly to the side, making his recommendation sound much more intimidating.

“These Pogues…” In shock, you slipped your fingers away from him. “They are all lowlifes, criminals…” You couldn’t believe his words, going as far as backing a few centimeters away from his indignation.

“Don’t-” Words got stuck in your tongue as the Kook continued to invade your personal space with an unnerving gaze. “That’s mean, you don’t know them.” Your statement wasn’t as rigid as his, lacking strength when being said by such a quiet tone.

“Why are you defending them?” His sudden change in position had you flinching. The blond tapped the side of his forehead with aggressiveness, signaling his own brain in hopes of getting into yours. “I’m sorry… yeah Y/N, I’m sorry for caring about you.” His whole burly body trembled in frustration.

“Top, it’s not like that.” Your eyes started to sting, a couple of tears struggling to be kept. “My dad was a Pogue too, you can’t-” He didn’t even let you finish, a sour chuckle leaving his rosy lips. “Stop, fucking stop. I’m just worried for-” It was hard to believe him when he spoke such mean words, a gasp was quick to interrupt him - you were desperate to show how ridiculous he was starting to sound -.

“John B works here, do you expect me to spit on his face every time I see him?” Automatically, your legs stretched out - ready to run away from the uncomfortable scene -. “I’m sure he would fucking love that.” An ugly grin accompanied his sentence, followed by a humorless laugh.

In a split of a second, you were already on both feet. The Kook wasn’t slow to react, impulsing his much bigger body up. “You don’t get to leave!” The controlling soul of his demands were starting to overwhelm you.

The threat of a migraine was enough to get you moving, turning your back to him while stomping your way inside the home’s safety. You could feel the heat radiating from his enraged self, stalking you from close behind. “Hey, we’re talking!”

Impulsive, the situation slipping from his hands had him feeling impulsive. You must have seen it coming, you must have obeyed when being begged to stay, maybe he wouldn’t have found himself in the need to wrap his long fingers around your frail wrist.

Maybe if your stubbornness had not clouded your senses, he wouldn’t have had to pull you so violently towards him. Either way, nothing prepared you for the awful feeling of losing every sense of balance.

The joints between your legs had failed you, wobbling at the destabilizing pull and causing you to stumble with your own feet. Your first reaction was to grip onto Topper’s polo shirt but your sweaty hands ended up providing a weak grasp.

The scream leaving your vocal cords was one of pure terror, vocalizing the pain your bruised knees experienced while bumping against the roof’s merciless tiles. Your eyelids shut together in fear, expecting the rough fall.

“Shit!” Your limbs relaxed in relief when instead of a cold solid ground, you were received by your boyfriend’s strong arms. “I’m sorry…I’m fucking sorry.” His warmth, his lips on your forehead and the constant rubbing on your back were all too much too soon - leaving you deadly confused in his embrace -.

“It’s-” Your voice came out in choked complaints, a consequence of his brutish hug. “It’s okay…I’m okay.” You didn’t know the reason behind it, but the need to reassure the shaking blond was the utmost of your worries.

“I’m fine. I’m sorry too.” The wish for comfort installed in the pit of your stomach, forcing your puffy face to bury into his huge chest. Topper crushed you deeper into himself, painfully digging his chin into the top of your head. “It’s all right, sweetheart…It’s all right.” Funnily enough, you believed him - feeling ashamed of yourself for ever questioning his sincere ways -.

(…)

The ground you currently stood on vibrated from the obnoxious rap music blasted through Kelce’s expensive speakers. Even the bathroom’s mirror shook slightly, blurring your own reflection.

The pink bikini molded nicely against your curves, making you feel less unconscious about the skimpiness of it. You admired the cute bow poking between perky breasts, hoping the boy outside would love it as much as you did.

Your steps held a confidence to it, playful strides taking you to your boyfriend’s sight. “Wow…I’m dating the hottest girl in the OBX.” His eyes were immediately locked in your figure, completely disregarding the phone that had previously been in his hold. A big smile was plastered all over your pretty face, as you twirled around in a coquettish manner.

Topper’s legs sprawled wider, using his palms to support his beefy body. There wasn’t anything discreet about the way he bit into his lower lip, fixating on the plump flesh of your ass.

“You don’t look so bad yourself” Your voice was sultry, complementing the teasing way in which you bend over to his front’s level. The blond’s jaw tensed alongside his exposed biceps, showing the pent up desire provoked further by the perfect cleavage posed a few inches away.

“Fuck, c’mere” His voice went a tad deeper, making you melt. The strong hands gripping your hips weren’t patient at all, quickly pulling you onto his lap. Your gasp was quickly buried by a hungry kiss, your boyfriend’s tongue lacking shyness when exploring your sweetest spots.

A languid moan was squeezed against avid lips, his fingers groped one of your tits with caressing tips, making sure to pinch your nipple in exquisite pain. His other palm was busy creating friction on your lower back, moving up and down.

“Don’t you dare fuck on my mom’s brand new sheets!” Kelce’s unapologetic shouts were louder than his rude knocking. You could have sworn he was two seconds away from breaking the door with his brutish force. “Shit!” Topper groaned in exasperation, hand abandoning your warm skin to pat the growing tent poking under his shorts.

“Of course not!” You acted almost offended at the lascivious assumption, quickly leaving your boyfriend’s loving embrace to run to the closest mirror.

It took you a few seconds to make yourself look presentable again, having to wipe the remains of running lipgloss mixed with spit from your face. “Hey” You felt a familiar breath fanning the top of your head. “Yes, baby?” His big and strong chest left no room to escape as his mouth neared your ear. “I think it’s better if you just…cover yourself up a little.”

You didn’t know if it was the light rubbing of his pink lips on your earlobe, his flexed arm wrapping delicately around your waist or the subjugating tone of his voice, but you didn’t hesitate twice before taking the oversized T-shirt from his grasp.

(…)

The evening breeze brushed comfortably against your naked legs. A lighthearted giggle left your soft lips, good mood propelled by the fluent conversation going around your friend group.

You had lost Topper a few minutes ago, seeing him getting dragged by a drunk Kelce and your energetic brother. You didn’t mind though, quickly finding your own circle to catch up.

A pair of girls found entertainment while looking over your shoulder, completely disregarding your own presence. It felt strange, looking at the playful stares coming from your friends. You weren’t late to find out the reason, a shriek full of horror and surprise abandoning your throat when you were suspended on the air.

Your feet weren’t touching the ground anymore, instead supported by a tanned arm. “Topper, you maniac!” His exposed chest rumbled on a deep chuckle, enjoying your desperate wriggling.

“You’re looking kinda’ dry” He eyed you up and down, lips morphing into a dangerous grin. “No!” The way you shook your head in desperation was cute, fueling your boyfriend’s playfulness.

Effortlessly, he took arrogant steps towards the big pool, causing you to tighten the hold around his shoulders. People’s cheers and screams were quickly drowned by the cool water.

You barely got to close your mouth at the abrupt fall, quickly grounding yourself on the shallowest part to stick your head out. Light coughs alerted Topper as he rapidly approached you. “Baby, you’re fine! You’re fine!” The blond said as his long fingers squished your cheeks together.

Wet strands of hair blocked your sight, and you were quick to hit at his hard rock chest with annoyment. “I hate you!” Topper couldn’t take you seriously, staring at the way you struggled to accommodate the unruly hair behind your ears.

“No, you don’t…” His tone held a cockiness to it, stupid smirk on his face before taking a peck at your lips. “…You love me!” A few of your friends mocked the sweet interaction, making you finally let go and enjoy the fun scene.

Your bodies floated together on an almost synchronized dance, his big palms long gone to support the softness of your ass in a possessive grip. “Hope you’re having fun.” He whispered softly in your ear, his honeyed tone causing you to hum in response.

Topper spinned you around while you crashed your chest with his. Your chin was supported by his shoulder, allowing you to look at the sweaty teenagers enjoying the messy environment. They all came and went, drinking and dancing carelessly. Still, one of them took you by surprise.

A lost John B looked around in confusion, his rebel blond hair and dirty boots making him stand out among the multitude of curated Kooks. His open shirt had an ugly pattern, taking away from the smooth torso hiding behind it. “Hi!” You jumped slightly on your boyfriend’s hold, sticking out your upper body in excitement.

Forgetful you were, that was for sure. And the realization hit you much after you effusively waved at the kind Pogue. John’s eyes softened at your presence, shyly nearing the pool’s edge. “Hi-” His voice became a whisper when Topper spinned you around once again, this time preventing you from further interaction with the shorter boy.

“This isn’t the Cut.” The Thornton’s voice lacked any sort of respect. Blocked by a pair of wide biceps, you could barely take a glimpse at a clearly uncomfortable John. “Top” You whispered softly while caressing his hot skin, looking for any sort of sympathy inside his arrogant self. “So, you better get lost before I get you kicked out.” Heat reached your face at the sudden threat, your anxiety peaking with the growing aggressiveness in the blond’s tone.

A dilemma clouded your brain, intensified by your boyfriend’s digits digging harshly into your flesh. You were about to speak out when the Pogue rolled his eyes in defeat, his dirty soles taking him away from the both of you. He was clearly pissed, and you could see it in the way he clenched his fists in frustration.

His back became smaller and smaller among the multitude, making you deflate in a tang of disappointment. A sour feeling installed in the pit of your stomach, making you fidget on the tight embrace.

Topper didn’t allow you space for thinking or breathing, quickly taking you by the jaw while licking your lower lip. He groaned at your hesitation, forcing you to follow an aggressive kiss.

(…)

The water clashed violently at the shore, creating a steady rhythm that reached your ears. The wet sand stimulated your toes with its welcoming feeling, tempting you to bury nose-deep into the soaked mass.

The small towel wrapped around your body did little to keep you warm, but you still held to it with intensity. Topper hadn’t stopped staring at you for the whole walk, burning holes into your side with his puzzling stare.

You stopped in your tracks, finally hearing the blasting music and hustle considerably far, stil, there was nothing much you could do about the blinding lights coming from the house - slightly distracting you from the organic view -.

“Right here!” You chirped with newfound excitement, expanding your towel on a dry spot. The long T-shirt had been long lost, leaving you half naked. Still, you laid comfortably on the absorbing fabric, extending your legs while supporting your weight with relaxed elbows.

The warm smile plastered on your face was very inviting, luring the blond to the same position as you. His muscles flexed at the effort, every feature of his being outlined by the moonlight.

Your eyelashes fluttered at your side, accepting the heat coming from his heavy body. Topper had been oddly quiet since the pool scene, making you feel a bit unbalanced.

In an effort of lighting his mood up, you pointed at the sky: “You see? Right there is the Big Dipper.” Your boyfriend didn’t give a verbal response, simply following your finger for the marvelous sight. “And then those stars…” The celestial bodies shined brightly. “… in the scoop point…” Your breathing slowed down when you felt his at the side of your neck.

“To the North Star-” Your explanation died down little by little when you felt a wet muscle licking down your jugular. It paralyzed you, the sounds of wet kisses traveling down your clavicle, where he sucked avidly in hopes of leaving some purple spotches. “Top” You called out for him at a particular hard suck.

Half-hearted whines falling deaf to the blond’s ears, who continued untying the back of your top. Your nipples were quick to react to the cool weather, further stimulated by your boyfriend’s passionate sucking.

His tongue lolled around the mounds of flesh, causing your fingers to tangle between his soft locks. Your brain felt mushy under his pawing, barely registering the new position you were subjected to.

Red, your chest was all red from his attack; still, he wasn’t satisfied - going down your abdomen until reaching your lower belly -. “Wanna show you who this belongs to.” You didn’t enjoy the raspiness in his voice, nor the aggressive way in which he tugged at the garment.

Your lower lip suffered under your teeth, a typical mannerism you had under stressful situations. “Wait, no.” The piece of fabric was already being ripped away from you when your legs reacted by themselves; accidentally kneeing him on the face while pulling away from his hold.

Instinctively, you crawled back. Watching him rub his jaw in a pained state.

Guilt, you felt guilt. There was no reason to not want to be intimate with him, it wasn’t a foreign concept in your relationship, still, you cringed away from his touch as he approached you once again.

Your rejection was unconscious, a quick reaction to what your body deemed as an invasion. “I-” A knot formed in your throat, preventing you from saying a thing as his eyes darkened.

The once soft features turned sharp, and he didn’t think twice before launching himself at you. “Topper, wait!” Patience left you, quickly replaced by the urgence of being set free.

His name sounded like a plea as you repeated it time and time again. You were taken by surprise when he manhandled you into all fours, locking an arm under your waist while pinning your upper body down on the sand.

His dressed erection poked at your core, roughly rubbing against it. Your boyfriend groaned, clearly clouded by lust as his selfish hands pulled the only thing that kept your cunt from him. You sobbed out a ‘please’ when his cold digits brushed against your slit, greedily entering one of them into the dry cave.

You could only sob when his thumb started circling your clit, pulling an involuntary moan from you. A finger quickly became three, and the squelches coming from your stretched hole weren’t fully drowned by the nearby waves.

The blond only responded with animalistic sounds, seemingly fueled by your fight. His finger thrusted harder into you, sending a wave of pleasure over your unwilling sex.

Panic started rising as you heard him pull out his cock, instantly holding you steady against the throbbing member. Your hand found itself pushing flat against his toned pelvis, doing your best to put some distance between both bodies.

The Thornton boy shushed you in response, gently pulling away your palm. “Don’t cry…” You wailed inconsolably, your salty tears hitting the salty ground. “…I just wanna make you feel good.” A flinch was all he received when pinning both of your arms in one hand.

Your movements were completely restricted, leaving you at his complete mercy. With soft fingertips, he pushed your hair to the side, leaving an open field to lay down kisses.

His lips were gentle with your nape, alongside the reassurance pronounced by them. So contrasting to the mean tip entering your sex.

His pace was tortuously slow, making you feel every vein on his thick shaft while praising the wetness and warmth he was received with. “This pussy is all mine...” Bliss was all you could hear in him, gaining the confidence to grind harder against your ass.

“… no Pogue can change that.” And as the tip of his long cock bruised your cervix, you couldn’t help but cry a little louder.

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