#the fantasy of the end of the world in which you could.. just build a wall

[sokkastyles]

In hindsight, the Lion Turtle ex Machina was a sign of things to come. Energy bending and the idea of taking bending away from people only makes bending into the end all be all, I mean. Yeah, it is a huge part of the identity of each nation, but it's not the sole marker of identity, nor are villains suddenly less dangerous because they don't have it.

That's because the show doesn't tackle the idea of superiority and power that exists behind the ability to bend or not bend.

It's really baffling because there are some scenes that are really really good at acknowledging it. I know people have knee-jerk reactions to the comics for good reason, but those scenes in the Promise where Zuko becomes a shrinking little boy while his father walks all over him from his prison cell even though Zuko is the Fire Lord and Ozai is powerless? Those scenes are so spot on. Ozai used bending to control Zuko for so long and make him believe he was weak, so you would think that Ozai without his bending would not still be able to psychologically dominate Zuko like that, but the reason is because it was never about the bending, but what it represents.

That's why people who insist that Azula is a superior bender and deserved blah blah blah are missing the point. That's why energy bending and Bumi getting airbending to feel more like Aang's son is missing the point. It was never about the bending. It was never about how good a bender Azula was, it was about the entitlement that the idea that she was a superior bender created in her, and if it wasn't about the bending it would be about something else, because entitled people are always going to believe they are entitled to treat other people badly, and the reasons are arbitrary.

In some ways, Ozai having his bending taken away is karmic justice, and what would hurt him the most, as someone who believed his bending made him feel superior. But in other ways, it's just validating the idea that the ability to bend makes you superior. Ozai can say to himself that Aang had to take away his bending because they just resented how powerful he was, and it doesn't address the root issue of believing he's superior in the first place.

There's also this weird undercurrent of the belief in a spiritual right to power that's built into the world building of the show and creates some weird implications. Like, okay, I can buy into the Avatar as being imbued with spiritual power as the protector of the world. Okay, it's a kid's fantasy show. It's moments when the show tries to go deeper that it tends to fumble. The concept that bending can be taken away if used to create spiritual imbalance, okay. But then, isn't the existence of the Avatar a spiritual imbalance? What if the Avatar doesn't have the world's best interests at heart? Who watches the watchmen and all that.

And then you get to the stuff where the air nomads were all benders because they were the most spiritual, except sometimes air nomads have children that aren't entirely genetically air nomad and their genes apparently determine their spirituality because why isn't Bumi a bender? Oops, let's give him bending! Problem fixed! Don't pay attention to what this says about the belief that spirituality is linked to bending or how similar this belief is to the justifications Ozai used to abuse his kids, let alone the justifications the FN uses to commit genocide. The war began because Sozin was trying to eliminate the Avatar, because having someone who could control all elements was a threat to FN superiority. Not just because of the spiritual power of the Avatar, but because of what that power represented, that firebenders were not and could not be the superior benders, that there existed a more powerful bender.

I always circle back to the fact that the show missed an opportunity to use the Avatar as a representation of harmony between bending, which is what it is in its best interpretations. Instead of having Aang use an unbeknownst power given to him by a spiritual being to prove himself the most powerful bender and turn his opponent into the weakest, have him use everything he learned from his friends, the way Zuko did. Prove that it's not about bending or power, it's about love and trust and learning to understand and empathize with other people.

[icewindandboringhorror]

More misc. daily life pictures and such

[rotzaprachim]

on another note on something i am SURE media analysis has been done On but which has really been digging into my brain is the whole zombie apocalypse as distinctly bush-era and onward conservative fantasy. it’s about the situation where 99% of the world dies but the Guy with a Gun lives and there being almost a sick enjoyment, sometimes, but if not that then the world weary sigh about how This is what it Takes to keep living. it’s about the literal creation of a world in which there’s some reason one HAS to have guns to survive, HAS to put up walls around every inch of their *space* to keep those Guys out. a lot has been written about lovecraft’s violent racism and imperialism in terms of how he saw the Hordes of literlaly everyone not a white anglo-saxon, but to me there’s something in the whole zombie plague of internal invasion and home invasion that really plays into the most violent aspects of anti-immigration sentiments - and of course, those guys have to be shot. there’s a lot to say too i think about the zombie genre therefor as evolution from the frontier-thesis western genre. if there is no more obvious enemy at our borders one comes from the inside.

and it’s all really interesting, and has aged in fascinating ways in terms of how i think us-based conservatism itself has shown a collection of ideologies incredibly brittle in the fact of pandemic and upheavel. (this isn’t so much about the broader structures of corporate-capitalism, obviously, which i think can be said to be both brittle and disturbingly strong in how it can feast off disaster and instability in terms of financial gain and control of power, which is... not something i can think of zombie narratives discussing much?) i’m taking more about individual people and communities. i don’t think the zombie genre is paradoxical to conservatism’s brittle nature, but rather, part of it entirely. it’s the odd fantasy- what if there was a problem we could SHOOT? we live in a world in which conservatism has refused to prepare adequately for financial crisis (many insurance measures are of course Bad for Business) and ultimately turned a completely blind eye to the very real apocalyptic nature of climate change - so much as it might be bad for Business, the  climate change  hoax narrative has very much been swallowed by many in the working class without systemic benefit from that business and much to loose from climatic disaster. and in recent history us conservatism turned a completely blind eye to coronavirus. what do we do with a real pandemic when there’s no one to shoot? looking back retrospectively at the last fifteen years of zombie media comes with the weird realisation that with a supposed virus on, no one is wearing a mask- and if anyone is quarantining or practicing social distancing, it’s never the good guys. 

which leads to the odd feeling that the zombie apocalypse genre provides an odd catharsis, even fantasy. we live in a world facing apocalyptic times and with many global governments (not to mention corporate-capitalist structures) doing exceptionally poorly in the midst of it. the zombie apocalypse genre takes that existential fear and recognises it through the prism of conservative and settler colonial ideologies, but also through comic book and horror movie and video game logic. the end of the world may come, you can shoot the end of the world! it’s the worst case scenario written down in a Comprehensible way. i find the fantasy elements therefor entwined fascinating. the zombie virus on whole is both wildly more contagious, kill-everyone, world-endingly terrible than any virus in human history (or rather, it appeals to a sense of Absolute Extremism that... 80% of the world dies immediately or whatever rather than looking to the very real fact that a few percent of infected dying is STILL AN AWFUL LOT OF PEOPLE and the mechanics of social breakdown in the fact of pandemic throughout history are complex and horrific within those *lower* death rates) but also less contagious than most viruses because our Protagonists have to be scratched or bitten in order to be Infected - those up close knock-em-down hatchet fights that leave already scratched-up protags covered in zombie organs or blood don’t pose a real threat of infection! the end of the world virus has to be.. a lot less infectious than many real world viruses. a watered down virus.

 likewise a lot of the issues of social organisation and supplies. zombie apocalypse narratives rarely venture into legitimate exploration of post apocalyptic agriculture, pharmaceuticals, energy or medicine- all those pesky aspects of human existence that highlight how interdependent and fragile our needs may be, and how complex communal structure would have to be to build anything anew- so people live off Raided items years out into the apocalypse. they drive massive cars and tankers years past the apocalypse even though most gasoline has a six month to three year shelf life, depending. they rarely need insulin or b12 injections or thyroid medication, and if a medical problem comes up can usually just take the raided drugs for it, regardless of any need for medical equipment or facilities. they can also just eat canned goods decades past their point of edibility. the fact that for a Zombie apocalypse things to WORK a lot of the day to day struggles with survival have to be glossed over fascinates me. i think it even further reflects aspects of the white male conservative working and middle american worldview, which sees itself as particularly up-by-the-bootstraps fending for ourselves TOUGH when living in a social and system that softens their lives through the exploitation of the labour of people of color and women and global us-based exploiation. who cares about who farms the food or does the cooking in an apocalypse? but to elude those questions - and also zig zag around the whole nature of the post-apocalyptic feudal societies humanity is narratively edging into being based around agriculture- requires living in a world where canned goods last ten years past when they probably would be edible. but at least you might not have to talk to your neighbors

[captain-joongz]

Tits out

Pairing: best friend!Wooyoung x f!reader

Genre: bffs to ??, college au, pure smut, barely any plot, fluff, humour

Summary: When talking to your best friend about your nipple piercing during movie night backfires in the most spectacular way possible and Seonghwa's new couch gets caught in the crossfire

Word count: cca 7k

Warnings: reader is chubby, there's no discussion, they just jump into it, titty sucking, nipple and nipple piercing fixation, unprotected sex (this is pure fantasy, be careful in the real world), a little bit of body insecurity about body hair, fingering, doggy, squirting (let me know if i missed anything)

I had met Wooyoung back in the first year in uni and now four years later we were still going strong. The man that walked in confidently into a lecture hall, bee-lined straight for the empty space next to me and was sitting down before I even comprehended his question of “is this seat taken?”, who then proceeded to talk my ear off and invite himself for lunch with me, was quite easy to befriend, believe it or not. After sitting next to him a few times and going for lunch later, I’d managed to get out of my shell a little too and soon we were two merry extroverts steamrolling through university hip to hip. He’d become one of my best friends, one of my closest friends and a person that understood me almost perfectly. We knew we could count on each other completely and trusted each other blindly.

I was introduced into his friend group, and he was into mine and we often hung out together in huge groups of rowdy younglings, going dancing and spending weekends eating too much junk food and watching bad movies someone had put on, but no one really paid attention to besides the occasional joke about its stupidity. I couldn’t count how many times I’ve done something extremely stupid while hanging out with them and was heavily encouraged by both Wooyoung and San. It was the most fun I’ve had though, and that’s what really mattered.

Now I was already out of school, but Wooyoung and most of his friends were continuing with their studies. Due to this, we tried to hang out every Friday, but a lot of the time it ended up being just me and him or even just me sitting in their living room watching Netflix waiting who makes it home first. It was like my second home at this point, and no one was phased when I showed up out of the blue and sat on the couch like I owned it. Especially since Seonghwa bought the new one, that one was extremely comfortable.

Usually, Friday night was a hang out and movie night for me and Wooyoung anyway, but today I was a woman on a mission. A few months ago, I had gotten a nipple piercing. It wasn’t my first one (though it was definitely the most painful one) so I wasn’t extremely worried about it, but lately it has been acting up a little. It usually didn’t hurt but sometimes there would be this slight discomfort around it and I’ve even noticed some slight scabbing even months later. I knew realistically that it was most likely okay, but my anxious nervous little brain had managed to convince me that I’m going to lose my tit or something. That’s why I needed a second opinion. And that’s where Wooyoung came in.

Tonight, I was making my way towards their flat knowing I’m about to ask Wooyoung for the weirdest favour one ever could, but it should be okay, right? We were such close friends, it definitely wasn’t a big deal, right? You normally asked your friends to take a look at your tits and tell you whether there’s something weird about one of them, that was just a usual Friday, no?

I checked the group chat again and confirmed that it would be just me and Woo tonight and then made my way to their building’s door. They lived on the fourth floor without an elevator, which would normally be a minus, but since it was an old warehouse made into an apartment building, their flat was actually massive and housed all of them without a problem, so I graciously sacrificed myself and stomped up the stairs a few times a week to see their faces (and eat their food).

Upon arriving to the flat, I found Woo busy making something in the kitchen, humming lightly while whipping cream like a 50s housewife.

“What you up to?” I asked casually strolling into the room, making Wooyoung jump with shock. “Jesus fucking Christ, you sneak in all the time and yet I still get scared by you,” he said and put his hand over his heart. I slapped his shoulder and peeked at what he was making.

“You literally gave me the keys, Wooyoung, I’m hardly sneaking in,” I said and rolled my eyes at him. He just laughed and pushed me out of the kitchen. “Shut up and start choosing the movie or I know we’ll just end up scrolling through Netflix for hours like always,” he shouted over his shoulder and went back to whatever snack he was making.

As I sat on the couch, I was steeling myself for what I was about to ask him, trying to figure out how to bring it up. No time like the present, right. I mindlessly scrolled through the movies, but really I was waiting for Woo to join me in the living room. Then finally he came in through the door, a plate of little cheesy snacks in one hand and a bowl of popcorn in the other. I was just about to open my mouth, but he cheekily winked at me and made his way back to the kitchen. When he returned, he was holding a little tray with two cups of hot chocolate, the coke and two glasses.

He finally joined me on the couch and for a while we both just sat there, arguing about whether we want to watch a comedy or a thriller, while I was thinking how to broach the subject. But in the end, I didn’t even need to do that. In the middle of my sentence about how I’m not watching another stupid horror movie about nothing, Wooyoung suddenly turned to me and just gave me this look. And I knew I was done playing around. I stopped in the middle of talking and stared at him. He grinned.

“Okay, just spill it,” he said when I stayed silent for too long.

“What do you mean?” I attempted to stray away from the topic until I was ready, but he’d already saw through me. “Really?” he asked incredulously, “I’ve known you for years, you think I don’t recognise when you want to talk about something? Just spill the beans already.” I heaved a deep sigh and then turned on the couch to face him. He was still grinning.

“Okay, this might be really weird, but just bear with me for a while, okay?” I started. While I was slightly worried about the piercing, I also couldn’t help but fear Woo’s reaction, after all this wasn’t exactly a normal thing to ask your friend. I knew worst case scenario he’ll just say no and laugh it off, but still. He looked a little more serious for a moment, but then I continued talking. “I need you to look at my tits, okay?”

Wooyoung looked at me shocked for a moment and then bursted out laughing. I just glared at him annoyed. “Hear me out-“ I started but he cut me off. “Is this about like being insecure about them? You want me to look at them and say they’re okay? Y/N, you know your tits are amazing-“ he was going on and on, but this time it was me who cut him off.

“God, no, nothing like that,” I shut him up embarrassed. While it was true that I was slightly insecure about my plump figure, I loved my boobs, I knew they looked great. They were simply just right, it was one of the things I loved about my body. Wooyoung sensed that it must be something more serious and gestured for me to continue.

“You know I got the piercing, but lately it started to act up a little and I’m getting nervous and I just need you to look and tell me it looks fine,” I got out in one breath and he just stared at me. “Okay…? Why don’t you look into the mirror?” he asked, genuinely curious. “I have, but since I’m getting so nervous about it, I need a second opinion,” I explained, “Come on Woo, I know it’s a super weird and gross request, but help me out here.” Wooyoung laughed again and smirked at me.

“Gross and weird?” he repeated, “Not only I’ll see a nipple and a piercing, but I’ll also see a boob and a nipple with a piercing, that’s like some of the best things in this world combined together.” I slapped his shoulder again, but we both laughed this time.

“You’re the worst, god,” I said laughing, “I’m surprised you haven’t died over being such a fucking horndog all the time yet.” He laughed too and then gestured to my top.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, just shut up and pull your tits out,” he joked and made himself comfortable on one end of the couch. I wasn’t particularly shy about showing my body, so it wasn’t that hard to bare myself like this. Hell, me and Woo have probably seen each other naked a few times but just didn’t care enough.

I pulled the two straps of my top off my shoulders and bunched the fabric around my waist, then reached around to my back to take off my bra. When it hit the floor Wooyoung’s full attention was suddenly on my chest, and it flustered me a little. I fought the instinct to cover myself with my arms and instead just sat there, topless with my best friend intensely staring at my boobs.

“So?” I asked anxiously, “What do you think?” He suddenly straightened up and it brought us quite close to each other. “That you have really great tits,” he said absent-mindedly, his hands raising on instinct as if going to squish them. I flushed and swatted at them. “Yeah, I know,” I said annoyed, “that’s not what I asked though.” That seemed to break him out of it a little bit and he hunched down so his face was on level with my chest. I face-palmed and hoped no one would come home unannounced, cause this would be damn hard to explain.

“No, yeah I think it’s okay,” Woo said after a while, “I mean, the pierced one looks a little different, but that’s to be expected. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it.” I relaxed at hearing him say so and felt the tension leave me at once. But I just needed a little more to feel completely at ease.

“Can you like… touch it to see if it’s weirdly warm or if there’s some weird texture or something?” I asked embarrassed and quickly looked to the side when Woo’s head whipped up to look at me. “You want me to what now?” he questioned me flabbergasted.

“I don’t know, dude! You’re the one that gets into contact with tits, you’ll know if there’s something wrong with it!” I started hurriedly explaining myself, growing more flustered by the minute. Wooyoung stayed quiet for a moment and then sighed. I thought this was finally the line that was too far for him, but then his hand suddenly flew up and stopped just millimetres from my nipple. We both just sat there, holding our breath, not knowing where to look, when he slowly brought his fingers in contact with my skin. I gasped quietly, but in the silence it was still audible. I flushed in embarrassment and refused to look anywhere else except for the wall by the TV.

Wooyoung’s fingers messed around a little, pressing down on the nipple and gently squeezing it, also lightly touching onto the piercing. Surprisingly enough, what I felt wasn’t pain like I feared. With every soft brush of his fingers over the sensitive skin, a little bolt of pleasure shot through me and I had to fight to keep myself from gasping more or arching into his touch. I felt the blush spreading over my face and completely mortified I noticed beginnings of a scorching wet heat between my legs.

Then suddenly his hand was gone and he was clearing his throat. The silence that set between us was broken and we both started shifting around, not knowing what to do with the situation we found ourselves in.

“I think it’s totally fine,” he said, his voice somewhat hoarse, but I was so embarrassed I barely even registered it.

“Oh thank god, I was really getting nervous,” I said and laughed a little awkwardly. Wooyoung wasn’t saying anything and just sat in front of me tensely, so I assumed it was good and he just needed a moment to shake off the sudden awkward atmosphere, and turned around to find my bra. That was a rookie mistake though. The moment my eyes left Wooyoung, he striked. As I was searching the floor with my eyes, suddenly what felt like a lightning strike went through my whole body. My back arched on instinct, and I toppled backwards onto the couch with a loud moan.

Wooyoung’s mouth has attached itself onto my pierced nipple and he sucked again, another shock pulsing through me and pleasure suddenly flooding my senses. My hands flew to his shoulders, but instead of pushing him away I just pulled him closer. I myself wasn’t sure of what was happening or what we were doing, but it felt too good to dwell on it and I definitely didn’t hate it.

Wooyoung moved closer and made himself comfortable between my spread thighs, his mouth busy sucking and licking around my piercing. I was letting out tiny breathy moans, my legs instinctively pulling him closer to my core, hoping for a little friction.

“What… what are you doing?” I finally gathered my wits and asked breathlessly. I looked down to see the top of his head moving around. He peaked up to look at me and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I’ve never been with a girl that has a nipple piercing, I couldn’t help myself,” he explained, and I rolled my eyes at him.

“You damn horndog,” I muttered, but didn’t push him away or stop him. That gave him confidence to continue, and he smirked at me, as one of his hands brushed down my front until he was slightly pushing on my clit through my clothes and I arched again. He moved to the other nipple and played with it a little, while his unoccupied hand moved to my other breast, touching it teasingly, squeezing it slightly and thumbing the piercing.

“It’s so sensitive,” he murmured and watched his hand completely fascinated. I was about to retort something, but he chose that moment to bite at my breast and move up to leave wet hot kisses on my neck and a loud moan came out instead. It’s been so long since I’ve been with someone, and I was starting to worry I might utterly embarrass myself. One of my hands sneaked down between our bodies, trying to encourage him to touch me properly instead of just gently pressing, but he caught it and pulled it up to my shoulder. Suddenly he was towering over me, smirking at me and just generally being a menace. I arched again, this time trying to push our lower halves together, but he avoided me with a laugh.

“God, please, Wooyoung just touch me,” I begged him as the desperation from the scorching heat cursing through my veins was taking over, throwing everything into the wind and fully committing to getting fucked by my best friend. He kept smirking and propped himself up over me on his elbow.

“Touch you, huh?” he said and suddenly his hand was back to teasing my clit, this time with more force. I keened and pushed up into him, suddenly embarrassedly realising just how wet I’d gotten from such small ministrations. He chuckled watching me, head diving to take my pierced nipple into his mouth again, gently playing with it with his tongue and scraping his teeth over it. I jerked and my hands flew into his hair, holding him in place so that he’d never stop, my mouth falling open on a silent moan, too overwhelmed by the sensation to properly function. He slowly moved up to my neck, peppering kisses and small bites along the way, while his fingers moved in little circles over my clothed clit.

I was so turned on I could die, I needed him to touch me properly – like stuff me full of his long beautiful fingers. And I told him as such. And he laughed at me.

“Aw, such a little desperate angel, aren’t you?” Wooyoung whispered into my skin. I whined his name, hoping it would speed him up. He scoffed at me playfully but moved away to pull my shorts off, grabbing them with one hand and pulling them down in one swoop; leaving me a little breathless and only in a bunched up top around my middle, while Wooyoung was still fully clothed. I started pulling his shirt off and he obliged, flinging it to the other side of the room eagerly.

Woo sat back on his heels between my spread thighs to take me in and I started to feel shy again, hands moving to grab onto him and pull him back onto me, but he pushed my arms back into the couch and held them there for a moment, before sitting back again.

“No, no, angel, I’m looking at your pretty pussy,” he teased me, hands grabbing at my full thighs to keep them spread wide. I looked down and suddenly an insecurity reared its head again. About two years ago I had stopped shaving in my intimate area, only trimming it a little, cause it irritated my skin too much and the last time I was about to get some, the guy called me disgusting. Wooyoung was currently watching me like a starved man in front of a feast, but still I nervously covered myself with my hands. His eyes flicked up to me, questioning, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Sorry,” was all I said, mad at myself that I couldn’t even properly get out why I was suddenly so uncomfortable, and he looked at me all confused. “What are you sorry for?” he asked, but then realisation lit up his eyes and he moved to stand up from the couch, “Did you change your mind? You know it’s okay to tell me.” I looped my legs around his waist to pull him back to me and he fell forward with an “oof”. This pressed his erect cock to my core as he held himself up with his hands right by my head and we both moaned at the contact. My legs kept encouraging him to grind into me and for a moment we both just breathlessly moved against each other, Woo releasing little moans and sighs into the heated air between us, and I watched his half-lidded eyes slowly become hazy with pleasure, utterly fascinated.

“So I guess no changing of minds,” he chuckled on a small groan as his hips started thrusting a little harsher against me, losing all rationality and just chasing pleasure. “No, nothing like that,” I whispered back and pulled him for a kiss for the first. As soon as our lips touched, we started hungrily devouring each other, moaning into each other’s mouths and our hands grabbing onto each other desperately. I ended up helplessly grabbing onto his back and most probably leaving red scratches in my wake.

After a moment Woo pulled away, sat back on his heels again and I whined and tried to pull him back, leading him to laugh at me once more; but his fingers went straight for my pussy, spreading it open and sliding through the wetness there. As if placated, I immediately stopped whining and arched my back more, begging for his touch.

“What was that about before?” he asked slightly breathless and I could see he was being serious, even though his finger started slowly circling my clit and playing around. I could barely concentrate on explaining as I was too busy drowning in the liquid pleasure spreading through my entire body.

“Just a little… hng- a little insecure about- about my hair,” I answered while writhing around, simultaneously wanting more and hoping he’d stop so that I could explain properly. His eyes immediately flicked down between my legs just as his finger slid down and slowly slipped into me. I moaned loudly, hands grabbing and squeezing the couch. His gaze was trained on my hole as he pumped his finger in a few times and then quickly slid in a second one.

“Fuck, you’re so wet..” he whispered, still watching his fingers slowly fucking into me, his other hand going to squeeze his erection still tenting his sweats. My mouth was hanging open, eyes unfocused, noises just pouring out as I was finally feeling full for the first time. But then suddenly he pulled his fingers out and focused on me again. I actually sobbed out, trying to close my legs to keep his hand from leaving, but they were still kept spread by his hips.

“Why would you be insecure about it?” Wooyoung whispered and it took me a moment to remember what we were talking about before. I propped myself up on my elbows and looked at him, sitting between my spread legs with an obvious erection in sweats stained by my wetness from our grinding before. I flushed again and tore my eyes away from his cock, only to catch his smug smirk. I schooled my expression and said: “The last guy I was with called it disgusting. Said he’s not Columbus to be exploring the rainforest.” Wooyoung scoffed.

“What a fucking asshole, who even comes up with shit like that?” he asked incredulously, “Well, clearly he’s a fucking coward, but thankfully… I’ve always liked a little bit of adventure.” He said the last bit all flirty, winking like an absolute sleaze and I just knew something awful was coming. “Besides,” he said while pressing himself into me again, “the rainforest is the perfect place for my anaconda.” I groaned, but this time from pure embarrassment at his jokes while he cackled like a madman. I pushed him away and started to turn around so that I could stand up.

“God, I changed my mind, get off of me,” I said morosely, but he just grabbed my hips and used the momentum to turn me around and get me on all fours, then pressed us together. A bolt of arousal shot through me, and my arms buckled under my weight, my face pressing into the couch while my ass stayed propped up by Wooyoung, pressed into his hips.

“Actually, this is quite a good idea,” he said grinding into me, “I always knew you’d love to be fucked like this.” He bent over me, his chest pressing into my back as he whispered straight into my ear. “Pressed down like this, taken from behind quick, rough and dirty,” he murmured, “Put nicely in your place…” I moaned unabashed, hips pushing back onto his cock on their own and lust making itself painfully known again; in response I could feel Wooyoung’s hands tightening on my skin and suddenly he pulled back to hurriedly tug his sweats down. His hands made their home on my hips, squeezing and pulling, keeping me pressed into him, his cock slotting between my thighs and sliding along my wet pussy. I keened and attempted to grind back, but he held me as his hips pulled back.

“God, please,” I begged, “Please, Wooyoung, give it to me…” He held himself with one hand and I heard him chuckle. “You want it?” he teased. I felt the head of his cock gently teasing around my hole, slightly pushing in and pulling out again. I sobbed exasperated and nodded, face mushed into the couch and hands grabbing onto the throw pillows, my whole body just fucking screaming for his cock to spear me through and through, cunt spasming and tightening around nothing.

“Yes! Yes, please!” I cried and he finally slid inside in one slow thrust. I moaned with relief and sagged into the couch a little, finally getting what I’ve been wanting this whole time. Wooyoung groaned behind me and his hands dug into the skin of my hips, pushing us impossibly together. The feeling of fullness satisfied something wild and primal in me and I found myself struggling to close my mouth, too blissed out to do anything.

He stilled for a moment to get us both accustomed to the feeling, but clearly both of us were too horny to wait even a little longer, because the second I pushed my hips back into him, he started slowly grinding in small circles and it wasn’t long before it shifted into shallow thrusts punching out little gasps out of me.

I only had to whine out “please!” once to get Wooyoung to speed up and pound into me in a much faster pace, to both of our reliefs. Woo’s cool had quickly melted away into a desperate quick pace that had tiny whiny moans spilling out of him. I wasn’t fairing much better, the slide of his cock along my walls from this angle was absolutely heavenly and within few moments had me absolutely losing my already frayed mind. With my head turned away from the cushions I found myself unable to close my mouth, moans freely slipping out and bouncing off of the walls of the living room. Embarrassingly enough I could feel a string of drool coming out of the corner of my mouth onto the couch, but I couldn’t force myself to care when Wooyoung was fucking me so good.

It quickly became obvious we were both too horny and turned on to keep any kind of decorum, so we descended into a messy filthy fucking, Woo eventually bending over me and plastering his chest to my back, mouthing and biting at my neck in between grunts and groans. Just thinking about how deliciously I was filled with his cock had me moaning loudly, Wooyoung chuckling as if he wasn’t the same, losing his mind over the tight wet heat enveloping him in a torturous hug.

I found myself quickly spiralling, the molten pleasure pumping through my body at an alarming speed. I reached back and pulled at Wooyoung’s hips, forcing him to shift his leg a little closer and putting his hips a little higher over mine, giving him perfect access to that one spot deep inside of me with every thrust. I lost all control over my body then, taken over by the all-consuming pleasure, the moans coming out higher and louder with every thrust.

“God- ah aah-“ I panted out, hands digging into the pillows looking for any kind of purchase to withstand the onslaught of sensations, “I- I’m cumming so-soon.” Wooyoung giggled breathlessly into my shoulder and his hips suddenly gained back a little more direction, aiming to hit the spot with every slam into me, slowly speeding up until he was railing me like a madman, the wet squelch of my cunt and slapping of skin on skin accompanying the cacophony of our joined pleasure. I wailed, unable to keep up with the mounting climax, almost screaming on every thrust inlaid with little gasps, groans and cut off gibberish pouring out of my mouth. It felt as if my entire body lit up, the bliss becoming a little too much for me to properly register beyond “Oh god! Oh yes!” ringing through every inch of my very being.

Then Wooyoung’s hand moved to my tit again and squeezed and pinched the pierced nipple few times, even giving it some light slaps. My whole body seized up on a lightning strike of pleasure and the orgasm hit me like an actual truck, getting thrown over the edge so unexpectedly and with such force that I gave one last wheezing cry, mind blanking out and all I could register was the white ecstasy pouring through me, out of me, as if my entire body was made out of it, every nerve screaming with it.

Distantly I registered Wooyoung’s startled cries and moans, his hips jerking against mine quickly and erratically, his hands back on my hips tightening until I could feel his nails biting into my skin and was sure I’d have a nice set of imprints for at least the rest of the day. Then he stilled over me, cock pushed as deep inside as it could go, pulsing and throbbing as the cum poured out in thick spurts. His deep groan of satisfaction reverberated through my whole body since he was still pressed into my back tightly, letting me enjoy the moment with him.

As if invisible strings were cut, we both collapsed into the couch and hazily I realised I only stayed upright because Wooyoung was holding me so he could fuck me harder. After few minutes my mind slowly started coming back, body tiredly catching up, registering the pleasurable ordeal it just went through. I could feel my pussy throbbing, hot and wet from being thoroughly fucked and filled with Woo’s release, my hips hurting from the pounding. I was almost expecting to see bruises all over me.

For a few moments only laboured breathing was heard through the room as we both recovered, the haze gradually lifting, allowing us to come to terms with what had just happened between us. Surprisingly, it didn’t feel awkward at all. It may have been because I was still lying boneless, unable to speak from the force of the orgasm with Wooyoung’s softening cock still wedged deep inside of my pussy, but I found myself quite comfortable squished into the couch, feeling his shallow breaths in the crook of my neck and his thumping heart against my back. I wondered if he could feel mine, as it was beating just as wildly.

But the comfy silence was broken by the man himself, when he whistled and said: “Wow, I had no idea you could do that.” There was a little teasing undertone to his statement, but mostly I could detect only giddy wonder and pride.

“Do what?” my words still a little slurred, because I was still recovering the functions of my brain and fighting sleep, so deeply sated I could barely hold a full thought.

“Squirt,” Woo stated matter-of-factly, his hands beginning to gently caress my sides to help me come down. “Huh?” I said eloquently and turned to look at him. He just gave me a soft grin, eyes squinting in joy as he took in my state. “I did what?” the question was more rhetorical and I wasn’t even really talking to Wooyoung, rather I started to squirm trying to look down as if my pussy held the answer. And in some way it did. When I managed to lift up my hips a little, my whole body protesting and Wooyoung behind me grunting at the jostling of his soft cock, hands digging into my hips to try and hold me still, I saw that the couch beneath us was absolutely soaked. Slight panic seized me, I didn’t even know why, it was just a natural reaction of my tired brain to the information that apparently Wooyoung, my best friend, had made me squirt for the first time in my life, all over Seonghwa’s lovely sofa. Well, at least it did explain why the orgasm had been so fucking intense, feeling as if the soul left my body and astral projected into a parallel universe.

The squirming dislodged Wooyoung from me and a splat of his cum joined the already huge stain on the furnishing. Now I winced, realising that there was no way either of us was surviving this. Unceremoniously I plopped back down into the mess and turned to Wooyoung, who was sweaty and rosy-cheeked, watching me with amusement.

“Seonghwa is going to fucking murder us,” I muttered tiredly, already back to fighting sleep off now that I was lying again. I let my eyes fall shut and only heard Wooyoung’s answering laugh, only felt him get up from the couch and gently roll me over on my back. There was shuffling, rustling of clothes and footsteps around the living room, but I couldn’t find the strength to look at what was Woo doing, letting myself drift on the high and the aftershocks that were still coursing through me.

Wooyoung was humming somewhere in the apartment and then there was a gentle touch on my hip. I whined but let him do what he needed. A warm wet towel was pressed onto my stomach lightly in lieu of warning and I slowly opened my legs again, feeling the strain and the burn that just hurt so good. Woo tenderly cleaned me up with soft unhurried strokes, then helped me sit up against the pillows to try and put some clothes back on me.

I blearily opened my eyes and blinked at him. Wooyoung was kneeling on the floor in front of me wearing only his sweats and holding his black tee. When he saw I was back in the land of living, he slowly pulled it over my head and helped my arms into the sleeves. I was feeling all warm and fuzzy from his sudden softness, thoroughly enjoying this after-care, suddenly found myself overtaken by the violent need to cuddle and sleep it off, so I was just about to suggest that, when he suddenly sprung to his feet and pulled me up with him. I let myself be man-handled with only a slight surprised yelp, but suddenly standing I realised my legs still weren’t in working order, if my shaking buckling knees were anything to go by, so I just grabbed onto his shoulders and hoped he wouldn’t let me fall.

He didn’t. Another nicely warm towel was now wiping my butt of anything I had been sitting in, his hand gently patting it before putting me back onto the couch in the area that was dry.

I wanted to sleep, but I was too amused by the picture of Wooyoung standing in front of the huge wet stain with a deep thinking expression on his face, wracking his brain for anything to do about it. When a giggle escaped me, suddenly his eyes were on me with a mischievous glint.

“You made the mess and now you laugh at me when I’m trying to save our lives?” he asked jokingly, amusement lacing his tone. I giggled again and curled around one of the pillows, fully committed to watching the comedy unfold. Wooyoung just sighed and looked at the couch as if it murdered his first-born.

“I gotta come up with something before-“ his voice was cut off by the door suddenly opening and a commotion coming in. There were three voices happily chattering something and I could recognise the guys from that. With terror I met Wooyoung’s eyes the moment we registered Seonghwa as one of the voices. Before any of us could even move a muscle, the three men walked into the room and promptly froze in their tracks.

“Holy shit!” It was San who shouted that, but we were focused on the cacophony of emotion going through Seonghwa’s face seconds before he cried out “MY COUCH!!” on the top of his lungs. There was genuine anguish and betrayal in his voice before his eyes redirected from the stain to us with pure fury.

“Okay! Time to take a shower!” Wooyoung shouted and pulled me up, but ended up supporting my entire body when my knees buckled and I was balancing on shaking legs like a new-born fawn. From this angle I could see the pure amusement and approval on San’s face right next to the disgusted traumatised Yeosang. I blushed furiously and let Wooyoung drag me off to a bathroom, where he sat me gently on the toilet.

“I’m going back out,” he whispered with determination as if he was about to walk into a battlefield, leaving his wounded comrade in the safety, knowing there was only death outside. I snickered at him and he theatrically waved at me from the door, before walking out and shutting it behind him.

I could still fairly clearly hear everything go down though, especially when only moments later Yeosang popped in to give me my clothes and stuff I left on the table and didn’t close the door fully after him. My phone was vibrating like crazy, which could only mean San was already blessing the group chat with all the piping hot tea. I unlocked it and clicked on the notifs.

Mountain man: lolol woo and y/n fucked on the couch and completely ruined it

Princess: ew fuck you wooyoung

Muscle baby: i’ll never fucking use the living room again

Brat: 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️

The situation unfolding in chat was interrupted by the scene that was going on in the living room in the real time.

“Calm down, I’ll think of something,” Wooyoung’s voice carried through, trying to console Hwa only to be followed by another shriek of “BUT MY COUCH!!”.

“Wow Wooyoung, I really thought better of you,” Sannie teased, adding oil to fire and I could clearly hear his laughs. No signs of Yeosang, but he was probably just standing there watching it all go down.

“I spent months picking it out!” the level of hysteria was steadily rising in Hwa’s voice and I really slowly started fearing for Woo’s life. “I’m gonna have it dry cleaned or something,” the said man offered only to be met with more shrieking.

“You better fucking throw that thing out, there’s no way I’m sitting on it after this,” San added very unhelpfully to the conversation, “especially since I saw the state of it.” There was a beat of silence during which I imagined Wooyoung was throwing daggers at San with his gaze for stirring more shit into it.

“I’ll buy a new one,” was his final plea and while it was met with some more grumbling and fake-crying, I could hear the situation calming down.

Captain: what the fuck is happening there when i’m not home

Mountain man: fornication

Demon angel: disgusting

M o t h e r: MY COUCH

M o t h e r: my amazing couch in the perfect shade of blue that i was looking for

M o t h e r: DEAD AND DEFILED

Puppy: i’ll help you look for a new one, hyung

Mountain man: wooyoung already agreed to buy a new one since he was the cause of the *suspiciously* large stain

Captain: no details

Captain: never any details

Captain: first rule of fight club

xoxo from hell: 🤔🤔

xoxo from hell: i think

Princess: oooh she breaks her silence

xoxo from hell: that a certain man here in this chat should rather shut up considering last week i walked in on him fucking a girl on the kitchen table

Brat: oop-

Mountain man: Y/N

Mountain man: NO

Demon angel: 🤮

Muscle baby: RIGHT WHERE WE EAT???!!!

Puppy: eat pussy apparently

Princess: nice

Captain: don’t encourage him

“MY KITCHEN TABLE?!” Seonghwa’s scream sounded through the flat just as Wooyoung slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him with a wide grin. Distantly I could hear San’s pleading and general chaos as Hwa no doubt started raining fury upon him.

“Nice save,” Wooyoung smirked at me and started ridding us of clothes so we could finally take the shower we both desperately needed. The feeling of the hot water hitting my spent and pleasantly aching body relaxed me and I sighed with content. I was basically ready to melt into a puddle right there, sleep slowly rearing its head back up, so I just went with the motion and let Woo soap us both up and rinse us, I let him dry me and put a fresh tee on me that I didn’t even notice he brought with him. I was just watching him with eyes half closed and a doped out smile on my face.

“You’re so cute like this,” Woo muttered as he led me through the hall to his room, amusement and fondness filling his voice with uncharacteristic gentle sweetness. Upon entering his room I immediately beelined for the bed and burrowed myself between the blankets and pillows. Woo rummaged around in his closet for a moment, but it was the only sound I could hear as the apartment suddenly fell almost eerily quiet.

“If I’m so cute now,” I finally mumbled out from underneath the cozy pile, “maybe you should fuck me more often then.” That had Wooyoung turning around to face me with a mischievous grin. “I fully intend to do that,” he said devilishly and jumped in with me. It took a bit of shuffling to get into a comfortable spooning position, but we were no strangers to cuddling each other, so it went rather smoothly.

Just as the sleep was claiming me and I felt myself getting pulled under, Woo suddenly perked up and said: “You don’t think the silence means hyung murdered San and now Yeosang’s helping him get rid of the body, right?” I snickered gently, but just swatted at him to lay back down.

“Well, he probably deserved it,” Woo muttered and snuggled in closer to me, letting the exhaustion finally lull us to sleep. And it was the most comfortable sleep I’ve had in a while, even if San potentially paid for it with his life.

Divider from the amazing @saradika-graphics 💜

A/N: hope you enjoyed yourself, don't be shy I'm always open to comments and asks!!

[nemesyaaa]

from the sea // pirate!rafe cameron x mermaid!reader

summary ; he was the too scary captain of the ship, and you were the too gorgeous mermaid of the sea. you were on his way, he was on your territory.

but mostly, you were not allowed to go on the surface alone since your mother's death because of dangerous and killer men like him. so when you unfollowed the rules of your father, you faced the consequences.

genre ; fantasy blurb. siren x captain dynamic.

warnings ; fantasy story ? possession. rafe has whip scars/and one eye. fear enthousiast. slight of violence. reader is a mermaid with tail. light gun play mentions and using. smut. gaslighting. dubcon. no shells on breasts reader. webbed fingers. lust as a sin.

author's note ; it's a 3k words. no songs inspiration for this one. i just wanted to make a fantasy au.

you were that kind of beauty that aspired to make all men go crazy over you, and it was for this reason that you had taken so many pirates adrift, to their bodies to their ships. you were beautiful and indeed the bewitching and seductive creature that legends and tales spoke of, but you were also the dangerous monster that the captains with monstrous scars on their faces and marks on skin who had survived your man-eating canines were whispering about in the back of a tavern to overly curious and drunk sailors.

you were the wife of all the gods but above all, those who defended their oceans. but only since your mother's death, your father firmly forbade you from going to the surface, either alone or accompanied. you were forbidden by the all-powerful sovereign of the seas. and his law was indisputable because he was the king and the monarchy. one day as his daughter, you will also be the head of the kingdom, and hold the power as him, even if you're not interested in it.

but like all girls your age, you had trouble listening to your father. no, you had this innocent and blind thirst to chase men. and, you had never had an incident before, so what could stop you ? you only had to slip into the clear waves, and let your magical and fairy body disappear through the eddies of the water which made your flowing silhouette as fast and shiny as a shooting star. the feeling of diving into the soft waves that play hide and seek with your sparkling and enchanted tail while the water gently embraced your mermaid skin was always the best.

you were the only dazzling thing of the perfect blue. the sweet and salty waves kissing your nakedness and long mermaid tail illuminated with colorful reflections ran alongside the rest of your bared chest in the flapping of a fin. you looked nothing like a fish that fishermen wanted to eat, but you looked like an underwater creature that captains wanted to capture.

one stormy evening, you decided it was time to go to the surface. you needed to break the rules to survive. with all the youth and rebellion of your free will, you had left the abyssal depths to face the dangerous world.

the sea was raging, and the waves were decidedly uncontrollable and violent. the shadow of a boat disturbed by the marshy assault of the storm on the waves wavered from one end to the other. that meant you were going to be able to have fun. you could also hear from here the agitation of the crew, the fear and the tension building. you easily spotted the captain because he was much taller and broader, the one who didn't frown a single eyebrow, and who remained calm as if it was the storm that should be feared. his voice shouted orders that you couldn't hear because of the raging sounds of the hard weather. he had a parrot on his right shoulder, and bangs stuck to the sweat of his forehead lightly sweeping his face. he looked delicious, you licked your bottom lip, flicking your mermaid tail to move.

you barely lifted your head out of the water in a crashing entry, emerging from the water by sending your hair flying back, a splash of water falling noisily into the waves and attracting the attention of the sailors above of the boat.

“ captain, captain, look !! there’s a siren ! ” said a sailor who pointed a finger toward you.

“ she's gorgeous ! ” replied another.

“ those tits…”

“ stop being horny, that creature can kill you. i don't pay all of you to do all the work so everybody on the ship move his fucking ass before i throw you all on that storm. am i clear ? and if i don't hear a yes right now, i will let that siren eat every single piece of yours. . ” warned the captain with a deep and somber tone.

“ captain yes, yes captain. ” echoed all the sailor voices.

“ man, you can't say that when you have a fucking boner while looking at her. ” commented a sailor.

“ shut your mouth, barry. it's not her at all. ”

“ do you think i'm dumb to think it's one of the men on the ship ? come on, you can lie with that mouth but that hard dick in your pants betrays you. don’t worry, nobody is immune to tits, especially when they're wet as a fucking pussy.”

“ mind your business. ”

“ as you want, captain. ”

a smile appeared on your soppy lips, as you disappeared again into the tormented waves. you had surrounded the ship, swimming only around the boat. you loved it when everyone was fascinated by you, catching with their eyes all your flawless moves as a show.

water being your domain and your home, you took the initiative to do some twirls by immersing your entire body in the water to bring out only your tail as you leaped to the surface with some back flips and observing your audience. you stood on an icy rock, resting your webbed and manicured fingers against the stone.

“ someone is gonna fucking do his work here ? ” shouted the captain. he was actually running out of patience because of his crew being so attracted by the siren. “are you all dumb on purpose ? this is exactly what she wants, to get all of your attention, and kill you. ”

“ captain accept there is nothing you can do. that woman is too stunning. ” cutted one man, literally drooling over his huge beard, giving up his activity for you.

“ do you think she cares about you ? you're just a prey for her. but right, this is not my problem. you can leave my ship and die. ”

once comfortable on the rock, , you begin to open your mouth to sing a sweet song that would bring them as well as this storm to their doom. your voice was just a trap to lure men.

you had no shells on your breasts as the tales loved to tell. actually, you were completely naked from the top, water running down your chest to your mermaid glowing tail. your skin was still cold and damp, like your eyes. but it shone through the moon, and the white pearls on your body lit up every inch of your flesh like stars. you were of a beauty that had thrown more than one sailor into the water. you were in the image of no god, no man, no woman, you were the angel of the sea. you had a throne in every wave, a kingdom wherever you swam.

your hair fell deliberately on your shoulders, and your angelic voice currently pierced all the foam. the storm was raging, and you appeared as their savior, a halo of light projecting above you to cover your superb figure. you were beautiful and unrealistic like a work of art.

when you weren't expecting it, one of the men you had guessed to be the captain had lowered a boat. he was certainly tall and imposing, a long coat covering his entire frame, and immense leather boots with roughly tied laces on his feets as he approached you. he had a pistol stuck in his glistening and leathery belt, and above all an eye patch over his face. you took a look at the cross scar hidden in his shirt of which you only saw the scary top of the burned mark of the probably iron.

he rowed up to you, until you felt his scent replacing the salty smell of the sea. you quickly understood that there was nothing like the other men you had managed to charm. not unlike the others, this man seemed to be able to corrupt anyone, men and women, humans and mermaids alike.

he placed his boat near the rock to look at you more closely.

“didn’t your father warn you not to come near men like me? i’m sure he did gorgeous, i bet you’re just not smart enough to listen to him. ”

you backed away but he put his gun on the tip of your tail to stand you still, making you shake. “y’know what that means? I’m in charge here. ”

“let me go!” you responded, waving your tail limply, but he pushed his finger against the trigger of his gun to scare you.

"you'll leave when i decide. so stand still because from now, all your rules are made by me. ”

“you should fear my father, he will kill you.” you replied.

he laughed in a mocking tone, and moved closer to you with a smirk. “you could kill me too though, couldn’t you mermaid ? but look at you, shaking like prey ready to die by my hand.”

“are you going to kill me?”

“ is this a question or a wish ? or maybe a dirty mermaid fantasy ? ”

“i don’t want to die.”

“If that pretty mouth can sing like it does then it can beg too, don’t you think? If you want me to spare you, you’re gonna have to be a bit more convincing.”

he lowered his gaze towards your glossy and watery body, his weapon buried in the flesh of your stomach, before slightly moving up to your breasts, your nipples arching against the gun. you shivered at the contact of the metal against your skin.

he slid the gun up to your throat, pushing the barrel against your vocal cords. you coughed, and placed a hand around his.

he had sworn "oh fuck...legends don't tell all the things siren can do to a man…"

your webbed fingers, surrounded by tiny fins, had found their effect on him. you looked so sweet and innocent, but you were a creature who knew how to be machiavellian so he had to keep an eye on you.

“you don’t want to die?” he asked, repeating your words.

rafe was not a man of morals, he made fun of laws and conventions. and above all, why would he deprive himself when a beautiful mermaid was willing to do whatever he wanted just to be spared.

you were desperate, and frighteningly attractive. rafe would be lying if he said it didn't stimulate him. his cock was clearly hard and painfully stretched against the leather of his pants, forming a bulge just below his belt. and it was starting to be so uncomfortable. he only wanted one thing, it was to fill your soppy mouth surrounded by divine dripping lips until he felt your throat tighten around his dick, because his girth prevented the air from passing into your cavity.

oh yes rafe cameron was cruel. he wanted you to die, but in a completely different way.

and what he wanted, he got. he was a captain admired and respected by all and who had a high reputation both on the seas and on land. he was rich and miserly. he had as much money as he had girls.

he pulled down his pants, freeing his thick length to reveal it before your eyes. you'd be lying if you said you'd seen one before. It was the first time you saw something that big, it was terrifying. you didn't even know what this sailor wanted you to do with it so you looked at him with curious and desperate eyes.

oh that innocence burning in your gaze had shot a charge through rafe's body and his cock had twitched, letting precum drop on your face and the blood inside him completely heated.

"open your mouth...yes, like that. show me your tongue, i'll help you, gonna tell you how to do it.”

he had thrust himself into your mouth before giving you instructions, telling you how to make him feel good, while his dick found a way to your throat. you were even wetter inside than a real woman and it felt perfect and insane. you started to suck him, your lips vibrating around his throbbing girth that stuffed you real quick.his tip was slightly salty from the precum dripping from it that you had swallowed, making the ship captain above you groan.

pushed by his grunts and his tight grip through your hair, you pumped him faster because you were starting to understand how it worked. he never tired of your lips that foamed, and fully encircling his cock which as you licked got bigger and bigger, your naked tummy spiraling as the growing feeling.

with one hand, he had plunged himself completely into you, your head completely trapped between his firm fingers, and your nose buried in his pelvis. you gagged on him, a spurt of drool coming out of your mouth when he pulled out, as you gurgled strongly . your saliva hung from his glistening tip down the length of his hardened dick, all the way to his heavy balls.

he re-positioned himself inside you, his massive dick now dripping inside your soaked mouth as you continued to suck and lick with the fear knotting in your stomach of being killed. but you could feel that his body was relaxed, his muscles were loose, and you could hear every deep sound of pleasure coming from his lips.

he was both fascinated and over the moon, because your wetted tongue twirling around his hot cock was perfect. oh if he could have fucked you, he would have. he couldn't help but fantasize about how he would have fucked you on this rock, his large hands on your tits caged them like bra and pressing them against his thick fingers that would easily crushed them.

he also loved how your throat was so capricious, clenching around him while your tongue hungrily brushed his entire growing bulge. the feeling was intense, and you could hear his breaths become harsh.

that's what he liked about corruption, you were too good for him, a creature blessed by all the gods who had nothing to do with a mortal as rich as him, because you were too divine , too wonderful but at that moment, you were in the same rank. you were at his mercy.

you placed your wet hands on his hips, leaving trails of water on his body and impressive marks of whip that left scars on his skin. rafe could have sworn it was the gentlest touch in the world. the tiny fins around your fingers, tracing the straight line of his waist, down to his firm ass as you sucked him to death, drove him so crazy with your long soaked tongue that made him gasp.

and even if he was not a believer, he was convinced that heaven could not be so wonderful.

a few minutes later, his dick had convulsed around your mouth, and you felt large hot streams filling your throat down to your tummy. you swallowed, and he smiled before stroking your hair gently.

“ good job, little mermaid. don’t you deserve a reward for that ?”

you didn’t really know what that meant but you nodded.

he had taken a long pearl necklace from his pocket. “turn around. let me help you. ”

and you complied. he had hung the expensive and luxurious jewel around your neck, the length of which was so long that he had to make several turns until a hundred white pearls covered the entirety of your bust, dangling around your handsome tits.

“do you know what that means?”

you moved your head to say no, and he responded. “that now you belong to me. you’re my prized possession. you need to understand that now you can't leave. without me. ”

he had found a treasure and he was going to keep it. after all, he was a pirate, he stole everything the ocean had. and sirens were not an exception to the rules.

“i want to see my father.”

“mermaid, you are mine, and mine only.” he responded while caressing your soppy cheek. “ you don't need your dad anymore, just me. ”

you lifted your gaze to meet the most beautiful blue eyes you ever met. he was handsome as the devil, and you couldn’t deny it. but you were a mermaid, you belonged to the ocean, not to a man.

you tried to run away but he stopped you by placing his leather boot on your mermaid tail with a smirk, before leaning forward to grab you by the throat, your upper body was arched, his biceps caged your vocal cords tightly, his thick fingers pushed further in your mouth to forced you to behave, your drool dripping over your hanged jaw.

“what did I tell you about making silly moves, huh? behave, unless you want to die. you know what’ll happen if you act up? what you did earlier, with that pretty mouth, we’re gonna do it again. except this time instead of my cock, it’ll be my gun and if you stop, I shoot. And I know you don’t want that, right?”

" no…”

“ yea ? better to be alive. ”

you nodded. because it was true.

"now i have my men waiting for me. but don't worry, you're coming with me.”

“ that's a kidnapping — ”

“ do you think i care ? because listen to me, i don't fucking care. do you know what it means ? that you can pout, cry, scream, whatever tantrum you want to shout, it will not change anything. ”

you shivered when his hands stroked your shoulders, the icy metal of his silver rings brushing your skin. “ don't you want to be cherished ? see that world ? look up, because it can be yours. ”

“ you're not afraid that i can eat you ? ”

“ didn't you see my scars ? i fear nothing, even if you dig those canines in my skin, you will be the only one to be scared of what i can do to you. because babe, be mean to me, i dare you to, and i will be meaner. ”

“ where are your scars coming from, they're huge. and it's not sirens. ”

“oh, it’s a horrible story for a little mermaid like you. stick to your fairytales. so are you gonna come with me willingly or do we have to do things the hard way?”

“ sound like a trap. ”

“ sound like you're smart. ” he mocked.

“ i'm gonna follow you. but don't be too happy, my dad will find you before sunrise. so you're soon a dead man. ”

“ such a mean baby, already wishing that i'm dead. but careful, don't make me correct that mouth myself. it's not the kind of thing you will like. ”

“ because there is a good thing you can do with my mouth ? ” you were curious.

you turned your gaze toward him, and he lifted a brow, not believing your words. “ mermaid, you never kissed a man ? ”

“ show me what kissing is. ”

“ Why would I kiss the mouth that curses me ? ”

“ Should i ask those men on the ship? ”

because of his possessive side, categorically refusing to share you with his crew full of grotesque men, he had leaned down to grab your jaw and press his lips against yours.the feeling was so strange, but your mermaid tail was waving on the cold stone. “seems like you enjoy being kissed. ” he said, as his tongue swirled with yours. “ want to be kissed endlessly ? yea ? then don't make me repeat myself and move that fucking tail to the ship. ”

[viaviavie]

SEEKING DREAMLIGHT | INTERLUDE 1

in which you return to twisted wonderland. welcome back home to the ramshackle dorm, or at least, what became of it in your absence. it certainly welcomes you back. the ghosts have never forgotten that young student that took so much care of this place. its current inhabitants swear you are one of those ghosts, and you are in a way. do not fret alice, wonderland has not truly forgotten you.

SUMMARY: based on disney’s dreamlight valley. years after the ramshackle prefect had left twisted wonderland, former students suddenly find themselves back in night raven college with missing memories and dreams of a magicless student they were supposed to know. an older prefect finally makes a return to a shell of the fantasy you once lived, falling in love once more with what was forgotten.

FEATURING: skully j. graves, ace trappola, deuce spade

NOTES: there actually wasn't going to be an interlude, but if i added heartlsabyul onto here, the pacing doesn't taste well.

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The very moment your feet takes a step outside the Room of Mirrors, this twisted world threatens to steal your breath for good. Heavy as Grim was, nothing could ever compared to how low your heart sank as you see nothing but thorns upon thorns. Much to your relief, it was nothing like shadows that a certain horned housewarden casted over the island. This was something different.

There was no overlooking sense of death this time. Rather, there is only melancholy and emptiness, akin to the exploration of a lost ruin. Vines had overgrown past the concrete and construction, almost swallowing every building hole in its wake. As you walk past the stone pathway, you could only hold your breath as you glance at the Great Seven.

Once polished and prim, now obscured with moss and rust.

Still, you carry on as the direbeast purrs against your neck. It almost astounds you how calm Grim has become. Memories of that hotheaded cat-like beast still runs fresh through your mind, and this is that very same beast on your shoulders. You wonder if he carries the same longing and sadness as you. Grim is a bigger now, more beast-like than feline if anything. Even so, he controls the fire burning from his ears, warming you lovingly as he had so long ago.

And you stare at what remains of the Ramshackle Dorm, seemingly unchanged compared to the rest of this world.

"You actually remember the way home, Henchman." Grim murmured, slitted eyes fixated on the old wooden door. It surprises you to see it untouched by any thorns. The building just looks the same as it did in your faint memories, from its pathway to the creaky window of the bedroom you once lived in.

Welcome home, voices whisper and you don't miss the slight luminescent figures hiding in the chandelier.

You don't expect the door to open itself without resistance, and you don't question it. With furrowed brows, you press your cheek against the grey fur. "Dumb and Dumber, are they here?" You whisper, quietly shutting the entrance behind you. It is dark, save for the sunlight that had filtered its way in through dusty windows.

This wasn't right, you think to yourself as your hand brushes against a dusty side table. The old run-down Ramshackle Dorm, truly befitting of the name. Except, the last time you saw it, it appeared so brand new and taken care of.

You put an end to the thought, feeling a slight pang from your temples the more you forced yourself to remember.

Grim huffed, finally jumping off your shoulder and landing onto a nearby platform. "Somewhere. They're always here somewhere." You narrow your eyes as you follow the direbeast up the rickety stairway. Dumb and Dumber, who could they possibly be? You don't register the way your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, struggling to recall a memory. Once at the top of the stairs, your hand tightly grips the railing as you force yourself forward.

Grim pauses, turning around to look at you with worry. "Henchman? What's wrong?"

You don't remember a thing at all. Something was horribly wrong. You know what those two people meant to you, and yet, you cannot remember it at all. Your nails are unknowingly scraping at the wooden structure, and you crane over as fog begins to overtake your senses.

"Prefect, why?!"

A cry is torn from your throat as you felt a heavy weight knock you onto the floor. Grim scampers onto your torso, baring his teeth towards a shadow creeping up the stairs. "Henchman, get back!" He screeches, and you do not take a moment to rest when you clambered onto the balcony railing. Your eyes are trained onto the stairway as a inky blotted shadow slowly approaches.

Blue flames breath out of Grim's jaws as he growls at the abomination, and you could only stare in awe at the large flames he can spit out. You recall how small those fire orbs were in the past, but now, they can even compare to a true mage's spell.

Alas, the blot does not respond even as it takes damage. It continues to crawl, ignoring the direbeast and only moving closer and closer to you. A hand-like figure is outstretched towards you, and you swear that you can hear it screaming your name.

That was all that took to make you run. Grim is hot on your trail as you make a sprint down the hallway. It is all slowly coming back to you, these halls that you once lived in. The shadow continues to wail, but it lacks the speed to truly catch you. Floors whine and creak with each step you take, and it ceases when you reach a dead end.

All that is left to you is a rusted book resting on a table top and a vase. None of these rooms will not help you, only delay the inevitable. Grim lowers himself onto the floor, ready to pounce onto that blotted monster that had now resorted to pulling itself on the carpet.

"PREFECT."

You choke back a scream of your own as your hand impulsively latched onto the book, throwing it onto the blot to no avail. The book only phases through the monster, and your back is now pressed against the corner. Grim yells at you, but you cannot register his words anymore. Instead, your breath is held in your chest as you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to wake up from this horrid nightmare.

—but the light that glimmered behind the shadow forces your eyes open, followed by a long gloved hand smiting through the monster. It wails, melting into an unrecognizable shape until it is cut in half once more. Your knees buckle as Grim shields you, nails buried onto the rough fabric of the carpet as the blotted monster is reduced to nothing.

In its place was a man with long legs, donned in a suit that never seems to meet its end. Perhaps if he stood at full length, the tuft of his hair could barely brush against the ceiling. His head was cast down, but you don't miss that grin that seems to be missing a tooth. He breaths out a dry laugh, brushing away the inky that seems to have splattered on his dark gloved hands.

He frightens you, and he knew it.

"Oh my! Did I scare you?" The stranger smiles, eyes obscured by the round shades that he wore. Your breath is stolen away as he takes a step forward, and Grim growls so quietly that you swear he is more lion than cat. The direbeast does not deter the long-legged man who had stretched out his hand for you to take.

Maybe it was the haze of exhaustion that suddenly took over you, or your poor judgement, but you find yourself lacing your digits onto his own, dragging your body up. The stranger grins, looking down on you as he bows slightly, pressing your knuckles against his cold chapped lips.

"Who are you?"

And the man's grin falters for a moment, only to be replaced by a content smile. He scares you, but you do not fear him.

"Skully J. Graves," He purrs, pressing his cheek against the warmth of your hand. "How I missed you, my dear."

Skully follows you like your own shadow, except he makes your true shadow appear taller than it should. You do not question his sudden attachment, nor do you address the slight discomfort you feel when he hovers over you as a lamp would while you read.

Grim is suspicious, and he had every right to be when the fellow claims to have met you in a distant past. It doesn't raise a flag for you, however, considering that you can't even recall the faces of those you promised to remember. Skully was the one who saved your life as well, and he didn't seem to have any ill intent at all.

You halt your steps as your eyes are trained onto a familiar door. You remember now as the flickers of a smaller direbeast rampaging through that door replays itself in your mind.

You do not recall ice encasing the doorknob which had been obscured with thorns. Barely brushing your fingertips over the cold substance, you hiss at the sensation.

"Can you melt the ice, Grim?" You ask, only to be replied with an upset whine. "No can do, Henchman. This doesn't look like ordinary ice." Grim's tail curls itself around your leg, tilting his nose up at the frozen doorknob. It drips, trailing from crystalline ice down into an inky puddle. "It's melting ink!" The direbeast hissed, and you shift slightly as the taller man crouched down.

Skully hummed, eyeing the obstacle with piqued curiosity. "How peculiar. The ice is infused with some sort of magic." He muttered, tilting his glasses down so his amber eyes lock onto your worried gaze. He takes a gloved hand to dip at the puddle of blot, much like a child would. "I suppose you will need someone who specializes in fire spells."

You sigh, rubbing the back of your neck. You can't imagine that Grim could melt it, and if Skully knew how to, he would have certainly done it by now. "We can come back to this later. I'm sure we can figure this out, somehow." You tell them, crossing your arms. A hand trails over your chin, and you knit your eyebrows in frustration. "But who did this?" The possibility of another person in this world is not lost to you, but the motive is clouded with mystery.

The tall man shrugged, a smile dancing across his dry lips. "I'd imagine someone didn't want that door opened." Your body does not stiffen as he dances his finger tips onto your shoulder, leaning closely into your ear like a tempting devil. "It leaves plenty to the imagination, don't you think?" Your nose crinkles, and Skully chuckles at your plight.

"What could the perpetrator possibly be hiding? A love letter? A dangerous weapon? A body?" Lips twisting into a frown, you whip your head to the side. "Skully!" You whine, all too uncomfortable with the idea of a corpse being on the other side of the door. The skeleton-like man grins, hands in the air as if he were innocent of a crime. "So many possibilities!"

You never even noticed that Grim had long departed from your side, not until you hear footsteps from the first floor.

Grim's voice is echoing and bouncing off the walls. "I'm telling you, the Prefect is here!" He cried out. "Quit your yapping! I heard you the first time!" Your eyes widened, ears registering that familiar voice. You can't even realize that your lips had suddenly curled up into a strained smile, flooded by a hazy memory of mischief. "Grim..." Blue. That voice is blue, and it sounds like clumsy yet gentle hands.

Your legs carry you to the stairway, and

"—tried using every key I could find. Even tried to pick the lock, but it wouldn't budge." Grim yowls in frustration, followed by another man's sigh. "We can try again later."

"Are you not listening to me?!"

You barely catch a glimpse of red hair, and there are two men at the bottom of the stairs. Seeing the standard Night Raven College Uniform seems so uncanny on them, not when their faces had long outgrown their youth. You know them now, and your heart finally stills.

The redhead runs a frustrated hand through his hair, turning around as the direbeast cries for attention. "Grim, look. We'll check the Prefect thing out after a nap, so calm do—" Finally, he sees you at the top of the stairs, along with your wide-eyed expression that had long wormed its way into his heart so long ago.

He looks upon you as if you came from a distant dream.

"Ace," It is your uncertain voice that catches his companion's attention. Quickly now, the dark haired man looks upwards and gasps. That dumbfounded look of his only served to coax a nervous yet warm laugh from you. "Deuce." You whisper, a hand creeping up to your mouth to conceal the way you threaten to cry on the spot.

You remember now—

"Prefect." Ace breathes out, unwilling to believe it is a ghost that called out his name.

"Prefect!" Deuce cried, relief evident in his voice as he rushes up the stairs with reckless steps.

—and so do they.

Unbeknownst to you, the key glows softly within your pocket.

TAGLIST: @jjsmeowthie @deviious @hellfirestarter @thatpersonuouknow @knorreine @nerenda @goths4gambit @ghostlysyntaxed @minkyungseokie @daeda21 @red1sg0n3 @hatsumekannazuki @driftaway27 @alienlatteinspace @michtellch @loyalkatniss

[w4ndal0ver]

Members Only (Agatha x Reader) [Part 1]

[minors don't interact, 18+]

pairing: milf!tennis!agatha x student!lifeguard!reader

summary: When Agatha notices you've been watching her play tennis every day from your lifeguarding chair, she offers you tennis lessons, an offer which you can't refuse.

content warnings: nothing yet, just build up

word count: 4000

I also know nothing about tennis, I had no idea where this idea came from (I do, its the thought of Milf Agatha in a tennis skirt)

Members Only (Agatha x Reader) [Part 1]

The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting golden hues over the country club pool, the warm rays slipping through the trees and shimmering against the water as the few swimmers created ripples as they completed lengths of the pool. From your perch high on the lifeguard chair, you had a view of the entire pool, including the sunbathers basking in the glow. This job was always slightly more interesting when there were children to actually look out for, but at this time of morning no one brought them along. You’d only been a lifeguard at The Westview Country Club for two weeks, wanting to be able to save up some money while you were back from college for the summer. While it could be pretty boring, there were definitely some perks to the job.

From your chair you could just about see the tennis courts in the distance, something that you’d realised was way more interesting than watching the same few people swim up and down the length of the pool. The sounds of the ball ricocheting off rackets and the sharp, breathless calls of the players drifted across the air. You squinted into the sunlight and as you expected, Agatha was there in the same tiny tennis skirt that she always wore, the outfit that drove you up the wall. She was alone today, playing against another club member - a man who, despite his best efforts, couldn’t seem to keep up. You felt a familiar stir of admiration as you watched Agatha’s powerful, fluid movements, her every strike and pivot executed with a grace that made your thighs subconsciously squeeze together. 

Her white tennis skirt fluttered with each swing, her toned legs flexing in rhythm with the force of her game. Her sweat-dappled skin caught the sunlight in a way that made her glow, every movement commanding attention. You couldn’t help but notice how well she fit into this world, this world of country clubs, exclusive memberships, and pristine courts. She belonged here, she usually sauntered confidently throughout the grounds, and you couldn’t help but keep your eyes trained on her. 

You’d always admired Agatha. She’d been your Mother’s best friend for as long as you could remember - always around during family gatherings, always kind but so incredibly elegant, with that same playful smirk that she wore now, even on the tennis court. But over the years, something had shifted. The innocent crush you’d once harbored as a teenager had slowly morphed into something far more consuming, something that you couldn’t ignore. 

And now, with every day you spent lifeguarding at the pool, watching her from afar, that longing had blossomed into a full-fledged fantasy. You’d caught yourself more than once, eyes lingering on her as she walked past the lifeguard station in her tennis gear, or when she’d casually from by the poolside, always making the time to check up on you, and every time she did your cheeks flushed scarlet to the point that you think Agatha must be playing on your reactions now. 

As Agatha’s match came to an end, the string of tense, rapid exchanges turning into a graceful final point, you shifted in your chair, your gaze still locked on her. She took a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Her brunette hair, usually so perfectly styled, was now tousled from the intensity of the game. But there was something about the way she looked, disheveled yet composed, that only made your own heart quicken at a pace that was yet unreached. She tossed her tennis racket into her bag, and you knew she was heading your way before she even looked up. 

It had been like this every day since the start of summer, you would watch her finish her early morning game and you’d sit back in your chair pretending that you’d not been watching her, brushing your own wisps of hair that had fallen from your updo back.

Agatha’s steps were slow but deliberate as she approached the poolside, her eyes flicking upward to meet yours, her hips swaying in that tiny skirt that you couldn’t help but glance at. A playful smile tugged at the corner of her lips, one you knew too well. It was the same smile she’d worn when she’d tease you as a kid. 

“Busy up there?” She asked, her voice light and teasing, like she already knew the answer. She tilted her head back slightly, looking up at you as if she was taking her time to study you. Her gaze lingered on you in a way that made the corners of your lips twitch and the look she gave you made you understand that she found something amusing in the way you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. 

You swallowed hard, caught off guard by the sudden attention, and forced a smile. “Oh you know, the usual,” You said, trying to sound casual, but failing miserably, “Just keeping an eye on things.” You gestured to the calm pool, the stillness that filled the space between the two of you. 

She hummed in acknowledgement, her gaze flicking over the pool for a moment before returning to you, “Mm, must be pretty dull up there all day,” She said, her words dripping with playful mockery. “Just sitting up there, I bet you get so bored,” She raised an eyebrow, the slight curve of her mouth betraying the way she was enjoying the effect she had on you.

You fidgeted with the whistle around your neck, suddenly self-conscious, wishing you could hide behind the safety of the high chair that had always been a buffer between you and everyone else. “I don’t mind,” you mumbled, your voice coming out softer than you’d intended. “It’s peaceful, I guess.”

Agatha let out a soft laugh, the sound making your pulse spike. “Peaceful, huh?” she said, her tone laced with amusement. “Seems like the kind of thing someone would say when they’re just waiting for something to happen. But then again,” she paused, eyeing you up and down, “maybe you don’t mind the stillness. You get to watch everything, don’t you?” Her voice dipped a little lower at the end, as if the words were meant only for you.

You swallowed, the heat creeping into your cheeks once more. You were certain that Agatha knew exactly what she was doing - playing this game with you, reading your reactions like an open book. The way she lingered, just close enough for you to smell the faint scent of her sweat mixed with her perfume, it was all just too much. 

“Anyway,” She continued, stepping back just a little, her hands resting on her hips as she glanced at the tennis courts in the distance, “Your mum was supposed to meet me this evening for a play around, but she cancelled on me.” Agatha explained, “So what do you say? Care to take a break from watching me play all day and actually play against me instead?” 

You heart skipped, you, on the court with Agatha. It felt like a fantasy, something completely out of your reach. You opened your mouth to protest the idea, knowing that being opposite her in that outfit would be way too much for you to handle, but the words get caught in your throat. “I don’t think so,” You say quickly, almost apologetically, “I’ve never played tennis before, not really.” 

A smirk tugged at her lips, “Oh you’ve never played?” Her tone was almost too sweet, as if the idea of teaching you was the plan all along, “Well that’s a shame, but I suppose I could teach you if you wanted.” Her eyes flicked back to you, her mouth dragging the words out, drawing attention to each one, as if she was savoring the thought of showing you something new.

You swallowed again, your mouth dry. “I’m not sure I’d be any good at it”

“I’ll go easy on you. But you have to promise me that you’ll come play. It’ll be fun I promise.” Her eyes twinkled with something dangerous and exciting, and you couldn't help but feel like you were on the verge of something you had no control over. 

You hesitated for a moment, your thoughts swirling with uncertainty and the sudden thrill of her offer. Finally, you nodded, your voice small but firm. “Fine, I’ll be there.” 

Agatha’s smile deepened, and she straightened up, letting the silence hang between you for a moment longer. “Good,” she said softly. “I’ll be waiting.”

And with that, she turned and started walking toward the courts, her hips swaying effortlessly with each step, her tennis skirt fluttering in the light breeze. You watched her go, your pulse still racing, and realized you might’ve just made a promise you weren’t quite ready to keep.

The rest of the day felt like a blur. Agatha had disappeared into the club’s main building not long after her invitation, leaving you to sit in the high lifeguard chair, mind spinning. The sound of her voice, her teasing smile, the way her body moved when she turned to walk away, every detail replayed in your mind over and over. You couldn’t stop thinking about the offer she’d made, the warmth in her eyes when she’d mentioned teaching you tennis.

It was ridiculous, right? You, playing tennis with Agatha. You didn’t even know the first thing about tennis. But something about the way she had said it made it seem almost inevitable, like she knew you'd come around. Her words lingered in the air, vibrating against your skin, making it feel like everything else had faded into the background. The only thing that mattered was her, and the way she made you feel.

You tried to focus on the pool, the few swimmers in the water now lazily stretching out their laps. But the thought of Agatha, flushed from her match, walking away with that knowing smirk made it impossible to concentrate. How had she done it? How had she managed to turn your entire world upside down with a few words, a couple of steps, and that teasing look? You’d never been so unsettled in your life.

Finally, your shift ended. You had a brief moment of respite before you had to face the inevitable. The thought of changing and heading over to the tennis courts made your stomach twist with nerves. You grabbed your bag and headed to the locker room. The sounds of muffled conversations and the hum of the air conditioning made you feel oddly detached as you changed into the only clothes you had brought with you—a pair of shorts and a baggy top that barely fit over your damp swimsuit. You knew you probably looked ridiculous, but there was no turning back now.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you were nervous. Terribly nervous. Your fingers fumbled with the hem of your shirt as you glanced at yourself in the mirror. It wasn’t exactly tennis attire, and you could already picture Agatha’s teasing comment about how out of place you looked, but something deep inside you urged you to go anyway. You didn’t want to disappoint her, not after everything she’d said, not after that look she’d given you. Besides, you weren’t backing down now. You were going to play tennis with Agatha, even if you had no clue how to.

You took a deep breath, grabbed your water bottle, and made your way out the locker room door and towards the courts.

When you got to the tennis courts, there was no sign of Agatha yet. You stood awkwardly by the fence, clutching your water bottle, feeling every inch the outsider in your mismatched outfit. You could hear the faint thwack of tennis balls being hit in the distance, and when you rounded the corner, there she was, standing at the edge of the court, pulling a ball from her bag, her tennis skirt fluttering gently in the breeze.

The sight of her made your heart skip a beat. She looked even more effortlessly stunning up close, her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail that framed her face perfectly, her posture confident as she adjusted the strings on her racket.

You swallowed hard, your stomach doing flips as she turned toward you, catching sight of you standing there.

“Well, well,” Agatha said, her eyes scanning you briefly, her lips curling into a smile. “You actually came.” There was a twinkle in her eyes, the same playful glint that always seemed to be there whenever she looked at you. “Not bad, considering this,” she motioned to your outfit, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “But I suppose it’ll do for now.”

You flushed but didn’t say anything, suddenly feeling very self-conscious as she walked over to you, tennis racket in hand.

“Ready to learn?” Agatha asked, her voice low and teasing, almost like a dare. You nodded, trying to keep your cool, but your mind was racing. There was something about the way she looked at you that made everything feel so much more intense.

“Let’s start with the basics.” She placed her hand lightly on your shoulder to guide you to the other side of the court, her fingers lingering just a moment too long. The touch sent a jolt through you that made your skin tingle. You barely managed to steady yourself as she positioned you correctly, stepping close enough that her breath brushed your ear.

Her hands hovered over your arms, adjusting your grip on the racket, her fingers brushing the skin of your wrist just a little longer than necessary. You couldn’t help but notice how warm her touch was, how the slight pressure of her hands on your body sent waves of heat through your chest. Her fingers slid down your arm, adjusting your posture just a little more. It felt almost like an intimate dance, the closeness making everything else fade into the background.

“You’ll need to get the ball over the net first,” Agatha said, her voice smooth and steady, but with that same teasing edge. “You don’t want to hit it into the net, or you’ll look like a real amateur.”

Her eyes locked with yours as she handed you the tennis ball. You could feel the weight of her gaze, the subtle pressure it created in the air between you. “Ready?” she asked softly, her lips curling at the edges.

You nodded, your throat dry. You tossed the ball in the air, trying to focus on her instructions, but when you swung your racket, it went completely off-target. You missed by a mile.

Agatha let out a soft laugh, and you felt your face flush. “Not quite,” she said, stepping closer, her body warm and solid beside yours as she moved behind you. “You need to angle your racket like this" Her breath was warm against your neck as her hands came to rest on your waist, guiding you into position. Her fingers lingered just a moment longer than necessary on your skin, and you stiffened, your heart pounding.

Her body was so close now, and the pressure of her hands on you made everything feel different. Intimate. You could feel her chest lightly brushing against your back, the heat of her body so palpable you felt like you were drowning in it.

“That’s better,” Agatha said, her voice low, her breath sending a shiver down your spine. “But now, you need to follow through with your arms.” She stepped even closer, if that was even possible, her body practically flush against yours. You could feel every inch of her as she moved, the soft fabric of her skirt brushing against your legs. Her hands moved from your waist to your hips, positioning you perfectly. “Let me show you,” she whispered, her voice like a velvet caress.

She placed her hands on the sides of your hips, guiding you as she demonstrated the motion, her body pressing into yours as she bent over your shoulder, her fingers brushing against your skin, lingering for just a second too long before she pulled back. You could feel the heat radiating from her, her closeness sending an electric current through you.

You couldn’t concentrate on the tennis lesson at all anymore. Every touch, every movement she made, was burning itself into your memory, making it impossible to focus on anything else but her. The way her hands lingered on you, the soft teasing in her voice—it was too much. You tried to clear your mind, but it felt like the air itself was thick with unspoken tension, with everything left unsaid between the two of you.

"Ready to try again sweetheart?" Agatha asked, pulling back just enough to give you space but still staying close enough that her presence was overwhelming. Her gaze never left yours as she handed you the ball again, her smile slow and suggestive.

“Alright,” you murmured, trying to push past the haze of nerves and desire swirling in your chest. “I’m ready.”

Agatha’s smile softened, that same teasing glint still in her eyes, but there was something else there now, something more intense. She took a step back, just enough to give you some space to swing the racket, but not far enough to lose that magnetic pull between you. “Good,” she said, her voice smooth, but with an edge that sent a thrill down your spine. “Now, show me what you’ve got honey.”

You tossed the ball into the air, trying to focus on the instructions she’d given you, but the whole world seemed to narrow down to just her, the scent of her perfume mixing with the fresh air, the soft rustle of her skirt as she moved. You swung the racket again, this time making contact, but the ball barely skimmed the top of the net and fell to the ground with a soft thud.

Agatha’s soft laugh rang out, and your face flushed. You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed, even though you knew she was just being playful. She took a few steps toward you, her heels clicking against the court, her eyes glinting with amusement.

“You’ve got a nice swing,” she said, her voice low and teasing. “But you’re not quite putting enough into it. Here let me help.”

Before you could protest, she was behind you again, her presence overwhelming as her hands moved to adjust your stance. She placed her hands on your hips, guiding you into position, her fingers grazing against your skin, sending a shockwave through your body. The closeness, the heat of her touch, made it nearly impossible to think straight. You could feel the rapid beat of your heart, the warmth spreading from her hands to the rest of you, the way your body seemed to react to her presence without your permission.

Her body brushed against yours as she leaned in, just enough for you to feel the soft pressure of her chest against your back. “Relax,” she murmured, her voice soft but commanding, as her fingers lightly traced the curve of your waist. “Just let go. It’s all about feeling the motion, not forcing it.”

Her breath was warm against your ear, and the scent of her—a mix of fresh linen and something floral—invaded your senses, making your pulse spike. You were hyper-aware of every part of her, her hands lingering on your skin for just a moment longer than necessary, like she was savoring the contact. You could feel the way her fingertips barely brushed the waistband of your shorts, a touch so light, but it was enough to make your body hum with awareness.

She shifted slightly, guiding your body into the right position, her fingers dancing across your skin like she was memorizing every inch of you. Her grip tightened just a little on your waist, and you felt a sharp jolt shoot through you. “There,” she whispered, her voice like silk, sending shivers down your spine. “That’s it. Now, try again.”

Your body was on autopilot as you tossed the ball into the air once more, trying to focus on her instructions, but all you could think about was her hands on you, the way they moved with such precision and care, the way her body was pressed so close to yours. The world seemed to fade away, and all you could hear was her soft, encouraging voice and the rhythmic sound of your own breath, fast and shallow.

You swung again, and this time, the ball soared over the net, landing neatly on the other side. You couldn’t help but let out a relieved breath, a small smile tugging at your lips as you looked back at her. “I did it.”

Agatha’s smile was slow and knowing, her eyes flashing with something unreadable. “See? I told you I’d teach you,” she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re a quick learner.”

Before you could respond, she was moving again, closing the space between you with that same fluid grace that made your heart race. “You know,” she said casually, her voice light, but there was an undercurrent of something more in it, something deeper, “it’s not just about hitting the ball. Tennis is about control, about using your body, your movements, to keep things in balance.”

Her hands rested gently on your shoulders, her fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your collarbone, the sensation of her touch making your breath catch. She was so close now, her body practically flush against yours. You could feel the heat from her, the steady rhythm of her breathing as she moved behind you once more. She wasn’t just guiding you anymore. She was positioning you, shifting your hips, your shoulders, all while her hands moved with such delicate precision that it was almost impossible to focus on anything but her.

The tension between you both was undeniable now. The air was thick, heavy with the weight of her presence, her touch, and her soft, teasing words. “Don’t tense up honey,” Agatha murmured as she positioned you to swing once more. “Let the movement come naturally.”

Her hands glided down your arms, her fingers lingering on your skin, tracing the muscles in your forearm with careful attention. Her touch was slow, deliberate, each contact sending a shockwave through your body. She wasn’t just teaching you tennis anymore. She was holding you, guiding you in ways that felt far more intimate than any lesson could.

You swung again, the ball landing in bounds, and Agatha smiled, her lips curling at the edges. “You’re doing so much better sweetheart,” she said, her voice smooth, but there was something more in it now, something that made your pulse quicken.

Agatha stepped back for a moment, her eyes never leaving you as she ran a hand through her hair, fixing her ponytail. “I think you’re ready,” She said, a playful glint in her eyes, “How about I book you in for some more lessons hon?” 

“I’d like that,” You say, your voice quieter than usual. 

Agatha’s smile widened, and she stepped closer again, her body coming into your personal space with the same casual grace that made your breath hitch. “I knew you would.” Her fingers brushed over your arm once more as she retrieved her racket from the ground, and for a moment, her touch lingered. “You’re a quick learner, I like that. But we’ll need to work on your form a bit more.”

Her hands slid over your shoulder, a warm, firm pressure that left a lingering warmth in its wake. “But don’t worry,” she continued, her voice low and almost seductive, “I’ll be here to guide you every step of the way.” Agatha moved back slightly, just enough to give you space to breathe. “I’ll make sure to go easy on you for your first real lesson. Just remember, I’m a patient teacher. But I don’t take too kindly to bad form, darling.” She grinned as she swiped her racket from the ground, the smooth movement making her look effortless, almost untouchable.

You nodded, still dazed, your heart hammering in your chest. You couldn’t decide whether to collapse from the tension or leap into the next lesson with her. It wasn’t just tennis anymore. It was something else entirely, something far more thrilling and dangerous than you’d ever expected.

“You can’t get better if you don’t keep trying,” she added with a wink, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of challenge and something far deeper.

Your gaze dropped to her lips, her teasing grin still there, and you felt the pull again. This wasn’t just about tennis, and you both knew it.

Agatha was playing a game, and you were already too far in to back out now. You nodded again, feeling a rush of excitement mixed with nerves. “I’ll be ready,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

“Good,” she replied with a soft, satisfied hum. “Right I could use a drink after that, the bar’s open for another hour, you coming?” 

You nodded quickly, the words coming easily. “Yeah, sure.”

You couldn't help but smile. Yeah, you thought to yourself with a little internal smirk. I’m sure I’ll be coming real soon.

[pierregazly]

in the mind of another ꨄ max verstappen

max verstappen x fem!soulmate!reader

warnings: mentions of sexual themes (no smut), pining/yearning for another, tiny bit of angst but hea! [wc is 5.4k]

in which soulmates always have a way of building the connection with one another. for you and max, you've always been the voice instead the others head, the one thing that has always been a constant presence. but will that voice inside your head, ever be the voice you hear from in front of you?

By legal terms, a soulmate was defined as “person with whom one has a feeling of deep or natural affinity.  This may involve similarity, love, romance, platonic relationships, comfort, intimacy, sexuality, sexual activity, spirituality, compatibility and trust.” In today’s day and age, more often than not, your soulmate was that of romantic origin, a person you yearned for on a regular basis. 

It was something instilled in you at an early age, that everyone had a soulmate, but not everyone met their soulmate. Everyone had a way of interacting with their soulmate before they met. You learned early on, very early on, that you could interact with your soulmate through your mind. Through words, pictures, even internal conversations. But sometimes those interactions would lead to nothing, and your parents tried to ensure you were aware of that in the fear that you would be heartbroken one day.  

One thing you could never do was tell them your name, who you were, or where you were until it was time. It was like your mind would go elsewhere when you tried to tell the male on the other end who you were. He told you the same thing happened to him every time he tried.  

The both of you spent a plentiful amount of time interacting in your shared youth. He would often ramble on about his day, about go-karting, and his dad who he kind of hated but obviously loved, about his mum who he missed, and his sister who he couldn’t wait to see when she came to visit him wherever he was in the world. 

You would do the same, you’d tell him about the things you did that specific day, explain little things about your family, the things you looked forward to for the remainder of the week. It was something you both just got used to. 

The both of you grew up together. Even if it wasn’t physical, you were an emotional tether for one another when either of you needed it. He was there for almost all of your firsts, your first graduation, your first familial heartbreak, your first crush, your first boyfriend (which he was eager to help you through when it ended).  

Ever embarrassing to admit, he was even the one in your mind, more times than you can count, when you felt the butterflies in your tummy growing as your fingers explored different parts of your body. He always pushed you to continue, telling you exactly what he would do with his own fingers, or his own tongue; when he finally got the chance to make you feel the way you were making yourself feel. 

It was something you didn’t speak about after it happened, but it didn’t change the fact he was usually the one your brain went to when you made yourself feel that way. He argued it was the soulmate connection, that your soul just simply wanted him to be the one to do it. 

As time went on, the conversations dwindled amongst the two of you, both of you growing up and growing out of the fantasy that you would meet your soulmate one day, meet each other. 

You still got glimpses into his brain occasionally, pictures of blue and red cars, racecars are what you presumed. His fingers on what looked like a controller, but turned out to be a steering wheel when you asked him what it was. 

“Seems like a bit of an extravagant steering wheel, no?” 

The silent laugh was loud in your mind, as if you could feel his body rumbling in its laughter at your words, “Pretty extravagant, yeah. Not everyone gets to use something like this, though.” 

“Explain the steering wheel to me, there’s too many buttons and toggles,” you prompted him, knowing full well it would dive him deep into an explanation about the object you so often saw inside his head. 

That was another thing you learned about him early on. He liked to explain everything. He used to spend hours describing the go-karts he drove every weeknight and weekend, putting as much detail and emphasis into his explanations so that you would better understand. As time went on, so did his explanations, explaining situations he’s found himself in around the world, explaining how his career was kicking his ass but how he loved it, occasionally getting drunk and explaining how soulmates worked and that it was inevitable you’d meet one day, even if it felt like that day was never coming.  

Not wanting to be the one to burst his fantasy and ruin whatever hope he had, you would usually just nod along and silently hum to him when the conversation of eventually meeting one day was brought up. 

You still shared nights together, even from thousands of miles apart, your brain yearning for him as his did the same. 

There were moments in time, where you were positive you had almost met him, or perhaps had made eye contact with him. It was a small feeling inside of you, like everything you were looking for was in the same building as you, or around the corner, or even in the same city. 

Usually just as fast as the feeling appeared, it was gone. It never lasted for long periods of time, it was like your soulmate bond was teasing you, pushing for you to reinstate your faith in the connection. He always argued that if you lost faith in the soulmate bond, it would lose faith in trying to push the two of you together. 

Yet another thing you learned early on, whoever he was, arguing was in his blood. If he disagreed with you, with something you said, or with an opinion you had, he would go off into a whole explanation and argument about why he knew you were wrong, and how he knew he was right. 

It was endearing, how passionate he was about everything in his life, and seeing how his passion for everything just continued to grow as he grew up.  

Over the last 8 years, you had learned not to even attempt to communicate with him on Saturday or Sundays. He had told you that it was the busiest time of the work week for him, and that he couldn’t handle internal distractions on those days. 

You would only speak to him when he spoke to you on those days. Usually it was a fleeting ‘have a nice rest of your weekend’ or ‘I can’t wait until you’re here with me, celebrating this with me’.  

He never elaborated on the last part, and you never went out of your way to ask. Whoever he was, he was usually celebrating something on Sundays, at least that’s what you assumed from the raw happiness and elation that usually went through your connection on those days. 

You hadn’t heard from him, from your soulmate, in weeks. Which wasn’t necessarily unusual, either of you could cut off the connection for weeks at a time if things were stressful in life, or if you just needed a break from the never-ending person that was inside your head at all times. 

It didn’t mean you didn’t miss his dry sense of humour, the bluntness with which he said things to you, the never-ending arguments about the stupidest things. You would never admit any of this to him, though.  

Ignoring the yearning-feeling from inside of you, you allowed yourself to think about how things would be if you ever met the person on the other end of the connection. Would it be instant happiness? Relief? Joy? 

People always explained their own experiences to you, saying it was like love at first sight, but amplified so significantly, because it felt like your soul was complete, like everything was finally where it needed to be in life. They described it as meeting the one thing that made you whole, the one thing that made you continuously push to be your best self, to continuously push to be better at everything you did in life.  

You truly couldn’t believe what they said, not that it sounded exaggerated or silly. It was just difficult to imagine anything causing a feeling so instantaneously and intense as what they described.  

Your friends had disappeared earlier in the day, eager to try and find themselves different drivers throughout the entrances to get photos or autographs with. You really had no interest in any of it. Your soulmate had eagerly admired, and shit talked almost every single person on the grid to you, at least once or twice, so it really wasn’t worth trying to interact with any of them after that. 

Your paddock pass sat heavily on your chest, the lanyard rubbing against your neck as the bright Sun shined down upon your skin. The cheering of the Tifosi could be heard throughout the entire fan sections. The Ferrari faithful were dedicated, especially at their own Grand Prix. 

He had told you that Monza was one of the ones not to miss. That it was electric, regardless of who you drove for, even if the fans were booing your favourite driver, or your favourite team, it was a delight to drive in Monza. 

You found yourself staring at the different drivers names that were wrapped around the seating section. Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell... Max Verstappen. 

He was handsome, that you could admit. With his pretty blue eyes, and his arrogant little smirk, and his annoying obsession with having to win.  

“Oh, you think Max Verstappen has pretty blue eyes, huh?”  

A small sound erupted from your chest as you listened to the words floating through your head from the man you hadn’t heard from in weeks. 

“Look who’s alive! Thought you got lost with your little controller steering wheel.” 

Laughing at your words, “You didn’t answer my question! You think Max Verstappen has pretty eyes?” 

“I think Max Verstappen himself is pretty. Other than when he’s being an arrogant prick.” 

That feeling had been eating at you all day, again. Like your soulmate bond was trying to force you to go in a direction you weren’t understanding. It was like it was trying to tell you that he was here, that he was so close you could almost smell him, almost touch him. You had been ignoring the little jabs inside of you all day, refusing to acknowledge the fact that maybe, just maybe, the person you were yearning for so heavily, was so close. 

“My soulmate just called me an arrogant prick, without realizing she was calling me an arrogant prick.”  

The Brit in front of him guffawed, his whole body moving as he gripped his side at Max’s words, “Mate, how did that even happen?” 

Shrugging his shoulders as he looked at Lando, “Not too sure. I haven’t heard from her in a few weeks, figured she had shut the connection off for some time alone and all of a sudden, she’s thinking about how ‘Max Verstappen has such pretty blue eyes’ and then told me that I’d... or he’d be attractive all the time if he wasn’t such an arrogant prick.”  

Patting his shoulder gently, all Lando did was grin at him, “Just think, mate. At least whoever she is, she thinks you have pretty eyes and that you’re good looking when you’re not being an arrogant prick.” 

Max shoved him as he walked by, walking away in the direction of his driver's room. He had been having that feeling again, like his body was yearning for something that it couldn’t explain to him. He had tried to ask a few people about it, had asked Sebastian in the past if it was something he had experienced before meeting Hanna. Of course, Seb hadn’t been much help when one considered the fact that he and his soulmate had met in their shared childhood. 

It wasn’t something he could ask either of his parents, both admitting long ago that they weren’t destined for one another and that they had never had a connection with their true soulmates, which allowed them to willingly marry each other. Victoria had met her soulmate and now husband when they were young as well, so she would be of no help. 

He was almost embarrassed to ask Christian, or any other older person who had already met their soulmate. He was a grown man, he could literally just google it if he wanted to, but what exactly would he type in? 

What is that weird yearning feeling I get every now and then, out of the blue, in random buildings or random cities? 

Max was almost positive the answer would be ‘allergies’ or ‘hunger’. He figured that maybe it was soulmate related, it would make sense, but it wasn’t a feeling he had often. It wouldn’t make sense to only yearn so heavily for your soulmate in certain areas. 

It was always the strongest when he felt like he was truly connecting with you. He noticed it for the first time when both of you had touched yourselves to the sound of the other, egging one another on, saying exactly what the both of you know the other wanted to hear. Max couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed that time with you, how intimate it was, how much he craved to be the one making you moan and whimper. 

The feeling always grew after that, the yearning for the other person, the desire to have you there with him, the desire to have you underneath him after a night of celebration, the desire to have you wrapped in his arms, the desire to send you an unnecessary bouquet of flowers... if he could just figure out who you were, all of that would be possible.  

But the yearning today was different. It was like his body was trying to tell him he needed to go somewhere, trying to encourage him to walk down halls he didn’t usually walk down, or trying to push him in directions that made no sense.  

“You gonna tell me why you’re thinking of Max Verstappen so much today, and why you’re thinking so much about his pretty blue eyes?” 

He could feel the involuntary smile reach his lips when he heard your soft laugh. He really tried not to be someone who was smitten with a person he had never met, but he couldn’t deny that he was in love with you, likely had been since the both of you were young.  

You were the one constant in his life, the one person he could always turn to when he needed someone. You listened to all his ranting, dealt with hours upon hours of ‘Maxsplaining’, dealt with unnecessary outbursts and temper tantrums, but you never complained about it. You always eagerly pushed for him to continue, asking him more and more questions, prompting him out of his head and prompting him to get over whatever frustration had pushed him over the edge that day.  

“If you must know. I’m at the Monza Grand Prix, and I had to get away from all the Ferrari fans for a bit, pretty sure they were going to blow my ear drums. Max Verstappen’s name is everywhere, so I, of course, had to internally acknowledge his attractiveness while grimacing at his name in front of me.” 

Max felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. You were here? In Italy? At the Monza Grand Prix? The same place where he was, at this very moment, at this very second?  

He could tell you were waiting for a response from him to your words. It was like he could sense the raise of your eyebrows from the silence that emitted between your connection.  

“You’re in Monza?” He questioned eagerly, his hands sweating as he waited for a response 

“Yes sir, just about to try and force myself to go find my friends and head back to the paddock so I can avoid getting trampled by any other Ferrari fans.” 

Max knew almost instantly that, that had to be what the feeling was. The yearning. You were close by, and his side of the soulmate connection knew it.  

He had tried to tell you who he was before, had tried to explain it to you in words that the connection wouldn’t muffle or meddle with. It never worked. Any time he tried to explain to you who he was, or what he did for a living, it was like his brain malfunctioned and he had to hotwire it back on. 

You had told him the same thing happened to you every time you tried to explain to him who you were, or the easiest ways to find you in the real world. Every time either of you tried, it was like the connection was shutting it down. 

Daniel had told him it was likely the bond, telling him it wasn’t the time yet, that the both of you had to wait until the bond was steady and ready for you to finally meet in person. Max had never believed it, until right now.  

You had never been able to tell him exactly where you were before, at least, not that he can ever remember. You had told him the things you were doing in the past, had told him the people you were spending time with, even that you were getting dinner in certain districts. Any time you had tried to tell him the restaurant, or the city even, the connection would malfunction. 

But you were just mentally able to tell him where you were, you were internally able to tell him where you were going in the place that you currently were. 

“I’m... I’m in Monza too. At the Grand Prix, I mean.” 

He could almost feel the instant shock and excitement at his words. Before he or you could get the chance to say anything else, he heard GP calling for him, the annoyed expression on his face an indication that he had been looking for Max for far longer than he actually wanted to be.  

“I have to get back to work. Please, don’t leave before you hear from me again. Maybe this is a sign.” 

You could practically feel the shock coursing through your body. Both of you were here. In Monza. At the Grand Prix. At the same time, together... but not together? You tried to contain the giddiness at his words, a silent hum in acknowledgement when he told you not to leave. How could you leave? Especially now that you knew he was here? And that he was working? 

It gave you some indication as to why he was always so busy on Saturdays and Sundays, if he worked for a Formula 1 team, or for Formula 1 in itself. Their biggest days of the week were the weekends, especially during race weeks. It made sense why he could never talk on those days of the week, or why he always seemed so happy or moody on Sundays. 

You couldn’t believe that both of you were able to tell each other where the other was, that the connection finally allowed you to give that little tidbit of important information to the other. Maybe it finally was time, maybe the connection was finally allowing you to meet the one person you had been yearning for, even if you tried to convince yourself that you weren’t.  

The text message to your friends asking where they were garnered a response, which prompted you out of your train of thought. Letting them know that you were on your way to their location, your brain moved back to the previous thought your mind was on. He was here, like truly here. Within the same 10 kilometers as you. Probably the closest either of you had ever been to each other before. 

Your friends greeted you eagerly when you finally found them, excitably telling you all about the drivers they had met, how Alex Albon even recognized two of them from previous Grand Prix and how they just knew Charles Leclerc was going to win today because the Tifosi were going crazy and how could you not win with all that support screaming for you? 

Nodding along with a smile on your face, you had an inkling they were wrong. Max Verstappen was likely going to get his tenth win in a row, but you weren’t going to say that to them.  

The drivers parade went by faster than you were expecting, before you knew it, the cars and their drivers were lining up in their respective places along the grid. Your friends eagerly itching for a better view of the upcoming race. You couldn’t even put the effort in to pay attention, wondering where he was right now.  

Was he working? Was he one of the mechanics? One of the pit crew, eagerly waiting for their driver to pull into their spot? One of the engineers, hoping their instructions and their drivers did as they were supposed to? You tried not to let your mind wander to the other possibility, but it was hard not to. 

What if he was one of the drivers? One of the 20 men now pushing themselves around the track at the fastest speed their car could take them? You tried not to stay on that thought too long, but your mind seemed to wander back to it.  

It would make sense, really. Whoever he is, he had been karting since he was a boy. His father had been unnecessarily forceful with him about it, always pushing him even when he was down, telling him that champions didn’t cry and that if he wanted to win everything one day, he had to act like he wanted to.  

He always made it seem like he was on top of the world on Sundays, like everything he ever wanted had happened that day. Would a mechanic, or an engineer, or someone from the pit crew consistently have that level of elation on Sundays?  

You knew it was possible, if they were working for a winning team, or a winning driver, and that driver was making their lives as easy as possible, then you knew it was definitely a possibility. You just couldn’t shake the idea that maybe, just maybe, it was one of the drivers. 

The crowd was cheering as eagerly as they possibly could, Verstappen had overtaken Sainz three laps prior after the Spainard had led for 15 laps straight. The Tifosi were relentless though, cheering as loud as they could for their two drivers. Your friends had resigned themselves to the fact that Verstappen was getting his tenth win in a row, which was slowly coming closer and closer as the time ticked down. 

It felt like time was zooming by; the minutes on the clock trickling down as the stadium waited for that last lap to start. Sainz was battling to keep Leclerc in fourth, doing everything in his power to keep the third podium spot he had rightfully earned. 

The checkered flag waved as the Red Bull car of Max Verstappen passed the finish line, a simultaneous cheer erupting within the crowd when the two red Ferrari’s passed the line with barely a second apart. 

That feeling inside of you, the yearning, it had been getting stronger and stronger throughout the race. Strong enough that you had to rub at your chest with a grimace more than once, ignoring the signs that obviously your soul connection was trying to give to you.  

The television in front of you showed Max Verstappen on the top of his car, both hands and 10 fingers up as he stared at the moving camera, an obvious celebration beginning as he ran towards his team. Verstappen jumped at them, right as you heard his voice in your head. 

“Where are you right now? I want to see you. I need to see you.” 

He sounded out of breath, but elated, as per usual on a Sunday. Must work for Red Bull then, you thought to yourself. 

“I don’t really know how to explain where I am, I’m in the Paddock Club with my friends.”  

Turning away from the screen, you tried to focus on the words coming through the connection. 

“Come to the area where you can go towards the garages, I’ll have someone tell security to let you in. What are you wearing? I don’t think you’ll be able to tell me your name yet, and I don’t want to risk fucking this up.” 

You had absolutely no clue how to find the area he was describing to you, explaining to him that you didn’t spend most of your time at Grand Prix’s unlike someone, apparently. All he did was laugh joyfully, explaining to you in simpler terms how to get to where he wanted you to go. 

“I have to go do a few more things, but just wait for me, okay? I’ll come to find you, the moment I’m done. I swear.” 

“I’ve waited for years; I think I can wait a few minutes more.” 

He didn’t verbally respond, but you could still feel the happiness, the sense of something you could only describe as adoration come through the connection before he shut it off again. It was obvious he had commitments, but it was disheartening knowing you still had to wait a few more minutes, that he wouldn’t be there waiting for you, behind whatever security guard you were going to have to verbally grapple with to be let behind the barricades. 

All you told your friends when you left was you had to go make a call, and that it may take a few minutes. They tried to argue with you, telling you the drivers were just about to do their post-race interviews and that it was always one of the best parts, but you simply brushed them off, eager to get to where you needed to be. 

It didn’t take you long to find where he had told you to go, his explanations as thorough and necessary as they usually were. Before you could even get a word out to the security guard, a tall brunette in a Red Bull shirt lightly tapped your shoulder and gestured for you to follow her, flashing her entry pass at the guard and pulling you along. 

“I’m Liv. I work in PR with Red Bull; I was told to wait for you. Sorry for just like... pulling you along. No one really gave me any explanation, just that I was told to look out for someone wearing the exact same outfit you are, and that it had something to do with a soulmate thing and I couldn’t get involved or ask questions.” 

“This pass will get you in and out of pretty much wherever you need to be in the Red Bull garage and areas nearby,” the brunette rambled on as the both of you walked, pulling a second entry pass from her back pocket to give to you. 

Both of you stopped in front of what only could be the hospitality lounge, if the plethora of food and drinks were any indication. You didn’t necessarily know where to go, or where to stand, so you looked back over at the brunette with confusion evident in your eyes. 

“Just wait here! He shouldn’t be long. Feel free to snack, or make yourself a tea, or you know... drink whatever really. I have to get back to work. Just like, don’t leave. I’ll probably get in trouble for that. Anyways, bye! Good luck!”  

Not giving you the chance to respond, Liv, as you learned previously, turned and basically ran out of the room. You were left alone in the hospitality area, everyone from Red Bull obviously still celebrating Max Verstappen’s tenth win in a row. 

You didn’t know what to do with yourself, deciding to sit down on one of the couches being the only real option you could decipher. The television was on low, the interviewer speaking to Sainz, Perez, and Verstappen. 

“You look eager to get out of here, Max. Big celebration planned for your tenth straight win?” 

The Dutchman chuckled, a cocky grin prominent on his face, “I have something I have to do after this, of course, though, not the celebration right away. I’m sure the team has a celebration planned, but it’s a bit arrogant of me to be involved in my own celebration party planning, no?” 

The interviewer laughed in response; you simply cocked your head at his words. Ironic that Max Verstappen would call himself arrogant, just hours after you had told him how arrogant you found Verstappen.

A few more questions zoomed by; your own thoughts preoccupied by the idea that your soulmate could be coming towards the room at any minute. The feeling in your chest, in your body as a whole, had grown substantially again since you sat down. What you didn’t notice was him grabbing his chest at the same time you did, rubbing it with a grimace as the yearning grew and grew. 

It didn’t take long for the interview to end, the television going back to the reporters as the drivers evidently went to go do whatever it is they do after their post-race interviews. 

You could hear someone walking down the hallway, which was strange considering how busy the Red Bull garage had to be right now. The steps grew louder as they got closer and closer to the room you were in, the door slamming open being the only thing to pull you out of your thoughts as you spun around. 

Making direct eye contact with your soulmate for the first time was exactly how everyone described it. It was instant, the feeling that seated itself inside your heart, inside your mind. It felt like you were whole, like everything you had done in the past 24 hours, let alone the past 10 years, had led you to this exact moment. 

You subconsciously moved off the couch, stepping in the direction of the man that was now eyeing your every move. You couldn’t tell what was going through his mind, whether he was happy, disheartened, you didn’t know. 

He stepped in your direction, just as you put another foot towards him. You could see the corners of his lips turning up, a smile starting to edge itself onto his cheeks.  

“I can’t believe you’re really here. In front of me. Like, a real person.” 

It was the same voice that you’ve heard in your head for years, except the words were coming from the mouth of the man in front of you, coming from the mouth of the man with the prettiest blue eyes you had ever seen. 

You barely had time to process anything before he had wrapped his arms around you, pulling you directly into his chest as you wrapped your own arms around his body.  

He was real. Everything you had yearned for, for years was real, and Max was right there, holding you in his arms as he pressed his lips against the crown of your head, not wanting to let you go. 

Max could barely contain his eagerness as he basically sprinted down the hall of the Red Bull garage after the end of the interview. Olivia had told him where she had brought you, telling you to wait in the hospitality lounge and that he’d be there to see you as quickly as he could get out. 

He couldn’t believe that you were really there. After spending years of talking to an invisible force inside his head, years of having a constant companion who he could turn to for internal comfort, you were barely seconds away from him. 

Max didn’t hesitate to throw the door of the lounge open, making eye contact with you just a second later. 

Everyone was right, the feeling you get when you finally meet your soulmate, the person that’s supposed to complete you in the best of ways. It was instant love, instant happiness, a feeling better than any win he had ever accomplished, a feeling that could barely be explained in one million words.  

He knew right then that he loved you, and when you smiled at him, he knew you knew it too.  

i am obsessed with the soulmate trope so this obviously got out of hand and way more descriptive than i intended. im hoping you all love it as much as i loved writing it!! let me know what you think

my requests are also open :)

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@leclercdream @myescapefromthislife @iloveyou3000morgan @love4lando @asfaraslifegets @decseptapril @somanyfandomsbruh

if you're interested in being added to my taglist, just send me a message/reply and ill add ya. i lost my list of who asked so if you weren't tagged and wanted to be pls let me know. (if your name has a strike through it, it wouldn't let me tag you)

[coraniaid]

It’s always very odd to me when I read criticism of A Song Of Ice And Fire online (by which I mainly mean: on Tumblr) which takes for granted that this is some sort of obsessively dark and edgy and mean-spirited fantasy, because ... that's not what the series is actually like at all?  

I mean, yes, some awful (and graphically described) stuff happens in these books, but this is at heart a deeply optimistic and almost embarrassingly romantic story, full of a very obvious sympathy and tenderness for the unhappy and the hurt and the powerless.  The weird gritty-for-the-sake-of-it books that the series's detractors describe wouldn't have recurring POV characters like Sansa Stark or Tyrion Lannister or Davos Seaworth or Samwell Tarly or Brienne of Tarth.  They certainly wouldn't obviously empathize with and respect these characters to the extent the actual books do.  They wouldn't be so obsessive about the importance of hope and kindness and understanding in an otherwise uncaring world.  Whenever the text suggests the world isn't fair or kind there's always an unspoken "but it should be,and I wish it was". You are clearly not meant to think that characters like Roose Bolton or Twyin Lannister are being held up as role models to emulate!

I mean, maybe the TV show is more like that -- I gave up on the show after only a couple of seasons, it was a terrible adaptation of the source material, even before the final season that everyone apparently hated -- but so much of the open disdain for ASOIAF I come across on here reads like the people writing the posts haven't even read a single one of the books. Yes, the popularity of ASOIAF inspired a lot of "dark" fantasy novels that actually are bleakly nihilistic and seem to revel in their characters meeting pointlessly sad and violent ends, but Martin's books are just not like that.

Yes, lots of the world-building for ASOIAF is patently ridiculous, and yes, key parts of the plot are just cribbed from the War of the Roses (or, rather, from historical novels like Sharon Penman's The Sunne in Splendour)  and yes, Martin has said some very stupid things in interviews while busy not writing the series.  And no, I'm not sure I could actually bring myself to recommend the books to anyone who's not read them before (especially when it's so unlikely that the series will ever be finished, let alone in a satisfying way).  I haven’t reread them myself in years.

But honestly, back when I was a quietly miserable teenager these books really meant a lot to me, in part because they are the opposite of the caricature often discussed online.  Yes, they acknowledged that sometimes the world was awful and unbearable.  It is!  But they also suggested that it was still important to try to be fair and kind and to appreciate the moments when things were better.  They are books about trying to do the right thing even when it’s so hard as to seem impossible and nobody else will even know that you tried, written in a way that takes for granted that “the right thing” is also the just and the optimistic and the quietly heroic thing; that doing the right thing when you afraid is more praiseworthy than never being afraid at all. And it is baffling to me how often I see people talking about them now who don't actually seem to have ever even skimmed them but are still vocally passionate in their hatred of something that, as they describe it, simply doesn't exist.

[theabigailthorn]

Do you think you’ll ever write a book, either philosophy related or maybe memoirs? I really love your content and your ideas and would love to know more about how you organize your worldview.

FUNNILY ENOUGH

I've been seriously considering writing a book about the way the NHS treats trans people, and more broadly about institutional pathologisation in the current global moment we're having. I've had meetings with some big publishers, even drafted an introduction and proposal, and gotten offers back!

BUT

I don't think I'm going to do it, for a few reasons. In no particular order:

Writing a book about that subject might raise the consciousness of a few folks, but does it help build material power for trans people against my country's healthcare system, and the other systems that subjectify trans people globally? Not really, no. In fact it would legitimise the elite media consensus that engaging with elite media is the path to achieving change. Books aren't just books, they're "media events," and accordingly they increase the power and prestige of the media they happen in. If I wrote this book, newspapers would review it, chart it, I'd be invited onto Radio 4 and shit to "debate" and "discuss" it... Does doing that actually help get medicine into trans people's hands? Not really! Writing books and "getting ideas out there" is pretty busted as a theory of change unless it builds power. The fantasy of writing a really good speech or article or book and suddenly the scales fall from cis people's eyes is just that - a fantasy. No minority group has ever gotten change or justice that way. All that would happen is I'd "enhance my brand" - which means that I, with my private education and privilege and opportunities, would make money and get clout whilst contributing to the elite capture of trans rights as a political struggle. I'd become "a leader in the community" and get invited to some dinners and media events and blah blah blah - meanwhile the violence continues. That media event would also enhance the brands of those cis-dominated media outlets and the "having conversations" industrial complex, who are part of the fucking problem! The struggle should be led by the poorest and most vulnerable among us and link up with other material struggles like resisting immigration raids, prison abolition, decriminalisation of drugs and sex work, etc. So I could likely do more good for my community by donating my time and money to good causes and also by some uhhhh... other stuff - let's call it 'direct assistance' - which I already do and find fulfilling.

The offers aren't that big! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Writing that book might do harm if it's co-opted into ongoing right wing attempts to dismantle the NHS and all trans care. It'd be intellectually satisfying but not creatively satisfying or fun. I'd have to immerse myself in a very bleak world for a long time: I would enjoy having done it but not the doing.

It'd ruin my career. Right now I actually fly pretty under the radar of a lot of my country's nastiest transphobes. That would end if I wrote a book about the NHS. Newspapers, editors, publishers, journalists, and probably some MPs and Lords would become very invested in tearing me down. I've seen it happen to queer writers and journalists before. Remember, Britain is a small country and our media is run out of one city by a very small group of people who all know each other and who also know all our politicians, in some cases because they're literally the same people! That book would be like kicking a hornets' nest. Maybe they'd come after me publicly, or maybe it would be more British: somebody would make a quiet phone call and I'd suddenly be radioactive. Bye-bye acting career, bye-bye any public career.

For related reasons, writing that book and doing the necessary media campaign would expose me to a WORLD of harassment and shit from some of the worst people in the universe, which I frankly don't want. That might include lawsuits.

My dream job is to play [REDACTED] in [REDACTED]. Writing a book wouldn't take me closer to that. It would cement my brand as 'trans educational writer' instead of 'actress and writer,' which is what I am.

So yeah, all in all, I don't think I'm going to do it. Not right now anyway. I reserve the right to change my mind. Think I'll write a screenplay instead!

[svtcrus]

───── `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃 BABY LOVE ME EVENT SERIES

DRAGON OUT OF WATER || NEUVILLETTE X AFAB!READER

SMUT , MDNI

NOTE : neuvi is implied a dragon [not physically] nothing beyond that plot, dom!neuvilette , semi public s3x (they fuck at a lake), rough play , fingering , overstimulation , big pp

synopsis : you & neuvillette are having a date at a secret lake in fontaine, & things end up getting a little heated with the hydro dragon.

neuvillette had suggested the idea of taking you out to this secret lake, secluded from all eyes. he was still learning on how unique humans can be. interacting and creating relationships with humans wasn't his best skill but he tries his best everyday.

this intimate relationship he has with you is a whole new world for him, he's learnt to love through you. and garner quite a lot of human knowledge from you.

moreover neuvillette has also experienced new emotions that leave him quite flustered at times.

he was like a fish out of water .

these fluttery feelings which leave him so hot inside him has him confused. unbeknownst he's thinking such ludicrous fantasies of you, a surge of heat building up from within. however, neuvillette forces himself to hold back, for he doesn't want to be pleading guilty at you for such pervertedness. you were too much of an angel.

this date was intended to be a peaceful romantic time between the two of you. no ill intentions at all. so why is your dragon of a boyfriend walking his way to you with a dark look in his lavender eyes?

it wasn't supposed to end up like this.

but when neuvillette saw you in your skimpy little swimsuit it was like a fire had lit inside him— he could feel his dick swell at the sight.

making the attempt to "put out" this heat by swimming, he'd expected to feel okay right after, since it's worked before whenever stressed. except he didn't. instead he felt worse, and the tent that was growing in his shorts wasn't helping his case either.

"archons.. I can't hold back anymore. c'mere." those slender fingers of his are grabbing either side of your face, forcefully bringing you in for a kiss. your gasp is replaced with a sudden moan, neuvillette uses this to push his tongue into your mouth. the kiss is sloppy albeit. nevertheless his soft lips are melting so easily with yours with such passion, it's making you wet.

your hands are tangling into his wet silver locks, droplets of water are dripping from his toned body onto your own. his free hand is gripping your waist with such obscene force, to simply lay you down on the mat.

only then he feels the tug on his roots that he finally pulls away.

"I.. I couldn't help myself.." he claims— you're both panting, desperately in need for oxygen. lips are swollen, cheeks burning red. your face is displaying something he hasn't seen before.

he's thinking he's screwed up.

"I.. forgive me y/n I shouldn't ha-"

"don't stop." you cut him off. pushing yourself back up, hands grabbing onto his to guide them back across your body. they trace from your hips, to your waist, then to your chest. lewd sounds are slowly leaving those plump lips of yours, his hands unconsciously fondling your breasts through your swimsuit.

"it's okay neuvi.. mm. just touch me like that.." again that flame is ignited, and he's leaning back into you for another kiss. this time its more gentle.

it wasn't supposed to end up like this.

the lustful dragon is now fingering your sopping entrance, in broad daylight. ramming you with three whole fingers, you already felt so full. yet so hungry at the same time.

"like this? do you like it when I do this ma belle?" there he was with that nickname. my beautiful. so shy, so beautiful atop of him. straddled on his lap, movements are feverish, and chasing for a release. your arms are thrown over his broad shoulders all while your whimpers, whines, cries, call out his name.

"neuvillette!"

a loud moan escapes you, the chief is sucking in a breath watching you quiver from his fingers alone. he's never seen someone at his mercy like this before. the heaving, your head on his shoulder, nails digging into his pale skin. cunt all sloppy and wet just for him— fuck.

the way his fingers circle your drenched cunt before entering your tight hole to fuck you once more. he's persistent to make you cum once more, overstimulating your poor pussy.

"m'stop baby.. please~! I need—hngh!" you can barely let out coherent words. look at you. so fucked to the point you cannot even think of anything besides him? how cute.

"what is it do you need sweetheart? hm?" his fingers that are covered in your slick begins to wriggle out his length. lubricating his cock with your sweet juices. not to mention that he's hard, unbelievably hard.

"do you want this ma belle? want me to fill you up?" what comes out of your mouth is another whimper, your mind is too hazy to respond. he lets out a chuckle— oh archons he wants to devour you whole.

then and there along the lake shoreline, this beastly man is rutting himself into you. your pleasantries provide him with furthermore motivation to continue fucking into your velvet walls.

muscular arms around your waist, inhaling your sugary scent, it's got him growling while his cock pounds in and out of you.

you're sucking him in so well, squeezing around his girth like you're asking him for more. this. this feeling. he doesn't want to forget it, nor does he want to stop it.

rather than a fish, neuvillette was a dragon out of water, whose found himself addicted to your whole body.

@svtcrus || 08.19.23 ; BABY LOVE ME EVENT

©️ all rights reserved. do not copy / plagiarize , modify or use my work .

[threepandas]

Bad End: Hidden Heir

Next ->

The Duke's family had very distinct eyes. It was genetic. An aggressively dominant trait at that, though it tended to die off, after a few generations out of the family. Supposedly a "blessing of the Gods". Spring to be exact. Bounty and luck. And the family certainly WAS bountiful.

In all the best and worst ways.

Wealth, corruption, children and bastards. It was a family so aggressively ALIVE, it could only be Spring's blessing that made them so. Pouring mania and madness into their veins like sweet sunlight. Whispering glory and riches, into power addled ears. They burst with life. Even as they endlessly destroyed themselves.

They were fictional.

Fascinating set dressings, for the stage play of someone else's story. Unimportant beyond their role in world building. As the origin story and power base of a character lead.

The Story ITSELF didn't even occur here. But rather, in the capital. Where the players of significance had gathered.

And I? Oh I was some minor antagonist, so insignificant to the plot, I genuinely could not remember which of seven different women I actually WAS. It had been an ongoing series. Otome Isekai. Reverse harem.

And I was either in the ORIGINAL original novel, the isekai'd plot novel, the anime adaption, OR a horrifying fever dream. My memory was largely useless. But? I did remember the characters. The archetypes.

And the fact, that the author had clearly been going though a Yandere phase.

My region of the Reverse Harem collect-o-thon? Horrifying! Red flags everywhere! No one here should date, leave room for fantasy Jesus, have we considered the joys of being a NUN? Yes. Yes I HAVE thought about it.

I was pretty sure I'd never make it. End up dead or captured by some sort of Nun Yandere. Or God Yandere. Possibly both. Assuming the bandit yanderes don't get me first. It... it was very stressful, living here.

Luckily? I knew when I could leave.

Or so I thought.

Because my house? The Dukedom? Had the "yandere butler who is secretly an heir." Who starts out with loyal dog behavior. A little highly possesive master and servant play. Then rises to become a Duke. Presumably? That is when I die. Or am disowned.

Death is most likely. Since my role was "minor antagonist" and I was to be mean to the sweet, earnest, Harem possessing Protagonist. Don't see WHY I would. Live and let live. Good for her etc etc. But regardless? Best to avoid, just in case.

The problem? Who do you think Mr Illegitimate Heir serves before she gets here? The OTHER possible heirs? Of course not! They'd "oops! Hunting accident~☆" him in a heart beat. Father isn't stupid. And my sisters? Issues. Violent, violent, issues.

He ends up with ME.

Father, WHY.

Obviously, I ignore him. I see nothing. I hear nothing. There is no war in Ba Sing Se. Mmmmm, tea. Good book. Ignore his creepy staring. His creepy, creepy staring.

Thankfully? I never really ran out of Totally Legitimate reasons to send him away to learn or do something. Proper tea making. Door maintenance. Eastern embroidery. Something, anything, and off you go! Bye bye~☆!

Unfortunately. He got faster. Better and better at learning. Mastering skills. Coming BACK. Showing up to stand in the corner, silent and looming, like an omen of death. Those damn eyes. The fucking family eyes!

I don't have them. And NOT as, my Father would have me believe, because I "take after my Mother". But because I am not genetically related to the Duke. I have GOLD eyes. When I wear the right shade of green? I pass. So I am condemned to forever wear green. Don't even really like it much. But?

I am pretty damn sure? I was just... pretty.

A lovely, orphaned, golden eyed child that COULD pass as his. So why not? It was a whim that payed off. Unlike in the original stories, I imagine. Since I am by FAR the best behaved child in this entire house. Ha! Suck it, bio-kids, the adopted one's the favorite! Maybe should have been less lil bitchs.

....I carefully do not say.

Those are INSIDE thoughts.

Fuck. He's still LOOMING. Isn't he? Go awaaaaaay. Where is Protag-chan? Come be doe eyed and busty! Trip adorably! Go "kyaaa~" or something! I feel body heat and freeze. He's leaning over my shoulder to pick up the teapot, pour me another cup. I can FEEL the barest graze of his knuckles against my back, from where he's gripped my chair. The smell of his aftershave almost hauntingly pleasant.

Like he KNEW exactly what smells I liked most. Went out of his way to find one that best suited my preference. Coincidence. Please, PLEASE be a coincidence! I do not turn my head. Keep my eyes locked straight ahead. Barely breathing.

He steps back.

The new pot is sharp and herbal. Almost bitter. I force myself to drink. Can't see a sugar dish, and REFUSE to turn around and ask for one. Ignore. IGNORE. My pounding heart calms. My muscles slowly start to relax.

It... it IS weird, though, now that I think about it? That Protag-chan hasn't reached the Dukedom yet. She should have. God only knows I sent Creepy to the capital enough times, with enough highly specific instructions, that he should've had his meet cute's and dates by the dozen. Been half way in love. So... why...?

Huh.

Dizzy.

The taste of tea sits wrong on my tounge. I stop drinking as the world sways. Letting the cup fall from my hand. Splatter, roll, and shatter. I try desperately to stand. A gentle gloved hand catches my elbow, supporting me. I turn. Giddy eyes. Triumphant, wide, spring green eyes. Too green to be gold, too gold to be green.

An almost cruel, mocking, yet loving grin.

Another hand slides around my waist, braces me against his side. Gleeful little murmurs, too pleased to be reassuring. You. You did this! You DRUGGED ME!

I can barely move, body relaxing against my command, going limp, as he draws me close. Presses his face against the side of my head, against my temple. A deep, shuddering breathe, that he savors like wine. I try to pull free but can not. Feel his lips pull into a vicious grin against my skin. Hands begin to run in gentle, claiming, exploration.

And at last the drugs kick in... the wo..rld..

G..oes..

Dar..k........

[thesiltverses]

Hello! Writing first to thank you for such an extraordinary creation - as a piece of writing and even more so in performance. Every episode manages to somehow build on and outdo the last; you navigated that transition from a smaller scale story of grisly mysteries and personal crises of faith to a grand scale of war, revolution and political satire with absolute aplomb, and never lost that throughline of exceptional characterisation and sharp writing, always steering to the most interesting conflicts. You are always very humble in your public comments, but I hope you allow yourself a little pride, because this is absolutely top notch stuff.

I was struck by Paige's final words, that she hopes what they left would be found 'flawed, inadequate, yearning'. As the show went on, I was surprised - in a good way - that the show's politics gradually crystalised into a full-on nihilist anarchism, something perhaps even along the lines of Monsieur Dupont. (Muna used the 'a' word in one of the Q&As but it was pretty evident even before that). Taking these gods as a metaphor for ideologies and social systems, the scope of it becomes pretty universal - and unsparing. And, equally, hard to answer.

I wondered when the Many Below/Wound Tree was introduced what answers they would find: what political movement could truly resist cooption or becoming its own horrible self-sustaining egregore. And in the end the answer you express I suppose is a negative one: that even Paige's god of victims is a tool, one that must eventually be discarded to go into some unknown place beyond it all (to walk away from Omelas), towards something that narrative fiction - as a form of the 'endless words' that are derided so much in the third season - can no longer address. Which I respect - to pose the question is vital, even if the tools can't reach any answers if they even exist.

I think this struggle exists in many stories that address themes of making a break from the rapacious society that created them (and take it seriously) - your Baru Cormorants and Mononoke-himes. We can describe the problem vividly, but since we do not have a counterexample to hand, any story we tell about ~what is to be done~ and what it will look like when it is feels like it will be just as hollow as the spins and angles and parasitic fantasies that so many characters advance in the Silt Verses. (How could there possibly be a time where it finally works out, after we have seen all this? But then, what are we living for?)

To try to make this a question and not a ramble, I wanted to ask - what do you see as the role of fiction in addressing the horrible machinery of this world? Is it enough to pose the question particularly sharply, skewer the bad and inadequate answers, and leave the readers/listeners to figure out how to make the killing of gods concrete? How do we punch through the bounds of it all being Content, another product to be bought and sold? What does it mean to sit here and fantasise about people making that revolutionary break when there is no revolution to be had?

I don't know what answer I'm hoping for here, but given the themes of the show, I feel like this must be a kind of thing you've thought about, and probably have a far more developed line of thought than I do. And if this is a bit too much to drop in your inbox on a Saturday morning, I will say again thank you for writing this story and all the actors for making it so strikingly concrete - it truly means a lot, and I will treasure it.

Hi, and thank you for listening and for a beautifully written and thoughtful ask! ('Horrible machinery of the world' stopped me dead in my tracks.) And I am very proud, genuinely.

I don't have a good enough answer to your questions, and for me a lot of TSV is very much about trying to figure those answers out, but let me try and sum up my perspective bit by bit.

Is it enough for fiction to pose the question, without also proposing the answer?

I don't think it's enough for fiction as a collective body of work.

I'd argue there's probably a tendency towards open-endedness and irresolution in these individual narratives simply because it feels like a more honest acknowledgement that in real life, the foe has yet to take a real body blow and will not go down easy; that the foe, in fact, is the marketplace for the work itself and ironically profits from the popularity of stories with easy heroic victories over villains who represent capitalism. That these stories inevitably become a pleasant consumable that serves our complacency within the belly of the beast, a kind of daily tonic to reassure us that good always triumphs and regular people always come out on top.

I also think that the sheer scale and scope of the topic creates its own challenges; you probably can't engage thoroughly enough with both the dystopian question and your ideas for a utopian answer all in a single story, without ultimately turning the latter into that false reassurance, a quick handwave of a happy ending.

You mention Omelas, and I think we could illustrate the problem by looking at how LeGuin handles her two successive masterpieces:

The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas, which gives us the titular resource-rich u(dys)topia built on invisible suffering, and the dissidents who turn their backs on that world and walk out into the inhospitable wilderness in search of something better.

The Dispossessed, which as its premise gives us Anarres, an imperfect but sympathetic anarchist society whose adherents turned their backs on a neighbouring world of capitalist plenty to live out in the inhospitable wilderness in search of something better.

Anarres can very reasonably be viewed as LeGuin's direct answer to the question posed by Omelas, and she would have likely had it in her mind already as she wrote Omelas. But if the short story had ended with 'I hear that against all odds, the ones who walk away have successfully founded an anarchist utopia where hardship is everywhere but it's shared as equitably as possible. THE END', the amount of lazy shorthand and empty comfort involved in that happier ending would inevitably make it a dishonest and unserious offering.

Instead, Anarres is a starting premise to be interrogated at length over the course of a separate story, rather than a happy ending to simply reassure the reader that better things are possible - and even at the end of the novel LeGuin's unresolved questions are still very similar to the ones that we're left with in Omelas (and the same questions that I feel like we were knocking about in The Silt Verses, and which I guess you could argue are all lingering concerns at the end of Mononoke, as well): how and where can we find space to create and sustain a genuine alternative when the narrative environment of capitalism is so powerfully all-subsuming and constantly growing to fill the space? Do we need to disconnect entirely, vanishing as if dead? If we disconnect, how can we possibly survive and what inhumanities or ethical compromises will be required of us? If we do survive, is our isolationism a dereliction of human responsibility to those left behind?

All of which is to say that I think present-day fiction absolutely can make the attempt to meaningfully explore potential alternative-utopian solutions in more depth and with far more tangibility than we attempted with TSV - but that dystopian fiction like ours which concludes with the unexplored promise of a revolutionary utopia and the vague reassurance that the irrepressible human spirit will figure things out from here on out (Chewbacca gets a medal, everyone's in the streets wearing a Guy Fawkes mask) doesn't do much more than dramatically undermine its own goal of disrupting the audience's comfort.

That said, one of my big regrets this season was that we didn't succeed in more engagingly exploring and articulating the Woundtree camp's development into a flawed but functioning society in Dispossessed fashion ahead of the ending. That was my intention, but what quickly became clear was that in a dramatic format, with a limited cast, it was just endless static meeting-room scenes with Paige and Elgin discussing difficult responses to impossible challenges, while everyone else was out having dynamic and exciting adventures with lots of fun and exciting gods. Dystopias remain too entertaining for utopias' own good.

What do you see as the role of fiction in addressing the horrible machinery of this world?

I believe that absurdist horror fiction specifically, founded on the principle of 'people in a world that makes no sense, deluding themselves that it definitely does make sense' can play a very powerful role in that stated purpose.

Many horror traditions carry the baggage of inbuilt or inadvertent conservatism - the concept of a peaceable, passive, safe, middle-class Normality which is then disrupted by a terrifying outside threat (alien, ultra-foreign, ultra-low-class, underworldly, wild, etc). But absurdist horror very directly identifies Normality as the true source of our terror and very directly confronts our human response to it. It creates the right environment for us to ask all of the good questions. Isn't this an unsustainable nightmare we're living in? Why are we expending so much energy pretending it isn't? How do we get out and what do we do if we can't?

Probably the only listener reaction that's genuinely frustrated me about both of our shows is the folks who come away turning their noses up at the bluntness of that approach and acting like they've Solved The Art simply for figuring out where our broad sympathies lie. "Hm, just listened to The Silt Verses and I understood it at once; it's clearly trying to say that capitalism is bad. A little heavy-handed in its messaging for my liking, hm-hm!"

Not to go full Garth Marenghi, but for me the directness of the provocation and the obvious outrageousness of the nightmare is the point; it then allows us to go to places that other genres (or more understated critiques) generally can't.

How do we punch through the bounds of it all being Content, another product to be bought and sold? What does it mean to sit here and fantasise about people making that revolutionary break when there is no revolution to be had?

God, I don't know.

Maybe it means nothing; maybe we can't punch through; maybe there is no story unruly enough to be truly unco-optable, and therefore even the most radical fiction ultimately serves as a distraction, a placebo, a reassurance (that we are not alone, that better things are possible) which will impact the wider world more by keeping us subscribed to the Kindle app than by any action we might feel inspired to take.

Amazon is paying Boots Riley to make TV shows. Disney won much praise for delivering a revolutionary fantasy in a Star Wars shell. Apple is funding excellent, discomfiting and furious corporate satires about how we happily ignore invisible worker abuses for the sake of our own lifestyles, but they also cannot be considered accountable for the deaths of Congolese child-labourers in the global cobalt supply chain. The Dispossessed is in development as a limited series and the LeGuin estate are closely involved.

The master doesn't just own the tools, he's been buying up the guillotines as well.

What if, as with the unknowable nothingness outside of Omelas, the only art that cannot be reduced to product in net service of the status quo is the art that's so invisible and inaccessible and disconnected as to not exist at all? Does being relatively small and ramshackle really lend us any ideological purity, any genuine detachment? You can listen to The Silt Verses on Apple and Spotify and Amazon Music. Brought to you by Acast.

Chapter 36 with Dev and Seb was to a large extent intended as an articulation of that worry. To what extent can we still trust in the integrity of a sincere love story (one that we want to believe in) it if takes place in an insincere and predatory environment? Can any meaningful story be told honestly within such a space?

This stuff really worries me. I think it's probably right to worry. I don't know the answer. I do know that there are some folks for whom the show has made a tangible difference in terms of their life's direction, and that's a huge comfort to me.

There was someone who said it helped them find their faith, strangely and wonderfully. Someone else who said it contributed to their decision not to go down a more lucrative career path within what they view as an exploitative industry. (I hope they don't regret that decision; I hope it makes them happy.)

So there's something there. Maybe.

[foreverisntenough]

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Chapter 6 - Your Brother | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 11.3k

Even though things were ‘good’ you couldn’t help but feel apprehensive about what you and Trent were doing. He was in and out of town so often for football it was hard to know what was happening. So, in the midst of flickering doubts, you had decided you would try to create some self-imposed distance to keep your heart safe. You’d gotten to a place where yes… you were sending nudes, videos of you in bed which in itself maybe wasn’t the smartest but it was happening, you were enjoying it in fact. But enjoyment couldn’t mask apprehension. Still, you were keeping everything just on the phone. Keeping everything hush, not even Layla knew how deep things were getting. And while this digital relationship was blossoming, you were keeping the public one that existed in front of everyone’s eyes at an arm's length. And it hurt to be living what felt like a double life.  You two clearly had no self control and that was evident in the text exchanges so keeping your distance felt smart.  With all of that in mind, you hadn’t expected to see Trent at your door this afternoon, let alone embracing you in a cuddle so warm it felt like he hadn’t seen you in ages when it’d been mere days. You stiffened at first, taken by surprise, but quickly melted into him. As much as you tried to pretend you shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t do this with him, you yearned for this very thing; the physical connection you were trying so hard to keep at bay. You tried to believe that space was the best thing to do to keep yourself safe but the second his arms wrapped around you… the world melted along with you. Memories of him flooding you. It was like he had your heart before you couldn’t even try to stop him from grabbing it. You were powerless and you loved being weak for him. 

“You’re back home.” Your voice was muffled against his skin in the embrace of the hug. He hummed, squeezing you that much tighter. Just as you began to pull back, his grin widened cheekily. 

“Can you wait here f’me? I got something for you.” Before you could respond, He smiled as he darted back out to his car, leaving you standing there, curiosity building, warmth flooding you. When he returned, he was holding a stunning bouquet, petals in shades of blush and deep red. 

“I don’t play footie in the park anymore so I thought you deserve more than a daisy.” He smiled earnestly with a glint in his eyes that almost looked scared. Trent was still grappling with how to show you just how much he cared. He was worried about Jack, sure, but keeping things hush didn’t feel so bad at the minute as long as he showed you he cared. He was looking for that sweet spot of past and present. And so began another attempt. You couldn’t help the way your cheeks flushed as you took the flowers, turning them in your hands, admiring every detail. But Trent wasn’t done. “Pretty girl…” He cooed gently to grab you attention off the floral arrangement and back to him. He smirked holding two more bags. You raised your brow with a smile you couldn’t contain anymore. He handed you a sleek Dior shopping bag, his words tumbling out in a rush. “You know like… I was in just France for the game and… well, I saw this, and I just thought of you.” He stumbled through words with a smile. You turned and placed the flowers and the bag on a console in the foyer of the house unboxing it all. Inside was a mini red Dior lady dior, classic, chic, and unmistakably something you loved on sight. Yes, this was very much so a perk of present day Trent. 

“Trent, I—” You looked up at him, stunned, your heart racing. But before you could finish, he interrupted with a cheeky smirk.

“One more thing… because well, in my opinion it matches and…”  As you took the next bag he was pushing towards you and began to open the other, you smirked with a furrowed brow. It wasn't any more designer, instead something priceless. You pulled out a familiar red top you had just seen Trent wearing on the telly during his match days ago. You smiled seeing a Liverpool Alexander-Arnold jersey. One of his own. “If you ever want to wear one,” he said, his eyes softening. “I’d prefer it if it was mine. Because you know… you’re kind of mine.” The words hung between you, and you felt your heart skip a beat. You ran your fingers over the bold name and number on the back, biting back a giddy smile. 

“This is… wow, are you sure, baby, It’s a pretty big statement.” you teased, glancing up at him. He stepped closer, his eyes serious, and reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“I mean it.  You’re… You’re so important to me, Y/N.” That moment felt like a declaration all on its own, leaving you feeling lighter and less uncertain, ready to see where this might possibly go.  That maybe it wasn’t all just for behind closed doors. The gift in your hands felt weighty, more than just fabric or leather—it felt like a quiet promise. “I always liked when you were at the park watching me play growing up, and I really like it when you’re at Anfield now watching me.” His words stuck you deep. Maybe he wasn’t just making it all up about having a crush on your growing up in the park. The way Trent looked at you, the softness in his eyes and the little, lingering smile on his lips, spoke volumes. You glanced down at the jersey again, fingertips tracing over the double barreled last name. This wasn’t just a shirt; it was a claim, a gesture that felt almost absurdly personal. He watched you closely, gauging every shift in your expression. His usual confident demeanor softened, almost vulnerable, as he waited for you to say something more. But words felt clumsy in that moment, so you took a small step forward and wrapped your arms around him, holding him tightly. Trent hugged you back, his hands gentle against your back, pulling you in like he was afraid to let go.

“I… I don’t even know what to say,” you finally whispered into his shoulder, feeling both overwhelmed and elated. You pulled back, just enough to look up at him. “This is… it’s really thoughtful, T, baby.” He gave a little shrug, downplaying the significance. 

“Think about you a lot. I wish I could show you better. This is one way I guess.  And I just thought you’d look better in one mine, yeah?” His tone was casual, but his eyes betrayed him. You could see the warmth, the intent behind this small collection of gifts. Grinning, you took the jersey holding it up between you. 

“So… I’m supposed to just wear this and be yours, huh?” You said with a smirk. His grin turned into a smirk. 

“That’s the idea,” he said, stepping in close, his hands finding your waist. “But only if you’re up for it.” You felt your cheeks heat up, but you didn’t break his gaze. His fingers began to play with the hem of the shirt you currently had on. You didn’t expect your heart to stutter the way it did seeing him today. You looked down, biting your lip, feeling almost shy under his gaze. 

“And you’re sure?” you murmured, looking back up at him. He reached up, cupping your cheek, his thumb stroking your cheek, letting his fingers linger just a little longer against your skin. 

“I’ve known you too long not to be.” His voice was low, and there was a sincerity there that felt like a balm to every worry you’d been carrying. Without another word, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his, soft but intentional, letting yourself believe him. Trent’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, like he was anchoring himself to you. The kiss deepened, and you both sank into it, unhurried, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment.  You finally pulled back from the kiss to really look at the jersey still in your hands. It wasn’t from a store it was very clearly one of his. He even had drawn a little heart, in only a way a boy would, but nevertheless cute, on the bottom of the white embossed  #66. The whole thing was incredibly sweet. 

“Guess I know what I’m wearing to the next match I go to. Someone just has to invite me.” You said with a teasing smile.

“You’re always invited but yeah, you better be wearing that,” he chuckled, his eyes shining. “I’ve got a feeling it’s gonna look perfect on you as well.” And with that, you felt some of your doubts fade, replaced by the excitement of whatever was waiting ahead and right now what was waiting was  thick sexual tension creeping in. As you held the soft fabric of the jersey, Trent's eyes sparkled with mischief. He stepped back into you once more, his muscular body radiating heat, planting a soft kiss on your neck, sending shivers down your spine. His warm breath fanning your sensitive skin as he gently nibbled, leaving a trail of tingling sensations. Swiftly a moment that was meant to be sentimental, suddenly began to steam up. 

"Do you want me to try it on for you, baby?" you suggested, your voice a little hoarse with desire. Trent hummed in response, his lips still brushing against your skin as his fingers idley returned to play with the hem of your shirt. With a swift motion, he lifted the shirt you were already wearing over your head entirely exposing your bare torso, no bra. Your breath caught at the sudden rush of cool air on your heated skin. Trent's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of your full tits, your nipples already hardening in anticipation.

"You look so fucking gorgeous all the fucking time, baby" he growled, his voice thick with want. His hands glided over your shoulders, leaving goosebumps in their wake, and then slid down to cup your tits. He thumbed your nipples, rolling and pinching gently, making you gasp and arch into his touch.

"I need you, T… now," you murmured before his lips found yours in a searing kiss. The kiss was hungry, demanding, and filled with passion. Different than before. Trent's tongue danced with yours, exploring and claiming, while his hands roamed freely over your body, mapping every curve and valley. He kneaded your boobs, squeezing and lifting them, making you moan into his mouth. You clung to him, running your fingers over his curls, pulling him closer as if you could merge your bodies into one. His erection pressing against your lower belly, a hard ridge that promised pleasure and satisfaction you’d come to know well but couldn’t get enough of. His hands moved to slide around you down to your ass, over it and then under. Breaking the kiss, Trent lifted you effortlessly into his arms, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He carried you upstairs, making sure to grab both of your tops in his hand, sparing any damning evidence. His strong arms never faltering as you giggled breathlessly nibbling on his ear lobe whispering the naughtiest things in his ear despite feeling like an innocent princess in his hold. And then like a shot gun signaling a start, your bedroom door clicked shut behind you. 

Trent laid you down on your soft sheets, his eyes never leaving yours. In a blur of passion, you found yourself on your bed, both of your clothes completely vanished now, your legs wrapped around Trent's strong waist again. He hovered above you, his body a delicious weight pressing you into the mattress. You could feel his cock, hard and insistent, pressing against you. His eyes, dark and intense, holding yours captive, and you knew in that moment it truly felt like you were his. The dominant glint in his eyes sent a thrill through your body, making you ache to surrender completely.

“Tell me what you want.” He cooed almost tauntingly.  Trent's voice was a low rumble, filled with desire and possession as he whispered above you leaning in to begin leaving kisses from behind your ear down your jaw. You didn’t answer you just nodded eagerly, giving him permission, your eyes pleading for him to take control. And he did. He pressed his lips to yours as his fingers trailed down your body, tracing your curves, before slipping between your thighs and  through your pussy’s wet folds.  “Such a messy girl. You're so always so fucking wet for me, baby," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. You were already soaked, your arousal glistening on your sensitive folds. Trent's touch was like a lightning bolt, igniting a fire within you. “Tell me what you want.” He demanded again and it started a fire in you, igniting something carnal. You whined and when he teased his fingers around your clit. 

"You, T, fuck… I want you," you whimpered as he stroked your clit, his touch feather-light but intensely pleasurable. His fingers dipped lower, finding your entrance and pushing inside, filling you with a delicious stretch. You gasped as you felt him slip two fingers all the way inside of you with a curl. He smirked watching your face scrunch up from the intrusion. You arched off your bed, seeking more, your hips moving in rhythm with his fingers. "Please, baby" you begged, your voice breathy and desperate. "I need you inside me. I want your cock, T." He grinned down at you, his eyes alight with possessiveness.  “I want you to be rough, T.” You whined desperate for him to just use you. 

"You want me to be rough with you? You like that don't you, baby?" He mocked in the hottest way. You reached out towards him, dragging your hand down his abs before wrapping your hand around his hard shaft. You pumped his cock with your spit mixed with his leaking precum,l. He pulled his fingers out of you swiftly. His one hand laced his fingers with yours pinning your hands above your head, the other tapping his cock against your clit, dragging it through your fold’s teasingly.  Neither of you had the patience for more foreplay. You needed him inside of you now and he was giving you just that.  His big brown eyes met yours, your breathing getting heavier and heavier. “You’re gonna be a good girl f’me, hmm?” His words send a thrill through you, a heady combination of desire and submission. You nod eagerly, your eyes locked on his.

"Yeah" you whispered. He positioned himself between your thighs, his hands moving to grip your hip firmly. You felt the broad head of his cock nudging at your entrance before he thrusted forward, filling you in one smooth stroke."Oh, God!" you cried out, your body welcoming him with a delicious tightness. Your hands broke out of his and grabbed to hold him. Your nails digging into his back muscles as he slid inside of you. Your back arched off the bed with a gasp. He rocked into you. Trent’s cock stretched you deliciously hitting the spot only he knew immediately. 

“Doing so good f’me, baby. Take my cock so well. You okay?” He asked gently as he flicked his eyes to yours. You nodded with a shy smile as he pulled back out just barely, leaving just the tip in. With a growl, he thrusted into you again, filling you so completely that you gasped once over. His cock, hard and throbbing, stretching you to the limit, and you loved every second of it. The sensation of being so full, so possessed, sent sparks of pleasure through your body. He set a relentless pace, his hips snapping forward, driving into you with deep, powerful strokes. Your bodies creating a sensual rhythm, the squelching sound of your skin slapping against each other filling the room. Trent's jaw clenched, his eyes hooded as he watched his cock disappear into your slick heat.

"You feel so fucking good," you moaned, your breath coming in short gasps. "Feel so deep. Oh my god." You whined. You inhaled a sharp breath feeling a lightheadedness come over as you took him.  He kept his beautiful brown eyes fixed on you. The pupils in his dark eyes dilated as he felt his cock pulse inside you. Every movement was slow, deep, and intentional. His lips curled into a smug smile hearing you whine. You were completely his and he reveled in it. You dragged your ankle down his back muscles. He was so gentle yet harsh at the same time. Trent’s hand slid up your body and wrapped around your neck gently but assertively causing the knot in your core to tighten as you moaned more.   

"Whose pussy is this?" he demanded, his voice hoarse with need. 

"Yours, Trent," you whispered, your voice breathless. "Only yours." He quickened his pace, his hips snapping forward with each thrust, driving into you relentlessly. Your tits, full and heavy, bounced with each movement, the sensitive peaks grazing his chest, sending shocks of pleasure through your body. He let go of your neck and leaned back a little. Trent's hands moving to grip your thighs, holding your legs wide open, exposing you completely to his gaze and touch. 

"God, fuck. You're so fucking wet, baby," he growled, his eyes fixed on the junction where his cock disappeared into your body. "So good f’me." He praised you as you moaned, the explicit words and the sight of him pounding into your body pushing you closer to the edge. Your hands moved off him to clutch at the sheets, your knuckles turning white as you tried to anchor yourself against the force of his thrusts. The room continued to be filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, your desperate moans, and Trent's dirty words. Trent could feel your pussy clenching tighter, he knew you were close. 

"Tell me, baby, whose cock are you gonna cum on right now?" Trent's voice was rough but smug, his face a mask of pure desire and self satisfaction.

"Yours, T," you panted, your voice thick with pleasure. “I want to cum on your cock." Your eyes rolling back as you felt the climax building. "I'll only ever cum on your cock, T." Your words seemed to unleash something primal within him. His eyes lit with possession. His hips pistoned faster, his cock pounding into your sensitive flesh. You could feel his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust, his cock feeling harder inside of you, and the knowledge that he was close to his own release sent you spiraling towards your climax. The words you’d just said had tumbled out. And to be honest, you kind of hoped your commitment was true. You only ever wanted his dick… it was that good. You wrapped your legs stayed around his waist, drawing him even deeper, your hands moving to clutch at his shoulders, leaving half-moon marks on his tanned skin. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a fierce kiss, his tongue invading, possessing. His hips never stoping their relentless motion, driving you closer and closer to the edge of bliss.

"That's right, you're my good girl. Only cum f’me. Only gonna ever wear my jersey too, yeah?" he grunted the question, his eyes never leaving yours. You nodded as the coil in your stomach tightened. Orgasmic bliss barrelling towards you."Cum for me, baby. Show me how much you love my cock." His words were like a match to the kindling of your desire. His words pushed you over the precipice. Your body tensed every nerve ending singing as you soared into your climax. Trent's fingers dug into your hips, holding you firmly in place as he fucked you into your climax, his own release building. And then in a split second just when the outside world couldn’t have seemed further away you heard the tracks of the garage door begin to open.

 "T!" you cried out, your voice high and desperate. The distant rumble of Jack returning home made your heart stop but you couldn’t stop your body’s orgasmic convulsions though. Your climax exploded through your body, rippling waves of pleasure that caused your back to arch and your pussy to clamp down on Trent’s cock. You cried out, your voice a mix of pleasure and surprise and panic, as your release washed over you, the waves of pleasure so intense they left you trembling. Trent's name was a mantra on your lips you were trying to bite back as you rode the waves of ecstasy but it was all mixed with genuine fear. “T… T.. fuck!” You yelped,  your hands moving to press against his chest to push him off. He didn’t hear the garage, he was locked in. You knew he was about to cum. “Trent!” You yelped just as his body tensed above you. His eyes squeezed shut, and he let out a guttural grunt, his hips making one final, powerful thrust as he filled you with his release. “Jack! Trent!” You told him. Trent had never had a more conflicting climax in his life. Panic, euphoria, and disgust hearing his mates name while he finished all at once. Trent's eyes widened, and he froze, his cock still buried deep within you. His release leaking inside you. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, a frantic rhythm that matched your own. The sensation of his hot cum inside you sent you over the edge again, a second orgasm washing over you, leaving you boneless and sated, Trent fighting back a groan as you tightened around him once more. Panting, your bodies glistening with sweat, you clung to each other, hearts racing but you needed to move. Now. The sudden realization that you were both naked and exposed snapped you back to the present. Anxiety flared in your chest as you scrambled to get Trent off you and find your clothes, your heart pounding. This was it. Jack was going to find out. 

"Shit," Trent cursed, quickly reaching for his boxers. "Your brother... we need to get downstairs." He instructed you. The urgency in his voice mirrored your own racing thoughts. You frantically searched for your clothes, scattered across the room. In a mad dash, you pulled on your panties and scrambled to find everything, while Trent hastily pulled on his trousers. The heat of the moment had turned into a frantic race against time. The sound of Jack’s arrival sent you both into a scramble, grabbing at clothes, fumbling with buttons, zipper, shirts pulled over heads, doing whatever you could to look convincingly casual. 

“Fuck, fuck!” you yelled in a whisper,  heart pounding as you clutched the sides of your shirt, tugging it over your head, trying to compose yourself. You shot Trent a panicked look.  Tears forming on your lash line. 

“Baby… Baby… we’ll be okay. You’re okay. C’mon.” He kissed your forehead before helping adjust your top. The slam of the door into the house had sent you and Trent into an even more panicked frenzy as you scrambled to not look like you just fucked. 

“My car,” Trent hissed almost to himself, eyes wide, realizing that leaving his car in the driveway was like leaving a neon sign that he was there.

“He’s going to see it…” You glanced at him, panicked. There was no hiding now. With your pulse racing, you tried to look as normal as possible, grabbing the closest thing you could find to play off a casual visit—a charger tangled near your bed. The two of you locked eyes, a silent agreement that this was your cover story.  You nodded back before you ran down the stairs just as Jack came through the other side of the house. Thank god the staircase up to your room was at the opposite end. You could hear Jack’s footsteps making his way towards you two as you made it downstairs. When he saw you and Trent his eyebrows raised, but he was relaxed enough. 

“Aye, mate, what’s up?” he asked, looking from Trent to you and back again. Jack looked at Trent with a faintly furrowed brow. Trent plastered on a relaxed smile, putting on his most casual tone.

“Yeah, good bro. Sorry, ah…left my phone charger here last time,” he replied smoothly, nodding toward the one you were now holding out like a lifeline. You forced a smile, trying to seem casual. Jack’s gaze lingered on you for a second, his expression skeptical. 

“So…” Jack’s tone held a playful curiosity. “You knew I wasn’t home?” Trent shrugged. 

“Yeah, bro, only a charger so I didn’t want to nag you about it,” he said, as you casually waving the charger like it was some grand prize he’d finally retrieve. “Y/N was just letting me grab it real quick.” You handed Trent the charger, feeling Jack’s gaze on both of you. Trent took it with a casual ‘Thanks,’ stuffing it into his pocket as if it had been his all along. You were mildly annoyed you were losing a charger but that was the least of your worries “Just thought I’d pop in, grab it, and head out.” Jack stared for a moment longer, lips curving into a smirk as he finally dropped his gaze. 

“Right… sound.” he chuckled.  Trent laughed, playing along, and you couldn’t help but join in, trying to mask your own nerves. Jack looked between you both, there was something in his eyes you couldn’t quite read but it was more confusion at the energy in the room than a hint of suspicion. But he just laughed, shrugging it off as Trent left. Trent still managed to give you a tiny, playful wink before slipping out, leaving your mind reeling.

“He’s so weird.” Jack teased you, still watching Trent get in his car. “Man makes millions and he’s pressed about a charger.” You let out a small, nervous laugh, hoping to play it cool. You felt Jack’s arm wrap around your shoulder in a lighthearted squeeze, and he shot you a teasing grin.

“Nah, he’s just… Trent… mindful, maybe?” you managed, trying to fill the silence and maybe convince both Jack and yourself. Jack smirked, shaking his head. Your heart was still racing but at least Trent had remained calm. 

“Yeah, well, you were probably just gassed you got his attention alone for five minutes.” He laughed, punching at your arm as he passed you. You forced yourself to chuckle, hoping the nervous energy vibrating through you wasn’t as obvious as it felt. Jack’s teasing had hit closer to home than he knew, and as you watched Trent’s car pull away from the driveway, you felt a mix of thrill and relief. The cover story might’ve worked, but the spark between you two? That was only getting harder to hide.

“Oh, please,” you replied, rolling your eyes, trying to sound nonchalant as you looked down, tugging at the hem of your shirt. You laughed, a little too loudly, hoping it came off as amused and not as a frantic release of tension.  Jack gave a little shrug, seemingly satisfied. 

“Just saying, you love Trenty.” He laughed teasingly but you didn’t. Not this time. “Y/N… I’m kidding. I know he’s your mate too. Relax. He came for a charger, innit. I’m joking. Sorry.” He looked at you apologetically, mildly confused why a tease about you have a crush on Trent hit so differently than before. He always poked fun but your vibe felt weird. He opted to just  let it roll off his back, moving on and turned, remaining oblivious as he headed to the kitchen. Meanwhile you were left with a stomach full of butterflies, lined with guilt  and a heart still pounding from the close call. Watching Trent drive away, you felt an undeniable thrill mixed with something deeper, something that had you feeling torn between excitement and culpability. The cover story had worked for now, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that keeping this secret would only get harder with time.

Sneaking around with Trent had quickly transformed into something more, something you felt deep in your bones. The thrill was undeniable, yet the way you kept finding yourself drawn back to him made it feel like it wasn't just about the thrill anymore. After Jack almost catching you, it just felt like you both actually thought what you were doing might’ve been worth it. Tonight felt like a step closer to something real, though the secrecy only intensified it. You'd told Jack you'd be staying over at Layla's, a lie that sat heavy, but the promise of a night with Trent made it worth it. When you arrived at his place, Trent's smile greeted you at the door, warm and familiar, and immediately, you felt all that tension melt away. He led you out to the back garden, where he had set up a cozy space just for the two of you. Blankets were draped over the outdoor couch on the patio, and the fire pit cast a gentle, golden glow. Jazz murmured softly from a speaker, blending perfectly with the low hum of the night, creating a sense of comfort that felt more intimate than you'd expected. The whole setup seemed to say: I wanted this to feel special. You nestled into the couch beside him, sharing the same blanket as the fire flickered, warming your faces. Trent leaned back, one arm stretched along the back of the couch, the other hand resting on your knee, and you felt yourself relaxing against him as if this was exactly where you belonged.

Although, it wasn't long though before he suggested a game of cards, his competitive spirit sparking in his eyes. You moved to sit cross-legged on the couch, turning to face him as you dealt the cards. Trent sat back, legs spread, confidence written across his face. But as the game went on and the tide turned in your favor, his expression shifted. He huffed when you won a hand, mumbling something about beginner's luck, but you could tell he was getting flustered. When you won again, his pout turned into a grin full of mischief.

"Nah, not having this. C'mon, there's no way you're this lucky," he teased, snatching the cards from your hand before pulling you into his lap, his hands snaking around your waist.

"Maybe I'm just better at it than you," you quipped, knowing it would get under his skin. He narrowed his eyes, pretending to look insulted but deep down you knew he hated hearing it, joke or not.

"Oh, so that's how it is, huh?" he murmured before leaning in, his teeth grazing your neck in a playful nibble, a cross between a kiss and bite as his hands gripped you tighter. You squirmed, laughing, trying to wriggle free, but he was stronger than you and wouldn't let you go.

"Just admit I won," you teased, breathless from laughing, glancing up at him with a triumphant smile.

"Not a chance," he whispered, voice low as his face hovered inches from yours, his eyes full of that look that made your pulse race. "The game's postponed. We'll settle it later." He said deciding he just wanted to be with you for the moment, no games. He let his hold on you loosen, and you rolled your eyes with a grin. 

"Whatever you want, baby." You murmured, your voice warm and teasing. He stilled, his gaze softening as he took you in, as if hearing you calling him ‘baby’ for the first time. Colloquially. The look in his eyes made your stomach flip, a moment of quiet that felt far more intimate than any kiss or touch. With a hum of satisfaction, he pulled you in closer, one hand tracing down your back.

"I like the sound of that." His fingers gently pressed into your skin, grounding you in that moment, and his other hand reached up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. You stayed wrapped up together, letting the night carry you in the warmth of each other's presence. Hours passed without notice, the jazz lulling softly in the background as you nestled closer, feeling his hand rest securely around you. His touch was soft, comforting, as if to say he wasn't in any rush to let go. The stars were bright overhead, and the crackling flames cast shadows over his face. Trent looked at you with a rare openness, a softness that made your chest ache in the best way. He pressed a kiss to your hair, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on you. You rested your head against his shoulder, your legs curled over his lap, feeling the strength of his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. Every so often, he'd lean down, brushing his lips against your temple or whispering something sweet that made your heart stutter. It felt like you were existing in your own little world, a pocket of warmth and comfort that was just for the two of you. The night stretched on, but neither of you felt any rush to move or break the spell. This wasn't just a thrill, or a secret-you could feel the weight of something genuine growing between you, something you were both beginning to understand couldn't be hidden forever.

Settling into Trent’s bed that night felt surreal—soft sheets, plush pillows, and the faint scent of him in the air made it feel luxurious, almost like a dream. Yet, there was that small tug of something missing, a sense of feeling a bit out of place amidst the perfection. You liked your routine, your things, that’s all. This was well,  it was his bed, his room, his world. You didn’t quite realize how it showed until Trent, lying beside you with a gentle smile, noticed it.

“I can tell you’re uncomfortable. What’s up?” he asked, his gaze soft but curious. You shook your head with a half-hearted laugh, trying to dismiss it. 

“I’m not uncomfortable… I just…” you trailed off, unable to find the words. But he shook his head, unconvinced. 

“Nah, baby, c’mon,” he coaxed, “alright. Tell me what you usually do before bed.” He rolled over and looked at you with a smile. At that, you couldn’t help but grin. 

“Okay, so,” you started, tucking your hair behind your ear as you settled into explaining shuffling in the sheets.. “First thing’s first: I have to take off all my makeup. But that means using an oil cleanser first because it breaks everything down— mascara, everything. Then I use a second cleanser to really clean my skin. It’s called double cleansing.” You giggled as Trent nodded with a raised eyebrow, trying not to smile. 

“Double cleansing?” he echoed. “More than once seems like….” You widened your eyes silently asking to finish and continued on. 

“Trust me, it makes a difference because some of us don’t just wake up moisturize and go.” You teased and he rolled his eyes swiping his thumb over his cheekbone as if to show off his perfect skin. “But then I have to pat my face dry with specific towels or like disposable ones, you know? Like I can’t just be rubbing whatever to dry.” He leaned back, clearly amused but listening intently. You were pretty sure he had no idea what he’d gotten himself into. 

“Okay, what’s next?” he asked, a playful grin on his face.

“Then it’s skincare time,” you declared. “I use a toner first.” Trent nodded but you knew he probably didn’t know what that meant. “After that, I have a few serums. Then… ” You cooed but Trent interjected. 

“A few!?” Trent’s eyes widened slightly. It was becoming evidently more and more clear he did not have a sister. A part of you laughed that you never realized how deep that fact ran and then a part of you felt a bit relieved this was the first time he seemed to be hearing this. The idea that any girl that had come before you had yet to explain this to him. 

“Yeah then we move to like eye creams, moisturizers next,” you explained and continued to rattle on with more. He looked impressed and bewildered at the same time. 

“That’s… a lot,” he said, but there was a note of affection in his voice that made you smile.

“And we’re not even done!” you pointed out. “After the skincare, I do my hair care. Apply some products for hydration. Oh and silk pillowcases are a must for both skin and hair. They’re gentler and prevent breakage.” Trent’s eyes sparkled with humor, but he nodded as if taking mental notes. 

“Alright, so we’ve got skin and hair. Anything else?” He smirked almost assuming you were done. 

“Obviously,” you said, feigning indignation. “Then I have to set up my room. I spray a lavender sleep mist onto my bed to help me relax, and I take my nighttime supplements—magnesium, a sleep aid if I need it, maybe some collagen.” You explained.

“Supplements too?” he repeated, clearly finding all of this fascinating. He had routines but it was more for optimizing performance and in a way you were doing just the same.

“Yep. And then I need like wattterrrs,” you explained dragging out the word, feeling more animated as you talked. “And sometimes, if I’m feeling really stressed, I’ll do a short guided meditation before bed. Just five to ten minutes to clear my mind.” Trent was leaning forward now, his chin resting in his hands grinning ear to ear. Trent started laughing, eyes wide with disbelief. 

“That’s like 15 steps, baby!” he exclaimed, shaking his head as if you’d told him the most extravagant bedtime routine on earth and maybe you had in his mind. You laughed along, shrugging. 

“Hey, you asked! Besides, don’t pretend you’re not just as high maintenance with all your Byredo lotions over there.” You smirked, nodding toward the sleek row of bottles lined on the counter in the ensuite. He rolled his eyes, giving a mock scoff. 

“Alright, alright… but that’s… that’s quite the process,” he said, his voice laced with teasing affection. “You really do all that every night?” You crossed your arms, pretending to be offended. 

“I mean I try to every single night! It’s called self-care, T. There’s more out there than just what the club tells you to do. You should try my routine sometime.”  You giggled teasing him. You knew he took really good care of himself but when it came to beauty he was more relaxed. He laughed, the sound filling the room.

“I don’t think I could handle all of that.” He smirked.  You couldn’t help but smile, warmth blooming in your chest at the compliment. He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Even if he didn’t fully understand each step, he was there, listening and appreciating the lengths you went to for your own well-being. And that made you feel seen in a way that was hard to explain. Still smiling, he grabbed his phone, opening his notes app. “Okay, baby… give me the names and brands. Everything you need for sleeping here.” Your heart fluttered at the gesture, so thoughtful and unexpected. You began listing each product, and he typed them with an almost serious focus, nodding as if he were taking notes on a game plan; Slip pillow cases, Tata Harper cleansers, Maison Francis mists, a 14th Night Hair Elixir. 

“You don’t actually have to do all this,” you murmured, feeling almost shy. But his hand found yours, and he squeezed it gently.

“I want you to feel comfortable here,” he said softly, looking at you with that easy, open sincerity. “Besides, if it’s gonna make you sleep better, then it’s worth it. Keeps you in my bed.” He cheekily cooed. The thoughtfulness left you feeling a mix of warmth and gratitude, a sense of belonging that surprised you. And as much as you adored the idea of your favorite products sitting in his bathroom, what you loved even more was this—him, making space for you in his world, in his home. It also felt nice to know it’d be like a warning should any other girl be over. This was your marking your territory.

“Thank you,” you whispered, shifting closer to him, a smile playing on your lips. “Honestly, though… all I really need to feel at home is you.” He smiled, pulling you closer, his arms wrapping around you. 

“You’ve always felt like home to me.” He whispered back to you. Both of your admissions honest. The room was calm, the dim light casting soft shadows, and Trent’s fingers lazily traced patterns along your arm as you both settled into the cozy rhythm of conversation. The hum of street lights outside mixed with the soft rustling of sheets, making the entire moment feel even more intimate. Even after Trent finished noting down your list, he looked over with a smirk, still visibly amused by the whole process.  “So, am I missing anything? Or do we need to add a couple more things for this routine?”

“Oh, don’t even start,” you teased, giving him a playful nudge. “You wouldn’t understand—it’s just habitual; it’s so I can look pretty.” You batted your eyes at him. He laughed, tipping his head back, the sound warm and rich. 

“Well… you always look beautiful. Don’t think you need all this but, consider me converted if it makes you happy,” he said, miming a solemn vow. “But seriously, I’ll get it, alright? It’s not just about making you feel at home—it’s about you being at home here, whenever you want.” The sincerity in his words made your cheeks warm. For a moment, you let yourself imagine what it would feel like for this to be your regular night: no need to pack an overnight bag, no sneaking in and out, just… this, every night. You snuggled deeper into his embrace, the weight of his arm draped protectively around you making everything feel somehow complete. He noticed the pensive look on your face and tilted his head, studying you. “What’re you thinking about?”

“It’s just… weird, you know? I didn’t expect it to feel this comfortable here.” You hesitated, then smiled softly. “I thought it would feel… wrong.” He ran his hand gently up and down your back, pulling you even closer. It was wrong. It was wrong what you were doing to Jack, but this? This felt very right. 

“Yeah, I know what you mean. But I also knew it’d be good. You and I have always been good. I want it to feel easy. Want you to feel like you don’t have to hide anything when we’re here or feel out of place here.” His voice was low, soothing, and he spoke as if he were letting you in on some quiet, long-held secret. He reached over, smoothing a strand of hair away from your face, fingers lingering as he looked into your eyes with that calm, unwavering gaze of his. “I know we’re figuring things out, and it might be complicated but it doesn’t have to be here. We’re good here,” he said softly, his hand resting gently on your cheek. You leaned into his touch, heart beating a little faster. 

“You really mean that?” you whispered, almost afraid of his answer.

“Yeah, I do,” he replied, his voice steady. “I think we’re pretty damn good together.” He smirked. For a moment, the silence between you was filled with unspoken words, a warmth passing between you that felt equal parts thrilling and comforting. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and smiled, nestling closer to him.

“Okay,” you murmured, settling fully into the pillow beside him, letting his steady breathing and the soft glow of his gaze ground you. The weight of his arm around you felt like an anchor, keeping you steady even as your mind whirled with thoughts of what this meant, of what you meant to him. He pulled you even closer, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. 

“So… really, pretty girl, any final steps in this ritual of yours? Any last ones?” he teased, breaking the quiet moment with a playful glint in his eyes. You rolled your eyes, laughing. 

“Alright, alright, since you’re so curious… And I’m generous, I guess I could share the one I never even leave home without.” You reached over, awkwardly leaning to grab your lip balm you’d already moved to the nightstand earlier to have on hand. It was a lip balm you brought with you everywhere, so tonight was no different. It was a rich Hermes lip balm. Nothing made your lips feel more well-hydrated, supple or better than this. You applied a layer to your own lips before leaning in, catching him with a soft kiss that tasted faintly of beeswax.

“There, now you’re officially a part of my routine,” you said, grinning. He shook his head, still chuckling, his fingers tracing along your jaw as he pulled you in for another kiss. 

“If this is how the routine ends, I’m in.” And in that moment, with the warmth of his arms around you, the soft glow of the lights outside, and the quiet thrill of realizing just how natural this all felt, you let yourself settle fully into the moment. Trent leaned over you and grabbed the sleek tube again. “You think the lads would take the mick if I rolled around using Hermes lip balm? Because this actually feels so good.” He asked you earnestly. You smirked knowing the answer would likely be yes but you just hummed. 

“Does it? Or was it my kiss?” You teased. “Nah, you could use it though. If you’d want you can take this one. I’ll get another one.” You cooed, pressing your lips to his again. Trent nodded agreeing. And he did. You let him take it the next day. But that night you fell to sleep happy, lips moisturized, and all the worries and doubts fading into the background, leaving just you and him, here together, finding home in each other.

As you bounded down the stairs, practically buzzing with excitement, you were already mentally at Trent’s, imagining the quiet moments you’d get to have again, just the two of you for another night. You’d been doing this a lot. Hiding it all from everyone but reveling in the time tucked together. Your heart raced as you went through the plan in your head—another night wrapped up in his arms, laughing, teasing, letting everything else fall away. But Jack’s voice cut through your daydreams, grounding you in an instant.

“Hey, you headed out? Who’s the lucky lad now?” he asked, his tone casual, but his eyes studying you closely. Your heart skipped, a blend of panic and guilt washing over you. You were sure he’d started to suspect something, especially with all the time you’d been spending away. Swallowing hard, you tried for a casual response. You didn’t think he’d even be considering Trent, but it was clear you were spending a lot of time ‘out’ with someone. No matter, lying to Jack… Jack, your big brother, your best friend; though you’d never tell Layla that, it all felt so wrong. 

“Yeah, but I don’t want to jinx it, you know? Not yet,” you said with a soft smile, hoping he’d leave it at that. But Jack wasn’t one to let things slide easily. He just hummed, giving you a long, knowing look. Then, with a gentleness that caught you off guard, he spoke again. 

“Hey…” he started, and you could hear the tenderness in his voice. “I’ve never seen you like this before.” He sympathetically smiled. 

“What do you mean?” You looked up at him, surprised

“I mean, there’s a light in you that I haven’t seen in a while. It’s good to see it again.” His eyes softened, a mix of pride and love filling his gaze. “I don’t know what this lad’s doing, but whatever it is, it’s bringing out the best in you. Look happier. Healthier.” A rush of emotion swelled in your chest, catching you off guard. The tears pricked at the corners of your eyes before you could stop them, and you looked away, trying to compose yourself. Jack noticed, stepping forward and wrapping you in one of those big, protective hugs he was so good at. You felt the familiar strength of his arms around you, his hand gently rubbing your back as he held you close. “I just want you happy,” he murmured into your hair, and the raw honesty in his voice almost broke you. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I told Mum and Dad I’d look out for you, you know?” His voice was low, laced with the memories and promises you both had carried for years. You felt horrible. You were lying. Why were you lying? “I know I can be a pain sometimes, but… I don’t want you being with anyone that treats you like…” Jack tried to say it but he couldn’t. Jack was protective, loving but as communicative and close as you two were he just couldn’t stomach the idea of men treating you poorly so he couldn’t get the words out. “You deserve to be loved, to feel safe, that’s all.” Jack was the only place you felt safe since your mum passed. Your dad closed off and Jack stepped up. You shut your eyes, feeling the warmth of his embrace seep into you. There were times when a hug from Jack felt like it held everything you missed, everything you longed for—comfort, security, family. It was a rare, grounding feeling, and one that made you ache with a strange blend of gratitude and sadness. Pulling back just enough to look at you, Jack brushed his hand over your cheek, a soft smile on his lips. “Maybe we go to Sefton Park sometime soon?” he suggested. “Just us, like old times. Feels like we’re missing each other lately. Never see you.” He smiled softly and it made your heart ache. The weight of his words settled in your chest, and you managed a nod, blinking back the tears that had filled your eyes. You felt his arm tighten around you for a second, and he chuckled softly. “And… maybe one day you can introduce me to this fella. He seems alright, if he’s making you this happy.” His words hit harder than you expected, the guilt flaring up in your chest as you forced a smile. 

“Yeah… maybe.” You sheepishly told him feeling nauseous at the idea that Jack knew this ‘fella’ better than he probably ever wanted to.  Jack gave you a gentle squeeze, reaching to teasingly pull on the ends of your hair like he used to when you were kids. 

“Alright, go on then. Don’t keep him waiting. Don’t fuck it up now.” He winked, letting you go, but the warmth in his eyes stayed with you. As you walked to the door, your heart hurt, the weight of your secret feeling heavier with each step. The excitement of seeing Trent was still there, humming in the back of your mind, but Jack’s words lingered. You felt torn, a part of you wanting to spill everything to your brother, to let him see the whole truth. But as you got outside, you forced yourself to push it all away. For now, you just wanted to hold onto the happiness Jack had seen in you. You wanted to be with Trent, to laugh, to feel that lightness and warmth without the shadow of guilt hanging over you. And even if it was only for a night, you let yourself believe that was enough.

When morning rolled in, you were tucked into the sheets, the soft weight of the comforter keeping you warm as you dozed off, half-conscious of Trent beside you. The light filtered in through the blinds, illuminating the room in a golden haze, and you felt a deep contentment, drifting in that hazy, relaxed state between sleep and wakefulness. But then you felt the bed shift as Trent sat up more. You looked around Trent’s room, feeling oddly out of place though, despite how many times you had now woken up tangled in his sheets, wrapped up in the ease and warmth he offered. Today, though, it felt different. Your lies seeping in the warmth.  The room, with its familiar scent of him, his things strewn about casually, almost felt like a stage where you were playing a part you couldn’t reveal. It was strange, bittersweet, this cozy little world of yours that felt so real here but that would eventually dissolve the moment you stepped back into your life with Jack.

“Hi, baby,” you murmured, blinking up at him, a sleepy smile spreading across your face trying to be present and not get lost in your thoughts. You scooted closer, wrapping an arm around his waist and nestling into him. He gave a soft chuckle, running his fingers through your hair. 

“Hi, pretty girl.” He leaned down, kissing the top of your head. “Hey, I need you to stay in bed for me for a bit, yeah?” he said, his tone gentle but somehow cautious. You raised an eyebrow, pulling back to look at him more closely, half-expecting it to be some cheeky invitation. 

“Stay in bed?” you teased, smiling as you placed a playful kiss on his chest. But then he spoke again, and you caught the slight edge in his voice.

“Yeah, erm… Jack’s popping over,” he said, watching you carefully. It was like a cold wave washed over you, jolting you fully awake. You immediately pushed yourself up, heart racing. 

“Wait—what?” You scrambled, trying to pull yourself together, suddenly very aware that you were in Trent’s bed, in his house, wearing only his shirt. Trent had forgotten Jack was swinging by today until he got the text moments ago reminding him. He had promised he’d donate a pair of signed boots or something for Jack’s company to auction off for charity and today… he was coming to pick them up. 

“I forgot. Honest. It’ll be alright though.” He tried to tell you. This could not keep happening. You couldn’t tell which situation was worse. Jack finding out the other day - Trent was fucking you at your house, but it wasn’t uncommon for him to be there… Or Jack finding out now - You weren’t having sex as he came over but there was zero reason for you to be at Trent’s this early. There would be no excuse. You couldn’t keep lying to Jack this was eating you up. One mildly redeeming thought popped into your head – thankfully, your car was in Trent’s garage out of sight. It was tucked away though because Trent told you, you needed to take better care of it and can’t just leave it out all the time but still your anxiety was spiking.  

“T, then I have to leave!” you hissed, frantically looking around for how you could possibly grab all your things in time. You could already feel the guilt bubbling up inside, imagining Jack’s reaction if he walked in and found you here. But Trent just reached out, gently tugging you back, his arms wrapping around you, grounding you.

“Hey, hey. Relax, yeah? Just stay here. He’s not coming up into my bed,” he murmured, pulling you close and pressing a kiss to your temple. “It’ll be five minutes. He’s just coming by to pick something up. Quick, in and out. We’ll be okay.”  You looked up at him, worried, still tense. 

“Trent…” you began, but he only gave you a soft, reassuring smile, his eyes full of that easy confidence he always seemed to carry.

“Please. Just stay here. It’ll be okay,” he murmured, giving you those puppy-dog eyes that you could never say no to. You sighed, settling back into his embrace, heart still hammering as you heard Jack’s car pull up outside. To be fair, it made more sense for you to hide but it felt even more shameful to do. Part of you wanted to pull the covers over your head, to hide and pretend this wasn’t happening. Instead, you sat tensely in bed, listening as Trent slipped downstairs, his voice echoing faintly as he greeted Jack. You could hear their friendly banter, and it twisted your stomach with guilt. You knew it was wrong to keep this from Jack, but the thought of losing these moments with Trent was just as hard. 

You sat there, still, hands nervously fidgeting as you heard their voices drifting up from downstairs. Jack’s laughter mixed with Trent’s lighter chuckle, and it churned something inside you—a pang of guilt mixed with a longing for this to be simpler, to be something you could share without worry. But for now, the thrill of sneaking around was overshadowed by the weight of keeping this secret from Jack, from the one person who’d seen you through everything, helped you through everything. But still, hearing Jack’s voice below reminded you of the stakes, of how much you valued him, his trust, and how deeply you felt the need to protect this secret with Trent—even if it meant bending the truth. You picked at the hem of Trent’s shirt, which felt soft and familiar against your skin. There was something comforting in wearing a part of him, yet it also made everything feel painfully real. This wasn’t just some fling. You knew it every time you looked into Trent’s eyes, every time he pulled you into his arms like he didn’t want to let go. And then you heard the front door close,  there was silence for a little while until footsteps came up the stairs breaking it. You held your breath, half-wishing you could vanish into the walls. When Trent finally walked back in, you met his gaze, searching his face for some reassurance that you weren’t just imagining this, that he understood the complicated feelings swirling inside you. When Trent came back into the room, you’d moved to sit at the edge of the bed, his shirt still draped over you, your hands fidgeting nervously, his face softening as he noticed the tension in your posture. He gave you a soft smile, walking over and tilting your chin up so you’d meet his eyes.

“Hey. All good, yeah?” he murmured, his voice gentle. He leaned down, his forehead resting against yours, and you let yourself breathe again, slowly, finding comfort in his touch. You nodded, exhaling as you managed a small smile, letting yourself relax into him. 

“I just… I hate lying to him, Trent. It feels so messed up.” You let out a shaky breath, relief mingling with guilt. Trent knelt down in front of you, his hands finding yours. 

“I know, and I get it,” he said softly, his thumbs tracing slow circles on your skin. “But it’s just us right now. And whatever this is,” he squeezed your hands, “I want it to be ours before it’s anyone else’s. Jack will understand that.” His words settled over you like a warm blanket, grounding you in the certainty you felt with him. The guilt didn’t completely vanish, but his reassurance made it bearable, made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you could navigate this without losing what mattered. “You okay?” he asked, his gaze unwavering, full of that soft patience he always seemed to have for you. He came and sat on the bed with you. Keeping a cautious distance not wanting to overwhelm you but a gentle open hand close ready to hold yours if you wanted it.  You sat across from Trent, fingers nervously fidgeting in your lap, your gaze low as you struggled to put words to the feeling that had been building up inside.

 “I just… I feel so guilty, lying to Jack all the time. T, it’s fucked,” you whispered repeating it once over, barely able to meet Trent’s eyes. Trent’s expression softened, and he took your hands in his, his touch grounding. 

“I know,” he murmured, squeezing your hands gently. “I feel it too. But it’s like… I can’t let this go. I can’t let you go. It’s… “ He paused momentarily, grappling with this almost as much as you. “It’s hard to feel like we can have both.” He cooed. You looked up at him, eyes searching his for something, maybe an answer, but all you found was a mirrored sense of conflict. 

“I want this,” you admitted, your voice a little choked. “I want you. But I don’t know how to make it work. I feel like I’m walking a tightrope, terrified of falling in either direction.” You sniffled, trying to keep your emotions in check. He let out a quiet sigh, his gaze intense, but he didn’t look away. Instead, he lifted one of your hands to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. 

“I know,” he whispered. “I don’t want to hide us either, but I also don’t want to put you in the middle.” The two of you sat there, wrapped in a silence that felt heavy, a quiet admission of the fears you shared but couldn’t quite voice. You could feel the ache in your chest intensify, a lump rising in your throat as the weight of it pressed on you. You blinked, feeling a tear slip free despite your attempts to keep it together. Trent’s gaze softened immediately. “Hey, baby” he murmured, reaching out to gently brush the tear from your cheek. “Are you alright?” he asked, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles on your skin. “Talk to me. I know this is a lot.” You tried to smile, to reassure him, but it faltered, and instead, more tears followed, spilling over as you let out a shaky breath. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling raw, exposed. “It’s just… Jack’s all I have. And I’m terrified that by being with you, by hiding this from him, I’m going to somehow lose both of you.” Your voice broke, and you quickly wiped at your cheeks, embarrassed by your own vulnerability. Trent’s expression shifted, a deep sympathy filling his eyes as he moved closer, pulling you into his arms. He wrapped you up tightly, holding you like he could somehow protect you from all the things that felt like they were slipping away.

“You could never lose me,” he whispered, his voice steady, almost as if he was willing it to be true, willing it to ease the fear in your heart. You leaned into him, feeling his arms around you, his steady presence a balm to the ache that had been building. But the silence that followed his words weighed heavily, filled with all the things neither of you could find a way to say. You let out a shaky breath, burying your face in his shoulder, feeling both comforted and conflicted in his embrace. After a moment, Trent pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. “You’re all I think about,” he said softly, a tenderness in his gaze that made your heart ache in a different way. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to choose, and I don’t want you to feel alone in this.” You nodded, but the weight of the situation lingered. A part of you wanted so badly to believe that his reassurance was enough, that you wouldn’t have to choose, that you could keep this connection with Trent without losing your relationship with Jack. But doubt gnawed at you, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were balancing on a thin line, one misstep away from losing it all. As if sensing your inner turmoil, Trent tilted your chin up, his gaze steady as he looked at you. “You’ll never lose me, no matter what happens” he repeated softly, his words a gentle promise. But something about the quiet that followed felt almost uncertain, as if he, too, knew how fragile everything was. Neither of you knew what would come next, and as he held you, the silence stretched, filled with both comfort and unspoken fears.In that moment, you held on tighter, hoping it would be enough to keep things from unraveling.

“Okay.” You nodded, managing a small smile as you squeezed his hands back. He smiled, his eyes brightening as he pulled you to your feet and into his arms. 

“Always, always, always” he murmured against your hair, between kisses, holding you close as you melted into him. You stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in his arms, finding strength in his steady heartbeat, letting yourself believe that somehow, everything would work out. While your brain was spiraling, Trent’s heart hurt just the same. He felt like a scumbag for lying to Jack, for being with you. But he also felt like for the first time he was properly falling for you, getting to know you in a way he’d always longed for.  He couldn’t just throw it all away now, now that  he had a taste. He was putting up a good front though holding you, telling you it was fine. It was hard, but fine, but he wasn’t sure if he wasn’t saying that to himself even more. He wasn’t sure he could stomach a fall out with you or Jack. 

One afternoon after things stayed as they were, Trent casually reached into his pocket, pulling out the sleek little tube of lip balm, twisting it open with the practiced ease of someone who’d clearly used it more than a few times. He applied a quick swipe to his lips, completely unaware of the attention it was drawing. Noah noticed first, his brows raising in surprise before he nudged Jack, nodding subtly toward Trent. Jack caught sight of the lip balm and immediately burst into laughter. 

“Bro…” he said, still chuckling, “pretty sure my sister uses that shit.”

“Yeah? What about it?” Trent glanced over, unbothered. Noah shook his head, grinning. 

“Mate, good thing you’ve got that contract lined up. What’re you doing spending pounds on… what is that? Lipstick? ‘Cause it isn’t Nivia innit?” he teased, exaggerating. Trent rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“First off, it’s a balm. Second, it’s moisturizing, and it’s not shiny or anything, so you lot can calm down.” Noah and Jack exchanged a look, both stifling laughs. 

“Alright, alright, Pretty Boy,” Jack teased, holding up his hands in surrender. 

“Just saying, Y/N buying Hermes chapstick is one thing… You? That’s mad.” Noah laughed. Unphased, Trent shrugged, narrowing his gaze on him.

“You ever see Y/N’s lips looking dry?” He held up the balm, grinning. Noah shook his head.  

“Yeah, but I’m not exactly looking, am I?” Noah chuckled, clearly having fun with it. Trent just shrugged again, refusing to give them the satisfaction of riling him up. 

“Just saying,” he replied smoothly. “You can keep laughing, but I’m the one not walking around with dry lips. Yours could use a little help, mate,” he joked, nodding toward Noah, who chuckled. Jack shook his head, still laughing. 

“Alright, fair play,” Noah shot back, grinning. “But careful, next thing you’ll be raiding her entire collection.” Jack just laughed, shaking his head. 

“Honestly, I can’t believe you’re actually using the same shit as my sister.” Jack said. Trent smirked, tucking the balm back into his pocket with a satisfied look. 

“Gotta keep up, don’t I?” he replied, unbothered. “She knows what she’s doing.” Noah and Jack looked at each other knowingly queuing up a joke. Trent rolled his eyes, already sensing the teasing wouldn’t let up anytime soon. But he leaned back on the couch with a smirk thinking of you and your lips.

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!

Next part - Chapter 7 - Girl of The Season xx

[s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s]

Here's the new single from my album Javelin. Video animated by Stephen Halker. “Will Anybody Ever Love Me?” More info here.

THANK YOU.

Quick background about the video: my friend Stephen Halker took elements from the album art that I made (collage, paper arts, paintings etc.) and incorporated them into these really wild CGI fantasy landscapes that he created. He sent me some notes about his process and approach that I thought were really cool, if you're interested.

From Stephen:

"This is what I was really thinking about when i made this video:

It's like walking into someone's soul. First they put up these facades that look normal, but then you find out how messy they are.

  I wanted it to start out super normal and cultivated. a landscape made flat by the machinations of an agrarian society.

  Then a nice walk through a forest. nothing special. but more wild

  Then the expanse of a grand canyon.... but you go, "hey what's that thing on the ground? Is that supposed to be there?

  The grasslands are when you start to see curated memories. clean circles of thoughts.  Everything is still manageable, manicured, controlled.  but what's that on the horizon.  looks like there's some bigger thoughts buried in those grassy north dakotan buttes.

  Then comes the chorus.  You gotta mix it up for the chorus.  This scene is called darklands in my computer.  I made the hexagons to reference Carrie and Lowell.  i thought of this structure as if it was the longings of the heart. this sort of plinth of idols. Starting with the starlet from the "Will anybody ever love me" page of the booklet.  Then transferring that longing to archetype.... then parents, family, friends,  the love of the masses...

Once you know this much about someone, the rest of it is just is just a continuation of craziness. I wanted to morph from contained circles toward individual cut out shapes.

  moving through different corridors and memories.

  Obsessing over one memory.

  Building towers of meaning, trying to make sense of moments events through repetition and fortification.

Second chorus was supposed to recall some of the previous scenes.  the wheat, the Planet, travelling through the same hexagons, but this time they aren't filled with icons. just patterns.

  you travel through the puffy paint wormhole into a less tethered version of the self.

  No more landscape. just a repetition of memories.  The world has fallen away.

 I've always loved phyllotaxis and golden sections. they feel very.... "this goes on forever"-y.

  The image of your face split in half, thrown into this fibonacci sequence reminded me of your "perpetual self" song from avalanche (which has always stuck with me)

  There's a floor again. but now it's just the triangle and tape patterns. illuminated.

 Flip to the image of Katrina under the owl was giving off a strong "athena" vibe.  Goddess of wisdom, craft, warfare.  She could make sense of my warring emotions.

End scene."

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A post shared by Stephen Halker (@stephenhalker)

[otomes-world]

Lucid dreaming

I haven't been the most productive writer this year. I'm also late with the congratulatory gift, but I'll continue anyway. This isn't exactly a New Year's themed work. I wrote it as unexpectedly as I posted it today. Thanks to everyone who's been with me this year! P.S. You can put here any of your favorite characters. Happy holiday my dear 0/

The sky was light purple with clouds running past, always hurrying somewhere. There was silence all around, broken only by the sound of footsteps on the stone-paved road. On the sides there were statues of various villains from different fairy tales. Why your consciousness decided to choose them was a question you would like to know the answer to.

This was not the first time you have found yourself in this place. Sometimes the locations were cut out illustrations from a fantasy book, and sometimes they seemed so real that sometimes you were surprised to wake up.

You remembered the very first one from the dream best. It was dark, the source of light was only the lanterns glowing green. Except for the full moon - because, of course, it had to be full - which was burning, a bright noticeable spot, already at this stage not boding anyting well. The road led you through a landscaped park and, it seemed, there was nothing unexpected in this. Until it turned and before your eyes appeared an ornate metal gate, the wicket door standing open. As if inviting you to enter.

In the distance, a castle stood proudly, its sharp towers piercing the sky.

Hearing a horse neighing behind you, you turned around abruptly and woke up. Blinking and trying to catch your breath after the sudden awakening, you replayed such a real scene in your head. As if you had already been there, which was a stupid statement. You were not the type of person running around abandoned buildings and shouting into the void with a flashlight: "Give me a sign!" However, dreams are dreams, and work and getting ready in the mornings were still necessary.

The cold water finally drove away the remnants of sleep, and the amazing dream would have been forgotten in the routine, if it had not been repeated the next night.

And the next.

And the one after that.

Throughout the year.

The bell caught your attention, and you looked up to greet the new customer. It was raining outside, and many people were rushing to hide under the shelter of the roofs of small coffee shops and stores. Yours was no exception.

Well, the cafe wasn't exactly yours. You just worked there as a barista, because, firstly, it wasn't difficult. Secondly, the pay was pretty good. Thirdly… you started working there as a teenager, and now the small establishment had become an integral part of your life. A second home, no matter how saccharine it may sound. You loved this place, and that was only thing that matters.

Usually, the hustle and bustle took up all possible free time and there were no thoughts for unnecessary reflections, but on such a melancholic day with an equally thoughtful accompaniment, it became an exception.

Despite the fact that dreams, against your will, also tightly merged with your everyday life, you could not deny how real they felt from time to time. The texture of objects, the wind on your skin, and even the banal emotions of what was happening. The only thing that kept you afloat was the next awakening after the invisible timer ended. Whatever you saw, whatever place you visited this time, in the end you opened your eyes in your apartment. You walked to your favorite job along familiar streets. You saw the same faces of passersby running through the shop windows to their business.

Everything was as it should have been.

However, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was slowly starting to change. You no longer felt lonely and restless in the world of dreams. As if you were being thrown into moments when someone was nearby. Even though you couldn’t see each other, the suspicion in the subcortex of your consciousness made itself known.

You first noticed this while sitting in the library, whose shelves with books stretched as far as the view could reach. It was quiet and, taking the first manual on flying on broomsticks that came to hand, you opened it to a random page and dozed off, propping your chin up with your hand. Sleeping in a dream was ironical but the sun shining through the window made you sleepy.

The chair next to you creaked, and you instantly opened your eyes. There was no one nearby. Frowning, you left the book, stood up and walked around the seats, peering around the corners. It was definitely a chair. As if someone had moved it to sit at the table. When you returned to your place, you discovered that the book was closed and put on the edge of the table.

Ghosts didn't exist, you repeated to yourself. Although you were actually asleep, so in the world of your consciousness they could be as real as, for example, you. The realization made you shudder unpleasantly, but not from the cold. The desire to return to the previous place disappeared and, casting another wary glance at the book, you turned to hide in the depths of the library. While away the time until you woke up.

From that moment on, you constantly began to notice someone's invisible presence. Moreover, you could swear that this someone noticed you. You simply did not have direct evidence of each other's existence.

Doubts gnawing from within deprived you of peace during the period intended for rest. Until, finding yourself in the library, you walked to the nearest table to grab a piece of paper and a pen. It looked and sounded stupid. Trying to find an explanation for the oddities in a dream was like asking unnecessary questions in a computer game.

"Are you here?"

Leaving a piece of paper and a pen nearby, you stepped away, turned on your heels and left. If the pen suddenly flew in and started scratching something, you couldn't promise that you wouldn't fall over on the spot. The anticipation was driving you crazy, but it was a necessary decision to try to calm yourself down.

After making a few circles, forcing yourself to read the spines of the books, trying to distract yourself, you walked back slowly. The items were where you left them, only next to your inscription there was another one.

"I'm here"

You dropped into a chair and not taking your eyes off the paper, afraid to touch it. You sat there until you woke up again.

A sigh escaped against your will, forcing your eyes shut and open a couple of times, you tried to straighten up. You probably weren't the best employee today, but the work shift flew by unnoticed. It was time to close. Stepping out into the hall and sitting down on one of the soft chairs, you rubbed the bridge of your nose. That incident wouldn't leave your head and although you never repeated such experiments, it was enough to turn your whole understanding of the dream world upside down. It was one thing to travel to an unknown place and quite another to realize that you were not alone.

The bell on the door rang - someone had arrived. Damn it, you forgot to close the door and turn the sign over. Pulling yourself together, you raised your head to meet an unknown man. Although he was outwardly calm, you noticed how interestedly he was looking around.

"Excuse me, sir, we are closed," you addressed him, drawing his attention to you. Something about him seemed vaguely familiar, but you definitely hadn't met before. You remembered most of the cafe's customers. "You can come in tomorrow, we are open from 8 am."

You looked at each other for a while. This gave you another chance to look him over. He was dressed in some sort of uniform: a black jacket and pants, a colorful vest, a white shirt and a striped tie. Then he closed his eyes and answered more cheerfully than you expected.

"Oh, that's too bad," his expression didn't match the bad - for him - news. "I was hoping to get out of the rain."

You glanced at the door behind him, and sure enough, the rain didn't seem to be letting up. A sentence you would never have uttered to anyone in your right mind was out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.

The stranger's eyes narrowed slightly, revealing a happy glint in his eyes. For some reason, the unexpected remark rang in your head like a bell, even though no one was coming in. Without waiting for his answer - your intuition told you that he would not refuse - you went to the door and turned the sign over to "Closed".

"I need to close and clean up, it'll take me," you glanced quickly at the clock by the counter. "Half an hour or so. You can wait there until I'd finish but after you'll have to leave."

You did not believe in fateful meetings, but perhaps this was one of them? It sounded cheesy even to you, so you ignored the man who had settled down on a chair near the display case. Of all the places, he decided to choose this one.

With sheer willpower, you forced yourself to get down to work, already regretting your words. It was too late to take them back and throw him out into the street.

Surprisingly, he did not try to start a conversation with you, limiting himself to rare glances, for which you were grateful. If he suddenly decided to continue the dialogue, you would have caught a nervous overstrain. Enough impressions from this day.

You walked over to where he had been sitting, seemingly a moment ago, to wipe down the surface. Then you froze. There was a white paper napkin with just three words on it,

You finished wiping the tables and looked around the hall. As you got to work, you completely forgot about the man's presence. Turning to the counter, you found that he was no longer there. When did he leave and why didn't you hear? It saved you from unnecessary interaction, though.

"I'm here."