#Challenges in Expense Recognition

[mrs-delaney]

Orbit

🏈 Joe Burrow x Reader | 9.3k-ish words

Request: Hi, can you write about Joe being the first man in the reader's life (first love always hurts) But he doesn't want anything serious, he's dating another influencer, and he won't commit to the reader who's deeply in love with him, so she puts up with it.(May it have a lot of angst, be a bit spicy, and finally have a happy ending? 🙏🏻)

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Content Advisory: This story contains lies about birthday plans, astronomical amounts of pining, and one very expensive lesson in why you shouldn't date people who keep you a secret. Proceed with tissues and low expectations for male behavior.

Author’s Note: This one did not come easy, y’all. I’ve been chipping away at it for at least a month and honestly it feels like longer. I really wanted it to feel different from BTL and anything else I’ve written, and it was hard as hell to get there. Writing Joe in such a messy, kind of toxic way? Not really my usual vibe but this story just demanded it.

I hope it shows how much care I put into it. Huge thanks to my beta @crazytheoriststrawberry for helping.

Hope you love it. ✨

You'd coordinated events for athletes before, but The Joe Burrow Foundation's golf tournament felt different from the moment you walked into Top Golf Cincinnati. Maybe it was the way he'd insisted on reviewing every detail personally instead of sending an assistant, or how he'd actually listened when you explained why the silent auction would work better positioned near the bar. Most clients nodded along and trusted you to handle it. Joe asked questions that showed he was actually thinking about the answers.

"The sponsors want visibility," he'd said during your planning meeting three weeks ago, "but I don't want it to feel like a corporate showcase. How do we balance that?"

It wasn't something most people would think about. You'd suggested integrating sponsor recognition into the competition format itself—branded hole challenges, custom scorecards, a food truck, photo ops that felt natural rather than forced. The way his face had lit up told you everything about why this mattered to him.

Now, watching him move through the crowd of old college teammates, NFL colleagues, and Cincinnati business leaders, you felt that same flutter of professional pride mixed with something more. He wasn't just working the room—he was connecting. Laughing with teammates, asking questions about sponsors' businesses, making everyone feel like they were the most important person there.

"Ms. Y/L/N." His voice appeared at your shoulder as you checked your tablet, making sure the auction timing stayed on track. "How are we doing?"

You turned, finding him closer than expected, close enough to catch the expensive scent of his cologne. "Ahead of schedule, which in my world means perfectly on time. Silent auction's tracking twenty percent higher than what we initally expected."

"Good." His smile was easy, genuinely pleased. "And how are our guests doing?"

"Having the time of their lives. The sponsors are already asking about next year, and I think your guys are trying to outdo each other with their swing techniques.

Joe's laugh was genuine, the kind that reached his eyes. "Good. That's what we want." He glanced around the space, taking in the mix of people enjoying themselves, then looked back at you. "This is perfect. It's exactly what I asked for."

The compliment hit differently than the usual client praise. There was something personal in it, like he actually saw the thought you'd put into every detail.

"Thank you," you said, trying to keep your voice professional despite the warmth spreading through your chest. "It helps when the client knows what they want."

"I had ideas. You made them actually work."

Before you could respond, someone called his name from across the room. A sponsor, probably, based on the eager wave and the way they were already walking over with purpose. Joe's expression shifted slightly—not annoyed, but resigned.

"Will you stick around after? I owe you a drink."

It wasn't a professional invitation. The way his eyes lingered on yours when he said it made that clear.

"Of course," you heard yourself say. "I'll need to oversee cleanup anyway."

"Perfect." His smile was different now—less public, more personal. Then he was moving away, back into host mode, leaving you standing there with your tablet and the distinct feeling that something had just shifted.

The rest of the event passed in a blur of logistics and small victories. The auction exceeded projections, the food service went off without a hitch, and you managed to coordinate the group photos without anyone looking awkward. Professional success, the kind that left you satisfied and ready to move on to the next project.

But as the crowd began to thin and the staff started breaking down equipment, you found yourself hyperaware of where Joe was in the room, who he was talking to, how often his gaze found yours across the space.

By nine-thirty, Top Golf had mostly emptied out. The last of the sponsors had left with their gift bags and business cards, the guys had moved their reunion to whatever bar would tolerate their volume, and your cleanup crew was finishing the final breakdown of auction displays.

You were double-checking the donation receipts when Joe reappeared. He looked more relaxed than he had all evening.

"How'd we do?" he asked, settling into the chair across from your makeshift office setup.

"Better than we expected." You turned your laptop screen toward him, showing the final numbers. "Auction brought in four hundred and twenty thousand, entry fees another hundred and thirty. After expenses, you're looking at about five hundred and fifty thousand for the foundation."

He let out a low whistle. "Damn. That's really good."

"Your Bengals guys bid on everything. I think they were trying to one-up each other."

"Sounds about right." His smile was easy, genuine. "Those fuckers are competitive about everything."

You saved the spreadsheet and closed your laptop, suddenly aware that the space around you had gone quiet. The cleanup crew had finished and left without you noticing, and the Top Golf staff had dimmed most of the lights. It was just the two of you now.

"So," Joe said, leaning back in his chair. "That drink I owe you."

You glanced toward the bar area. A few staff members were still cleaning up, but the lights were on and you could see a bartender wiping down glasses.

"What do you drink?" he asked, already standing. "I'll grab us something."

"Bourbon's fine. Whatever they have that's decent."

He nodded and headed toward the bar, leaving you alone with your laptop and the realization that the professional part of your evening was officially over. Whatever came next was something else entirely.

When he returned a few minutes later with two glasses of amber liquid, he'd gotten them the good stuff.

"Buffalo Trace," he said, setting your glass down.

You took a sip, letting the warmth settle in your chest. "Good choice."

He just nodded and settled back into his chair, glass in hand. "So tell me something."

"What?"

"How'd you end up coordinating events? Doesn't seem like the kind of thing people stumble into."

It was a genuine question, not small talk. The way he asked it—direct, interested—made you want to give him a real answer.

"I started in college," you said. "With the student activities board. I was good at making things happen, keeping all the moving pieces organized. Turns out there's decent money in making rich people's parties look effortless."

Joe laughed. "Is that what tonight was? Making rich people look effortless?"

"Tonight was different," you admitted. "Most of my clients want to be seen being charitable. You actually care about the cause."

"How can you tell?"

"The way you talked about the kids in the program during planning. You knew their names, their stories. That doesn't come from a PR brief."

He was quiet for a moment, swirling the bourbon in his glass. "You planning on sticking around Cincinnati for a while?"

The question caught you off guard - direct, personal, nothing to do with foundation work or tonight's event.

"That depends," you said. "Why?"

"Because I'd like to see you again. Outside of work."

The words hung between you, and you felt your pulse quicken.

“I’d like that too,” you said.

“Good.” He finished his bourbon and set the glass down. “I know a place. Nothing fancy.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow? If you’re free.”

* * *

Eight Months Later

That dinner had led to another, and another, until Tuesday nights became yours and Joe’s standing date. Eight months of stolen moments between his schedule and yours, of late-night texts that had nothing to do with work, of learning that he liked his matcha and read physics articles to fall asleep.

Eight months of being his secret.

It hadn’t started that way. At first, the privacy felt intentional—getting to know each other away from the noise, building something real before letting the world in. You’d started sleeping together after the third date, and the chemistry had been undeniable from the first time he’d shown up at your apartment after a loss to the Chiefs, shoulders tight with frustration.

“Rough night?” you’d asked, letting him in.

“Don’t want to talk about it.”

He dropped his keys on the table without looking, then reached for you like you were the only person in the world who could fix him. He kissed you hard, like breathing you was the only way to quiet the noise inside him.

Then he pulled back, not far, just enough to rest his forehead against yours. His breathing was uneven, and you could feel the tension in his shoulders like he was fighting something inside himself.

"I just needed to be here," he said quietly, his voice rougher than usual. "With you."

It wasn't an explanation or an apology. Just honesty, which was more than he usually gave you after bad games. His hands stayed at your waist, thumbs brushing against your hip bones through your shirt.

You didn't push for more. Just reached up to touch the back of his neck, feeling some of the tension ease out of him as he leaned into the contact.

He kissed you again, deeper this time, then pulled back just long enough to tug your shirt over your head. You did the same with his sweatshirt, both of you moving with the kind of urgent efficiency that came from wanting each other and not wanting to overthink it.

The rest happened fast—clothes hitting the floor, him pulling you down onto the couch, the familiar weight of him settling between your legs. He didn't say much, just breathed hard against your neck as he pushed into you, both of you finding that rhythm that worked.

You let him take what he needed, let him lose himself completely. Your fingers traced his back, catching the tremor in his muscles as he chased relief — not just physical but something deeper, something he didn’t know how to ask for out loud`

And when he finally came, it wasn’t with bravado or noise, but a rough, broken gasp against your neck, arms wrapped tight around you like he was trying to stay tethered.

After, he didn’t move far. Just gathered you into his chest, skin damp and heartbeat still racing. He kissed the top of your head — soft, almost absent — and held you like he wasn’t ready to let go.

Wrapped around each other in the quiet, neither of you asked questions he wasn’t ready to answer, comfort given without condition.

He fell asleep with his head on your chest, and you traced patterns on his back until morning, thinking this was what real intimacy looked like.

But as weeks turned to months, the secrecy had calcified into something else entirely. You were the woman he called when he needed to talk through a bad game, the one who knew he got quiet when he was stressed, who understood that his confidence was as much armor as it was truth.

Maddie was the woman he was photographed with.

“She knows what this is,” he’d said the first time you’d seen them together in a gossip blog photo, her hand on his arm at some charity auction. “We’re just having fun. No pressure.”

You’d believed him because you wanted to, because you were twenty-six and he was your first everything that mattered. Your first love, your first heartbreak-in-waiting, your first lesson in how little you actually knew about what you deserved.

But tonight felt different. Tonight was his birthday, and you’d spent weeks planning something perfect.

* * *

The dinner was ready—his favorite pasta dish you’d learned to make after watching him devour it at that little Italian place you’d gone to in September. The bourbon was breathing on the counter, the good bottle you’d been saving. And tucked inside the card on your coffee table were two first-class tickets to Washington DC for February, along with confirmation details for a private after-hours tour of the National Air and Space Museum.

It had taken three weeks of phone calls, emails, and a significant chunk of your savings to arrange. But the thought of seeing his face when he realized you were giving him the stars—literally—made every bit of effort worth it. You’d even coordinated with his assistant to make sure the February date worked with his off-season schedule.

You checked your phone. 7:30 PM. He’d said he’d be over by eight, that he was looking forward to a quiet night in. Just the two of you, no cameras, no expectations. The kind of evening that had become your specialty.

That’s when the notification popped up on your screen.

TMZ: Joe Burrow & Maddie Thompson Celebrate His Birthday in Aspen!

Your heart stopped. The photo loaded, revealing Joe and Maddie laughing in the snow, both bundled in expensive ski gear, looking genuinely happy. Not posed, not staged—just two people enjoying themselves. The timestamp showed it was taken this afternoon.

Your hands shook as you read the caption: “The Bengals quarterback and lifestyle influencer are spending a romantic birthday getaway in Aspen, looking more loved-up than ever!”

Your phone slipped from your numb fingers, clattering onto the coffee table next to the card with the plane tickets.

He was in Aspen. On his birthday. During the team's bye week, when he'd told you he just wanted to stay in and relax. The birthday he'd said he wanted to spend quietly, just the two of you.

You stared at the photo until your eyes blurred. They looked happy. Like a couple who actually got to be a couple, instead of whatever the hell you'd been doing for eight months.

The pasta was getting cold on the stove. The bourbon sat untouched. The museum confirmation email was still open on your laptop, detailing the private tour you’d arranged for February—his off-season, when he’d said he wanted to travel somewhere meaningful.

Apparently, he’d already made those plans. With someone else.

Your phone buzzed. A text from Joe.

"Hey, something came up last minute. My parents wanted to take me out for my birthday. Can we raincheck tonight? I wish I was with you instead. Sorry."

The laugh that escaped your throat was bitter, almost hysterical. Wish he was with you instead? He could be with you. He was choosing not to be.

You picked up your phone with shaking hands and typed back:

“I know you’re in Aspen. I made your favorite dinner. Bought you bourbon. Had a gift waiting. I’m done.”

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, then immediately turned your phone face down on the table. You couldn’t look at it anymore.

The apartment felt suffocating suddenly. All this effort, all this hope, all these months of accepting less than you deserved because you thought—what? That eventually he’d choose you? That love would be enough?

You walked to the kitchen and turned off the burner, staring at the pasta you’d spent an hour perfecting. In the living room, the bourbon caught the light, amber and expensive and pointless. The plane tickets might as well have been confetti.

Eight months of being his secret. Eight months of believing his lies about Maddie. Eight months of thinking you were building toward something real.

Your phone buzzed again. Then again.

You didn’t look.

* * *

You woke up on your couch at 6 AM with mascara streaked down your cheeks and your phone battery dead. The bourbon bottle sat exactly where you'd left it, the pasta had congealed in the pot, and the card with the plane tickets lay open on the coffee table like evidence of your own stupidity.

Your phone had seventeen missed calls and twenty-three unread messages when you plugged it in. All from Joe.

You almost deleted them without reading, but morbid curiosity won.

11:47 PM: “What do you mean you’re done? Call me back.”

11:52 PM: “I don’t understand why you’re upset.”

12:15 AM: "How did you know I was in Aspen?"

12:16 AM: "I lied about my parents. I'm sorry. I can explain."

12:45 AM: "Baby please call me back. This is crazy."

1:23 AM: “I’m sorry. I know you planned something. I’ll make it up to you.”

1:24 AM: “We can celebrate when I get back.”

2:18 AM: “Don’t do this. Don’t throw us away over a misunderstanding.”

3:01 AM: “I care about you. You know that.”

3:02 AM: “This is different and you know it.”

And on and on. Twenty-three messages that cycled between confusion, dismissal, and damage control. He apologized for lying, but not one message said he'd choose you.

Your fingers moved before your brain could stop them:

“I arranged a private tour of the National Air and Space Museum for February. Bought first-class tickets. Spent my savings so you could see the stars without cameras. While you were booking a trip to Aspen with your girlfriend.”

“Do NOT contact me again.”

You hit send, then immediately blocked his number.

Then you sat on your kitchen floor and cried until you had nothing left.

* * *

Joe spent the flight back to Cincinnati drafting and deleting messages he couldn’t send. Every approach felt inadequate. How do you apologize for eight months of lies? How do you explain that you didn’t realize what you had until you’d destroyed it?

He tried calling from different numbers. When she found out it was him she’d blocked those too.

He showed up at her apartment building on December 15th with flowers and an apology speech he’d rehearsed twenty times. The doorman—a guy Joe recognized from previous visits—took one look at him and shook his head.

“She left specific instructions, Mr. Burrow. You’re not on the list anymore.”

So he waited. Four hours in his car across the street until she came home from work, grocery bags in hand. When she saw him getting out of his car, her entire body went rigid.

“Don’t,” she said, not stopping her walk toward the building.

“Please. Just five minutes.”

“No.” She didn’t even look at him. “I meant what I said.”

“I ended things with Maddie.”

That made her stop. Turn around. For a moment, hope flared in his chest.

“Good for you,” she said, her voice flat. “That doesn’t change what you did to me.”

“I know. I know I fucked up—”

“You didn’t fuck up, Joe. You made choices. For eight months, you made the same choice over and over again.” She shifted the grocery bags, and he could see how tired she looked. How much weight she’d lost in just five days. “You chose her every time it mattered.”

“That’s not true—”

“Your birthday mattered. And you chose her.”

The simple statement hit like a physical blow. Because she was right.

“I was scared,” he said, the words coming out raw. “I was scared of what this was, what you meant to me—”

“I don’t care.” Her voice was steady, but he could see her hands shaking. “I don’t care why you did it. I only care that you did.”

She turned back toward the building.

“I love you,” he called after her.

She stopped again, but didn’t turn around.

“You love the idea of me,” she said quietly. “You love having someone who accepts scraps and calls it enough. But you don’t love me, Joe. If you did, you would have chosen me.”

* * *

February 14th - Valentine's Day

You stared at your phone screen, watching another Venmo notification light up. $2,999 from Joe Burrow. Memo: "I know it's Valentine's Day and this is pathetic but I miss you."

It had been two months since you’d blocked him. Two months of returned gifts, ignored letters, and apparently daily Venmo transfers that were slowly driving you insane. Your bank account was looking healthier than it ever had, but every notification felt like a fresh wound.

This had to stop.

You unblocked his number long enough to send one text:

“Stop sending me money. I’m serious. It’s not helping anything and it’s borderline harassment at this point.”

Your finger hovered over the block button again, but his response came faster than expected.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll stop.”

That was it. No arguing, no desperate pleas, no “but can we talk.” Just acknowledgment and agreement.

You stared at the message for a long moment, waiting for the follow-up that didn’t come. Where was the Joe who had waited outside your building for four hours? Who had sent flowers to your office every day for a week? Who had somehow found your work email and sent you a twenty-paragraph explanation of his feelings?

“Thank you,” you typed back, then immediately blocked him again.

But something about his response sat differently than all his other attempts. For the first time in two months, he’d listened to what you asked for instead of trying to negotiate around it.

You checked your Venmo. No new notifications.

It was such a small thing—just stopping when you asked him to stop. But after months of him refusing to respect any of your boundaries, the basic act of compliance felt… surprising.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That you were reading too much into a simple text exchange. But that night, for the first time since December, you didn’t fall asleep angry.

* * *

April 15th

The new Italian place in Over-the-Rhine was buzzing with Cincinnati’s elite—business leaders, local celebrities, and apparently half the Bengals roster. You’d been coordinating launch events long enough to read a room within minutes, and this one was going well. The chef was happy, the investors were mingling, and the servers were keeping up with the cocktail orders.

You were adjusting the lighting for the chef’s welcome speech when you saw him.

Joe stood near the bar, nursing what looked like a bourbon and listening to whatever story a local business owner was telling him. When the man finished speaking, Joe nodded and leaned in slightly, clearly engaged in the conversation.

Your breath caught. He’d come. To an event you were coordinating.

In eight months of dating, you’d probably coordinated a dozen events he’d been invited to. Gallery openings, charity auctions, restaurant launches—Cincinnati wasn’t that big, and athletes were always on VIP lists. But Joe had never shown up to a single one. “Not really my scene,” he’d always said, preferring quiet nights in to schmoozing with strangers.

Seeing him here now, in his least favorite type of environment, you knew it wasn’t a coincidence.

He looked different. Bigger, maybe, and there was something quieter about the way he carried himself. When someone tried to take a selfie with him, he politely declined and redirected the conversation back to the restaurant.

For the next two hours, you found yourself stealing glances while managing the event. Joe worked the room, engaging with guests throughout the night. When the local news crew asked for an interview, he kept it short and focused on the restaurant and community rather than himself.

You watched him nurse the same bourbon all night. In the eight months you'd dated, you'd learned he wasn't much of a drinker at events—too careful about his image, too controlled. But this felt different. Like he was actually trying to enjoy himself instead of just getting through it.

By ten PM, the crowd had thinned and you were overseeing the breakdown. Your staff was handling the heavy lifting, leaving you to do final checks and coordinate with the restaurant management. You were reviewing the evening’s photos with the owner when you sensed someone behind you.

“Excuse me.”

You turned around, and there he was.

“Hi,” you said, professional instincts kicking in. “Did you enjoy the event?”

“I did.” He glanced around at your staff efficiently packing up equipment. “You did an incredible job. The whole thing felt… authentic. Not like a show.”

“Thank you.”

An awkward silence stretched between you. The owner had diplomatically moved away, giving you space.

“I know you’re working,” Joe said. “I just wanted to say—I stopped the Venmo thing. Like you asked.”

“I noticed.”

“And I wanted to apologize. Not for the relationship stuff, I know you don’t want to hear that. But for not respecting your boundaries. For making you ask me to stop instead of just… stopping and for…everything else.”

You studied his face, looking for the catch, the angle, the thing he wanted from you. But his expression was straightforward, almost resigned.

“Okay,” you said carefully.

“That’s it. That’s all I wanted to say.” He took a small step back. “I hope you have a good rest of your evening.”

He started to turn away, and something in your chest twisted.

“Joe.”

He stopped, turned back.

“Are you…” You paused, unsure why you were asking. “Are you doing okay?”

Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe relief. “Yeah. Actually, I am. Finally.”

And then he was gone, leaving you standing in the middle of a half-dismantled event space, wondering why you felt like you’d just seen a ghost of someone you used to know.

* * *

April 20th - 11:47 PM

You’d had exactly one and a half glasses of wine. You weren't drunk, just… relaxed enough to make questionable decisions. Like unblocking Joe Burrow on Instagram at nearly midnight on a Friday.

It had been almost a week since the restaurant opening, and his words kept replaying in your head. 

You told yourself you were just curious. Just wanted to see if the changes you’d observed were real or if you’d been projecting. His Instagram had always been pretty standard athlete fare—workout posts, game highlights, the occasional brand partnership.

You scrolled through his recent posts. A photo from training camp. A story about some charity work. A picture of him reading a book (which was new—he’d never posted about reading before). You found yourself pausing on each one, looking for clues about who he was becoming.

Then you saw it.

Posted eight hours ago: Joe post-workout, shirtless, drinking a Body Armor. Clearly a sponsored post, but he looked good—really good. The caption was simple: "Friday grind complete. @bodyarmor"

Your thumb hovered over the image as you studied it. He looked good. Really good. Broader through the shoulders than you remembered, and there was something different about his expression. Less posed, more natural. Like he wasn’t trying to look perfect for the camera.

Before you could stop yourself, you double-tapped.

The little red heart appeared instantly, and your stomach dropped to your feet.

“No, no, no,” you whispered to your empty apartment, staring at the screen in horror. You’d just liked a shirtless thirst trap posted by your ex-situationship at 11:47 PM on a Friday night. After unblocking him. After months of radio silence.

You could unlike it, but he’d already get the notification. You could block him again, but that would look absolutely unhinged—unblock him just to like his shirtless photo and then immediately block him again?

Your phone was practically burning in your hand. You set it face-down on your coffee table and put your head in your hands.

This was worse than the Venmo situation. At least that had been his pathetic desperation. This was your pathetic desperation, immortalized in Instagram notifications.

Your phone buzzed against the table.

You ignored it.

It buzzed again.

Against every instinct for self-preservation, you flipped it over.

Not a text. Just Instagram notifications.

Joeyb_9 liked your photo.

The photo was from three weeks ago—you at a client event, you looked good. He’d liked it approximately thirty seconds after you’d liked his shirtless post.

You stared at the notification, wine-fuzzy brain trying to decode the meaning. Was he letting you know he’d seen your like? Was he being petty? Or was this his equally awkward way of saying… what?

Another buzz.

Joeyb_9  liked your photo.

This one from a month ago. Then another. And another.

He was going through your recent posts and systematically liking them. Not in a rapid-fire, manic way. Just… methodically. Like he was taking his time, actually looking at them.

You sat there in your pajamas, wine glass forgotten, watching notifications pop up every few minutes as Joe Burrow liked his way through six weeks of your Instagram posts at midnight on a Friday.

When it stopped, you waited. For a text, a DM, a follow request. Something.

Nothing came.

Just the strange knowledge that somewhere across Cincinnati, Joe was awake and thinking about you enough to scroll through weeks of your life. And you were awake and thinking about him enough to have started this whole mortifying chain of events.

You set your phone aside and went to bed, but sleep was impossible. Because despite the embarrassment, despite everything that had happened between you, something warm had unfurled in your chest.

* * *

April 21st - 9:23 AM

You woke up with a wine headache and the immediate, mortifying memory of what you’d done the night before. The shirtless photo. The accidental like. Joe’s methodical response of liking six weeks worth of your posts.

You grabbed your phone, hoping maybe you’d dreamed the whole thing.

Nope. The evidence was right there in your notifications.

You scrolled back to his profile, telling yourself you were just checking to see if he’d posted anything new. He hadn’t. The shirtless photo still sat there with your little red heart under it, announcing to the world that you’d been thirsty on main at midnight.

But as you scrolled through his feed, you found yourself looking at the posts he’d liked on your page. The fundraiser event you’d coordinated where you looked proud and professional. The coffee shop photo where you were laughing at something off-camera. The sunset from your apartment balcony with the caption about grateful moments.

He’d skipped the selfies and the group shots. Only liked the ones where you looked genuinely happy or where you were talking about work you were proud of. Like he was seeing the real parts of your life and… appreciating them.

Before you could overthink it, you scrolled back through his recent posts and liked the one about the charity work. Then the book photo. Then one from two weeks ago of him at what looked like a coffee shop, no caption, just him looking thoughtful.

Your thumb hovered over a post from a month ago—him with some of his teammates at a community event, genuinely smiling. You liked it.

Then you kept going.

The post about finishing a difficult workout. Like.

A sunset photo from his backyard with a caption about finding peace in quiet moments. Like.

A picture of him reading (again—when had Joe become someone who posted about books?). Like.

You realized you were now three months deep in his Instagram, systematically liking posts the same way he’d done to you, and you couldn’t seem to stop yourself.

Your phone buzzed with a notification.

Joeyb_9  liked your photo.

The coffee shop photo from yesterday morning that you’d posted an hour ago. He was awake. He was seeing your likes in real time.

Another buzz.

Joeyb_9  liked your photo.

A different recent post.

You were now in some sort of bizarre Instagram standoff, both of you awake on a Saturday morning, liking each other’s posts like teenagers. It was absurd. It was embarrassing.

It was also the most you’d communicated in four months.

Your phone buzzed again, but this time it wasn’t a like notification.

Joeyb_9: “I’m unblocked. Is this okay?”

You stared at the DM. No pretending he hadn’t noticed. No casual small talk to test the waters. Just a direct question asking for consent to be in your digital space again.

The old Joe would have either not acknowledged it or used it as an opening to launch into some speech about missing you. This Joe was just… checking in. Making sure he wasn’t overstepping.

“It’s okay.”

“Thank you.”

That was it. No follow-up, no pushing for more. Just gratitude for the permission to exist in your notifications again.

You found yourself staring at the simple exchange, surprised by how much those two words meant to you. Thank you. Like your boundaries actually mattered to him now.

Fifteen minutes passed before he sent another message.

“For what it’s worth, I noticed you liked the workout photo at 11:47 PM on a Friday. Interesting timing.”

Heat flooded your cheeks. Of course he’d noticed the timestamp.

“Shut up.”

“I’m not judging. I liked six weeks of your posts at midnight. We’re both fucked up.”

Despite everything, you found yourself smiling at your phone.

“The worst part is it was the shirtless one.”

“I know. I was there when I posted it.”

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Little bit. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who makes questionable late-night social media decisions.”

You could practically hear the smile in his message, and something warm unfurled in your chest.

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late. My ego has been fully restored by your thirst trap engagement.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

He was right. You didn’t. 

* * *

April 25th

Joeyb_9: “Saw your story about the charity auction. That venue looks incredible.”

“Thanks. The client wanted something different from the usual hotel ballroom.”

“You delivered. That lighting setup must have taken forever.”

You stared at the message, surprised he’d noticed the technical details.

“6 hours. But worth it for the photos.”

“Definitely worth it.”

-----

April 30th

Joeyb_9: “Random question - do you still make that pasta dish? The one with the pancetta?”

“Why?”

“Been craving it for months. Tried to recreate it and failed miserably.”

“You burned the pancetta, didn’t you?”

“How did you know?”

“Because you have no patience with cooking. I bet you turned the heat too high.”

“Guilty. Any chance you’d be willing to share the recipe?”

You hesitated before responding. It felt intimate, sharing something you’d made for him during your relationship.

“I’ll think about it.”

-----

May 3rd

“You were right about that book recommendation.”

Joeyb_9: “Which one?”

“The one about astrophysics you mentioned months ago. Finally picked it up.”

“And?”

“And I understand maybe 30% of it, but the parts I get are fascinating.”

“That’s 30% more than most people. What’s your favorite part so far?”

You found yourself genuinely excited to discuss it with him.

-----

May 8th

Joeyb_9: “Therapy was rough today.”

The message came out of nowhere at 3 PM on a Wednesday.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really. Just wanted to tell someone who’d understand why I’m sitting in my car outside the stadium questioning everything.”

“That sounds normal for therapy.”

“Is it supposed to feel like emotional surgery without anesthesia?”

“Pretty much. But the healing part comes later.”

“When?”

“When you stop bleeding.”

“Great. Something to look forward to.”

“It gets easier. I promise.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re different than you were four months ago. Different than you were four weeks ago.”

There was a long pause before he responded.

“Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

-----

May 15th

“Okay, I’m sending you the pasta recipe. But you have to promise to actually follow it.”

Joeyb_9: “Yes ma’am.”

“Medium heat. Not medium-high. Not ‘close enough.’ MEDIUM.”

“Got it.”

“And don’t skip the wine step. The alcohol cooks off, but the flavor doesn’t.”

“I would never skip a wine step.”

“You better send me proof you didn’t burn it.”

“Deal.”

Three hours later, he sent a photo of a perfectly executed plate of pasta.

“I’m impressed.”

“I had a good teacher.”

-----

May 20th

Joeyb_9: “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you think people can actually change? Like, fundamentally?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Because I’m trying to figure out if I’m actually becoming a better person or just learning to fake it better.”

The vulnerability in the message made your chest tight.

“I think the fact that you’re questioning it means you’re not faking it.”

“How do you know?”

“Because the old you would have been sure you were right about everything.”

“Ouch. But fair.”

“Change is possible, Joe. But it has to be for you, not for anyone else.”

“What if it started for someone else but became for me?”

You stared at that message for a long time.

“Then I guess that’s still change.”

-----

May 28th

Joeyb_9: “I have something to ask you, and you can absolutely say no.”

“That’s ominous.”

“I arranged a private tour of the Cincinnati Museum Center. Next Saturday afternoon. Would you want to come with me?”

Your heart did something complicated.

“You arranged a private tour?”

“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about what you planned for my birthday. About the National Air and Space Museum. I can’t take that back, but I thought maybe… this could be a start.”

“When did you arrange this?”

“Two weeks ago. I wanted to ask you sooner, but I didn’t want you to think I was rushing things.”

“And you’re asking me because?”

“Because I want to see if we can spend time together without it ending in disaster. And because I think you’d actually enjoy it.”

You found yourself smiling at your phone.

“What time Saturday?”

* * *

You spotted Joe before he saw you, standing outside the Cincinnati Museum Center looking uncharacteristically nervous. He was early—something he’d never been during your relationship—and kept checking his phone like he was worried you’d changed your mind.

“Hey,” you said, walking up behind him.

He turned, and his face relaxed into a genuine smile. “Hey. You came.”

“I said I would.”

“I know, but…” He shrugged. “I wasn’t sure until I saw you.”

The honesty was still jarring. The old Joe would have played it cool, acted like he’d never doubted you’d show up.

“So,” you said, gesturing toward the building. “Private tour?”

“Yeah. The curator is a friend of a friend. Apparently, they don’t usually do this, but I may have mentioned it was for someone who appreciates the educational value.” His smile turned slightly sheepish. “I also may have made a donation.”

“Of course you did.”

The curator met you inside, a enthusiastic woman in her fifties who clearly knew her stuff. “Mr. Burrow, Ms. Y/L/N, welcome! I understand you’re particularly interested in the space and natural history exhibits?”

Joe glanced at you. “That’s right.”

“Wonderful. We’ll start with the Neil Armstrong Space Exploration Gallery, then move through natural history, and finish in the planetarium if you’d like.”

As you walked through the first exhibit, you found yourself watching Joe more than the displays. He was different here than he’d been at public events during your relationship. More engaged, asking questions instead of just nodding politely. When the curator explained the mechanics of lunar landing, Joe leaned in, genuinely curious.

“I never understood how they calculated the fuel ratios,” he said. “With all the variables in space.”

“It’s fascinating, isn’t it?” the curator replied. “The precision required was extraordinary. One miscalculation and…”

“And you’re floating in space forever,” Joe finished. “The ultimate consequence for poor planning.”

You caught his eye and he smiled—a real smile, not the polished one he used to wear like armor.

In the natural history section, you found yourself relaxing. This felt like the conversations you’d had during your relationship, the late-night talks about curiosity and discovery. But better, because Joe wasn’t holding back parts of himself.

“I used to love this place as a kid,” you mentioned as you stood in front of a display about ocean exploration.

“Yeah?”

“My mom would bring me here on rainy Saturdays. I thought I was going to be a marine biologist for exactly three weeks when I was eight.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Realized I get seasick on boats.” You laughed. “Hard to study the ocean when you can’t get on it.”

“So you went into event planning instead.”

“Eventually. Turns out I like organizing chaos more than I like fish.”

Joe was quiet for a moment, studying your face. “I should have asked you more questions like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“About what you wanted to be as a kid. About your mom bringing you here. About… you.” He looked down at his hands. “I was so focused on not giving up too much about myself that I never learned enough about you.”

“Joe…”

“I know we’re not… I know this isn’t about getting back together,” he said quickly. “I just wanted you to know that I see that now. How selfish I was.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you just nodded and kept walking.

The planetarium was the last stop, and as the lights dimmed and the dome filled with stars, you felt something shift in the space between you. You were sitting close enough to catch the scent of his cologne, the same one he’d worn when you were together.

“This is what you were trying to give me,” he said quietly as constellations moved across the artificial sky. “Wasn’t it? Not just the museum, but… this. Wonder without performance.”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I thought you’d like it.”

“I would have loved it.” His voice was rough. “I would have loved all of it.”

When the show ended and the lights came up, you both sat in the quiet for a moment.

“Thank you,” Joe said finally. “For coming today. For giving me the chance to do this right.”

“It was nice,” you admitted. “Seeing you actually excited about something instead of just going through the motions.”

“I’m trying to live more like that. Present instead of performing.”

You studied his face in the dim planetarium lighting. “How’s that working out?”

“It’s terrifying,” he said with a laugh. “But better. Everything feels more real.”

As you walked back toward the entrance, you found yourself not wanting the afternoon to end. For three hours, you’d forgotten about the hurt and the lies and the months of silence. You’d just enjoyed spending time with someone who was genuinely interested in the world around him.

“Can I ask you something?” you said as you reached the parking lot.

“Yeah.”

“Are you doing this—therapy, the museum, all of it—because you want me back? Or because you actually want to change?”

Joe stopped walking and turned to face you fully. “Six months ago, I would have said both and thought that was an acceptable answer.”

“And now?”

“Now I know that if I’m only changing to get you back, then I’m not really changing at all. I’m just learning new ways to manipulate the situation.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I started therapy because I lost you. But I kept going because I realized I didn’t like who I was even when I thought I was happy.”

The honesty was overwhelming. This was what you’d wanted from him for eight months—the truth.

“I want to keep seeing you,” he continued. “Talking, spending time together, whatever this is. But not because I’m trying to earn my way back into a relationship. Because I like who I am when I’m around you now. I like who you are. I like… this.”

He gestured between you, and you knew what he meant. The ease of conversation, the shared curiosity, the lack of pretense.

“I like this too,” you admitted.

“So maybe we can keep doing this? Museums, hanging out, terrible Instagram interactions?”

Despite everything, you laughed. “I can’t promise not to accidentally like more of your thirst traps.”

“I’m counting on it,” he said with a grin. “My ego needs the boost.”

As you walked toward your car, you felt something you hadn’t experienced in months: hope. Not for getting back together—that felt too big, too complicated still. But hope that maybe you could build something new. Something honest.

Something real.

* * *

June - August

It started slowly. Coffee dates that lasted three hours because you kept forgetting to leave. Texts that had nothing to do with logistics and everything to do with wanting to share random thoughts. Joe sending you photos of books he was reading, you sending him behind-the-scenes shots from events you were coordinating.

The first time he kissed you was in July, outside a bookstore in Northside after you’d spent two hours arguing about whether sci-fi authors accurately portrayed space travel. It was soft, tentative, nothing like the confident way he used to kiss you. Like he was asking permission instead of taking what he wanted.

“Is this okay?” he asked afterward, foreheads touching.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “It’s okay.”

But you took things slow. Glacially slow. He didn’t push, didn’t ask why you needed space or time or whatever this careful rebuilding process was. He just followed your lead, showing up when you asked him to, giving you room when you needed it.

The first time you stayed over at his place again was a Tuesday in August. Not because anything dramatic happened, but because you’d fallen asleep on his couch during a movie and woken up with a blanket draped over you and Joe reading in the chair across the room.

“You could have woken me up,” you said, stretching.

“You looked peaceful.” He set his book aside.

It was so domestic, so normal, that it made your chest tight. This was what you’d wanted during your relationship—quiet evenings, comfortable silences, the feeling that you belonged in each other’s spaces.

“What are you reading?” you asked, settling next to him on the couch.

“That astrophysics book you recommended." He looked at you, something soft in his expression. “I like this. Us. Whatever we’re calling it.”

“What would you call it?”

“Hopeful,” he said simply.

-----

September

The first fight you had was about Maddie.

Not because Joe brought her up, but because you saw a photo of them together on social media—some mutual friend’s wedding where they’d apparently both been guests. They weren’t together in the photo, just happened to be in the same group shot, but seeing her face brought everything flooding back.

“Did you know she was going to be there?” you asked when Joe came over that night.

“Yeah.” He didn’t try to deflect or minimize it. “I almost didn’t go because of it.”

“But you did.”

“I did. Because I’m tired of letting awkward situations control my life.” He sat across from you, not trying to close the distance. “We talked for maybe five minutes. She asked how I was doing, I said I was good, she said she was glad. That was it.”

“How is she?”

“She seemed okay. Happy.” Joe was quiet for a moment. “I owed her an apology too, you know. For letting her think we were building toward something when I was never really present.”

“Did you apologize?”

“Not at the wedding. But I called her a few months ago. Had an actual conversation about how I handled things.”

You felt something ease in your chest. Not jealousy exactly, but the tight knot of unfinished business.

“How did that go?”

“Better than I expected. She said she’d figured out pretty quickly that my heart wasn’t in it, but she’d hoped if she just tried harder…” He shook his head. “Sound familiar?”

It did. The willingness to accept less than you deserved, hoping the other person would eventually see what was right in front of them.

“I’m glad you talked to her,” you said, and meant it.

“Are we okay?” Joe asked.

“Yeah. We’re okay.”

-----

October

The first time you said “I love you” again was anticlimactic and perfect.

You were at Joe's place, attempting to teach him how to make your grandmother's apple pie. He'd insisted he could handle the crust, despite all evidence to the contrary.

“It’s not supposed to look like that,” you said, watching him wrestle with dough that had clearly been overworked.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It looks like concrete.”

“Edible concrete.”

“That’s generous.”

Joe laughed, flour in his hair and on his shirt, looking more relaxed than you’d ever seen him. “Okay, fine. Show me what I did wrong.”

You moved behind him, covering his hands with yours to guide his movements. “Gentle,” you said. “You’re not trying to conquer it.”

“I’m not good at gentle.”

“You’re learning.”

As you worked together, fixing his mangled pie crust, you felt overwhelmed by how right this felt. How easy. How much you’d missed not just Joe, but this version of Joe—unguarded, willing to fail at something, content to let you take the lead.

“I love you,” you said without thinking.

Joe went still under your hands. “What?”

“I love you,” you repeated, realizing you meant it. Not the desperate, grasping love you’d felt during your relationship, but something steadier. More sure.

He turned in your arms, search your face. “I love you too. I never stopped.”

“I know.” You reached up to brush flour from his cheek. “But this feels different.”

He kissed you then, soft and sweet and tasting like apple and possibility.

-----

November

The first event you attended together as a couple was a charity gala you'd coordinated—your choice, your comfort zone, your rules. Joe wore a perfectly tailored tuxedo and stayed by your side the entire evening, introducing himself to your colleagues, asking thoughtful questions about your work, never once making the night about him.

When a photographer asked for a picture, Joe looked to you first.

"It's your call," he said quietly.

You thought about it—about being public for the first time, about what it would mean, about whether you were ready for that kind of exposure.

"Okay," you said. "But just one."

The photo that ran in the society pages the next day showed you laughing at something Joe had whispered in your ear, his hand on the small of your back, both of you looking genuinely happy.

It was the first time you'd ever been photographed together. The first time the world knew you existed in his life.

December 9th

The night before Joe's birthday, you found yourself nervous. Not because you thought he'd leave—you were past that fear now—but because this felt like a test of how far you'd both come.

"I have something for you," you said as you curled up next to him on his couch.

"My birthday's not until tomorrow."

"I know. But I wanted to give this to you tonight."

You handed him an envelope. Inside were two tickets to Washington DC and a confirmation for a private tour of the National Air and Space Museum.

"The same dates as before," you said. "I never canceled it, just kept pushing it back."

Joe stared at the tickets for a long moment. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"What changed?"

You thought about it, about the months of rebuilding, about learning to trust again.

"I'm not trying to give you the stars anymore," you said. "I'm trying to share them with you."

Joe's smile was radiant. "That's even better."

He set the tickets carefully on the coffee table, then turned back toward you, his expression soft in a way you hadn’t seen in a long time. He cupped your face gently, thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

“Thank you,” he said, and you knew he wasn’t just talking about the gift.

His forehead rested against yours, his breath warm, and the corner of his mouth tugged upward, like he was holding something back. His thumb brushed your cheekbone again, slower this time, like he was trying to memorize it. The way he was looking at you, like he was seeing something new. The quiet between you felt different now. Not empty, but full of everything you hadn't said yet.

He didn't rush. Joe hardly ever rushed. His hand moved from your cheek down to your neck, fingers trailing along your jaw. When he brushed the hollow of your throat, you found yourself leaning into the touch without thinking about it.

Neither of you spoke.

His other hand moved to your hip, drawing you closer. You were suddenly aware of how much clothing was between you.

You tilted your head slightly and he kissed you. Soft at first, then deeper, like he'd been waiting for permission.

Joe kissed the way he did everything else focused, and sure of himself. He didn't hesitate, but he wasn't rushing either. Just confident in a way that always turned you on.

His mouth moved against yours, coaxing you to open for him. You melted into it immediately, into the heat of him.

His hand slid back into your hair, thumb brushing your jaw like he was holding you exactly where he wanted you. And you wanted to be held there.

When he pulled back, you could still feel the press of his mouth on yours.

He looked at you with that half-smile that always undid you completely.

"Come here," he said, guiding you into his lap.

You moved to straddle him, settling against him naturally. His sweatshirt was soft under your hands as you pressed them to his chest, feeling his heartbeat.

You didn't rush either.

Your fingers slipped under his sweatshirt, palms finding warm skin. You felt his breath catch, his hands tightening at your waist.

Joe's head dipped, lips brushing your jaw, then lower to that spot below your ear that always made you shiver. His mouth moved down your neck, breath warm against your skin.

You shifted slightly in his lap and felt him respond, his breath catching.

His hand moved to your thigh, fingers tracing along the edge of your dress. He took his time, just touching like he was memorizing you.

You kissed him again, deeper this time, your hands in his hair, guiding him where you wanted him. When he made a quiet sound against your mouth, it felt like everything you'd both worked for had led to this moment.

His lips were at your ear, fingers pressing into your hip as he pulled you closer until there was nothing between you.

"You feel that?" he whispered, voice rough.

You nodded, already breathless.

He kissed you again, and when you made a quiet sound against his mouth, his hands tightened at your waist.

You moved against him slowly, and he let you set the pace, his hands steady at your waist.

"Say you'll be mine," he whispered against your lips.

"Yes," you whispered back.

His hands slipped beneath your dress as he tugged you in closer. You could feel the heat of him, even through the last layers between you.

Your fingers slid under the hem of his sweatshirt again, pushing it up slowly. He helped without a word, peeling it over his head and tossing it aside. His skin was warm, and you traced your hands over his chest, down the line of his ribs.

His breath stuttered when you shifted against him again, grinding just enough to feel him fully, already hard and heavy beneath you.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, head tipping back slightly.

You leaned in, kissing along the edge of his jaw, your hands steady as they mapped familiar territory. His hands slid up your thighs, dragging the hem of your dress higher, bunching it around your hips.

His fingers slipped under the edge of your underwear, pushing them aside.

“Jesus,” he murmured, thumb brushing over you again, steady this time. “You’re already…”

“Yeah,” you whispered, voice catching.

His hand tightened at your hip as he kept touching you; slow, careful. Just reading every shift in your breathing, every quiet gasp, adjusting to it.

Your forehead pressed to his, your hips already moving instinctively into the rhythm of his hand.

Your breath hitched, fingers curling tight into his shoulders. He caught it right away, mouth brushing yours before he moved again.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Come on, baby.”

His voice sent you over the edge faster than you expected. You came quietly, breath stuttering against his lips, your whole body tightening around his hand.

He kissed you through it, his mouth soft but sure, catching every shaky breath.

And when you finally stilled, breath shallow and heartbeat loud in your ears, he was already reaching down, tugging at his sweatpants with one hand while the other stayed firm at your hip.

You shifted to help him, lifting just enough so he could free himself, and then he was there—pressed hot and heavy against you, one hand wrapped around himself, steadying, teasing, just brushing.

Then he guided you down onto him, slow, steady, his breath catching hard when he finally sank in deep.

You both stilled—just breathing, just feeling.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, one hand gripping your thigh as he held you there. “You feel… God.”

You didn’t answer—just curled your fingers around the back of his neck and started to move, slow at first. Testing. Learning this new version of each other.

His hands traced your waist, your hips, guiding you but letting you set the pace. When you ground down a little harder, a quiet groan slipped from his lips, and you felt it everywhere—his breath at your throat, his fingers flexing at your sides.

“Look at me,” he said, voice rougher now.

You did.

His gaze held yours as you moved together and when he finally lost a bit of that careful control—when his hips pushed up into yours a little harder, breath coming ragged—you welcomed it. Matched it. Took it.

He cupped your jaw, thumb brushing just under your lip, and kissed you hard as you came again—hard and fast, your body tightening around him.

He followed right after, muttering your name against your mouth, hips snapping up once, twice, before he stilled completely.

Neither of you moved for a while. Just breathing. His forehead pressed to yours, breath still uneven, his hand slipping back to your face, thumb dragging slow along your cheekbone.

When he did speak, his voice was quiet. Rough. Almost like he wasn’t sure if he was saying it at the right time, but he needed to anyway.

“I love you,” he murmured.

You froze, just for a second, but he kept going—like he’d been holding it in so long he couldn’t stop now.

“I’m sorry it took me so fucking long.”

Your throat felt tight. You didn't say anything at first, just let your fingers find the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

"I know," you whispered. "I know you do."

"I love you too."

He exhaled shakily, like he'd been holding his breath. His arms tightened around you, pulling you against him, forehead still pressed to yours.

You stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped around each other, hearts still racing. Everything felt different now. Better. Like you'd finally found your way back to where you were supposed to be.

[sammyquarius]

Imagine Being Smokes Sugar Baby and he starts catching feelings first.

The first time Smoke really started to catch feelings for her, it wasn’t anything grandiose. It wasn’t some dramatic, sweeping moment where the clouds parted and the heavens sang. It was the way she casually tucked a strand of hair behind her ear while reading a book in the dim light of the hotel room. It was how she smiled when he handed her a drink, her lips curling in that quiet way, like she had all the time in the world.

She wasn’t like the others, and Smoke knew it from the start. She wasn’t in it for the money, for the high life, or for the thrill of being a dangerous man’s arm candy. No, she had a different kind of spark in her eyes—something guarded, something raw. She liked the luxury, sure. Who wouldn’t? But it was clear as hell that she didn’t need it.

He'd always been the one to keep his distance, his feelings wrapped up tight in his chest, playing the part of the smooth-talking, dangerous man that he was. But with her, the walls kept crumbling. He'd lie awake late at night, replaying the way her laughter felt—soft and genuine, something that was too rare in his world—and he'd think, Damn, this could be trouble

At first, their arrangement had been simple—he’d give her everything she wanted, from expensive clothes to exclusive club access, from fine wine to a full bank account. And in return, she’d keep him company, be the pretty thing on his arm when he needed to show face, maybe slip a kiss or two when he got a little too drunk at one of their nights out. It was a game to her, a means to an end. But Smoke was different—he didn’t play fair, not with her.

She was supposed to be his casual escape, someone who knew how to enjoy the ride without asking for too much. But something about the way she didn’t fawn over him like the others did, the way she challenged him with her sharp wit and unflinching confidence, made it impossible for him to stay distant. Every word, every touch, seemed to pull him deeper.

And then one night, everything shifted.

They were at a club, a sleek, black-and-gold joint tucked in the back streets of the city. Smoke was leaning against the bar, eyes trained on her as she laughed, talking with some guy she’d just met. He was older, slick, with a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, and he was laughing with her like they had some inside joke. She was really laughing, eyes sparkling in a way that made Smoke's gut tighten.

The man was leaning in a little too close, his hand brushing against her arm like he was staking his claim. And she? She didn’t pull away. Not immediately.

Smoke’s jaw clenched, his fingers tightening around his glass. A flicker of jealousy started to burn, quick and sharp, before he could even stop it.

When her gaze flicked over to him, a flash of recognition crossing her face, Smoke’s mind raced—what the hell was this? Was she really interested in this guy?

She excused herself from the conversation and made her way over to him, a smile on her lips that barely reached her eyes. He could tell she was amused, but there was something else there too, something soft that hadn’t been there before.

“Everything alright?” she asked, leaning against the bar next to him, her voice casual, but Smoke could hear the edge beneath it. She knew what she was doing.

“I should be askin’ you that,” Smoke replied, his tone sharper than he meant it to be. “You’re laughing like you’re already halfway in bed with that guy.”

Her lips curved into that playful, teasing smile he knew all too well, but there was something else in her gaze—a glimmer of challenge. “What, you jealous?”

The word hit him like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t a joke, not to her. But for him? It felt like it was. He could feel the tension in his chest, the pulse of possessiveness, the urge to yank her away from that smooth-talking asshole and make sure no one else got to see what was his.

But he didn’t say that. Instead, he forced a chuckle, swirling his drink around. “Nah. I’m just wonderin’ when you started looking at other guys like that.”

She watched him carefully for a moment, before her smile softened, a hint of vulnerability creeping into her eyes. “Maybe I’m just… seeing what else is out there. You don’t own me, Smoke.”

He stiffened. He didn’t own her. Hell, he couldn’t even get close to owning her. She was free, untouchable in a way that only made him want her more.

“I don’t want to own you,” he said quietly, his voice surprisingly calm. “But you’re mine. And I don’t share.”

Her eyes softened just a fraction, and for a moment, she looked like she might say something—something more than just the usual playful banter. But instead, she just nodded, her gaze drifting back to the guy at the other end of the bar.

“I know,” she said softly. “But I don’t belong to anyone.”

It was a line that cut deep, deeper than he expected.

But when she returned to the other man, Smoke knew.

This wasn’t some casual arrangement anymore. This wasn’t just about money, or the luxury, or the simple pleasure of having someone beautiful by his side. This was real. And she? She could break him.

[pearlprincess02]

1st house synastry overlays (inner planets)

outer planets overlay & asteroids overlay

sun in 1st house overlay

sun person: in sun in 1st house synastry, the sun person often feels a boost in their self-esteem and ego as they become a source of inspiration for the house person. this dynamic can enhance their sense of identity and self-worth, making them feel radiant and powerful in their relationship. however, this placement can also lead to a tendency for the sun person to dominate the relationship, inadvertently overshadowing the house person’s needs and desires. as they bask in their partner's admiration, they may risk becoming self-absorbed or overly focused on their image, which can create friction if the house person feels neglected or unrecognized.

1st house person: for the 1st house person, having the sun person illuminate their 1st house can be both empowering and challenging. this relationship dynamic often encourages the house person to embrace their individuality and express themselves more confidently, as they feel validated by the sun person's presence. however, they may also struggle with feelings of inferiority if the sun person's larger-than-life personality overshadows their own. the house person might become overly reliant on the sun person's approval for their self-worth, leading to insecurity if they perceive that their partner is seeking attention or recognition at their expense.

couple tropes: the power couple, the confident support system, the rivalry dynamic, the social butterflies, the self-discovery journey, the ego clash, the fearless adventurers, the reflective mirror, the balancing act, the inspirational duo

moon in 1st house overlay

moon person: in moon in 1st house synastry, the moon person often feels deeply nurtured and supported by the house person, allowing them to express their emotions freely and comfortably. this placement creates a profound emotional connection, where the moon person feels seen and validated in their vulnerability. however, this intimacy can also lead to challenges, as the moon person may become overly dependent on the house person for emotional stability. if the house person is not receptive to the moon person's needs or feels overwhelmed by their emotional intensity, it can create a sense of insecurity, leaving the moon person feeling exposed and unprotected in the relationship.

1st house person: for the 1st house person, having the moon person illuminate their 1st house can evoke a strong sense of emotional connection and fulfillment. they often feel a sense of comfort and security when they are with the moon person, as the moon's energy encourages them to embrace their feelings and authentic self-expression. however, this emotional intensity can sometimes be overwhelming, leading to confusion or discomfort if the 1st house person is not prepared to navigate the depth of the moon person's emotions. they may feel pressured to provide constant emotional support, which can create tension if they struggle to balance their own needs with the moon person's expectations.

couple tropes: the emotional anchors, the safe haven, the intuitive connection, the overwhelmed protector, the emotional rollercoaster, the reflective empath, the creative collaborators, the supportive cheerleaders, the mood swings duo, the comfort seekers

mercury in 1st house overlay

mercury person: in mercury in 1st house synastry, the mercury person often feels invigorated and empowered by their partner's presence, as they find themselves expressing their thoughts and ideas with confidence and clarity. this placement enhances open communication, making discussions lively and engaging, as the house person encourages the mercury person to share their insights freely. however, this dynamic can also lead to misunderstandings if the mercury person becomes overly focused on their ideas, inadvertently dismissing the house person’s feelings or perspectives. if the house person feels overshadowed or feels their contributions are undervalued, it can create tension and communication breakdowns, leading to feelings of frustration.

1st house person: for the 1st house person, having the mercury person illuminate their 1st house brings a refreshing and stimulating dynamic to their communication. they often feel energized by the mercury person's quick wit and intellectual curiosity, which inspires them to express their own thoughts more openly. however, the intensity of this interaction can sometimes feel overwhelming, particularly if the mercury person's fast-paced communication leaves the 1st house person struggling to keep up or feeling inadequate. if they perceive the mercury person as being overly critical or dismissive, it can lead to feelings of self-doubt and inhibit their willingness to engage in future conversations.

couple tropes: the intellectual match, the playful banter, the thoughtful listeners, the communication overload, the curious explorers, the verbal connection, the quick thinkers, the debating duo, the frustrated expressers, the dynamic duo

venus in 1st house overlay

venus person: in venus in 1st house synastry, the venus person often feels an intense attraction and romantic connection with the house person, as their presence makes them feel adored and cherished. this placement fosters a sense of beauty and harmony in the relationship, with the house person enhancing the venus person's self-esteem and sense of worth. however, this strong emphasis on affection can sometimes lead to a tendency for the venus person to become overly dependent on the house person's validation. if the house person is not able to consistently reciprocate that love or if they withdraw emotionally, it can leave the venus person feeling insecure and unloved, creating potential tension in the relationship.

1st house person: for the 1st house person, having the venus person illuminate their 1st house often brings a sense of warmth and romance to their self-expression. they may feel more attractive and confident in the presence of the venus person, leading to a blossoming of their own romantic inclinations and desires. however, the intensity of this dynamic can sometimes create pressure for the 1st house person to constantly meet the venus person's expectations for love and affection. if they feel overwhelmed by the need to maintain a certain image or lifestyle, it can lead to feelings of inadequacy or frustration, especially if their own needs are not being met in the process.

couple tropes: the soulmates, the charismatic couple, the flirtatious duo, the beautiful connection, the affectionate friends, the attention seekers, the emotionally insecure, the love language learners, the passionate lovers, the romantic idealists

mars in 1st house overlay

mars person: in mars in 1st house synastry, the mars person often feels empowered and driven by the house person’s energy, as this placement ignites a passionate connection that encourages assertiveness and ambition. the dynamic between them can create a thrilling atmosphere filled with mutual attraction and intense interactions, making the relationship exciting and invigorating. however, this passionate energy can also lead to clashes, as the mars person may sometimes come off as aggressive or domineering, overwhelming the house person with their assertive nature. if the house person feels overshadowed or unable to express their own desires, it can lead to frustration and conflict, potentially damaging the relationship if not managed carefully.

1st house person: for the 1st house person, having the mars person illuminate their 1st house can amplify their confidence and assertiveness, inspiring them to pursue their goals with fervor. this dynamic often fosters a strong sense of passion and determination, allowing the 1st house person to feel more alive and energetic in the relationship. however, this heightened assertiveness can also lead to aggressive tendencies, especially if the 1st house person feels provoked or challenged by the mars person's boldness. if the relationship becomes overly competitive or combative, it may create an environment where feelings of resentment and frustration can grow, threatening the harmony they initially shared.

couple tropes: the fiery lovers, the competitive duo, the dynamic go-getters, the argumentative pair, the assertive partners, the instinctual connection, the passionate warriors, the volatile couple, the impulsive adventurers, the heat of the moment

all observations are done by me !!! @pearlprincess02

main masterlist

[k4g3hika]

CONSUME ━ imagine!

suna rintarou x fem!reader

summary: suna rintarou was hard to love, you knew this from the beginning. but when you overhear him admitting how he truly felt about you, it hurt to decide whether to let him go, or let your love for him continuously consume you.

genre: hurt/comfort

wc: 6.2k

tags: this is the longest imagine that i’ve ever written 😭 it was a pain in the ass to write but i hope you guys like it :)

Sometimes, you think it’s hard to love Suna.

Suna is calculating and quiet, the reasons exactly why you find it difficult to continuously pine for him. Though, you already knew he was going to act like this. You’ve gone to school with Suna since elementary, and have even lived in the same neighbourhood since childhood, but you don’t think he knows that.

The thing is, you know Suna, but you don’t think he knows you. Every morning since you were six years old, you’ve seen him make his way to school, but you’ve never had the courage to walk up to him and say ‘hi’. For years, the only parts of Suna that you were able to truly admire were his back and his hair, from behind. The both of you have never been in the same friend group, class, or extra-curricular activity, until your second-year of high school.

You precisely remember the moment you stepped into the gymnasium to introduce yourself as the new manager of the team. It was a rainy day and you were excited, albeit, a little nervous, but irregardless, excited because you know and love volleyball. The sport connected with some of your childhood memories, as you recall playing it with your older brother. Too bad your physical skills weren’t up to par with the school’s expectations, or else you would’ve been on the team. Their loss though, because you found your strategy and knowledge of the sport to be your strongest feature as a player.

As a result of the girl’s team already having a manager, the coach recommended you to try signing up for the role of manager for the boy’s team. Now, you didn’t mind being around boys. Your older brother was enough for you to build up the courage against the challenge that is the hygiene and personality, or well, lack thereof, of boys.

However, the courage built over the years was not enough to stop your surprise at seeing none other than Suna Rintarou, from the front.

He looked completely different from what you remember him looking like. For some reason, you still had the young image of Suna in your head. The Suna you remember had puffy cheeks and neat hair, but this new Suna, was mature, older, and way more handsome. His cheeks thinned out and highlighted a sharp jawline that made his face look so clean-cut, unlike his hair that was messy and all over the place. But, if anything, you think that you prefer this Suna.

Because, God, it made him so much more attractive.

Now, it’s been about three months since you’ve become manager, and in those three months, you’ve tried to show Suna just how much you love him. The years of no talking and never meeting each other were all building up for you, and you just wanted to show him all of the care and affection you’ve held for him over the years.

You’ve cooked bento boxes and given them to him, you’ve filled his water bottle with the expensive electrolytes from the convenience store ten minutes away from the school before every practice, and who couldn’t forget, you make sure that his towel was clean and warm beside his gym bag, so that he wouldn’t use the same one for weeks until it reeked. Your affection was clearly shown through your actions and you prayed to the heavens that he would just notice you. Maybe say a ‘thank you’ or even a little head pat, you really don’t care, just some recognition would make you feel rewarded after all the hard work you’ve done for him.

But, the bento boxes were returned to you either by, Atsumu or Osamu, Suna drank the expensive electrolyte water, however, he seemed to not notice that it was you who put all the thought and care behind the action, and his towel was always just thrown to the side alongside the other towels. Even though the towel you prepped was a personal one from home that had your initials hand sewn in the corner. You thought that at one point he would’ve acknowledged you, but the gratefulness never came.

It didn’t matter though. Because you knew in your heart that you loved Suna Rintarou, and there was nothing that could change that. Even if you did all the sincere actions for him until the both of you graduated and he never noticed you, just knowing that he at least saw the bento box, the water bottle, and your towel, was enough to put a smile on your face. You would show Suna that you love him, ten times over.

“Y/N! Earth to Y/N!” Your head snaps over to your right, seeing the coach look at you with concern. Embarrassed that he caught you in your daily Suna trance, your cheeks heats up and you push yourself to your feet.

“Coach!”

“I thought you would never hear me. Listen, I don’t know what’s taking all your attention away, but can you please head down to the locker room and tell the boys that they need to make their way over here. The drill we spoke about yesterday is a bit complicated, so I would like to get started as soon as possible.” Nodding, you bow and begin to make your way over to the club room.

Your heart begins to speed up a bit, as the thought of seeing Suna shirtless makes your chest burn and your face hot. By all means, you are not a pervert! But just seeing him with all his muscles in the bright fluorescent light of the locker room looked like a cover of a sports magazine.

Suna Rintarou makes you feel so nervous. Unfortunately, you find yourself relishing in the minimal acknowledgement that he gives you, thriving off of the fact that you were in a club that just allowed you to be around him. Maybe it was a sign from the heavens that you weren’t physically athletic, but strategically, which resulted in your application as Boys Volleyball team manager. You’d like to think that despite his ignorance, it was in both of your guys’ destinies to end up with another.

Maybe the both of you were the main characters of a drama, where, despite all the bumps in the plot, you will always find each other being drawn to one another. Yet again, that was all just your stupid imagination, but one can dream, right?

Giggling to yourself, you were about to knock on the locker room door, before you heard loud voices through the small space between the door and the wall. It sounded like they were bickering with one another, and you begin to wonder if it’s Atsumu and Osamu fighting again, while everyone just stood around and observed. Normally, you would be the one to beg them to stop while Kita jumped in after you to pull them apart. But, now that you weren’t inside, you begin to push open the door at the possibility.

“...Y/N?” Your actions falter at the sound of your name.

‘Are they talking about me?’ Before you could do anything, you lean your ear in just to get a snippet of what they were talking about. You know what they say though, curiosity was what killed the cat.

“Come on Sunarin! You have to like Y/N! She’s so cute, and she cooks you all those bento boxes! If that isn’t girlfriend material, then I don’t know what is.” Hearing Atsumu praise you for your efforts made you smile, trying to hide it by covering your mouth with your hand.

“And, let’s not forget how she already likes you. C’mon Rintarou, we’ve seen her personally hand you your water bottle,” The voice you assume to be Ojiro teases, while everyone in the room laughs.

“Oh yeah!! I’ve seen those expensive electrolyte packets in her bag, man, how does it feel to receive such special treatment from Y/N?”

‘So my actions don’t go unnoticed.’ Your smile grows bigger, clutching your clipboard closer to your chest when feeling just how full your heart is with everyone’s recognition.

“Stop it guys.” Suna’s smooth voice finally enters the picture and you try to stop yourself from giggling out loud. “She’s our manager.”

“So?!? Man, that’s even better! You won’t have a girlfriend who doesn’t understand the importance of the sport. If anything, Y/N is more committed than you, maybe you will be the one competing for her attention against the club,” you hear smooching sounds and Atsumu speaks in a voice that tries to mock Suna’s, but did a terrible job.

“Y/N~ don’t forget all about me!! I love you Y/N~!” More kissing sounds can be heard, and everyone in the room laughs one more time.

The joy in your heart would’ve been extended, if it weren’t for the sudden aggravated scoff from Suna, and the slapping of a towel on bare skin. Atsumu yelps and the room suddenly dies down from the initial humorous atmosphere.

“Man, shut up. I don’t like Y/N. She’s alright, I guess.” a locker door slams shut, “But sometimes, she's just so... annoying. I don't know how much longer I can put up with it. And you know, after a while, it just comes off as desperate.”

‘Desperate? I’m not desperate.’ You weren’t keen on Suna noticing you. You just liked doing all those things for him, it showed you cared, and that he was at least deserving of some special treatment, because he was a very special person in your life.

“I feel bad for her,” he continues, “spending all that time doing shit for someone that doesn’t even like her. I can’t say anything though, cause she’s our manager and I don’t want the team to feel awkward. I guess I just have to suffer with her smothering me all the damn time.”

At that, you feel your once fluttering heart stop. You feel tears beginning to make their way to fall from your eyes, as your face begins to feel hot, but not in a blushing way. More like in a, you were about to sob out loud and the tears probably wouldn’t stop for a while, way.

You loved Suna. He didn’t have to love you back, the least you were asking for was for him to say ‘thank you’. But it appeared that your affection didn’t appear as a display of your love, but something that bothered him. Annoying him to the point of seeing your actions as suffocating. But that didn’t entirely bother you.

It was the fact that he didn’t even want to tell you to stop. He was going to live like that until high school was over, because you were the team’s manager, and it would be ‘awkward’. You begin to overthink.

What if you kept on going about cooking those bento boxes for him, filling his water up with electrolytes, and bringing a special towel from home, all warm and clean, without knowing what he actually thought of your displays of affection? You would’ve lived thinking that Suna somewhat appreciated it. Possibly having the idiotic thought that he was just shy, and maybe didn’t know how to exactly tell you that he liked you.

You are such a dumbass.

You begin to tremble, the pen that was once held up by your clipboard clattering to the ground and startling you. It brought you back to your situation, seeing the door still somewhat closed in front of you. Out of fear that they were going to see you and realise that you were eavesdropping, you ditch the pen and begin to run back to the gym.

You were going to tell the coach that you were feeling sick. You hope the teary eyes and flushed cheeks will do you justice, and he’ll send you home without any repercussions. But as of right now, nothing matters, all that did was the fact that you were annoying the boy you loved, and that your pillows were waiting to welcome your tears until tomorrow morning.

—

It’s been two days. Have you missed school for the past two days? Absolutely not. Suna wasn’t going to make you miss class, as much as you wanted to, you know that if you were going to skip, the school will inform your parents, and that last thing you want is your parents to get involved.

It’s just been two days since you’ve been to volleyball practice. You haven’t been missing your duties at all though. Yes, you’ve been in contact with the coach and Kita, with them informing you on the notes of the team and each player’s performance. The reason for that being, some coaches from Tokyo were planning to head down to Hyogo for a volleyball camp. The team needs to know what they have to improve on, and unfortunately, though you felt as if you weren’t in the right state of mind, you had to fulfil your duties as a manager.

You’re not over Suna, and to be honest, you don’t think you ever will be. He’s been such a constant force in your life, that a lifetime without his presence captivating your mind felt impossible to even conjure. You love Suna Rintarou, but you guess you would just have to hold it inside until the both of you go your separate ways. Maybe then you’ll get over him, but the possibility seemed unlikely.

You just have to give up expecting the response to your love that you’ve been hoping for your entire life.

Checking the cafeteria and seeing if you had enough food supply for three volleyball teams, their respective coaches, and their managers. It seemed like a chore to do all on your own, and it was. But you committed to being the team manager. Suna wasn’t going to change that whether he liked it or not.

“Y/N, the Tokyo teams will be arriving soon. Coach says you need to head to the front and help him with dorm placement.” Sighing and nodding, you get up from your squatting position from the bottom shelf. Kita notices your negative mood, by being the observant asshole that he is. As you were about to exit out the only doorway, he grabs your forearm, holding you back from actually leaving. His sudden touch surprised you, resulting in you jolting back. “I’ve been meaning to ask, are you okay?”

His concern falters your thoughts and movements. In all the time that you’ve been manager of the volleyball team, Kita has never really shown you that much care for how you felt. It surprised you a bit, seeing how concerned he looked for your wellbeing.

Yet again, he’s Suna’s friend.

“I’m okay, why do you ask?” He didn’t believe you, that was clear. It was so obvious when his facial expression did not change, Kita was still staring intently at you. It almost felt like he was trying to read your mind.

“You dropped your pen, by the way.” Taking it out of his pocket, Kita hands you your familiar piece of stationary, not thinking about it, you grab it from his hand. “I know you were by the locker room when Suna said what he said.”

‘Oh shit.’ You felt your heart come to a stop, yet again.

“W-What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So it’s just a coincidence that after Suna said that about you, I found your pen in front of the locker room door, and you didn’t show up to practise till today? Y/N, I’m not sure if you’ve failed to learn something about me, but I can tell you that I am not an idiot.”

His words caught you off-guard. Kita managed to figure out what was wrong with you, without even knowing who you were. To be honest, it scared you a bit, getting a glimpse of what Kita can truly find out when he concentrated hard enough. You admire that about him.

Taking your silence as you not knowing what to say, Kita lets go of your forearm and sighs.

“Suna didn’t mean what he said. He’s a very thoughtful individual who was pressured into saying those things by the team. You know how they are. Please try to see things from his perspective, as Suna is often misunderstood.” He begins to walk away, but leaves with a final word, “I’m not telling you to change how you feel about the situation. You have a right to feel how you feel. But, don’t take Suna’s words too seriously.” Kita walks away, leaving you alone in the cafeteria.

‘Did he just say not to take the insults Suna threw at you seriously?’ The aggression left behind the negativity a few days ago wants to say, absolutely not. What Kita said is unfair, to you and your feelings. Suna called you annoying and said you were smothering him, how can you jump around that? So far you haven’t had a night where you haven’t thought about how…mean Suna was. You thought that he only would’ve been mean to Atsumu or the others, but not you, never you.

It’s safe to say that your mind felt like it was on the verge of exploding. It was so stressful to choose whether or not you should believe Kita and show Suna your love again, or just ignore him like what you’ve been doing for the past couple of days.

You think that it’s best to just…not think about the problem. It’s a situation for later, for now, the camp and most importantly, the team needs your utmost attention.

‘God, I hate high school.’

—

“Hey Suna, you good?” Suna takes a sip of water from his bottle, noting that it tasted different from usual. Nodding, he wipes his sweat off with a spare shirt from his bag, also becoming aware that the towel that he was given wasn’t the usual soft one that he had from the beginning of the year. This one was coarse and rough, making him pick up the shirt he intended to wear if he got too sweaty.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Hey, does the water taste a bit weird? Like, spoiled or somethin’ cause it doesn’t taste like how it usually does.” Osamu’s eyebrow raises, grabbing the bottle from Suna’s hands despite his protests, and tasting his friend’s drink. To him, it tasted normal, like the normal water that came from the water fountain.

“No…it tastes like how it usually does?”

“Nah, can’t be man. The water I usually have is sweeter and it tastes like fruit juice. This shit tastes weird.” Suna’s face scrunches up, tasting his water again to see if he was just hallucinating the lack of flavour in his water. It’s stupid, how much he’s overthinking the flavour of something that he shouldn’t think that much about. But he hates how regular water tastes like, only really drinking it if he has to.

Observing Suna, it clicks in Osamu’s head what was missing from the water.

In the past, he has noticed you getting out a packet of electrolytes and putting it into Suna’s bottle with a sincere smile on your face. You looked so cute and happy, it puzzled him why you didn’t tell Suna that it was you that was making his water suitable to his tastes. The silent display of affection made him so jealous, he could only wish that he had someone that cared that much.

“What if you ask Y/N? She’s the one who fills up the water bottles anyway, she should know.” Osamu jogs back to the court, practising once more with the team captain. Inquisitively, Suna does remember that you fill up the water bottles. He also remembered how you asked him once at the beginning of the school year what his favourite drink was, and he only shrugged, saying that he likes fruit chuupets, and ever since then, his water tasted like the familiar fruity taste. Wanting to know why his water hasn’t been tasting like it as of late, it prompted him to go on a search for you. Damn warmups, he needs to know why his water doesn’t have the same taste than it usually does.

Looking around the gym, he sees your figure turn into the hallway. Following you, he begins to walk faster in order to catch up to you, thinking about what to say to you in his head, without coming across as mean.

‘Y/N, why does my water taste bad?’ No. ‘Y/N, why doesn’t my water taste like fruit?’ No, he’s going to sound stuck up. ‘Y/N, why does my water taste like everyone else’s?’ Oh God no, that sounds even worse.

‘Y/N, is there something different about my water?’ There you go. That should sound right.

He was ready to confront you, preparing himself to call out your name. But before he could do so,

“Dove!” Suna’s head snaps to the loud voice in front of him, and so does yours, as a tall, lanky, goofy-looking boy makes his way towards you. Much to Suna’s dismay, for some reason, a smile etches itself onto your face as the other man approaches you. “I thought I would never find you.”

“Tetsu, aren’t you supposed to be practising with your team? You shouldn’t be behind here.”

“Well, I just wanted to see my girl. Is there any harm in that, Dove?”

“Tetsu, stop,” you mutter, a bit shy, “I don’t want people from my school to hear you call me that.”

“Aw, you’re still cute as ever. Here, let me help you with that.” Suna sees the guy, ‘Tetsu’, grab the basket of water bottles from your hands. You protest, pouting a bit as Kuroo brings the case above your reach so that you wouldn’t be able to get it back. “I haven’t seen you in awhile Dove, let me be nice, okay?”

Honestly, he personally doesn’t know what overcame him, but out of nowhere Suna coughed loud enough for the pair to hear. He sees you jump a bit, seeing that one of your teammates, catching you in the midst of a conversation while you were supposed to be doing your duties. And it was even worse for you, as not only was it a teammate, but it was Suna. You assume that he probably hates your guts, based on what he said before. Even so, his glare started to make you feel a bit nervous.

“Can I help you?” Kuroo asks Suna as walks up to the both of them.

“I should be asking you that question. Do you need something from my team manager?” Embarrassed, you look down at your feet, trying to avert your eyes from Suna or Kuroo’s.

Kuroo’s eyes squint, looking at the middle-blocker who, to his surprise, matches his height. The both of them begin to have a staring competition, as one or the other refuses to tear away the eye contact. It started to worry you, because it’s almost been two minutes of harsh breathing and aggressive stares.

“O-Okay, I’ll be taking these then.” You grab the crate from Kuroo and begin to make your way to your original location. “Get back to practise guys! Lunch is in thirty!”

“Who are you and why were you talking to Y/N?”

“Woah, woah, buddy, why are you getting protective? Y/N, is a very, very, close friend of mine, so I think that I have a right to approach her right?” Kuroo smirks, stepping closer to Suna as a form of intimidation. “How about you? Are you her boyfriend or something?”

Suna glares at Kuroo, wanting nothing more than to hit him in the jaw. He would, but one, that would take too much of his energy, and two, he’s pretty sure you would hate him if he does. Still, something in Suna just wanted to tell Kuroo that he was your boyfriend just for him to back off.

But he wasn’t. Because he doesn’t like you. He’s sure of that.

“No.” Kuroo laughs, stepping back before turning to make his way back to the gym.

“Well then, that means nothing is stopping me right?” Kuroo walks away, but not before aggressively pushing Suna’s shoulder back with his own. Though, Suna was too concentrated on what the other boy said to even progress the aggression from the other side.

‘What did he mean ‘nothing is stopping him? Is Kuroo going to do something to you? What will Kuroo do that’ll result in Suna blocking him?’

“Sunarin! What are you still doing out here?!” Atsumu shriek could be heard from down the hall, making Suna jump out of his train of thought. He completely forgot that he was even standing here just staring at a wall and thinking of you. That was weird.

He usually never did.

—

The practice game against Inarizaki and Nekoma was…tense.

You could feel the passive aggressiveness coming strangely, from Kuroo and Suna across the net. Everyone else was curious as well, wondering exactly why these two, who’ve never met before, suddenly have a feud similar to that of a world war. At first, you were completely clueless, but then began to wonder if something happened in the hallway after you left.

Maybe Suna said something to tease Kuroo? Or maybe, it was the other way around and now they just want to kill each other.

In the third set at twenty-two points to Inarizaki and twenty-four points to Nekoma, the stakes and the nerves were equally as high. Nekoma has one win and Inarizaki has the other. It seems that this practice game was being played for far more than it actually was, since Kuroo and Suna never acknowledged each other apart from glaring and swearing at each other under their breath. Their respective teams kept asking them if they were okay, both replying with, “yeah, let’s just win.”

“Do you think something happened between Suna and that Nekoma player?” The coach asks you, leaning in and whispering it so that others wouldn’t hear.

“I’m not sure…but they do seem pretty aggressive with one another.”

Then, as you look away for just a moment, a spike comes from Nekoma, but was thankfully received by Kita. Following a set by Atsumu, Osamu jumped to spike it down, but was then blocked by none other than Kuroo himself.

At the brink of time, Ojiro retrieves it back, calling Atsumu to set it once more, this time for Suna to powerfully spike it down, aiding them in their two point loss between them and Nekoma. As Suna jumps up, you see Kuroo and Kenma jump as well.

A feeling of failure begins to settle in your heart.

Suna hits the ball, powerfully, the first time you’ve seen him hit a ball with so much energy.

But the ball immediately lands back down onto the same side, Kita not able to have caught up to it in time. Nekoma cheers out loud, congratulating each other on their hard work.

While Inarizaki lost, they began to support each other for their efforts, but you notice that Suna didn’t look as relieved as the others. His stare is hostile, facing towards the otherside where you see Kuroo looking at him with the same confrontational gaze. You swallow nervously, beginning to make your way towards Suna to pull him back. The Inarizaki boys take notice as well, observing how Suna and Kuroo were both stomping their way to each other. The same feeling of failure seeps into your chest again and you could sense something was going to go terribly wrong–

Suna punched Kuroo in the jaw!

Out of nowhere, a fight begins between the two players, both of them tussling with one another in the middle of the court. Kuroo lands a punch on Suna but is equally stunned when Suna fights back almost immediately after. You notice how Kuroo was pulling at his shirt, trying to bring him closer to land another blow, but fails as Suna strikes him one after the other. Both Nekoma and Inarizaki run up to their players, trying to pull them apart from one another.

The coaches start to shout at their players, ordering them to stop what they were doing at once.

Successfully, they both are torn apart from one another, but still continue to fight the air as they try to continue their brawl.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Your coach asks, trying to instill some discipline into his player. Unfortunately, your heart fails to calm down after witnessing the both of them fight so aggressively. You’ve never seen Suna fight someone, or him be so mad.

Suna looks up, pulling his arms away from his teammates and stares at you.

As the both of you make eye-contact, you refuse to move from your position and remain shaking. Almost as if you gave him an answer to something, Suna walks away, leaving behind everyone in awe.

Just then, you look up at Kita, who nods for you to go.

‘Should I go?’

The memory of him calling you annoying and smothering comes back in your mind.

‘Does he deserve my comfort?’

“Please try to see things from his perspective, as Suna is often misunderstood.”

Putting down the clipboard on the bench, you run outside to try and find Suna. Fall has never been kind to Hyogo, as rain pelts down from the sky, fogging your ability to try and see Suna. You call out his name, but your volume is minute in comparison to the strength of the rain.

Running into the open hallway, you look left and right to try and find the familiar boy. But, no luck. Your heart begins to ache at the realisation that you had no idea where Suna is. You didn’t know what he was doing all by himself in weather like this. Inside, you sincerely hope that he didn’t run out in the street.

‘Oh God, what if he did?’

Out of sheer panic, you run towards the direction of the gate, praying to the heavens that he didn’t do the latter. With rain coming down this hard, you knew that driver’s wouldn’t be able to see as clearly as they usually do. And the thought of Suna running into the street in hopes of getting his comfort jelly chuupets at the convenience store down the road doesn’t make you feel better at all.

You run out the gate, looking towards the direction of the store, failing to catch Suna or any person resembling him standing in the vicinity of it. Trying to get nearer and get a closer look, the sound of a blaring horn fills your ears. Turning to the left, you see a car heading your way, swerving side to side in a skidding motion. The road was so slippery in this type of weather, but why couldn’t you move?

The car was getting closer and your feet felt like they were stuck on the ground.

‘Why can’t I move?’

“Y/N!” Your body jerks back to the side. The car swiftly passes the both of you, getting back onto its regular general direction before driving further down the road. You feel your heart beating profusely, your heaving chest moving up and down in hopes of slowing it. “Are you stupid?! What do you think you’re doing?!?”

Looking up to thank your saviour, Suna’s panicked face greets you causing you to go silent. Both at the same time, you feel relief and stress seeing his face. Mostly relief because you’ve finally found him after all the events that occured today.

“Answer me—“

“Idiot!” Pushing him back, Suna stands there stunned while you clench your fists by your sides. “What—What do you think you’re doing, getting into fights, running out in the rain…are you a child?!? What is going on with you??”

Suna stands there silently.

“And don’t just stand there, I ran out in the road because, because I thought you went to buy your stupid chuupets that you love so much down at the convenience store! You are like a child, wanting fucking food when you’re angry or stressed. You know, I shouldn’t have come out here. In the rain, getting all wet. But you know what Suna, you know what’s pathetic? This, running in shitty weather like this, wouldn’t only be the most drastic thing I do for you.

Suna, for months, I-I’ve been buying expensive ass electrolyte packets, because I know you wouldn’t drink regular water. You only drink water that tastes like fruit juice. That’s from my own money by the way! I also cook you food, that I spend time out of my nights, and sometimes mornings, because you are picky! I know you don’t like cafeteria food, so I just threw my food into the circle, hoping to God that you just might like it! And-And let’s not forget about my towel, my hand sewn, hand washed, machine dried towel. I bring it for you fresh everyday Suna! I know you don’t like the rough school towels, so I brought mine with my initials!

And do I get noticed? No! I never got a ‘thank you’, or even a nod of recognition?! I have Atsumu or Osamu return my bento box in silence, even my towel, thrown into the pile with the rest of the team’s towels, and I get called annoying. I slave myself every day, Suna, just to get your attention. But I don’t think you realise that, I don’t have to do these things. I have never, ever, forced myself to do these things.

I am sorry, if I smother you Suna. I just love you so fucking much that I don’t realise the things I do to care for you, are exhausting.

But now, I’m exhausted. Of not receiving the gratitude I expect for the things I do. I was fine for awhile Suna, but now I’m—“

Then, you feel yourself being pushed onto his chest. One of Suna’s arms wrap around your waist, while the other holds your head down gently, as if silencing you from saying the rest of what you wanted to say. You feel shock course through your veins as the last thing you expected was a hug from the Suna Rintarou.

You and Suna stood under the harsh rain, their heartbeats echoing the drumming of waterdrops around them. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in that intimate moment.

“Don’t get tired Y/N, please don’t get tired of me.” Out of nowhere, you feel yourself begin to cry. Wiping your tears onto Suna’s already wet jersey, he manages to sense your exhaustion, urging him to glide his hand on top of your head continuously. “I am grateful Y/N, that you do all these things for me without me having to ask.”

Suna pulls the both of you apart, cradling your face as he attempts to wipe your tears off. Despite his efforts however, you continue to cry, meanwhile struggling to breathe as you attempt to catch your breath. It feels like despite all the tears you’ve cried in private, seeing Suna recognise you brought a whole different wave of emotions.

“Don’t cry, I don’t want to see you crying because of me.” At that moment, Suna ponders for a bit as you see him look at you. You feel yourself freeze as he leans down to plant two kisses on both of your cheeks, an effort to dry your tears. Putting his forehead on yours, his thumbs continuously brush your jawline, as if he was admiring you. “It’s difficult for me to say Y/N, but I love you.”

Your eyes widen.

“I’ve loved you since elementary when you pushed that little boy off the swing after he pushed me off. I’ve loved you since middle school when you would sneakily put chuupets on my desk, even if you thought I didn’t know. You’re beautiful Y/N. And, I’m sorry for not thanking you earlier for everything you’ve done for me. I’m not brave like you, I can’t show the people I love that I care for them.”

“B-But the bento…”

“Of course I ate it. It hurts me to think that I didn’t, I just always asked Atsumu or Osamu to bring it back. You make me nervous Y/N. I can’t confidently walk up to you when you get prettier every time my eyes turn to you.

You make me weak, Y/N.” You huff, sniffling as Suna lands another kiss on the tip of your nose. He smiles and brings you in for another hug, but this time, your arms wrap around him tightly.

It is difficult to love Suna Rintarou.

It was a path fraught with uncertainties and moments of doubt. But as you stood there, holding the rain-soaked figure before you, you knew that the journey was worth it. Because in the depths of his guarded heart, you had found a love that was as powerful as it was fragile, as beautiful as it was challenging. And you were determined to weather the storm, to be the unwavering presence that helped him navigate the complexities of love and vulnerability.

[giuseppe-yuki]

pr videos

logan sargeant x hawk shapeshifter!reader

w.c.: 1.2k

warnings: a few curse words, one suggestive innuendo

part of my shapeshifting!reader series

summary: you join logan while he is doing his pr videos for williams

picture credits from pinterest :)

from your perch on the VCARB building, you could see your boyfriend on the roof of the williams building, filming a pr video. with your acute vision that allowed you to see over half a mile away, you could see the strands of his blonde hair waving in the wind, the way the sleeves of his williams team kit stretched over his arm muscles, the shine of his blue-green eyes in the sun, and even the light stubble on his chin. oh, and alex was there too, but why would you look at him when your perfect boyfriend was standing right there? 

you technically weren’t supposed to be sitting on a pipe next to a big ass poster of daniel riccardo’s face on the VCARB roof, but you were getting a little hungry. less than an hour ago, logan had left you in the hotel room, explaining that him and alex were filming pr videos all day and didn’t want you to be waiting in the hot sun. it didn’t hurt spying a little bit on them. besides, you were blending in, because in austin, texas there was always a shit ton of hawks for some reason. 

shaking yourself out of your logan-induced trance, you peer over at alex and see him holding a- piece of tomato? in logan’s hands are some tongs and a metal spatula, making you realize he is currently flipping burgers in front of a smoking grill. great, you think, williams has your boyfriend playing the typical american again. before you can continue your line of thought, your stomach grumbles, so you immediately spread your wings and jump off the building. there’s no harm in capitalizing off of logan’s americanness, you suppose.

gliding smoothly towards the williams roof, you hear logan talking fighting for his life trying to defend himself.

“mate, look at my burger compared to yours! its way better. look at the cheese, the lettuce, the tomato, the juicy meat! your patty is literally burnt and you don’t even have lettuce in your burger! that’s a literal crime.”

“you don’t even have lettuce in your burger” alex mocks. “whatever logan, you’re so american!” 

you can tell the banter between them is playful, both of them shooting pointed remarks at each other as the timer countes down. they're filming an alex vs logan burger challenge, you speculate. 

when you see your chance, you fly at full speed towards the pair, and snatch logan’s burger right off of his plate. clutching the burger in your claws, you circle back and plant yourself on an expensive-looking linen sofa. you give the burger a few experimental pecks. perfectly cooked, and honestly, really good. 

the camerawoman, several members of the williams crew, and both alex and logan’s pr managers all stare at you from behind the camera in surprise, mouths open. alex lets out a sound of pure shock, but his eyes show a little bit of recognition. perhaps logan has mentioned you to alex before? logan, however, looks at you with a small smile and a singular eyebrow raised. 

“mate,” alex starts, “is that your g-” 

logan immediately cuts him off. 

“wow, that was so weird! my burger looked so much better than yours, a real-life american hawk swooped in just to try it.” 

as if coming to her senses, the camerawoman steps in to redirect the focus of the video. “we are totally keeping that in. that was so fucking cool.” she exclaims. she turns around to her camera, and fiddles with it for a little bit before turning back towards you, logan and alex. “by the way, note to the video editor, logan totally won that one. the hawk really sealed the deal.”

“baby there is no way you just did that,” logan says, closing the hotel room door. 

you were lying in a cocoon of sheets with on the giant bed, having flew back to your balcony suite a couple hours ago. 

he takes off his shoes before continuing, “after you flew away, i had to spend over half an hour explaining to the williams crew members that no, i did not somehow summon you using my americanness and burger cooking powers, then fifteen minutes conversing with alex about planning a hangout with him and his girlfriend- who by the way is a cockatiel shapeshifter- and then fourty-five minutes leaving the paddock because i was stopped every two seconds by yet another person who wanted to ask if a hawk did actually steal my burger.” 

you can’t help but to start laughing. “awe i’m sorry logan, i was just a little hungry and i wanted to go see you!” you say in between giggles.

logan leaps onto the bed on top of you and wraps you into a warm hug. “fine, i forgive you. only because i love you,” he says earnestly. he pauses before continuing, “and also because you gave me a great truth to tell for two truths and a lie,” prompting you to burst into laughter again. he puts a well-placed kiss on your cheek. “so what do you want to do next?”

you look into his eyes, a few inches away from yours, and whispers into his ear. “i’m feeling… a little hungry.” 

logan peels himself off of you, and walks towards the hotel room phone.

“i know exactly who to call.” 

later, you find yourself sat in front of the most mouthwatering, scrumdiddlyumptious layout of texas barbeque, coleslaw, and cornbread. god, you loved logan so much. 

the next day, you find yourself in a similar position as the day before. this time, you are perched on a tree on the edge of a beautiful lake. you watch in amusement as logan and alex struggle to put bait on the hook of their fishing rods. logan seemed to have a little bit more luck spearing the worm onto the end of his fishing rod. 

“this is so rigged.” you hear alex complain to the gopro set up in front of him. “logan clearly got a bigger worm than me so its easier to put on and plus, he probably has ages of experience from fishing when he was younger!” 

it was yet another pr video day, but this time williams had them out in the middle of a lake- fishing for content. ‘don’t come back until you caught a fish,’ you had heard the team member jokingly say to the williams drivers as they launched off the dock. currently, it seemed as if alex and your boyfriend were taking his words seriously.

thirty minutes later, both of them were still stuffed in bright red lifejackets sitting in the middle of the lake. it seemed the cameramen that were filming them from a separate boat were having more luck them them, as they had a few minnows swimming in a bucket compared to logan and alex’s zero. 

you swoop down from your tree branch and use your ability to see uncannily well to spot a big bass swimming below you. lighting quick, you snatch it up in your claws and fly toward the williams boat. 

this time, the cameramen see you before logan, and all point their cameras excitedly at you, no doubt getting some high quality content for their upcoming video. 

you drop the still-wriggling bass onto logan’s lap, and perch proudly at the tip of the boat. 

“why thank you birdy,” logan says to you, giving you a big smile. he turns to alex, fighting the urge not to laugh. “i guess i win this challenge yet again.” 

alex wears a smug smile back though. “i just had my birdy go catch me a fish too.” he says, pointing his nose in the air. as if right on cue, a gray and yellow cockatiel whips past you, and drops a mosquito fish in alex’s lap.

logan takes one look and bursts into laughter.

taglist: @ilivbullyingjeongin@ale-522@formula1-motogpfan@aceyalonso@my0hmary @mbappebby

[regnumveritatis]

'Loyalty and Sensibility watch the challenge of Hermes'.

In what is perhaps a perfect symbolism of their respective patronages, Guidance did not show fervent passion to Reason upon their meeting at the birth of the Athenide twins. Unlike Truth, who famously fell in love at first glance with Loyalty and lost his right to press her suit in the bird race within a year, Guidance seemingly preferred the friendship of both fountain daughters as they worked together for decades: Hermes would often accompany the twins on their psychopomp duties with great enthusiasm as they played music to ease the dead into calm. What surprised Olympus (but not the mortals as they knew his generous disposition) was when he took things a step further with Arsinoe Athenide as she recruited him to her mission of helping as many forsaken children as possible.

In events now called 'the courting of Wit and Common Sense', Hermes tied her rule of clemency to his own asylum at Arcadia whilst searching the world for the finest materials to don Arsinoe's temple, prompting parents with hard to care for children to seek out his aid for their special needs. He brought slabs of lilac colored marble for her temple columns from Troy to showcase her prestige as Atlantean royalty and silence claims that her temple would be as comely as her pig-faced cripples (said claimant was turned into a rooster then cooked as dinner to the children), silver to cover the expenses of her charges that he claimed was paying back his debt to her for nurturing his son Pan after the godling was rejected by Dryope, and large emeralds that were carved into figures for her pediment. Despite the fine quality of said gifts, Arsinoe's first and only public kiss to the god came unexpectedly as she caught him teaching the basis of what we now call sign language to her deaf children which he created to fasten communication for them. His trickster nature present as he marveled over the ways his own shepherds could use it to insult their landlords disguised as meaningless hand gestures. Upon hearing from her wards what the language entailed, the goddess was overcome with joy and leaped into his arms, which resulted in their kissing before the young audience. Furious, Athena demanded Hermes never kiss her daughter again, to which he requested the opportunity to win her hand, stating his sincere wish for their honorable union. He also asked Poseidon for his approval in marriage, highlighting the natural unity of their godly domains and promising lifelong fidelity. Both parents agreed to let him face a challenge of Athena's own making with the condition he never pursued her romantically should he fail, leading to the famous theft by the octopus.

Here we see the twins as spectators to Hermes's trial: Arsinoe eagerly points out the hawk of her beloved to her sister and is already dressed in crocus tinted gold to celebrate their union. Next to her, Perse dons red in recognition of the unavoidable transition coming regardless of the outcome. The goddess of loyalty wears pansies on her breast in remembrance of her own star-crossed lover Apollo, eyes cast in solemnity as she hopes her sister has better luck with her suitor.

The real painting name is 'Gallo-Roman Women' by Lawrence Alma Tadema, made in 1865.

[lavenderovercast]

MULLET TOWN collab with @honeyandberryjuice

summary: you take it upon yourself to take care of stan, and show him a little slice of heaven. relationship(s): stanley pines x GN!reader warnings: 18+ content, !! MINORS DNI !! author's note: this one was a lil trickier for us to write, but me & honey hope that you guys enjoy it!!! tags: MULLET STAN BABY WE LOVE THAT GUY!!!!, blowjobs/m receiving oral, harsh language/minor name calling, but like in a sexy way i promise, face fucking, plotless porn, fluff, oral sex, pet names, you wanna give stan the world, he wants to give you the world too <3 🌺 prefer to read on ao3? check out the series! 🌺

You have absolutely no idea how you got here. While you were usually the type of person to complain, especially when it meant you accidentally scuffed up your expensive new work boots, you really didn’t feel like you had that much to complain about this time.

Meeting up with Stan definitely had its upsides, especially when it meant you ended up with his fingers pounding inside of you, causing your eyes to roll back into your head. You never meant for it to happen, but the two of you were attracted to each other like magnets and no matter what different methods you tried to pursue to keep him at a comfortable distance, they never fucking worked.

“Yeah, tell me how much ya love it, doll,” His voice rasped, tinged with an almost mean teasing. It was clear that he had no interest in hearing any other response from you other than your moans hitching in your throat as he stretched you out with his thick fingers. His gold chain dangles loosely in front of your face, and you're overwhelmed with the urge to bite it. Only Stan could ever get you this feral over some damn accessory.

The thought suddenly evolves into action and before you know what in seven hells you’re doing, you’ve clamped the metal between your teeth. You glance up at Stan with fire in your eyes, as if you’ve just initiated some challenge that only he would understand— and he does, rather quickly. “You tellin’ me ya wanna use your mouth more, toots?” The grin he shoots down at you is diabolical, like he wouldn’t hesitate for a second to ruin you beyond recognition. You want exactly that.

His fingers pull away from you, leaving you empty and wanting. You would whine for the man and chase after him if you had no sense of dignity. But impressively, you always kept some of that intact during your visits with one another. Your teeth snap together as the gold chain is dragged away from your mouth by Stan adjusting himself in front of you, those big hands of his wandering to your shoulders. His touch is neither gentle nor rough as he pulls you up into a sitting position. 

For a moment, his hands brush affectionately across your temple to wipe away stray hairs that threaten to obscure that pretty face of yours from his vision. “You let me know if it’s too much.” He grumbles, the words a gentle assurance that doesn’t match the frenzied energy in the room now. You can’t stop the grin from forming on your own lips, nodding your head. 

“Yes, sir.” You nearly purr the words, your grin dying into a smile as Stan fights back the urge to fucking growl like some damn, deprived dog at the word that rolled so sweetly off of your tongue. Knowing you’re just doing your best to drive him fucking crazy in the best of ways, his hands find the top of your head and gives an encouraging, gentle push down that leaves you bent in front of him on your hands and knees. 

You don’t hesitate to get right to work. You tilt your head forward and grip onto the zipper of the man’s slacks with your teeth, moving one hand to undo the damned button above it. As you pull the zipper down, Stan has half the mind to help you with dragging his slacks down to his knees. He’s being a gentleman in his own right, not letting his partner put more work than you needed into your pretty performance for him. 

His fingers dig hard into your hair, nails brushing against your scalp as he feels your mouth on his boxers and the hardon underneath. You remember the first time the two of you had ever fucked that you’d been surprised by the size of him— He always exuded confidence, but you had grown to know him as secretly vulnerable and sweet when he had his moments. Suffice to say, you hadn’t been as prepared as you would’ve liked, but had more of a sense of how to handle it now.

The way he’s staring down at you with so much possession and intensity causes a shiver to travel up your body, all the way to the back of your neck. You weren’t always the most assured, but you knew when a man — or, in truth, only Stanley — wanted you. His gaze always made your body feel like fire was burning through your veins, and you had such an intense need to please him, to make him feel things he’d never felt before, that it almost overwhelmed you. Stan sending a cocky grin down your way would’ve made a weaker person combust on the spot, though you had a task to do.

You knew how insane it made Stan to use your mouth for absolutely everything, and you weren't about to let him down now. Without hesitating a second longer, you tip your head forward and grip the band of his boxers between your teeth, yanking hard and letting it snap harshly against his skin. The visceral moan that escapes him is animalistic, though audibly strains as you mischievously swipe your tongue up along the length of him through the fabric. Stan’s grip in your hair grows harsher, if that was even possible, and you let out a thrilled hiss as the delicious pain of it spreads across your skin.

“Filthy little whore, ain’tcha?” His bottom lip is latched by his teeth, though his jaw slacks with an expression that you can only take to mean ‘You’re my whore, and I’ll use you as I please’. Even though you could tease him forever, you know that Stan isn’t the most patient of men and he’d take matters into his own hands soon enough— You wanted to continue the control you were  having over him right now. 

Your cold fingertips brush his hips, dipping below his boxer band to skim over the sensitive spot leading down to his v-line. The boxers come off easily, the length of him springing free, a dewdrop of precum glistening on his pink-hued tip. And Jesus Christ, was the sight intoxicating. You only offer an acknowledging hum to the man’s words, afraid that you’d start drooling like a hungry dog if you tried to open your mouth to offer some sort of playful quip. 

You peek back up at the man through your eyelashes, your lips tugging into a mischievous grin before you dip your head forward, running your tongue across his tip. The salty taste of his precum hits your tongue immediately, only serving as encouragement for you to wrap your lips around your lover’s head. An approving groan sounds from Stan, whose face you haven’t kept your eyes off of. He looks like the wreck that you feel like now already, mullet messy and face flush. 

If you were still a Godly individual, you would pray to the lord that you could keep Stan like this forever, because his current dishevelment is certainly the closest you’ll ever get to heaven. Determined to convey the strong, overwhelming need welling into your chest, you wrap your tongue around the head of Stan’s cock, swirling and moving the muscle skillfully around him. Stan rewards you with another pleased groan, those perfect hands of his applying a gentle pressure to the back of your skull to encourage you further down his cock. 

Typically, you wouldn’t tolerate Stan’s lack of patience. Typically, you would offer some form of punishment— whether that was your teeth grazing against the sensitive flesh of his cock (a sensation that you had a feeling he was very much into), or pulling your mouth off of him to tease and prod at the man until he took initiative over your encounter. This time, you give a hum around his dick and happily comply with the silent request, pushing your head down to take more of his length. 

“Fuck,” The word comes out a sigh more than anything else, and those big hands of his run lovingly through your hair before tightening their grasp again. “Look at you. You’re so hungry for me, hm?” His head tilts as he questions you, a wicked grin tugging the corners of his mouth up as you offer another hum around his dick. And then, with a deep breath drawn in through your nose, you continue your pursuit of making the man crumble under your touch the way that you’ve crumbled under his. 

And there was that blasted impatience again. Even though you were taking him so well, using all the techniques you’d practiced over the span of your relationship, Stan always wanted more. He wasn’t the type of man to only take an inkling of what he wanted— It was all or nothing.

The pressure on the back of your head grows stronger as he pushes you harder against him, the size of him hitting all the way to the back of your throat. Your eyes squeeze closed as you have to concentrate on your breathing, your mouth brimming with saliva as your cheeks begin to ache as you suck every inch of him. You weren’t lucky enough to say you have no gag reflex at all, though you’re a strong person and can fight off the urge if you’re determined enough. Your eyes begin to water, causing small tears to begin streaking down your cheeks, as Stan’s grunts grow louder with every thrust.

“You’re doin’... so well, sweet cheeks.” The man’s voice sounds again, this time breathy and hot. It’s clear that he means it by the jerking that you feel on the roof of your mouth. Maybe it’s the sudden softness in his tone, or the praise he’s giving you, but it gives you further incentive to give him anything he wants. You pat his thigh a few times to tell him that you need a breather, and he pulls himself out of your mouth, the hand that had laid on the back of your head softly sweeping around your face to cup you gently on the cheek. 

You climb to your feet, grabbing his hand between your own and pulling him towards his bed. You lay yourself on your back, head towards him with your head basically hanging off the edge. With a motion towards him, he stepped forward and you gripped the back of his thighs to pull him even closer. “Get back to it, then.” You demand, your tone playful.

Stan barks a laugh, wrapping a hand around his cock to reposition it into your mouth. “Whatever you want, toots.” He doesn’t say anything else as you take all of him once more, happy to find out that your intuition had been correct about changing to this position. Like this, you could take so much more of him without risk of your gag reflex setting you off so harshly.

The man throws his head back and hisses as he feels the tip of his cock even deeper in your throat, the tightness of it enveloping around him and causing a thrill of pleasure to spike through him as your soft lips touch the skin at his base. His head is dizzy from the sensation and his eyes squeeze shut as he moans your name loudly to the ceiling. You feel your crotch throb from the sound, your want so evident in your body’s reaction to his voice alone, but you know good things come to those who wait. Stan was allowed to be selfish in this moment, as he usually went out of his way to make sure you were satisfied before he even entered himself into you.

His arms reach up above his head to rest on the bed canopy, fingers curling around to grip tightly into the wood. You hear the scratch of his nails and know he’s close, your own hands still wrapped around the back of his thighs to try and take more of him. “I’m… I’m gonna cum, doll face.”

The words encourage you to tighten your grasp around the man’s thighs, a muffled whine threatening to rise up from your throat. Something about knowing that you’re the one making him feel this way, making him talk this way— it sends goosebumps across your skin as you double your efforts. Cheeks hollowed around the man, you’re doing the best you can to help Stan reach his limit. When your tongue curls around his cock, trying your damnedest to cover every inch of him, he gives another groan, followed by a gentle buck of his hips. 

Still so considerate of you, even when he’s on the fucking brink. That fact almost drives you as wild as the feeling of him cumming in you does. Stan’s grasp on the wood only tightens as he rocks his hips against you, gentle and careful as he rides out his orgasm. You’re all too happy to let him, swallowing every last drop of his cum with an eagerness that might bring a blush to your face later. It’s only when you can feel his hips come to a halt and his body relaxing above your own that you release your own grasp on his thighs. 

Stan pants softly as he pulls himself from you and your mouth, allowing you to become aware of the drool that now coated the corners of your lips and his cock. You can’t help yourself as a satisfied smile appears on your face as the brunette plops down beside you on the bed. He looks absolutely winded, sweat clinging to his skin as you happily move to cozy up to him. “Good?” 

“Good?” Stan repeats with a scoff, his eyebrows rising as he looks at you with an almost starstruck expression. “Best goddamn head I’ve ever gotten.” He confirms, a toothy grin forming on his face. You aren't allowed to bask in your pride of his praise for very long, though, because Stan moves an arm to gently pull you closer, so you’re damn near on top of him. 

The man nuzzles his face into your neck, his tone rough as his hands roam down your sides. “S’pose I oughta pay you back for that one, huh? Not very gentlemanly of me not to…” 

“Since when…” You begin to tease, but he finds that goddamn spot between your neck and collarbone that makes your breath catch, and your sentence devolves into giggles as you rolls your eyes affectionately at his antics. “...If you insist, sir.” 

A pleased groan rumbles against the sensitive skin of your neck, but before you can do anything else, Stan secures his hands around you to pull you onto his body. You give another giggle at the show of affection and closeness, your heart feeling fuzzy with warmth and your body aching for more of the man.

[lunadileo]

👑 Leo Placements. The Crowned One 👑

⚜️ LEO IN 8H: Your charisma and self-confidence help you receive and enjoy financial prosperity throughout your life. You easily gain recognition and approval from others. You love sharing success and spoil your loved ones. Possessing great inner fortitude and bravery, you can handle any challenge with authority and self-confidence. You are controlling and possessive in love, physical pleasure and intimacy with your beloved is something you really enjoy. ⚜️ LEO JUPITER: You are very expressive and have a big heart. You draw others in with your charismatic and ambitious personality. Your strong unwavering beliefs and grandiose way of speaking inspire others. You have a natural power of persuasion. You are very energetic, prosperous and have a gift of mentoring and leading others to success.

⚜️ LEO ASCENDANT: You have a larger-than-life attitude. Like the sun itself, you radiate so much powerful and warm energy wherever you go. You have regal features and manners like a straight posture, fearless look in your eyes, gaining all the attention when you step into the room. You love to wear expensive designer clothes, shoes, bags and jewellery. Your sense of style is posh and chic and you are a trend setter. ⚜️ LEO IN 2H: You have a great sense of self-worth and know that you deserve the very best in life. You are a big spender and have a lavish lifestyle. Being generous with people you love and spoiling them with expensive high-quality gifts make you happy. You are very successful in gaining financial security and living in comfort. You possess strong values and can easily influence others. ⚜️ LEO SUN: You are like the Sun itself, full of passion, creativity, confidence and energy. You lead others with warmth, strength and generosity. You are the life of the party and enjoy being in the spotlight. Your natural desire to express your self makes you a great actor, public speaker and influencer. You have a lionhearted spirit that roars with passion and conviction. ⚜️ LEO LILITH: You are extremely magnetic and have a diva personality. Being pleased and satisfied is important for you in romantic and intimate relationships. You love yourself and express your emotions dramatically. You find most pleasure in being treated like the queen and being adored.

⚜️ LEO IN 10H: You are here to shine in your chosen career and be in the spotlight. You are a natural born leader skilled at mentoring others and creating a powerful position for yourself. You are courageous and talented, likely to select the entertainment industry as your field. You are confident and determined in your goals and aspirations. ⚜️ LEO MARS: You always make a strong impression on others with your passionate and demanding energy. Your kingly/queenly sense of entitlement propels you toward achieving your goals. You take an active role in everything and you don't forget to have fun, be playful and enjoy life on the way. You demand unwavering respect and recognition for your hard work and impact. ⚜️ LEO PLUTO: You are all about dignity, honour and authority. You are magnetic, original and dominant. You are passionate about things you want to accomplish and love it when others recognise your success. Being assertive and strong-willed, you strive to gain a deep sense of self. You love having a good time, to entertain and spend time with your friends. You are free-spirited and live your life being confident in yourself and your abilities. © 2024 Credits to my blog @lunadileo.

[reasonsforhope]

"Is social media designed to reward people for acting badly?

The answer is clearly yes, given that the reward structure on social media platforms relies on popularity, as indicated by the number of responses – likes and comments – a post receives from other users. Black-box algorithms then further amplify the spread of posts that have attracted attention.

Sharing widely read content, by itself, isn’t a problem. But it becomes a problem when attention-getting, controversial content is prioritized by design. Given the design of social media sites, users form habits to automatically share the most engaging information regardless of its accuracy and potential harm. Offensive statements, attacks on out groups and false news are amplified, and misinformation often spreads further and faster than the truth.

We are two social psychologists and a marketing scholar. Our research, presented at the 2023 Nobel Prize Summit, shows that social media actually has the ability to create user habits to share high-quality content. After a few tweaks to the reward structure of social media platforms, users begin to share information that is accurate and fact-based...

Re-targeting rewards

To investigate the effect of a new reward structure, we gave financial rewards to some users for sharing accurate content and not sharing misinformation. These financial rewards simulated the positive social feedback, such as likes, that users typically receive when they share content on platforms. In essence, we created a new reward structure based on accuracy instead of attention.

As on popular social media platforms, participants in our research learned what got rewarded by sharing information and observing the outcome, without being explicitly informed of the rewards beforehand. This means that the intervention did not change the users’ goals, just their online experiences. After the change in reward structure, participants shared significantly more content that was accurate. More remarkably, users continued to share accurate content even after we removed rewards for accuracy in a subsequent round of testing. These results show that users can be given incentives to share accurate information as a matter of habit.

A different group of users received rewards for sharing misinformation and for not sharing accurate content. Surprisingly, their sharing most resembled that of users who shared news as they normally would, without any financial reward. The striking similarity between these groups reveals that social media platforms encourage users to share attention-getting content that engages others at the expense of accuracy and safety...

Doing right and doing well

Our approach, using the existing rewards on social media to create incentives for accuracy, tackles misinformation spread without significantly disrupting the sites’ business model. This has the additional advantage of altering rewards instead of introducing content restrictions, which are often controversial and costly in financial and human terms.

Implementing our proposed reward system for news sharing carries minimal costs and can be easily integrated into existing platforms. The key idea is to provide users with rewards in the form of social recognition when they share accurate news content. This can be achieved by introducing response buttons to indicate trust and accuracy. By incorporating social recognition for accurate content, algorithms that amplify popular content can leverage crowdsourcing to identify and amplify truthful information.

Both sides of the political aisle now agree that social media has challenges, and our data pinpoints the root of the problem: the design of social media platforms."

And here's the video of one of the scientsts presenting this research at the Nobel Prize Summit!

-Article via The Conversation, August 1, 2023. Video via the Nobel Prize's official Youtube channel, Nobel Prize, posted May 31, 2023.

[kleopatra45]

♡ Love Asteroids Series

asteroid alkeste (124)

Asteroid Alkeste in astrology represents self-sacrifice, devotion, and the willingness to go to great lengths for love and loyalty. Named after Alcestis, a figure from Greek mythology known for her selfless love and sacrifice, this asteroid indicates how individuals express their dedication, the extent of their devotion, and their capacity for selflessness in relationships.

in the houses

Alkeste in the 1st House: Your self-sacrifice and devotion are central to your identity. You may often put others' needs before your own and find personal fulfillment in acts of selflessness. Alkeste in the 2nd House: Material resources and physical comforts are areas where you might show great generosity. You may sacrifice your own financial security to support those you care about. Alkeste in the 3rd House: Communication and intellectual connections are influenced by your selfless nature. You might go out of your way to help others learn and grow, often sacrificing your own time and energy. Alkeste in the 4th House: Family and home life are key areas where your devotion shines. You may prioritize the needs of your loved ones above your own, creating a nurturing and supportive environment. Alkeste in the 5th House: Creativity, romance, and children are where your selflessness is most evident. You might sacrifice your own desires for the happiness and well-being of your children or romantic partners. Alkeste in the 6th House: Daily routines, health, and service are impacted by your devotion. You may work tirelessly for the benefit of others, often at the expense of your own well-being. Alkeste in the 7th House: Partnerships and committed relationships are central to your self-sacrifice. You may go to great lengths to ensure the happiness and security of your partner. Alkeste in the 8th House: Transformation, shared resources, and deep emotional connections define your selflessness. You might sacrifice personal gains for the sake of profound, transformative relationships. Alkeste in the 9th House: Exploration, philosophy, and higher learning influence your devotion. You may support others in their quests for knowledge and personal growth, often prioritizing their needs over your own. Alkeste in the 10th House: Ambition, achievement, and public image are areas where your selflessness can manifest. You might sacrifice your own career goals to help others succeed or to maintain family harmony. Alkeste in the 11th House: Friendships, social causes, and group affiliations are influenced by your devotion. You may be deeply involved in social causes, often putting the collective good above your personal interests. Alkeste in the 12th House: Spirituality, hidden desires, and unconscious motivations affect your self-sacrifice. You might offer selfless support in subtle, behind-the-scenes ways, often without recognition.

in the signs

Aries: Alkeste in Aries shows self-sacrifice through bold, courageous actions. You may take the lead in helping others, often stepping into challenging situations to offer support. Taurus: Stability, sensuality, and loyalty define your devotion. You may show your selflessness through steadfast support and providing comfort to those in need. Gemini: Intellectual stimulation, curiosity, and communication shape your self-sacrifice. You might go out of your way to share knowledge and provide intellectual support. Cancer: Emotional security, nurturing, and family connections are central to your devotion. You may prioritize the needs of your family and close loved ones, often sacrificing your own comfort. Leo: Alkeste in Leo seeks admiration, romance, and dramatic expression in self-sacrifice. You might make grand gestures of devotion and support, often seeking to uplift others. Virgo: Practicality, service, and attention to detail influence your selflessness. You may offer meticulous care and support, often sacrificing your own needs to ensure others' well-being. Libra: Harmony, balance, and equality are important for your self-sacrifice. You might work tirelessly to maintain peace and fairness in your relationships, often putting others' needs first. Scorpio: Intensity, emotional depth, and transformation define your selflessness. You may go to great lengths to support deep, transformative relationships, often at a personal cost. Sagittarius: Freedom, adventure, and exploration influence your devotion. You might support others in their quests for knowledge and personal growth, often prioritizing their needs over your own. Capricorn: Ambition, responsibility, and long-term goals impact your self-sacrifice. You may work tirelessly for the success and stability of others, often at the expense of your own ambitions. Aquarius: Individuality, independence, and progressive values shape your selflessness. You might be deeply involved in social causes, often putting the collective good above your personal interests. Pisces: Alkeste in Pisces seeks compassion, empathy, and spiritual connection in self-sacrifice. You may offer selfless support in subtle, behind-the-scenes ways, often without recognition.

in aspects

→ Conjunctions A conjunction of Alkeste with another planet intensifies the influence of that planet on your approach to self-sacrifice and devotion. For example, Alkeste conjunct Venus emphasizes selfless love and support in relationships. → Sextiles and Trines Harmonious aspects indicate ease in integrating the energies of Alkeste and the other planet involved. For instance, Alkeste sextile Mars suggests dynamic and supportive actions in your relationships. → Squares and Oppositions Challenging aspects can indicate tension or conflict that needs resolution in matters of devotion and self-sacrifice. For example, Alkeste square Saturn might suggest obstacles in expressing selflessness, while Alkeste opposition Uranus could highlight a need for balancing personal freedom with devotion to others.

©️kleopatra45

[lunarlianna]

Planets in the 10th house

The Tenth House, often called the House of Social Status, gently encourages us to explore our societal roles and career paths. It speaks of authority, recognition, and community contributions. This house prompts us to contemplate aspirations, drive, and wielding influence. It also nudges us to reflect on wider impact and lessons from authority relationships. It's a journey of growth, securing goals, and learning from boundaries. It’s ruled by Capricorn and the planet Saturn.

The Sun: With the Sun in the 10th house, you're driven by a profound desire to achieve and make a positive impact, either for others' benefit or personal success. This ambition, while admirable, places you in the spotlight, demanding both dedication and responsible choices. Though a gift, it's crucial to wield this power thoughtfully, as every step can influence many. Remember, great influence comes with great responsibility.

The Moon: in the 10th house reflects your deep sensitivity to others' opinions and a strong drive for achievement. You possess a charismatic influence and often find yourself in leadership roles, possibly involving change, women, or public engagement. Balancing your desire for success with emotional expression is key, as you strive to make a meaningful impact on society while sometimes concealing inner vulnerabilities. Your warmth is felt by loved ones, even if a composed exterior occasionally masks your true emotions.

Mercury: in the 10th House suggests a path where communication becomes a career—writing, speaking, or teaching. Your gift to articulate may lead you to professions requiring mental agility and practical skills. Multiple talents could lead to diverse jobs, with the potential for travel. Your charisma naturally draws attention, offering a platform for your ideas and words to shine, as long as they're wielded thoughtfully.

Venus: in the 10th House blesses your career with popularity and a harmonious demeanor. While others may extend kindness, maintaining balance is vital to prevent complacency. You’re loving and optimistic approach brings joy, making this placement ideal for public speaking or singing, inspiring hearts with your voice. Financial comfort often accompanies this position. Venus graces you with a gift for public charm, tact, and a keen appreciation for beauty, making you a natural fit for roles involving aesthetics and connection.

Mars: in the 10th House ignites your drive, ambition, and dynamic energy. A natural leader, your initiative and practicality shine in careers with variety and challenge. Self-reliance propels you, though potential friction with authority figures or parents may arise. Your determination and competitive spirit empower you to conquer mountains, carving your unique path to success. Harness your inner fire with compassion.

Jupiter: in the 10th House signifies a natural charm that effortlessly draws popularity, much like a beloved figure in school. This genuine, confident aura is irresistible, radiating Jupiter's cheerful essence. Opportunities seemingly fall into place for you, a product of your optimistic outlook uncovering hidden chances. Your ease with public endeavors is a strength, making even grand gatherings a breeze. Your integrity and generosity serve as a beacon, magnetizing success. Believe in yourself – you have the power to turn dreams into reality.

Saturn: in the 10th House reflects self-reliance, business acumen, and an organized nature. Your success is a slow, steady climb, grounded in hard work and resilience. Embracing responsibilities is crucial, avoiding power-seeking at others' expense. Caution against burning bridges, as you may need to revisit them. Challenges with parents' discipline or control may arise. Remember, your worth is innate – balance ambition with self-care, guarding against taking life too seriously. Your journey can thrive without sacrificing your well-being.

Uranus: in the 10th House signifies a non-conformist spirit that resists a mundane career. Your independence may lead you to self-employment, where your creative intuition shines. Embracing routine challenges, you, favoring dynamic fields like electronics, metaphysics, or invention. Sudden shifts in job situations are likely, driven by your need for innovation. Strive for a path that allows your free-spirited nature to flourish, steering clear of rigid structures. Self-employment could align perfectly, offering the space for your unique brilliance to shine.

Neptune: your career path may weave through artistic, inspirational, or humanitarian avenues. Embrace practicality amid idealism, as your public image can sway unpredictably. Fields like theatre, photography, or psychic pursuits may resonate. While aiming high, stay grounded to avoid wandering aimlessly. Strive for clarity in your cloud-kissed ambitions.

Pluto: in the tenth house signifies an unwavering drive for success, even if it means treading a mysterious or competitive path. While their intensity can sometimes lead to bridges burned, their resilience allows for transformation and growth. Ideal roles involve probing and secrecy, like detective work or psychology, where their discernment shines. Trust issues can challenge, yet these souls never give up easily. To evolve, they're called to expand beyond societal roles and rediscover their inner needs.

[rainydetectiveglitter]

𝔼𝕩𝕡𝕝𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟 𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕝𝕪 𝕊𝕚𝕟𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕊𝕒𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟: 𝔸 𝕁𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕪 𝔸𝕔𝕣𝕠𝕤𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℍ𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕖𝕤

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　

In the realm of astrology, every celestial body carries its own unique energy and symbolism. While Saturn is typically associated with themes of discipline, responsibility, and structure, let's discuss an intriguing exploration that reimagines this planet's influence through the lens of the Seven Deadly Sins. In this cosmic journey, we'll investigate what it means when Saturn is equated with greed and how this interpretation can shed new light on Saturn's presence in each of the astrological houses.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉

Saturn in the 1st House: The Greed for Recognition When Saturn, symbolizing greed, resides in the 1st house of identity and self-expression, there's a strong desire for personal recognition and achievement. This placement may drive individuals to pursue success relentlessly, sometimes at the expense of their well-being or relationships. The challenge lies in balancing ambition with humility and authenticity.

Saturn in the 2nd House: The Greed for Possessions In the 2nd house of material wealth, Saturn's greed can manifest as an insatiable hunger for possessions and financial security. These individuals may constantly seek to accumulate wealth and assets, often neglecting other life areas. Learning to appreciate life's richness beyond material possessions is a crucial lesson.

Saturn in the 3rd House: The Greed for Knowledge Greed in the form of Saturn in the 3rd house leads to a relentless pursuit of knowledge and information. These individuals may hoard facts and data, often becoming know-it-alls or intellectual elitists. The challenge lies in fostering open-mindedness and recognizing the value of diverse perspectives.

Saturn in the 4th House: The Greed for Control When Saturn's greed resides in the 4th house of home and family, there's a strong desire for control within the domestic sphere. These individuals may struggle with overbearing tendencies and a need to dominate family dynamics. The lesson here is to find harmony between structure and emotional nurturing.

Saturn in the 5th House: The Greed for Recognition Similar to the 1st house placement, Saturn in the 5th house creates a greed for recognition, but in the realm of creativity and self-expression. These individuals may chase fame and validation through their artistic endeavors, sometimes neglecting genuine self-expression. Balancing creativity with authenticity is key.

Saturn in the 6th House: The Greed for Perfection In the 6th house of work and service, Saturn's greed manifests as a relentless pursuit of perfectionism. These individuals may become workaholics, seeking flawlessness in every task. Learning to embrace imperfections and maintain a healthy work-life balance is the challenge.

Saturn in the 7th House: The Greed for Control Greed, in the form of Saturn in the 7th house of partnerships, can lead to a desire for control within relationships. These individuals may struggle with issues of dominance and power struggles in their partnerships. Finding equilibrium between independence and cooperation is the lesson here.

Saturn in the 8th House: The Greed for Power The 8th house deals with transformation and power, and Saturn's greed in this house can lead to a strong hunger for control and influence. These individuals may grapple with issues of manipulation and control in their pursuit of power. Learning to use power responsibly and for positive transformation is the challenge.

Saturn in the 9th House: The Greed for Knowledge In the 9th house of higher education and philosophy, Saturn's greed is channeled into a quest for knowledge and wisdom. These individuals may become rigid in their beliefs and intolerant of differing viewpoints. The lesson involves embracing a broader perspective and the wisdom of diversity.

Saturn in the 10th House: The Greed for Success Saturn's greed in the 10th house of career and public image drives individuals to relentless pursuit of success and recognition in their professional lives. These individuals may prioritize ambition over personal fulfillment. Balancing ambition with ethical principles is the challenge.

Saturn in the 11th House: The Greed for Recognition Similar to the 1st and 5th house placements, Saturn in the 11th house creates a greed for recognition, but in the realm of social networks and ideals. These individuals may seek acknowledgment through their associations and affiliations. The lesson is to value authentic connections over superficial recognition.

Saturn in the 12th House: The Greed for Solitude In the 12th house of the subconscious and spirituality, Saturn's greed can lead to a strong desire for solitude and isolation. These individuals may retreat into their inner world, sometimes avoiding emotional connections. The challenge involves finding a balance between introspection and genuine human connection.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉

By exploring Saturn's influence through the lens of greed and its manifestations in each astrological house, we gain a deeper understanding of the complexities within the birth chart. While Saturn's association with greed may initially seem negative, it offers valuable insights into the challenges and growth opportunities that individuals may encounter as they navigate their astrological journey.

[srbachchan]

DAY 5973

Jalsa, Mumbai June 25/26, 2024 Tue/Wed 2:07 AM

Birthday - EF - Anamika Gupta .. 🙏🌹

Ef Özen Eren Wednesday, 26 June .. and all ur prayers and wishes for this special day for the Ef ..

the Agenda .. an act of predetermined thought and conveyance .. what shall bring attention recognition be the intent .. any express that can remotely be given the spin, and mastered is the guile and expertise of such ..

it is lamentable , ignominious to witness the impotency of content .. to somehow in any which manner , to be able to draw attention in storied form, just so it can be put up and seen or read , in favourable condition to them that devise it ..

devise .. for the right is not needed to be devised ..

pity ..

never ever underestimate the generation that follows , or is about to follow .. they are aware and alive to every situation and knowledged to hold their own in debate or discussion ..

we are enriched by the circumstance that often fall upon us .. and then we find a way .. even when there be none ..

"In today's digital age, the ubiquitous nature of content has paradoxically led to a dilution of its potency. With the democratization of content creation, anyone with an internet connection can produce and distribute information, leading to an oversaturation of the digital landscape. This phenomenon has profound implications, rendering content less impactful and more ephemeral.

First, the sheer volume of content available online has created a paradox of choice. Every minute, hundreds of hours of video are uploaded to platforms like YouTube, thousands of blog posts are published, and millions of social media updates are posted. This relentless flow of information makes it difficult for any single piece of content to stand out. The audience, overwhelmed by options, often resorts to skimming or entirely ignoring vast amounts of content, diminishing its overall impact.

Moreover, the quality of content has become highly variable. While the ease of content creation has empowered many voices, it has also led to an influx of low-quality, poorly researched, and sometimes misleading or false information. This glut of mediocre content competes with high-quality, well-researched pieces, making it challenging for audiences to discern value and trustworthiness. As a result, even content of genuine worth can struggle to achieve the recognition and engagement it deserves.

Another critical factor contributing to the impotency of content is the algorithm-driven nature of content distribution. Social media platforms and search engines prioritize content based on engagement metrics such as likes, shares, and comments rather than the inherent quality or informational value. This prioritization often leads to the virality of sensational, clickbait content at the expense of substantive, insightful work. Consequently, the attention economy favors superficial engagement over deep, meaningful interactions with content.

Additionally, the fast-paced consumption habits of modern audiences further erode the potency of content. The average attention span has dwindled in the face of constant digital distractions. People increasingly consume content in bite-sized formats, such as tweets or short videos, which limits their exposure to in-depth analysis or comprehensive narratives. This shift towards brevity undermines the ability of content to foster nuanced understanding or sustained engagement.

The commercialization of content also plays a significant role in its diminishing impact. Content marketing has become a dominant strategy for businesses, leading to a proliferation of branded content. While this can provide value, it also contributes to the noise and can sometimes prioritize promotional messages over genuine, informative content. The blending of editorial and advertising content can lead to skepticism and diminished trust among audiences, further reducing the impact of the content they encounter.

Lastly, the fleeting nature of digital content means that it often has a very short lifespan. Unlike traditional media, which could have a lasting presence, digital content is quickly buried under the avalanche of new information. This ephemeral existence means that even impactful content can be forgotten rapidly as attention shifts to the next trending topic.

In conclusion, the impotency of content in today's times is a multifaceted issue stemming from the overwhelming volume of information, variable quality, algorithm-driven distribution, changing consumption habits, commercialization, and the ephemeral nature of digital content. To reclaim the potency of content, creators and platforms must prioritize quality, foster trust, and find ways to engage audiences meaningfully and sustainably amidst the cacophony of the digital age."

Love and more ..

Amitabh Bachchan

[nglgfics]

The tube - part 1

(18+)

Masterlist

The tube is packed, bodies pressing in from all sides, the air thick with the damp warmth of too many people in too little space. You barely squeeze in before the doors slam shut, finding yourself wedged against a metal pole, your shoulder brushing the person beside you.

A solid presence.

A familiar one.

You glance sideways—and your stomach tightens.

Noel Gallagher.

The recognition hits like a slow, curling spark of heat. He’s right there, at your side, unapologetically close, the scent of worn leather mixing with something clean, woodsy, expensive. His arm is braced against the pole, his sharp jawline tilted slightly downward, unreadable eyes scanning the length of the crowded carriage before flicking—just for a fraction of a second—to you.

The train jolts, and you’re rocked into him, your body catching against his completely.

He doesn’t move away.

His thigh presses against yours, firm and deliberate, and for a moment, you’re caught in the heat of him. The weight of his attention, the dangerous nearness, the way his leather jacket creases against your arm as the movement forces you even closer.

You should turn away, ignore it—but instead, your fingers twitch at your side, that reckless, breathless urge pushing you forward.

You let your hand drift.

Just a little.

Just enough that the back of your fingers graze his thigh.

A deliberate accident.

And that’s when it happens—the shift.

His breath slows, deep and controlled.

His stance adjusts, the pressure of his leg against yours increasing ever so slightly—a test, a question.

And then—he looks at you.

Fully.

Amused. Dangerous.

It’s infuriating, the way he does it so easily, like he’s been expecting this. Like he’s been waiting for you to be the one to start it.

Your fingers flex, the barest movement, pressing more firmly against the heat beneath the denim.

His lips part—just slightly—like he’s about to say something.

But he doesn’t.

He just moves.

Not away. Closer.

His arm shifts against the pole, his sleeve dragging against your ribs, a barely-there touch, a deliberate tease. His thigh tenses under your fingers, but he stays still, lets you hold the moment.

Then—his fingers.

A whisper-light graze along the curve of your hip.

A return. A warning. A game.

Your stomach clenches.

Your breath catches, but you don’t pull away.

Instead, you lean in, letting your shoulder settle into the firm heat of his chest, your fingers curling slightly against his thigh in silent challenge.

His gaze drops to your mouth for half a second.

Your lips part, the heat between you stretching, tight, unbearable.

Another jolt from the train sends you fully against him, your weight pressing into his side, his breath exhaling slow and steady against your temple.

And then—he moves again.

His fingers tighten slightly at your hip, not a grip, but close. His palm brushes the outside of your thigh, deliberate, lingering, just enough.

Your pulse hammers.

You should stop this.

You don’t.

The world outside is a blur, the train clattering through tunnels, but here—here, time slows.

It’s ridiculous, how easily he owns this moment, how easily he makes it feel like it was his idea all along.

So you push back.

You let your fingers trace along closer to the inside of his thigh now, barely noticeable, but not nothing.

His breath hitches.

His fingers tighten again, this time more purposeful, thumb barely grazing the dip of your waist before pausing there, a clear message—

Careful.

Your stomach flips.

And then, the station.

Your stop.

The carriage shudders, the overhead announcement crackling to life, the crowd beginning to shift. The moment is breaking, slipping from your fingers, forcing you to make a choice.

For half a second, you hesitate.

So does he.

And then—you step away.

Your hand trails across his thigh as you go, the softest, slowest parting touch, a final move.

And just before you disappear into the crowd—

His fingers tighten on your hip. Just for a second. Just enough to say—

Next time.

Part 2

[seven-snails]

im so weirdly stuck on killua asking morel for help in tracking down illumi. i've been thinking on and off a little bit lately about how killua's understanding of/outlook on the hunter association might change as he gets older, and i've been leaning towards the idea that he starts to see its atrocities for what they are and ceases to have any use for the association, and while watching him leverage the power he does currently have in that institution for what's essentially personal gain i had to make myself stop and interrogate that impulse, and ask whether that was something i decided on just because it makes him more sympathetic to me personally, or if it's something i really think is believable about his character.

it's like. a mutual pointed out in its own post recently that killua has this very strong in-group/out-group kind of view of the world, likely because of how he was raised as part of the zoldyck clan, and so his idea of standing up for what's right is very much centered around the people he personally cares about, and having empathy for like. People In General as a group deserving of respect and compassion is something he's had to learn after the fact, and has been picking up fairly slowly - arguably the only time we see this informing his actions even marginally is when he tries to disrupt the ants' regime in east gorteau because most of the rest of the time he is just so dead focused on gon's well-being, and even in that one case it does have some benefit to him beyond just the virtue of performing a greater moral good in the world. killua does seem very aware of his own place in the world, what his assets and disadvantages are, and what systemic power he has and how he can leverage it; they discussed on mcp today how the line "we really are father and son" is kind of a recognition, and a challenge to silva, that killua is capable of acting on a level that can directly threaten his family, and we also see how killua is aware of the political factions competing in the hunter election, and how his own actions could sway those platforms, and by using that insight to benefit alluka, he's just playing back into that in-group/out-group way of thinking - he doesn't actually seem all that concerned for the well-being of the needlemen themselves outside of a broad recognition that the way illumi uses his nen is "wrong." but we've also seen killua undergoing this immense change throughout hxh, and that in-group has been slowly expanding as his capacity for empathy grows - and while i do think killua is ultimately always going to be a little cliquey in the way he makes connections and chooses who he wants to be close to, i also believe this journey he's been on is one that will ultimately lead him to have a more open heart and mind for the strangers around him. and so while there's a part of me that despairs at watching killua use his own political power like this, i still think my initial impulse is at least pointed in the right direction; a killua who's aware of the power he has and continues to use it for his own gain regardless of the effect his actions have on the population at large is, to put it simply, if reductively, an "evil" killua, and a killua i think we've already left behind - i do believe that the trajectory of his development has been moving him away from this space, and i also think it's important to the continuation of that development that he's choosing to stay with alluka, who wouldn't want him acting like that either and who he respects enough to listen to when she protests; even beyond that, his own family acknowledges that he wouldn't be happy to heal gon if it was at the expense of tens of thousands of lives (even if only out of consideration for gon's feelings on the matter). so like. yes it does feel shitty to watch killua using his own systemic sway for the sole benefit of his in-group, but also he's thirteen, and weird about intimacy and who "counts" as a person, and at the same time has also visibly been walking down a path that will likely end up leading him away from that way of thinking, so i have faith that he'll figure it out lol

[k-nayee]

CHAPTER 28. HONOR BEYOND DEATH

❝Courage, above all things, is the first quality of a warrior.❞

Warrior M.List | Act Ⅲ

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˚＊˚✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ⚔️・⚔️・⚔️・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ˚＊˚

The last remnants of the funeral games lingered as warriors shifted, murmured, and braced themselves for the final words of the evening.

The sky had darkened into rich shades of purple and deep blue, the first stars barely visible above the flickering light of the assembled fires.

From his raised platform Agamemnon stood tall, his voice carrying over the gathered crowd. His golden cloak gleamed in the torchlight, his posture proud, exuding the authority of the Mycenaean Kking.

“This marks the official end of the funeral games,” he declared in a tone crafted for command. “In honor of Achilles we have gathered not only to test our strength, but to remind ourselves of why we fight. To ready our spirits for what lies ahead. The war is not yet won—yet let this day serve as proof of what we are capable of.”

Achilles’ death had cast a long shadow over the camp. But today had been a distraction, a way to redirect the sorrow into something they could grasp.

Even among those who had suffered losses today, there was an unspoken understanding that this grand display of skill and endurance had been necessary.

Nearing the end of his speech, Agamemnon prepared to close the evening when—

“Who will receive the armor Hephaestus forged for Achilles?”

It was Epeius who had spoken, a look of anticipation and thoughtfulness decorating the towering soldier's face.

You stiffened as a low wave of anticipation roll through the assembly.

Your grip on the golden urn tightened, fingers pressing into the cool metal. The flames of his funeral pyre had barely faded into embers and already they were grasping for the remnants of him like scavengers picking at a corpse.

A slow breath hissed between your teeth as you willed yourself to remain still, to keep your face blank. But beneath your skin rage coiled like a snake.

You knew Achilles’ armor was more than just protection. It was power...legacy...recognition. You understood whoever bore it would stand apart from the rest—becoming more than a soldier in this war.

And yet the sheer audacity of it all made your stomach twist.

A single figure stepped forward.

Ajax the Great.

The murmuring waned as the son of Telamon moved with certainty, standing tall as his voice rang out across the gathered warriors. “I will take it.”

Silence followed.

No one challenged him.

That was until...

“No. I will take it.”

Your head snapped to the source.

Penelope.

She had risen from her seat, standing tall as her expression set unwavering. There was no hesitation in her stance—no trace of doubt. For the briefest moment her eyes flickered to yours.

A discreet nod.

A silent acknowledgment.

Warmth spread through your chest. She had noticed. 

Ajax turned toward Penelope fully now, arms crossed as he looked Penelope up and down. "You? What business does a woman have fighting for a man's armor? Does Ithaca lack blacksmiths?"

Whispers waft through the spectators. Some chuckled at his jab, others waited in anticipation for Penelope’s response. 

Her lips curved into something that was not quite a smile. “A blade does not ask what lies between your legs before it cuts down another,” she says smoothly. "So why should armor care who wears it?"

The laughter that followed was not at her expense. Even you found yourself smirking at the sharpness of her words.

Ajax the Great scowled. "You didn’t answer the question woman."

Penelope shrugs. "There are plenty of reasons I might need Achilles’ armor." She taps her chin in mock thought. "Perhaps I’ll win it for my husband," she ignores Ajax’s derisive snort, "or perhaps for my son. He's nearly ten after all—practically a man in his own right.”

Ajax’s scowl deepened. “This is a waste of time.” He turns to face the watching crowd. “This is Achilles’ armor! A warrior’s prize! He would want it to be worn by the strongest among us—”

“That is exactly what we shall determine.”

The voice that cut through the noise was smooth. Thetis.

All eyes turned to the Sea Nymph.

“This armor,” she said, “was forged by Hephaestus himself. A gift to my son, wrought by divine hands. It will not be decided by mere words.” Her gaze flickered between Ajax and Penelope. “If you both seek it, then it shall be earned in combat.”

A silence stretched through the field. No one dared to argue; not even Ajax who clenched his jaw and gave a firm nod. “Very well “But under one condition: if we fight for armor then we fight without it. No shields, no protection. Only skill and strength.”

It made sense in its own way. They were fighting for armor—it was only fitting they face each other vulnerable.

Penelope’s lips pressed into a thin line as she stared unflinching. Finally, she nods.

“I accept.”

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

The sun had dipped lower in the sky by the time they stood across from each other. They were clad in simple tunics, their weapons in hand the only thing between them.

Field cleared, the crowd formed a ring of eager spectators, soldiers whispering their wagers and debating whether Penelope had any chance at all against Ajax the Great.

You watched from the podium with a tense face.

Penelope had fought before. She was skilled, quick, intelligent. But Ajax was a different kind of opponent—a wall of muscle and unrelenting power. If he got one clean hit in...

Your thoughts were cut short as the horn sounded.

Ajax lunged first.

Penelope dodged, twisting away from his strike like a shadow slipping through fingers. Her feet barely touched the ground as she moved fluidly, untouchable.

Ajax snarled, striking again, this time anticipating her dodge. His sword barely grazed her shoulder as she pivoted, bringing her own blade up in a swift counterstrike that forced him to take a step back.

She was fast. He was strong. The fight became a dance of power and precision. You barely breathed, watching as she ducked, weaved, countered, struck.

But Ajax was relentless. He pushed forward, his brute strength forcing her back step by step.

Then—

A sharp gasp rippled through the crowd.

His blade cut a clean precise strike across her cheek, just beneath her left eye. The blood beaded then spilled.

A hush fell over the spectators.

Penelope stilled, her free hand brushing against her cheek, feeling the warm trickle of blood against her skin.

Something shifted.

You saw it in her eyes. A spark of fury...a deep primal thing. Her stance changed as a snarl ripped from her throat, her grip tightening around the hilt of her sword.

Penelope lunged.

Her movements turned ruthless, calculated and unforgiving. She went on the offensive, driving him back and forcing him to defend, stumble, and falter.

Then, in a blur—

She sent him sprawling to the ground; his sword flying away out of his reach as she disarmed him with the tip of her blade pressed against his throat.

A silence thick as storm clouds settled over the camp.

Penelope's chest heaved, her grip tight, her eyes wild with heat. So much you thought she might strike the final blow.

Her fingers twitched.

She was going to do it.

"Penelope!"

She froze at the call of her name, her blade hovering at his neck for one long dangerous second before she pulled away. She turned her head toward you.

“The winner,” your voice rang out firmly, “is Penelope of Ithaca.”

No one moved. Then crowd erupted: cheering, shouting, pounding fists against shields.

But Ajax the Great? His expression darkened as he stared at the ground with clenched fists, his entire body trembling with rage.

Penelope exhaled slowly as she pull her sword back. She extends a hand to help him up but he slaps it away. Fury coats his features as he gets up and storms past her, shoving aside soldiers as he went.

You sighed. Typical.

Handing the urn gently to Thetis, you descended from the podium, approaching Penelope with a smile. "Congratulations, Queen of Ithaca."

Briseis and Ajax the Less practically bolted to her side, their eyes shining with admiration. "That was amazing!" Briseis gushed while Ajax beamed. "You’re even better than I imagined!"

Penelope, still bleeding from her wound, merely smiled, inclining her head at them in thanks.

That was when Polites and Eurylochus appeared from the crowd.

Polites, ever excitable, clapped his hands together. "Captain that was incredible! I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ajax look so furious."

Eurylochus was much calmer as he gave a single nod of approval. "Impressive."

At that you took your chance. With a smooth motion you gestured between them all and spoke in one breath. "Ajax the Less this is Polites and Eurylochus. Polites and Eurylochus, this is Ajax the Less. Everyone knows each other? Great."

Briseis, ever perceptive, caught on quickly. She cut off Ajax’s incoming questions with a cheerful smile. "Come little warrior," she place a hand on his shoulder. "I could use some help cleaning up after the festivities. Would you mind lending me a hand?"

Ajax the Less blinks. Any thoughts he had immediately disappears as his face flushes a light pink. "O-of course! I’d love to help!" And just like that, he was gone—trailing after her without another thought like a love-sick puppy.

Eurylochus snorts.  "If I didn’t know any better," he muses dryly, "I’d think that was Polites and Commander ____."

Polites, completely unprepared, let out a strangled squawk. His face went beet red. "Wh-what?! I—that's not even—what are you even talking about?!"

Eurylochus simply arch an unimpressed brow.

Polites scrambled for an excuse, his eyes darting around wildly before suddenly perking up and looking in a random direction. "Huh! What was that?" He cupped a hand around his ear, pretending to hear some distant call. "You need me? And Eurylochus too? Alright!"

With that, he latches onto the taller man’s arm and practically drags him away in a frantic retreat. As they walked you could see Polites animatedly scolding Eurylochus, huffing and waving his hands in frantic gestures.

Penelope watched the scene unfold with a shake of her head as a smile played at her lips.

"Well Second-in-Command," she turns to you, her voice light with amusement. "Lead the way."

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

The warm glow of countless candles flickered against the fabric walls of Achilles’ tent. The space was immaculate—untouched except for the absence of the body that once lay upon the bed.

Penelope entered at your silent urging, her movements careful, gaze scanning over the familiar room. You gesture toward the bed and wordlessly invite her to sit.

She hesitates briefly before lowering herself onto the soft pelts with a quiet sigh as you made your way to the corner where your mystical messenger bag lay.

The large leather satchel sagged from the pull of gravity, otherwise it looked empty as if it had never been stuffed from years' worth of who knows what. She watches with thinly veiled amusement as you crouched down, undoing the clasp before plunging an arm inside.

“So this is where all of your things went,” she teases in attempt to break the quiet.

Without looking up you huffed. “Can you blame me? A tent this big—this luxurious? I’d be a fool not to take advantage.” Even in your playful tone the somberness didn't go unnoticed.

She said nothing, simply watching as you dug deeper, your frustration evident as you muttered curses under your breath. At one point you fully bent forward, nearly disappearing into the bag, legs sticking up behind you as you rummaged with your entire upper body inside.

Then, suddenly—“Aha!”

You popped back up, hair slightly disheveled but victorious. In your grasp was a small clay jar, its sides wrapped in linen strips to secure the precious balm within.

Penelope’s brow lifted. “Is that—”

“Ambrosial salve,” you confirmed, walking toward her. “Fast healing...no scars.”

Sitting beside her on the cot, you uncorked the jar causing the rich sweet scent of ambrosia and oils to immediately fill the space. The substance inside was a smooth golden color with the texture of cooled olive oil.

"You’re really taking this seriously," Penelope mused as you dipped your fingers into the jar to scoop out some of the cool salve.

You hummed, focusing on the cut beneath her left eye. The wound wasn’t deep, but it stood out against her sun-kissed skin—an ugly reminder of her fight with Ajax.

"You’re the one being serious about your face," you countered as you brush gently over the cut, spreading the salve in careful strokes. "Since when do you care about scars?"

Penelope let out a quiet laugh, though it lacked its usual sharpness. "You're right, I never did before," she admits, her gaze dropping to her lap.

"I just..." She exhales as her voice grows soft. "I just want to look as close as I was before I left Ithaca. A part of me fears that if I don't...I’ll be unrecognizable to Odysseus."

Your paused at her confession.

"Penelope..."

She lifts her gaze, honey-colored eyes searching yours.

You brush the last bit of salve over her skin before setting the jar aside. "No matter how you look," you murmured, "Odysseus will always recognize you...always love you."

Her lips parted slightly, a flicker of emotion crossing her face—something fragile, something almost vulnerable. Then, without a word, she leaned forward. She press her forehead against yours, her breath warm and even.

The two of you sat there as the world outside nothing more than a distant hum.

Neither of you spoke.

There was no need to.

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️ BONUS  ⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

You walked alone along the shoreline, the cool sands shifting beneath your bare feet as the night stretched infinitely above you; an endless canvas of dark indigo punctuated by scattered stars as each one burned steady and bright.

In your arms carried the urn. A modest thing in comparison to the men it held—a golden vessel etched with the marks of heroism, a resting place for the ashes of Achilles and Patroclus. It was warm against your skin as if it still carried the lingering presence of those who once laughed and fought beside you.

The massive form of the Tumulus loomed ahead like a silent sentinel. Built high and towering, even from a distance it would be seen by sailors for generations to come.

You let out a slow breath as you kneel before it. Setting the urn down beside you, fingers trace over the cool metal before you dug your hands into the sand.

The grains were coarse beneath your fingertips as you worked, pushing through dirt and pebbles, creating a hollow space deep enough without disturbing the structure. With a final pause, you lift the urn to your lips and press a heartfelt kiss onto its surface before gently placing it into the earth.

Your hands moved slowly as you pushed the sand back into place until there was no evidence of what now lay beneath. But you knew. And that was enough.

For a while you simply sat there, staring at the freshly disturbed earth, feeling the exhaustion of weeks—years—settle into your very bones.

"The Greeks are preparing to fight again," you finally spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "Troy kept their promise—they let us mourn. But the war isn’t over. It never was."

You swallowed as you force a watery smile. "You would have loved the celebration they threw for you Achilles. You always did love a spectacle." Your laughter was fragile like glass barely holding together. "Your name will be sung for eternity, I have no doubt of that."

A lump formed in your throat causing your voice to grow quieter. "And Patroclus...I know you two are together again. You probably haven’t let go of each other since the moment you reunited."

The thought should have brought you comfort. Instead your breath hitched and the quiet laugh that had slipped past your lips morphed into something else. Your hands clenched into the sand as your shoulders trembled, your body wracked with sobs.

The weight of everything crashed into you at once—the grief, the loss, the cruel hand of Fate that had ripped them from the world. For a while the only sounds heard was the distant crash of waves and the broken cries spilling from you.

Then, a breeze swept through the shore, warm and fleeting, brushing against your tear-streaked cheeks like the ghost of a touch. A presence—something you could not see but could feel.

You stilled, lifting your gaze to the sky. The stars blurred through the film of your tears, shimmering like distant lanterns. The moon’s glow seemed softer now as if watching over you.

Taking a deep shaky breath, you closed your eyes and push the grief down even when the tears didn’t completely cease. When you opened them again your gaze fell to the base of the Tumulus.

“Although it may not be at yours nor Patroclus' hands..."

Your jaw clenched, a look determination and revenge fills your heart.

"Troy will fall."