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sanarkeo · 7 months

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your body’s speaking my language

chaeyoung has a bit of a god complex and lights up some candles for valentine’s day.

alternatively: she grants you freedom in the form of a restraint. dom!chaeyoung x f!10th member of twice!reader - wax play - praise & degradation - bondage - exhibitionism (again, yes! 😇) - edging - branding sorta kinda - chae with the strap in a tokyo love hotel - religious themes - this reaching 5k words ouuu...

happy belated valentines day to @nr1chaedickrider and every other chaeyoung lover out there <3

chaeyoung doesn’t know this, but you have frequent dreams of the same exact scene. the most recent, hazy permutation had you looking through stained glass cut to no holy figure, and onto yourself kowtowing to a woman in the church you haven’t visited in ages. your perspective shifts midway, and your breath is stolen from your lungs the moment you lay eyes on her.

and it is corporeal, the sting of scraped knees against herringbone floor, flowing white rayon restricting skin meant to be bare. it is divine, to look up upon her, sitting cross-legged on a pew, a smile that reaches her eyes and the baring of canines, multicolor light reflecting off them like jewels.

this is beauty reserved for sightings and yet here she is. her touch is salvation and her lips pressed against your forehead is resurrection. at last, she is encircled by blinding sunlight, the deep brown of her eyes being the last to fade to white.

what chaeyoung does know is that once in a while, in the middle of the night, you’re heaving, hands anxious for something to hold onto, eyelids screwed shut. and she brings you into her embrace, more often than not subconsciously, and mutters sounds, her hot breath tickling the tips of your ears.

when you are awake enough to grasp what’s happening, and grieve the dream that’s slipped away, sometimes you weep. that someone like her is real and has her arm draped over your hip. it breaks you.

it half-explains why you squat down as you hand the girl - now tucking sunglasses into her seat-back pocket - your underwear in an airsickness bag. chaeyoung receives it in her expectant hands and leisurely opens her purse to slot the folded bag in. she’s still for a second, looking at you like she has something to say, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly.

instead, she slides forward in her seat and tilts her head to give you a kiss. as she pulls away, you can see the reflection of the plane window in her irises. you take in how the oranges and blues courtesy of the altitude shade her tattoos.

“sit down, babe,” she says with a knowing glance, before taking her phone out and swiping through notifications.

even if everyone else can’t see, you feel your nudity under loose cream trousers. shuffling back to your seat, you have half a mind to cover yourself with a blanket and satisfy yourself. you recline and jerk in your seat, if anything to get some friction going. chaeyoung notices this in her periphery and holds your wrist, her pointer tapping on the back of your hand with a calculated rhythm.

“okay,” you squeak, and it sounds like an apology.

“I got a surprise for you when we reach shinjuku. you can wait a bit longer, right?" chaeyoung asks, raising an eyebrow. you nod and she hums. “thank you. you’re being so good for me today.”

you smile, giddy at the praise, and scratch your reddening cheek. it’s like she’s put you in a trance ever since she knocked twice and slid open the privacy screen to regard you with a shaded expression and a singular request. it’d all been automatic; from when you unbuckled your seatbelt to leave for the lavatory to when you stumbled just trying to get your panties off as quickly as possible, not a single hesitation kept you from flowing from one action to the next.

“is this… for valentine’s day?”

chaeyoung taps her nose but pulls her headphones out to shut you up. you’d known something was up when the girl became dismissive every time you brought up valentine’s day, and more so when she messaged about tickets to haneda for you two to arrive in japan a few days before the group was even scheduled to be there.

as soon as the seatbelt sign lights up, chaeyoung grips your forearm and lets out a light whimper. after the plane lands safely on the runway, and as the people around you two rush to get their carry-ons, chaeyoung slides her fingers down your arm to intertwine them in yours. she brings your hand up and leaves lipstick on your knuckles.

she’s a bit of a scaredy cat on airplanes but when she takes your hand and leads you to the cab, a swarm of fans and flashing lights trailing behind you, you follow without a word.

the music is so loud you sense the bassline thump through your chest, and as the saxophone screams you feel your fingertips buzz against the condensation of your highball glass. you’ve always wanted to come here - a charming little bar in a basement rumored to have been a brothel decades ago. a post-industrial but amber-lit haven for live music. the kind of crowd who won’t care who either of you are, with their swaying silhouettes and muffled conversations drowning under free jazz. chaeyoung and you are caught in the middle of their current with a perfect sliver of privacy.

“how’d you know about this place?” you swirl your glass around before taking one last gulp of the cocktail. ice pressed up on teeth sends a shock through your gums.

“i’d be a terrible girlfriend if i forgot about you mentioning this.”

you shake your head: “no that was ages ago, like, even before-“

“so? you know i’ve been fucking obsessed with you ever since our debut.”

you dig up a blurry memory of legs crossed on a cramped dorm bedroom floor, the scent of nail polish and a commotion of giggles and joke-threats, and remember how hard your heart pounded opening up to girls older than you about something so niche and uninteresting. it isn’t the sound of her that you can recall - it’s a vignette of a set of plump lips with a mole set under it, a little to the side, mouthing: “i’d like to go there too.”

the pianist’s solo is sprightly and with every note that blooms, a sense of anticipation grows in you. you look across the checkerboard table, past wine red pillar candles, and find chaeyoung’s unwavering focus on you. with each tap of her thumb on a cheek bathed in plum-colored light, the ivies snaking her silver ring twinkle. the music shifts with the reintroduction of smoky cymbals and a staccato rhythm.

it’s not that chaeyoung looks incredibly different now, nearly a decade on. her unbleached, jet black hair and doe eyes let you easily picture the girl you sometimes saw as a trainee, walking past you in the corridor or being aspirationally whispered about with friends. but when your eyes flitter down to her lips, you decide the shape of them has changed together with the entire idea of the woman, somewhere along the way.

for so many years you’ve only observed them. they were full and pinkish and a dimple forms right by them whenever she smiles. at one point, you used to envy her, innocently thinking about how unfair it was that fans could fall in love through a single laugh. one night many years back, as you watched the reflections of the night in the han river, you played with the idea that your heart could be hers too, if only in another universe. any bitterness leaves your palate when she leans over and closes her eyes.

you love her new lipgloss. it’s slippery and tastes like summer berries.

your shoulders heave now, and all these new associations now cross your mind. how warm her lips felt pressed onto the side of your head while you bawled in her arms, fearing the unknown and yet fearing knowing. how orange they looked under the sunset that summer she brought you to her relative’s farmhouse, so telling of their experience after she’d convinced you that maybe kissing wasn’t all that bad if you didn’t kiss men (and kissed her instead).

you’re distracted by how they form an ‘o’ as chaeyoung lifts a candle off the table and blows it out. a trail of smoke is sucked into the air and dissipates above her head. you remember the heat radiating from her mouth when she licked the tears that streamed down your face after the first time she made you cum. you recall how aggressively red and swollen they can get, with the image of her biting down on a leather whip after she’d marked your skin for an achingly long period of time.

she swirls the hot wax in the indent for a while then seizes your wrist, her thumb heavy on your pulse point. she flips your arm and drips molten red along the back of your hand. her teeth look severe in this bluish light. there’s a fire behind her eyes. you yelp and jerk to snatch your hand back, but she doesn’t relent, shushing you and immediately dropping the candle, letting it rock to a halt. a couple pairs of eyes shift to look in your direction.

“chae…” you let out, and wonder if it sounds more like a cry or a moan.

“oops.”

chaeyoung gingerly picks off each matte bead and flicks them over at her neglected bottle. there’s the lightest dotted line of discoloration that she slides her lips across when she holds your hand up. it stings even more now, and your tongue gets lodged in your throat. closing your eyes, you silently mourn the loss of all that sensitivity you had on the ride to the hotel. you regret being so sensible when she led you to the restroom of the hotel lobby, and let you know you had her permission to put your underwear back on.

“i hope you’re not already dripping wet from that,” she says, cleaning her fingertips with a napkin and turning to grab her coat.

you wonder if she gets off on making you feel so insanely aware of your arousal. you don’t think you’re wet, but you’re pressing your thighs together and gripping at the fabric of your pants.

“i’m not.”

chaeyoung gets up off the stool and slips into her navy blue trench coat that’s a size or two too big. she raises her eyebrows at you and knees the chair back in.

“whatever you say, babe,” she murmurs, her voice low and husky.

she shrugs and burns you with a stare before turning on her heels to leave. you scramble to get your jacket on, nearly forgetting your clutch as you rush to follow her up the stairs. the music diminishes behind you and you strain your neck to find familiarity in her, but you’re greeted by a kaleidoscope of colors and lovesick couples letting loose in the streets. her small frame and stature make it all too easy for her to be lost in a crowd. the air hangs thick as you journey down the maze of bars and restaurants and you curse yourself for not paying enough attention in those japanese lessons.

then, you spot her, twirls of hair softening the sharp, piercing lines of her face. as soon as you pause to take a breath, chaeyoung’s fingers close around your wrist and she wrenches you into movement. she navigates and guides you through alleys with her hallmark assuredness. once you reach a dead end, she slows and turns to you. between shuttered shops, standing on the prismatic sheen of damp asphalt, she lets you go. her skin is porcelain under the light from a distant streetlamp and the depth of her eyes, now cinnamon brown, remind you of the first time you confessed to her.

it’s like she senses your wonder, because she takes you by the waist and pushes you against the concrete brick wall. your heels scrape along the road and droplets of water hit your ankles. chaeyoung’s angling her chin up, her eyes gazing down upon you like you’re nothing to her light. she unzips your jacket and pushes up your top and your bra. your hardened nipples hit the cold air and the breeze that settles on your skin causes the hair on your back to stand on end. she scans your body, choosing to pay no mind to your tits, nor to your wanting mouth.

you look to her, eyelids trembling, and state the obvious: “chaeng, someone’s gonna see us.”

“who cares? i’m having you wherever i want you,” she snaps and rolls her eyes.

she slides her hand into your pants, her touch slightly clumsy, her fingertips cold against the dip of your hip. then, she parts your legs and presses onto a particularly sensitive spot on your inner thigh. the pad of chaeyoung’s thumb grazes against the slightest series of bumps in your skin and you swear you can picture it from candid photos and images framed in mirrors. it’s visceral, the memory of the searing pain of needles punching into your skin, injecting ink into you for good.

chaeyoung is softer, gentler now than she was then. for one, her nails aren’t sinking into your other thigh like claws into prey. you remember the crazed expression locked in her eyes when she grit her teeth and drove the tattoo machine to trace the outline of a strawberry you’d drawn on a transfer sheet. you were glad the alcohol worked as a mild anesthetic when it happened but it made you bend over a toilet bowl that night when the post-adrenaline fear and pain hit and you puked your guts out.

“you’re mine, remember? anywhere, everywhere-”

you can’t stand the distance between her hand and your cunt, so when fingers reach your clit, a raspy sigh leaves your lips. she massages it with perfect pressure before sliding a finger along your folds, lowering it momentarily into your slit.

“you’re right. you’re not wet enough,” she tugs her hand out of your pants and brings it up to spit on her fingers. you’re not capable of coherent thought right now, any witty response will come out as a series of stammers. her hand disappears again and two slick fingers plunge into your hole.

“f-fuck, oh my god,” you whine.

her tongue slips out between her teeth the same way it does when she’s focused on writing lyrics. she’s said that every song she’d written had been about you and you believe her by the way she hits and presses against every sob-inducing stretch of your walls. even with her slow thrusts, your moans get so loud you’re worried someone might hear.

“you feel so good, so, so good in me a-ah fuck!”

“you’re so fucking cute.” she squeals at the little whimpers that escape your mouth. you start panting and she tips her head, licking and sucking on your tongue. “yeah? is my perfect girl drooling for me?”

she quickens her pace and absolutely buries her digits in you and you groan, throwing your head back at how she fills you. but in the midst of this impatient intimacy, footsteps, a group of them, echo in the background, coming closer to both of you. removing her hand from your cheek, chaeyoung grabs the lapel of her coat and conceals your body. with a sharp turn of her head, a narrowed gaze dissects the scene behind her.

“salarymen,” she huffed, pivoting to lock eyes with you again. “they’re all drunk as shit, they won’t remember this.”

you don’t know if it’s the cold or how magical it feels to have chaeyoung’s fingers fill your pussy once more, but you’re delirious and the thought of strangers seeing chaeyoung fuck you senseless in a grimy alleyway drives you wild. you buck into her fingers and her cold ring stings against your clit.

“i’m gonna- i’m-”

“oh you’re cumming soon?” she nods and moves closer, her nose pressed on your cheek, her breath hot on your neck. “my sweetness is cumming soon?”

“chae!” you go off on a succession of curses, each word laced with disbelief as she pulls her fingers out of you. you dig your nails into her shoulders and try to shake her, but she pushes her shoulders hard up against you. she licks your juices off her fingers, savors the taste of it, and you watch her swallow, the eye contact constant and unnerving. your lip quivers and you shield your face with your hands, head still reeling over your denied orgasm.

“still not wet?” she chuckles and pulls out her phone to snap a picture of you, reddened cheeks and messy hair, your tits still exposed. the flash blinds you more than it should.

“public whore.”

“tmi? i had udon tonight~”

being an idol necessitates acting. you hadn’t expected this part of the gig when you’d first auditioned as this naive, bumbling thing, but found repressing emotions and shelling out little white lies as second nature to you. news sites and forums brand you as polite, nearly to a fault, not knowing how much practice you’ve gotten suppressing any negativity. but keeping quiet at family dinners and forcing high-pitched laughter on tv shows chips away at you. feigning obedience in a sea of believers, arms constricted in periwinkle sleeves, ground you down to a paste.

“no, no, i can’t give any spoilers for the next comeback,” you huff, pouting for the camera.

this - nonchalantly responding to comments and recounting a day that never happened as a bullet vibe hums in your hole - feels nothing like that. it’s a show you’re putting on with your favorite audience and favorite performer. and she stares you down from the other side of the hotel room as she adjusts the straps of her bra. the blood red floral lace of her two-piece complements the expanse of watercolors and scribbles etched into her body. you swapped imagining sheep for counting tattoos in the dim of the night when she’s passed out right beside you.

chaeyoung is delicate and rough and terrene. but you’re looking at her too intently and she clicks her tongue, picking up her phone to drag a slider button a little to the right. the vibrations ramp up and you start to sway back and forth. you feel yourself leaking even more now into the blanket that’s covering your bare legs.

“a-ah- it’s getting quite late now…” you’re fumbling with your phone, tapping the back of it to mask the muffled but noticeably louder buzzing. “maybe i should go to bed?” your eyes dart to chaeyoung and she blinks at you, unfazed. the golden glow emanating from floor lamps and tapered candles light her hauntingly. her apparition is breathtaking and distracting and your finger hovers over the x on your screen because the need to kneel before her now is painful.

“what? don’t go, we’ll miss you?” you giggle at the message but you feel this tension build inside. and your walls clench around this tiny little thing buried shallow in you, the slightest movement away from coming out covered in your juices. you wonder if anyone can tell how hot and bothered you are, or if they knew you only had a shirt on.

you purse your lips and feel your heart swell just seeing her folding her clothes and dropping the pile into a suitcase on the floor. you didn’t even know how that got there. she whips her head up to look at you, her countenance still inscrutable.

“i’m sorry, i h-have to,” you apologize, half to your fans, half to chaeyoung. you adjust your position, the vibrations now reaching your clit. “i have to go.”

there’s always an element of suspense that builds in you whenever chaeyoung controls you like this. it makes you want to keel over when there’s too much of anything going on around you. you felt understood as soon as you stepped into this unassuming building and saw how plain and normal the room looked, sans a pale yellow carry-on and a st. andrews cross.

“don’t worry baby, we’ll get to that later,” she had said just after walking in, looking over her shoulder as she plopped onto the pristine bed. thinking about that now, you squirm.

they can’t understand. you suppose no one can get your relationship til they’re changed by her the way you have been. her words are apocalypse and you’d waited your whole life to bear witness to someone who can make you sober. how she slapped sense into you the same day you turned twenty, and how for the first time in a long time, in that same pitch black room, you let yourself be attracted to another girl.

they can’t speak to the rush you got when you first gave her a peck on the cheek in public, can’t describe how you felt when she brought you to a park just before it closed to kiss you under towering oaks. won’t know the cramps you got from laughing too hard after they’d chased you out. they don’t know this isn’t your first time in a love hotel, can’t guess the number of times you’ve had to hide marks and bruises from everyone else.

it’s paradoxical, how you find freedom and safety in her, but son chaeyoung’s a kind of contradiction. she’s frustrating yet patient, got a line of carrots tattooed when she was high but planned all year to get this amphibious monster cradled in a bed of spikes on her back. all you can ever be certain of is her care for you. she adores you to no end and it’s suffocating, the way she looks at you like you’re her love of the century.

a notification pops up at the top of your screen - a message from your manager: “you don’t look well - are you okay? you should end the call before anyone gets worried.”

“i’ve been lacking a bit of sleep recently so i’ll rest well now,” you reassure your viewers. “please don’t miss me too much? you can see all of us at the yokohama stadium in a few days.” a flurry of hearts and well wishes come in from the bottom of your screen and you wave at the camera before blowing a kiss.

“bye everyone!”

after ending the live broadcast, you hurry to text your manager back, reminding her that next time you’ll give her more notice in advance of the lives, and yes, chaeyoung will take care of you because you’re definitely catching something. you look warm. your cheeks are flushed. of course you’re running a temperature, what else could it be? chaeyoung saunters to you, taking your phone and setting it down on the dresser.

“you weren’t supposed to end it so soon. i barely even got started,” she rests a heavy hand on your shoulder and exhales. she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. the air that enters your lungs doesn’t have enough time to stay in there before it’s expelled. you hear the buzzing as loud as you hear her. you’re so close.

“take off your shirt, go to the bed and spread your legs.”

“yes, chae.”

as you shuffle there, you feel your wetness between your thighs. you dispose of your top near the foot of the bed, get on and present yourself to her. she’s just standing there, back straight, arms to her sides, but it’s eerie and intimidating. there’s something animalistic in her eyes whenever she asks to observe you like this. her sight shifts between watching as the vibrator slowly slides out of you, and searing eye contact. your legs tense and you arch your back, the thought of chaeyoung making you cum without even touching you driving you so close to the edge.

“it’s too early,” she grumbles, and takes a step to pull the vibrator out of you. the slightest, plainly intentional brush of her fingertips against your clit makes the loss more unbearable. “i think my favorite girl deserves a present first.”

while chaeyoung switches it off, you bring your knees up to your chest and shudder. whimpering, you peek over at your girlfriend and find her gaze following the glistening trail of your fluids as they traverse sluggishly down her forearm. you shut your eyes for a bit, letting your heart rate slow but soon feel her weight dip into the side of the bed. chaeyoung combs through your hair and massages your temples while she pushes something matte against your arm. when you finally open your eyes again, you find a pastel pink box sitting beside you.

“open it, princess. it’s for you.”

the heat in your lap settles and you sniffle, tossing the crushed velvet ribbon aside to reveal a leather restraint. it is supple yet sturdy in your hands. just seeing your name embossed in gold on burgundy hide makes you light-headed. chaeyoung takes the restraint from your trembling hands and cocks her head up, wordlessly ordering you to stand. you rise to your feet with a practiced efficiency, turning around to face the only mirror in the room head-on.

“my baby. you belong to me.” with the restraint in one hand, she fondles your breasts and buries her face into your neck. the leather scrapes your nipples and you let out a prolonged moan. “look at how much of a slut you are. you just want to be fucked, don’t you? controlled, like a doll.”

“i do.”

chaeyoung slips the collar around your neck and fastens it, the buckle resting a bit too snug. she tugs at the strip of leather connected to it, just to get a yelp out of you. your arms slide through pliable loops, followed by your wrists. and at last, she has you with your hands secured behind your back in an impossible grip, any struggle to set yourself free choking you at the same time.

“my prettiest pet.” hooking a finger into the d-ring of your collar, chaeyoung drags you down to the ground then holds your head up. “you’re gonna be a good cum slut for me now, okay?”

a nervous giggle escapes your mouth and your mind races, eyes searching for some clue in the room. your lips naturally fall to a pout and raise your hand to settle it on her arm, your thumb rubbing into the constellation on her wrist.

“kneel.”

you nod, shoulders slumped, and adjust your weight to settle onto your knees. chaeyoung beams and rips her arm from you to collect a lit candle from the dresser. her rouge pink eyeshadow shimmers when she’s towering over you like this, the flickering light casting dancing shadows along her jawline.

“open your mouth.”

she cups your chin in her hand and you can hear her getting choked up. the flame grows longer, burns more brightly, and you can just about peer over to see a pool of translucent white wax surrounding it.

“stick your tongue out.”

you extend your tongue and start to pant. your eyes flutter close when you see chaeyoung dip the candle down and cry out as you feel the first bead of wax land on your chest. she pours the wax indiscriminately over your torso, pinpricks of fire sparking goosebumps all over you, leaving uneven streaks and blobs of cream-white coating your tits and abs. you have this itch to get the wax off your nipples, but your hands are useless. it isn’t as hot as it’d been at the bar, but it singes and the heat spreads to your shoulders and down to your stomach.

“i’ve always wished i could cum all over you like this,” she coos. through half-lidded eyes, the lamp light forms a halo around her. “wish i could make you walk the streets and let everyone know you’re taken.”

“i’m all yours, chaeng.”

chaeyoung tilts her head and smirks as her fingers crawl into your mouth to pry it open. you feel her knuckles and joints against your teeth and gums, her nails digging into your cheek. your tongue wraps around her pointer and laps at it.

“you want that so fucking bad don’t you? want to look so filthy for me?” her lips slowly curling into a smile, chaeyoung drizzles the hot wax over your cheeks, scorching your neck and your collarbones as they drip down.

“fuck.”

to her, you look holy, defenseless, ruined. a waterfall of soy wax cooling and cracking on your skin. her favorite canvas in the world biting her lip at the stinging and tightness that constricts her chest. chaeyoung snaps out of her daze and blows the flame out.

“get back on the bed. face down, ass up.”

you hang your head low and fall onto the bed, no arms to brace your landing. with your chin digging into the pillow, you ram your knees into the mattress, forcing yourself up into chaeyoung’s favorite position. deep inhales and the lengthening of your spine keeps you sane waiting for her to get it over with and just fuck you. with your other lovers, this was your time to mentally prepare yourself and dissociate. with your exes, you’d lay still and draw imaginary circles on the ceiling as they entered you. with chaeyoung, every beat that her hands are off you is downright misery.

“you just love taking time, don't you?” you snicker and score the material of your restraints with a nail.

and suddenly your field of view is replaced by the darkness under a silky cloth, and a knot is tightened at the back of your head. you feel chaeyoung running her fingers through your hair before taking a fistful of it and jerking your head back.

“trust me you’re gonna need time to prepare yourself” she jokes, slamming your head back down into the pillow.

the sound of straps being tightened and the clearing of a throat makes the blindfold more of a punishment. in your head, you’re going through all the toys chaeyoung keeps in that box under her bed. the bed creaks as she climbs on and you feel the bones of her knees hitting your calves. a hand wet from lube lands on your ass with a smack, the other guides the head of the toy to the entrance of your puffy, wet pussy.

“did you get this wet from all the cum i gave you?”

chaeyoung licks her upper lip as she holds the base of the toy, stroking your clit to your hole with its tip then slapping it against your cunt. you want to fold just from the sheer weight of it. she grabs hold of your waist and slides the entire length of it into you. you know you’ve never been stretched like this and you let a yell out in satisfaction. chaeyoung stills in you, letting you get used to its girth, how full it makes you feel, not knowing that you probably never will. she leans forward and presses her forehead onto your back.

“take my strap, you fucking whore.”

it’s carnal, ferocious, how she begins to thrust into you, all eight inches pumping in and out of your pussy. you suck air in through clenched teeth and sink your cheek deeper as your mind grows foggy. without fingers to grasp onto the bed sheets, you grip them between your molars and bite down hard.

“rghhh- fuck!”

whenever chaeyoung bottoms out in you, her fingers inch closer to youri stomach. she pushes down on your belly to feel the shape of the toy form then vanish, her grip getting even more possessive.

“taking me so well.” she whines looking down at the base of the toy coated in your white slick. “so tight and creamy around me-”

it pains you to not see her as her toned abs flex with each thrust, not watch her intense gaze fizzle out and be replaced with something much more tender.

“i need you,” you plead, but it’s muffled by the fabric.

chaeyoung pounds into you harder and deeper, and she abandons your waist to cling onto your restraint. as the friction builds and your yelps grow louder, she reins you in and pulls out to spit on the toy. then she slams it back into you and you cry out in pleasure.

“oh my god, i f-fucking need you!”

as you near your climax, every part of your body is pushed to hypersensitivity. the wax that peeled off your nipples rub against the sore buds every time she penetrates you. chaeyoung pins you down with her weight, the lace and heat of her chest melting into you, making your shoulder blades ache. your clit throbs and the walls of your cunt clamp around her strap. you swear it’s getting bigger, like it’s growing within you.

“cum now,” she growls.

chaeyoung drives down into you, fucking you into oblivion, when you feel a gush of ecastasy take over you. you spasm around her strap, milking it with your pussy, until she pulls out, making you fall back onto the bed. your thighs quiver and your toes curl while you flood the blindfold with tears. the aftershocks of it make your head spin and you whimper when you feel your girlfriend get off the bed.

she pulls the cloth off your head and laughs at your bloodshot eyes. your eyes fall to the dildo right in front of you, and the sticky mess you made on it dripping down to the floor. seeing you take deep breaths and your drooping eyelids, chaeyoung holds you by your collar and awakens you with a slap.

“not even close to being done with you, babe.”

a fire reignites in chaeyoung’s eyes. she leads you to the cross and rushes to free your wrists from the restraint, letting the bulk of the leather hang from your neck. your wrists, now an angry red from the senseless fight you put up, taste freedom for not a second before they’re hoisted above you head and locked onto each corner of the cross.

“i can’t do this…” your muscles scream with the memory of strain and you cry out as chaeyoung backs away from you to rest her legs on an armchair. “chaeng!”

slowly, her hands reach behind her back and she unclasps her bra, revealing her tits to you. arching her back, she slides her panties down and discards both articles to the side with mild annoyance.

“look pretty for me.” she spreads her legs, letting each one dangle over the sides of the armchair. as one hand reaches out for your phone on the nearby dresser, the other snakes down her abs to arrive at her clit. chaeyoung swipes to the camera and positions it to snap another picture of you, hung on a cross. the flash blinds you less than it did before.

“like you always do.”

so i realized i got 600 notes on my first fic which is kinda crazy... thank yall so much 😭😭

#wlw #sapphic #lesbian #twice smut #chaeyoung smut #chaeyoung x reader #twice chaeyoung #chaeyoung x reader smut #twice x reader smut #twice x reader #chaeyoung imagines #twice imagines #valentines day #but make it late

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ghibli-collector · 10 months

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Why Studio Ghibli changed The Boy and the Heron’s title

“The Boy and the Heron” is the new title requested by the Studio Ghibli producer – here’s why he decided on this title.

Originally titled ‘How Do You Live?’ for its Japanese release. It was supposed to be Hayao Miyazaki’s last film, but the director decided to continue his career after its success. The reason behind the title change remained unknown until recently.

Why was the title of The Boy and the Heron changed?

In an interview with IndieWire, GKIDS President Dave Jesteadt explained: “There was a total press blackout on the film in line with the release in Japan, but because of our long relationship with Ghibli, we asked if we would be able to announce that we had the rights, as we needed to be able to set up a big fall release.”

“It was at that time that Suzuki asked for a title change. The call came from inside the house. I can’t speak to the exact reasons for the title change, but I think there was a desire to move away from the name of the book, as people were constantly mistaking the movie for an adaptation.”

The film has the same title as the 1937 novel that inspired Miyazaki. However, since the story is different, Studio Ghibli decided to change the title. In the same interview, Jesteadt also spoke about how they went through several potential titles. “We talked about ‘The Tower Master’ or ‘The Grand Uncle’, and our feeling was that they felt a little too much like hard fantasy.”

“We tried a lot of different permutations of ‘How Do You Live?’ but ended up choosing the option closest to Suzuki’s original suggestion.” He also revealed there’s a hidden meaning behind the new title: “Miyazaki based the characters in this movie on people in his life…and the heron is based on Suzuki. To me, there’s something very meta and very funny about this heron — this trickster — inserting himself into the situation and suggesting we give the movie an international title [with his name in it].”

Original article below -

#ghibli #studio ghibli #hayao miyazaki #boy and the heron #spirited away

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totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus · 6 months

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Per your request for prompts: Buck/Tommy - Buck loving the feeling of his hand being encompassed by his partner's for once and trying to find excuses to hold hands.

The past few weeks have been a learning curve…in the most wonderful way possible.

Sure, there's been some awkwardness. A few growing pains. How could there not be? He's basically done a hard reset of pretty much everything he thought he knew about himself at the age of thirty-two. The awkwardness is fleeting, though, the growing pains nothing compared to the relief of something he never even realized was out of joint clicking into place. The past few weeks have been a chain of new discoveries, and each time he finds himself thinking, “this is the best.”

The rasp of stubble against his lips, his stomach, his thighs. This is the best.

The feel of hard, firm planes of muscle under his hands, against his back, pressed against his chest. This is the best.

The damn near giddy excitement of being manhandled onto his kitchen counter, tossed across his bed, pushed up against his front door. This is the best.

Buck enjoys sex in all its forms and permutations, always has. He likes to think he's good at it…certainly he's never had any complaints in that department, even when his partners seemed to have complaints about literally every other aspect of their relationship. It is unsurprising that sex with Tommy (in all its forms and permutations) is amazing. Buck has never been shy about his body and all the things it can do for, to, and with his partners, and he knows Tommy is pleasantly surprised by just how eager, adventurous, and generous a lover Buck can be.

Tommy has, in fact, been incredibly vocal about how pleasantly surprised he is by how eager, adventurous, ans generous Buck is in bed.

And on the couch.

And in the shower.

And on the kitchen counters.

And…pretty much anywhere else they can both fit and be reasonably certain of privacy, really.

And every time, Buck can't help but think, “Okay, this is the best.”

The thing that really, finally, and thoroughly short circuits him though? Is nothing to do with the very (really, extremely) satisfying and athletic bedroom activities they've been indulging in as frequently as possible. It's…nothing special, really. They're over at Tommy's place, basking in an unhurried morning where both of them have the next twenty-four hours off. The remains of a delicious breakfast–they split cooking pretty evenly, and Tommy's no slouch in the kitchen, but he happily cedes breakfast to Buck most days they eat it together–sit cooling on the kitchen counter, and a movie they'd both wanted to see but had missed in theaters for one reason or another plays on the TV.

He and Tommy lounge on the couch together, still in the clothes they'd slept in (Tommy is just coming off a 48 and Buck's shift last night was hell…they really hadn't been interested in anything other than stripping to boxers and t-shirts and collapsing into bed together last night). Buck isn't quite cuddled up next to his boyfriend (holy shit, he has a boyfriend and it is one of the top five greatest things that has ever happened to him), but they're leaning into each other's space. If Buck wanted to, he could tip his head down just a few inches and rest it on Tommy's shoulder. He's got one hand resting on top of Tommy's thigh, just casually, and Tommy has been idly playing with his fingers for the last few minutes as the action unfolds on the screen.

Still intent on the movie, Tommy ever so casually, and ever so gently (he's always so damn gentle, so aware of Buck and his comfort level, even when he's leaving beard-burn on Buck's inner thighs and trying to suck his soul out through his dick, Buck doesn't know what to do with it all sometimes) gathers Buck's hand up in his own. Without ever looking away from the screen, Tommy raises Buck's hand to his mouth, presses a soft kiss into the center of his palm, and twines their fingers together before resting their joined hands back down on his leg.

Buck's mouth goes dry.

There's nothing even particularly sexual about it, no hint that Tommy wants it to lead to anything more. There's no heat, just the warmth of Tommy's hand holding his like it's something delicate and precious, long, blunt fingers wrapped around Buck's, thumb stroking the backs of Buck's knuckles. His hand covers Buck's, envelopes his, hard callouses and rough, scarred skin, but none of the slim, delicate, soft hands that Buck has held before have ever felt this good.

Ever made him feel this good.

The warmth of Tommy's hand feels like it's traveling all the way up Buck's arm, seeping into his whole body, and he's never felt this safe. This treasured.

Buck's learned his lessons. May experience he learned them slowly, and painfully, but he's learned. He's not jumping into the deep end with Tommy the way he has done so many times in the past. They've only just started to define what they want this thing between them to be.

Maybe Buck really has finally found the thing he’s been searching for his entire life…maybe this will be the epic love story he’s been longing for.

Maybe this is just another in a long line of flings–a bit of fun and some great sex and then an amicable parting of ways.

Maybe it’s another heartbreak waiting to happen, another wound about to be opened on a heart that he’s sometimes afraid is too full of scar tissue for anyone to want.

Or maybe it’s none of those things. Maybe it’s something as new and different as the rasp of stubble against his lips. As the feel of hard, firm planes of muscle under his hands. As the giddy excitement of being manhandled onto his kitchen counter.

Tommy holds his hand like he’s worth something. Like he’s something precious. Like he's something Tommy wants to take care of.

He lets his head tip those last few inches to rest on Tommy's shoulder, feels his new boyfriend immediately relax, resting his temple against Buck's hair.

Okay.

This is the best.

#mywriting #911 abc #evan buckley #tommy kinard #buck x tommy #kinkley #fuck I love that ship name lol! I'm going with it #ask prompt #911 on fox #911 tv show #bi buck my beloved

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sbdskate · 1 year

Text

Laws of Attraction (Part 4) - DR x lawyer!fem!reader

Summary: McLaren is in breach of contract, dr3 hires a lawyer to deal with the aftermath. Tropes ensue. Slow burn. Enemies(kind of) -> Friends/colleagues -> Lovers

Pairing: lawyer!fem!reader x Daniel Ricciardo

Warnings (18+): language, alcohol consumption, COPIOUS sexual themes, references to self pleasure, NSFW for a hot sec

Word Count: 5,548

A/N: Happy Enchante drop day! Remember that time I thought this was going to be a one shot? Well, here’s part 4 and apparently there will now be a part 5 which I’m pretty sure will be the last one unless there is an epilogue. Thank you for your patience, while I had a strong sense of the story I wanted to tell in the beginning, I’ve had some trouble trying to figure out how to wrap it up. As always, any feedback is welcome. If you enjoyed, please like, comment, and/or reblog xoxo

Daniel stood there dazed in the middle of the bar, unsure of what just happened. One minute, he and y/n were dancing and laughing, then you were suddenly gone. He felt sad, but he couldn’t pinpoint why.

He barely had a second to reflect when people started swarming him, men and women alike, trying to find their way into the driver’s orbit. Some of them just wanted pictures, some tried to make small talk or flirt. Despite being surrounded be people clamoring for just a fraction of his attention, he was incredibly alone.

It was late, he was tired, and it was time to leave.

By the following weekend for the Mexico Grand Prix, you had not spoken to your client since that night in the bar. You wished you had blacked out so you could simply pretend it didn’t happen, or blame your behavior on the excess alcohol, but unfortunately for you your memory of the night was crystal clear. The scene replayed over and over in your head. First comes the shame, at how much you enjoyed the feeling of his touch on your waist and the warmth of your bodies pressed against one another. You wonder what might have happened if you had closed the tiny gap between your lips. Would it have stayed a drunken bar make out session or would it have overflowed to the hotel? Would you have gone to his room or yours? Would it have been sloppy and desperate or slow and sensual? Would he be a gentleman in the morning or would he kick you out? When you finish going through every single permutation of what could have been, that’s when the embarrassment sets in. Embarrassment that you let the whole thing happen and that you basically ran away without an explanation, saying goodbye, or much else. Finally, the wave of guilt over abandoning him after an emotional weekend when he probably needed you most. You couldn’t see how you could come back from this.

Fortunately you hadn’t had a reason to be in the same room together, but that would soon be coming to an end. Despite the temptation of margaritas and empanadas and tropical sun outside, you mostly stayed in your hotel room, throwing yourself deeper into your work and trying anything to distract yourself from the anxiety of the unknown fallout from what may or may not have occurred in Austin. There was a lot of positive movement happening with both Mercedes and Red Bull, which you should have been ecstatic to share with your client. And yet you were terrified to make contact with him.

As things seemed to be coming to a head in reserve driver negotiations, the partner set up an in-person client meeting on the morning of press day. You hadn’t been this nervous the first time you met Daniel or going into hostile negotiations against Zak Brown and McLaren. You changed outfits no less than seven times before heading out and no amount of power posing made you feel any better. Normally you would have gotten to the meeting at least fifteen minutes early, but you were worried Daniel would show up before Joe which would leave the two of you by yourselves. You uncharacteristically arrived on time, and ended up being the last person to join the meeting. You could tell Joe was slightly annoyed.

“Y/N, so nice of you to join us.”

You cringed. “Sorry. There was…uh, traffic.” You knew it was a lame excuse, but you couldn’t be bothered. You glanced over at Daniel, but he kept his eyes focused on the desk. For a meeting that should have been filled with excitement over the prospect of possibility, it felt somewhat somber.

You went over where he stood with Mercedes and Red Bull. The discussions between Daniel and the teams had been successfully kept under wraps until the last week or so, when a photo of Toto in an Enchante sweatshirt began circulating the internet. Though nothing was finalized, sleuthing fans thought this was an obvious hint that Daniel had signed with Mercedes. While it wasn’t the end of the world, you had hoped Daniel would be able to make his decision without the pressure of public comment or opinion. You were sure he had the mental fortitude to do so regardless, but you felt the need to protect him beyond your professional fiduciary obligations. He had already been through enough.

You pressed through the meeting, keeping your comments technical and brief. As usual you exchanged handshakes at the end before going your separate ways, though he hardly looked your way before he turned to leave. Once out of the room, Joe began to discuss next steps with you but his words went in one ear and out the other. You felt nauseous as the growing pit in your stomach failed to subdue. You thought back again to the night at the bar and your abrupt departure, and the last few days where you easily could have sent a text to reassure him or ease the tension, but you didn’t. You were the attorney and you were responsible for maintaining the attorney-client relationship, which you failed. You had to go find him.

You cut your boss off as politely as you could. “I’m so sorry, sir, I just realized… I forgot my, uh, charger! And I need to… respond to another client’s email. So I have to go.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Are you ok? You seem flustered today.”

“I’m fine!” You were absolutely off your game, but you didn’t want to show him any signs of weakness. “Just, jetlagged?” You mentally slapped yourself as soon as the words came out of your mouth. While it might have worked for almost any other F1 race on the calendar, Austin and Mexico City were in the same time zone. The partner knew something was up, but he had too many other things to worry about than the mental breakdown of a low level associate.

“Ok. But I expect a draft of redlines by the end of the day.”

You were practically already out the door as you called out “Thank you, sir! I’ll be sure to get those to you as soon as possible!”

You were running around the paddock like a crazy person, unceremoniously shoving media personnel out of the way. You made your way through the maze of hallways and offices, the click-clack of your high heels announcing your presence before you got to wherever you were going.

In your haste, you didn’t notice running past Lando.

“Y/N!”

“Can’t! Don’t have time!” you called back, not even bothering to figure out who was addressing you.

“Y/N! It’s me, would slow down for two seconds?”

Finally, you stopped and turned. “Oh thank goodness.” You doubled over, huffing and puffing from the unexpected cardio. “You can help me. Where’s Daniel?” you asked between breaths.

“He went to his dressing room after your meeting. Whe-?”

You were already around the corner before he finished his sentence. “Great, thanks!”

You barreled your way towards Daniel, your run turning into a lame waddle from the constrictions of your shoes and pencil skirt. You did not pause when you arrived at your destination and pushed the door open without knocking. You doubled over again and leaned against the wall once inside.

“Can I help you?”

You were so exhausted you almost missed the fact that the driver was shirtless. It was a sight to behold, especially after months of imagining what might be underneath. Your eyes lingered longer than they should have on his toned pecs, moving their way down to his chiseled abs and the “v” that pointed its way to his pants. You knew he was still upset with you, but it didn’t stop the small smirk threatening its way to his face. But you were a woman on a mission and you refused to be distracted.

“I’m sorry,” you got out, still panting. “I fucked up.” You looked away while he put a McLaren shirt on, taking the moment to catch your breath.

He sat down and motioned for you to do the same, which you graciously accepted. He took you in. In the span of less than an hour, it felt as though he was looking at before and after photos of an ad but in reverse. You seemed so composed during the meeting and now here you were, blazer lopsided and unbuttoned, hair tousled, sweat beading at your forehead, cheeks flushed, and breathless. It was simultaneously hilarious and insanely hot, but he wasn’t going to let on anything at this point.

“What the hell happened?”

You started talking a mile a minute. “I wanted to talk to you right after the meeting, but Joe wanted to talk about next steps and I tried to get away as soon as I could, but then I couldn’t find you –“

“Not now you dodo, last week after the race.” You blinked a few times. Now that he was in front of you, the thoughts running in your mind from before went blank. He came to your rescue, filling in the silence.

“All I know, is that we were having a good time and then you left me in the middle of a bar by myself without saying goodbye after one of the shittiest races of my life. I haven’t heard from you since, and I know you haven’t been hungover for four days straight. I appreciate you coming in here and apologizing, but respectfully, what the fuck.”

You looked away in shame. You weren’t sure how you were going to handle this without disclosing your feelings. You took a deep breath and swallowed your pride, proceeding cautiously.

“What happened at the bar, and how I acted afterwards, is entirely a me problem and I could have been more… strategicabout how I handled it.

“Strategic!?” You winced and closed your eyes, immediately regretting your choice of words. Clearly insulted, he continued. “Strategic is how you describe a Bond villain, or a business deal, not how you treat a friend-“

You jumped out of your chair, interrupting him out of frustration. “Don’t you get it? That’s the whole problem!” You couldn’t tell if you wanted to hold his hand or punch a wall. “I love that you are basically the human equivalent of a golden retriever. I love how comfortable we are together, and I’m a firm believer that you do better work when you know and like the people you work with. But you are my work at the end of the day. You are my client. There’s literally a whole ethics exam that is separate from the bar exam and it’s really easy. (1) Don’t comingle funds; and (2) don’t sleep with your client.” He raised an eyebrow. You sat back down.

“Obviously, nothing happened on Sunday. But… it felt like it toed the line of what is acceptable in my professional capacity. I know this is probably very one sided and it’s all in my head, but it felt like something could have. If Joe or anyone else ever found out, I could lose my job or my license over something like this. That being said, I do not blame you one bit. I’m the one that let things get out of hand, and I realized it in a single moment, and I freaked out, and left. And I’m sorry. For all of it.”

Daniel looked at the floor, his cheeks dusted slightly pink as he processed your admission. “It wasn’t in your head,” he whispered. His gaze rose to meet yours, but you covered your face with your hands.

“Fuck, don’t tell me that.” You tried to keep your tone light as if you were trying to joke it off, but you were very serious. You had convinced yourself this was a delusional fantasy of your mind’s creation, which would have been very easy to let go. But now it had been spoken into existence with the revelation that those feelings were reciprocated. It had legs and took up space. It was terrifying. You sighed as you slouched back in your chair, feeling defeated and mind reeling. “Look. Let’s just chalk this up to the fact that we’ve been spending a stupid amount of time together for the last however many months. Can we please just pretend last weekend never happened so we can move past this?”

Daniel sat for a moment. Of course he had forgiven you as soon as you stampeded your way into his room. There was a lot about Texas he wanted to forget, but his day with you was not one of them. Maybe you were right that the feelings the two of you evidently had for each other were just the product of forced proximity, but right now he didn’t want to believe that. Time and time again this season when he felt like he couldn’t go on, you had been there with support and compassion. You grounded him while he mellowed your intensity. You provided logic and reason while he extracted adventure and vulnerability. He was Yin and you were Yang. You couldn’t make up a connection like that. Yet, he would never want be the reason you lose your license, let alone the job you love so much.

Looking at you now, all he wanted to do was scoop you up and kiss you. Instead, he stuck out his hand. “Deal.”

You smiled softly, giving a firm handshake. “Thanks.” You paused. “So, we’re good… right?”

Of course you were. How could you not be? He had a million things he wanted to say. Instead, all he could get out was: “Yeah. We’re good.”

You weren’t sure what was in the water. Maybe it was you, or next year’s team prospects, or simply the energy of Mexico, but Daniel gave his best performance of the season finishing a strong P7. For the first time since you met him, a genuine smile graced the driver post-race. Professionally, you knew this would be great to leverage in finalizing negotiations. But as his friend, your heart was exploding with pride. The crowd was roaring in celebration, everyone was a Daniel Ricciardo fan. After a tough season, you had forgotten this side of him. What you wouldn’t do for those dimples. You kept your distance though, allowing him to revel in the spotlight. It was killing you not to run up to him, but you wouldn’t have been able to get to him if you tried.

The post-race interviews would probably take a while so you decided to head out. As you fought your way through the media, you felt someone tap your shoulder. You assumed it was just standard foot traffic, so you kept moving until you heard someone call your name. You were shocked to find Christian Horner trying to flag you down.

“Y/N!”

“Christian! What a pleasant surprise, I assumed you would be busy.”

“I saw my favorite lawyer walk by, I had to say hello.”

Christian was an interesting character. Admittedly you had not looked forward to working across the table from him initially. He came across as arrogant, hypocritical, and conniving. You thought his only redeeming quality was that he was married to Ginger Spice, but soon found that was only second to how much he cared about Daniel. Given how Daniel departed Red Bull all those years ago, you wrongly assumed that bridge had been burned so you were nervous when you first approached the team for negotiations. It was quickly apparent how unfounded those feelings were after the first email. Christian was there when Daniel made his F1 debut in 2009 as an awkward teenager and watched him grow and molded him into a seasoned driver. It was clear he would give him both kidneys in a pinch.

“Honored and humbled,” you teased. You were almost shouting due to the swarm that quickly surrounded you due to Christian’s presence. You continued walking, “Running away from interviews now, are we?”

“Funny you should say that. I am, because I keep getting some interesting questions about a certain third driver seat.” He was being coy, and knew exactly what he was doing with all the journalists around you. “Are there any updates I can report back on?” He was more persistent than a used car salesman.

“None at the moment, I’m afraid. I promise you’ll be the second person I tell when I do.”

“Second? Who has me beat?”

“Your wife, of course.”

“Maybe if this thing closes, Geri might be open to grab some celebratory drinks.”

“I don’t know Christian, that sounds like a bribe to me.”

“Good seeing you as always, counselor.”

You laughed as you parted ways. You had been able to fly under the radar, until recently when snooty media noticed you going in and out of various meetings. You thought everyone would leave you alone when Christian left, but a few eagle-eyed personnel stayed with you.

“Does this mean that Daniel Ricciardo has a home for next year?”

“Can you confirm Daniel is going to Red Bull?”

“I’m unable to disclose any information, those discussions are protected by attorney-client privilege.”

Legal obligations be damned, the handful of media continued to follow you. You repeated the same statement in eight different ways, you tried ignoring them to no avail. You continued walking, hoping at a certain point they’d give up. Certainly there were at least a hundred other people around the paddock significantly more important and interesting than you.

“I think you guys confused the pretty lady for me?” You recognized the voice immediately. You were thankful for your savior shifting the attention away from you, except that the swarm around you returned ten-fold in an instant. The Australian entertained their questions while helping you navigate the crowd. You knew he and his PR advisor had prepped for this, and you were impressed how he skillfully dodged their questions while making them feel as though they had gotten a profound, headline-worthy snippet.

He fought the instinct to put his hand on your back to help guide you through the mob. You stayed close though, unnerved by the increasing number of people around you. As you continued to walk side-by-side, unsuccessfully willing yourself to become invisible, your fingers grazed. Instinctively, you flinched and pulled your hand away at the contact. He continued engaging with the media but took a moment to meet your eyes. His gaze was not judgmental nor offended, instead offering you reassurance. You realized how silly you were being and dropped your hand. The tips of your pinkies momentarily met again and the warm feeling you felt in the bar before everything went sideways came bubbling back. Only this time it made you feel safe and secure, not scared or embarrassed.

“As fun as this has been guys, I have big plans with some tequila shots and a mariachi band that I must attend to.” Even his excuses could charm the pants off the most scrutinizing reporter. He politely excused the two of you, pulling you away into McLaren hospitality. The doors shut behind you, immediately muffling the outside noise.

“Is it always like that?”

He took one look at you and burst out laughing. You might be able to keep certain thoughts to yourself, but often times your facial expressions gave you away as they did now. Your eyes, wide and unblinking. Your mouth, contorted into downward frown. In the distance, *sirens*.

“Don’t laugh, that was traumatizing!” you whined.

“In all fairness, it didn’t always used to be this bad. But you get used to it.”

“Please, you were born to be in the spotlight. The camera loves you.”

“Just the camera?”

You gave him your most aggressive side eye. It was hardly an appropriate comment given your conversation on press day, but you knew he was just joking. You raised your hands. “You know what, that’s on me. I walked into that one.”

“Had to go for the low hanging fruit.”

You looked around. McLaren hospitality was quiet, but not empty. You hoped no one noticed the light flirtation that was taking place. You changed the topic.

“I forgot to say congratulations on today! You must be so proud of yourself.”

“Yeah, it feels nice.” You know what else feels nice? “It’s been such a long, hard season. Y’know?” You know what else is long and hard? “I’ve just been really pounding away with trainings and everything -” You know what else you can pound?

You smiled and nodded while you continued to tally the that’s-what-she-said jokes and innuendos in your head.

“- and I feel like there’s been this gaping hole -” Surely he has got to hear himself.

You bit your lower lip to keep from giggling and cursed yourself for your filthy mind and having the sense of humor of a twelve year old boy.

“-but all in all it’s been a good day, yeah?” Finally.

“Yes, for sure. I’m really happy for you.” There was a pregnant pause before either of you spoke again. He could tell that you were distracted though he wasn’t sure why. You were concerned about keeping yourself in check.

“Anyways, this has been lovely as always. Enjoy the rest of your night, I don’t want to keep you from your Mariachi band.”

“You’re not going to celebrate?”

You looked around, again being mindful of potential witnesses. “What are you talking about, we’ve been celebrating your points finish since the end of the race. You go have fun, I was just going to stay here and get some work done until things clear out a bit more.”

“Not for me. It’s Halloween, you know.”

Actually, you had completely forgotten. But you quickly realized where this conversation was heading. “That’s nice.”

“Lando wants to show off his DJ side hustle at some club. It will be fun.”

“Now there’s something spooky,” you said sarcastically.

“You should come.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

The stare down between you continued as you went about your delicate dance around the elephant in the room. He took a step towards you and grabbed you gently by the shoulders.

“Nothing will happen. Promise,” he whispered. You looked up at him.

“I don’t have a costume,” you lightly countered.

“We’ll get you one.”

You pursed your lips. You had a million other excuses in your head, but you trusted him. How could you say no?

It had been a while since you had been in a club, and truthfully you weren’t sure you were cut out for it any more as you approached thirty. The flashing lights and heavy bass were giving you a migraine. That being said, it was a very different experience than you remember and being the guest of a VIP had its significant perks. When you got to the venue you almost didn’t even get out of the car when you saw the line down several blocks. As it so happens, when you’re a Formula 1 driver you can skip the line. And get attentive bottle service as opposed to fighting your way to the bar and pray the bartender notices you. Not to mention easy access to the DJ booth. As he had assured you, there were plenty of other people around to act as buffers.

Sure enough, Lando was at the helm of the DJ booth along with his girlfriend and a few of the other drivers and their respective significant others. As soon as the others saw you, they burst out into laughter. If you were ever concerned whether you could ever fit into Daniel’s world, this experience quelled any uncertainty. What Daniel’s skeleton costume lacked in creativity, yours’ made up for in leaps and bounds. Why be a sexy nurse or police officer when you could be American Daniel Ricciardo? American flag bomber jacket, cowboy hat, belt buckle, poorly drawn facial hair and all - which looked even sillier given your short stature. It was clear the resourceful last-minute look was well-received and earned you a warm welcome.

As the night went on and the drinks flowed, you leaned more into your Danny Ric persona including donning a poor Australian accent. Daniel continued to converse with the other drivers but watched you from a distance, trying to remain respectful of your prior agreement. Even with your face covered in smudged eye makeup to mimic his beard, he loved seeing you in his clothes. You were practically swimming in his jacket and he was sure it was the cutest thing he had ever witnessed. When you thought no one else was looking, you subtly grabbed the collar and gave it a sniff, deeply inhaling the owner’s fragrance.

Seeing you try to pick up his scent caused something primal in him to awaken. In another world he would have put on his usual moves to woo a lady back to his hotel room, which admittedly didn’t take much. First, he would buy you a drink. Then after some short flirty back and forth, he would move the two of you to the dancefloor. He would be behind you while you grinded - in a club packed like this, your bodies would be pressed closely together. He would place his hands on your waist and slowly move them down to your hips, rubbing small circles with his thumbs. Eventually he would leave kisses on the side of your neck, while finding your hands to hold. He would spin you around and ask if you wanted to go back to his place. Inevitably you would say yes, and the two of you would leave and begin your makeout session in the back of his private car to avoid suspicion by nosy paparazzi. Finally when you arrive at your final destination, he would fuck you senseless.

His mind was reeling at the possibilities. But you were no ordinary lady and you didn’t deserve his usual moves. You deserved so much more. And he couldn’t give you any of it.

Meanwhile, the constancy you had to stay away from your muse diminished as the night went on. The champagne was easily accessible and went down even easier. The club was hot and stuffy, though it was unclear if it was from everyone’s collective body heat, the Mexican climate, or both. You decided to take off the jacket, wrapping it around your waist, leaving in you a plain white tank top. It was far from being the most scandalous outfit in the room, but Daniel was doing everything in his power not to stare. It was a stark contrast from the conservative suits and dresses he’d gotten used to seeing you in, showing off every curve of your body. Again, he should have been turned off by the beard makeup alone but it endearingly complimented the cleavage that threatened to spill its way out of your shirt. Eventually you found yourself next to him again.

“G’day mate,” you said tipping his hat. You weren’t sloppy, but it was obvious that your usual social filter was long gone.

“Is that absolutely necessary?”

“What are you talking about, I’m Daniel Ricciardo. This is my voice. Pew pew pew” you gave him some finger guns and blew them out before returning them to their imaginary holsters. He couldn’t help but laugh.

“That is by far the worst Australian accent I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“I can switch to Steve Erwin if you want.”

“Please don’t.” You ignored him.

“Crikey! Here we see the Formula 1 Driver in his natural habitat.” You gestured over to Pierre shamelessly trying to flirt with a model with a bottle of Ace in hand. “Ah yes, the young male has spotted a potential mate. We will now get to witness his intricate mating ritual.”

He watched your face as you continued your animated nature documentary play-by-play of Pierre. He always felt lucky when he got to see this side of you. Silly, unfiltered, and unincumbered by responsibility.

He leaned into you. “I’m glad you’re having fun.”

“I am. Are you having fun – oh!” Someone had pushed their way past you forcing you to fall into the driver, inadvertently smushing your bodies together. He placed a protective hand on the small of your back further pulling you into him while trying not to spill the drink in his other hand. The buzzing returned with a vengeance. It was hard to ignore the soft of your breasts pressed against his muscly torso. You blushed profusely at the new sensation of your hips meeting, feeling the bulge of his pants against your pelvis.

“Are you ok?” You finally pulled your bodies away from each other, your cheeks on fire from the heavy and unfamiliar contact.

“Oh I’m fine. But on that note, I should probably head back.” You hoped he would he would attribute your flush to all the champagne you consumed, and prayed your “beard” was covering for you. The fluttering sensation between your legs refused to cease.

“Ok, I’ll call the car.”

“No, no, I can just call an uber it’s fine.”

“You shouldn’t leave by yourself.” It took a minute for you to realize he was looking out for your safety, not inviting himself to your hotel room. You again felt embarrassed at your own misinterpretation.

“I don’t want to make you leave though, you should keep celebrating.”

“I’ve celebrated enough, I’m happy and tired and ready to go.”

“Are you sure?” He smiled and turned his hand into a fake phone.

“I’m calling it,” he said into his hand. You laughed at the reference to the joke he had with Lando about ‘calling it a day,’ thankful that he found a way to break the tension.

The car ride back to the hotel was relatively quiet. You squeezed your legs together to quell the growing heat below your waist and kept your hands in your lap to prevent them from accidentally wandering. Your heart rate had not slowed since you bumped into one another. You closed your eyes to try to center yourself and redirect the energy of your raging hormones.

Two feet away, Daniel was in a very similar situation dealing with his own demons. The smell of your perfume mixed with this own cologne intoxicated him. He forced himself to think of his home in Perth to keep his mind from wondering to all the ways you could be bent right then and there in the back seat.

You thanked the driver getting out of the car. The walk to your respective rooms felt like an eternity. You pressed for your floor when you got in the elevator and waited for him to do the same, but he did not move.

“What floor are you?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll walk you to your room.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“I just want to make sure you’re safe.” You looked at him from the corner of your eye.

“Fine. I’ll allow it.”

You again stood there in silence side by side as you waited to reach your floor. You cursed the mirrored walls of the elevator. With a few drinks in you, you allowed your lidded eyes to wander all over Daniel’s reflection from the neck down. Fortunately for you he didn’t notice your ogling, but only because he was doing the same thing. In the middle of your respective daydreams, your pinkies accidentally grazed again, pulling you back to reality. Your eyes finally met in the mirror.

“Sorry,” you said under your breath, taking a step away from your client.

“All good.” You both diverted your gazes for the rest of the short ride. You got off the elevator and walked to your room.

“Well, this is me.” You paused, finally making eye contact again. “Thanks for inviting me out, I had fun tonight.”

“Me too.”

“Oh, before I forget here’s your hat and jacket.” You went to remove the hat but he stopped you.

“Don’t worry about it, they look better on you anyways.” It was a questionably appropriate line, but he didn’t care. At this point, neither did you.

“I’m not sure when I’ll wear them again, but thanks.” You smiled to yourself, your hands fidgeting with the fabric of his jacket. He was still looking at you when you looked back up. The chatty driver was uncharacteristically quiet. You were both stalling, though it was unclear what for. You decided to rip off the band-aid.

“Good night Mr. Ricciardo, congratulations again.”

“Good night y/n. I’ll see you in Brazil.”

“I’ll see you in Brazil,” you repeated.

When the door shut, he placed his hand on it for a moment. His mind, again, going to all of the places that were off-limits. With a sigh he left for his room.

On the other side, you leaned your head against the door and squeezed your eyes shut. Sloppily undoing your jeans, you stuck a hand down your underwear to offer relief from the building tension. You were soaked. With reckless abandon, you grabbed your vibrator and shamelessly indulged yourself in the filthiest fantasies regarding your client the rest of the night.

Taglist: @ravenqueen27 @leslizzle @wewoo1233 @monzabee

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driftward · 23 days

Text

Title: FFXIV Write 2024 - 1. Steer Characters: Rating: Teen Summary: Is reality destiny? Notes: None

Infinite possibilities, in infinite permutations.

Massive concentric rings surrounded her, golden with symbols inscribed upon them, each rotating and spinning on its own axis, yet sharing space and movement with the others. Spheres floated among and between them, drifting, mapping paths, charting probabilities, a guide to every possibility in every permutation. A guide not to reality, but to infinities.

That was the easy part.

Figuring out how to direct it, that was the hard part.

Zoissette sighed, looking over her calculations. She touched a hand to the central control dais, and uploaded her latest work. Immediately the air above it lit up, as thread paths traced through time, probabilities sparkling like stars in their wake, starting from nothing and expanding out, some collapsing again.

She sighed again, watching as it ran. Already too long.

"I thought I might find you here."

Zoissette turned, to see Y'shtola floating effortlessly into the space, drifting downward, carefully avoiding the rings as they spun and the spheres as they orbited. She touched down gently, and walked forward, looking up to see the results of Zoissette's latest calculation.

Zoissette turned to face her, sagging against the control dais, and smiled tiredly at her. She may have been exhausted, but Y'shtola was ever prim, proper, the very image of a cultured and well put together scientist.

She herself probably looked a mess right this moment. But, they took turns, didn't they? Zoissette had fond memories of tucking a blanket around Y'shtola's shoulders as she drooled slightly on notes still unfinished and passages yet to be read.

Y'shtola lifted a hand into the twinkling cloud of computation, disrupting it as she pointed at the cluster of end states. "These should be highlighted, should they not?"

"Yes, I know, I know," groaned Zoissette, wiping her hand across the control surface and erasing the trace. "I am testing new axiom paths with my predictor."

"You might come to bed. A well rested mind would be better able to handle these puzzles you set yourself to, I would think."

Zoissette sat back, slouching in her chair, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. She felt warm hands on her shoulders, and thumbs begin to press into her back. "I still cannot make an algorithm that can predict which threads will self sustain and which will fail early. And if I run the simulations, sometimes I can watch as threads fail, but not see how."

Y'shtola fingers gripped the top of her shoulders, and Zoissette clenched her teeth and hissed gently as a thumb found a particularly knotted sore spot.

"I mean, I know how to make threads that I know for certain will terminate and how, but... there seems hardly any point to trying to run those. If the outcome is already predetermined, we do not learn anything from it that we cannot learn just from looking at it."

"If this were easy, we would not have a star mathematician working so diligently on it."

"Nor wasting your time and talents."

"I am here because I wish to be. You know this well."

"I know."

Y'shtola's fingers stopped, and Zoissette felt a kiss on her forehead, and she smiled.

"Alright," said Zoissette, sitting up. "You have convinced me."

"Ah, if only 'twas always so simple."

"I am not that bad."

"Not always."

Zoissette just huffed, as she put both hands on the control surface, and pushed it down gently. The rings around her slowed, the spheres gradually halting their orbits. She got up, and let Y'shtola take her hand, and they both began to walk to the edge of the platform, but Zoissette stopped, to look back.

"Something the matter?" asked Yshtola.

"What if we are the result of a machine like this?"

"This again? You worry overmuch about that."

"Ryss seems to think it likely."

"Ryssthota is also like to use her time on the machine tomorrow to see if she can generate threads that will combine with other threads to create a thread-destroying cataclysmic combination or some other such nonsense. She sees further than most, but as a result, does not always fully think through the consequences of the same."

"I just... I guess I am just wondering."

Zoissette looked down at Y'shtola's hand in hers. "If we are the result of such a machine, are we one of the predetermined threads? Or are we in one of the threads, running wild and free, to who knows what destiny?"

Y'shtola looked up at Zoissette, and smiled. She reached up, standing on her toes, to cup a hand to Zoissette's cheek, and look deep into her eyes.

"Know this," she said. "I believe full heartedly that whatever has happened to us, we chose this. I chose this. I fought for this. I fought for you, to have you at my side and to be by yours. What matters the opinion of destiny? Gravity seemed inevitable, too, until our people touched the stars."

Her eyes wrinkled with a touch of mischievousness. "As though any prediction could defy my will."

Zoissette reached up a hand, and touched Y'shtola's hand, and smiled back, tiredly. "Awfully sentimental of you."

"Perhaps. You do bring out the best in me, after all."

They lingered, until the moment passed. And then they began to walk together again, hand in hand, towards the edge of the platform, to their beds, to their rest.

"I suppose," said Zoissette, "I hope that in any thread where there is a recognizable you, and someone that is a recognizable me... I hope we always at least find one another."

"Gravity may not be inevitable," said Y'shtola, "But it pulls nonetheless. I hope for much the same."

"Is that not destiny?" asked Zoissette.

Y'shtola just smiled as they vanished off the edge of the platform, passing into the space beyond.

"Inevitability need not be destiny," she said. "I shall always chart mine own course."

In the space of the machine beyond the edge of reality, there was silence.

#ffxivwrite2024 #final fantasy xiv #steer #202409-01 #biot writes #zoissette vauban #y'sthola rhul #witchshield #zoishtola

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hand-picked-star · 3 months

Text

The 13th Anniversary Arshi Fiesta

Moodboard : Historical AU

Whispers of the Heart | Chapter 10

I am not very good at writing ffs. I even read ffs very selectively. But it was an attempt of me to participate in the 13th-anniversary arshi fiesta.

I might be wrong about certain aspects of that age and era, but it's a fantasy, so why not? I don't own Arnav and Khushi and the story is purely fictional and has no relation to any living or dead. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Chapter 10

Arnav found himself on the floor at the foot of his bed with his back pressed against the bedpost. The room was silent except for the rhythmic thud of the ball hitting the wall and the soft shuffle of it returning to his hand. For hours, he had been doing it. His arm muscles ached with fatigue, but he couldn't stop. The repetitive motion had a strangely intoxicating effect, a temporary escape from the chaos in his mind.

His thoughts were a whirlwind, racing through every possible scenarios of the future. His brain doing continuous permutations and combination and the outcomes swirling in a relentless loop. As a meticulous planner, He had always drawn comfort from the predictability of his well-laid plans. But now, His carefully constructed world had spiralled into a giant mess. He felt like he was drowning. Despite his best efforts, he was adrift in a sea of uncertainty, struggling to find his way back to solid ground.

" Arnav bhaiya, khirkiyan khol du, subha ho chuki hain."

Hariprakash's voice brought him back to reality. Hariprakash had been by his side for the last two years, taking care of him and the bungalow he rented. He glanced at himself and awareness sank in. His body was reeking. He hadn't bathed in what felt like decades. He had been sitting in the dark. Food and sleep had escaped him. The ship had already sailed, without him. That was two days ago. And there was no ship that could carry him hence.

After reading those lines, he had scooped her up in his arms, careful not to wake her. He had laid her down on the bed gently and sat beside her with his right hand on her hair. His thumb had kept tracing gentle circles on the side of her forehead. He couldn't tell how long he had sat there. He just did, watching her without any sense of propriety. When the house had begun to wake up, he couldn't stay there any longer. But he hadn't forgotten to leave his love on her forehead.

Those two lines had halted his departure, turning his legs into lead. He sat on those lines for the past two days, letting them take root within him and anchor him in place. Probably because he always knew but never dared to accept that they were true for him as well.

For so long, the waves of the ocean had been tumultuous, crashing against his shore, relentlessly battering and bruising his delicate shore. Now, the ocean longed for his waves to calm down, to meet his shore with gentle caresses.

She had always been his shore.

He remembered when she was a little girl, her hand clutching his tightly the first time they had taken the walk. He remembered the day she finally, finally accepted that her parents were gone forever, how he had carried her, heaving and sobbing, holding her close against him. He remembered happier days when she had babbled as she had tried to keep up with his pace. All the conversations they had about everything and anything. And how he could talk to her, even when she had been so young, easier than he could talk to anyone else. He had been her friend, protector, and confidant. He had been the most important person in her world. And, then He had let her believe she had lost that relationship, lost him, because he couldn't act on the love he had for her. He had always loved her. The definition might have changed with different stages of their life, but love had always been there, breathing, changing, evolving. And he would always love her the only way he knew how, with his whole heart, with every fibre of his being, with everything inside him.

Yet he had failed to be close to anything he had claimed to be for her—not a friend, not a protector and clearly not a lover. And he would be damned if he wouldn't go to the ends of the world to rectify the situation.

"What day is it, Hariprakash?"

" It's Monday, vaiya"

Monday. That's mean the court would open. He had to go to the court area to assess the situation. He had to get himself accustomed with the environment before he planned anything.

"Prepare breakfast for me."

Throughout the day, he was preoccupied with meetings and discussions with fellow barristers and various law firms, delving into job opportunities, ongoing cases, and important legal matters. As evening approached, the exhaustion from two consecutive sleepless nights caught up with him. He thought he was hallucinating when he saw her. More surprising was that he didn't know how he found himself outside her college. But, she was there, not just a figment of his imagination. She wasn't looking at him though. Her gaze seemed distant, fixed on nothing. There was shadow under her eyes where once star had gleamed. She was there like a whisper of her former self. But what truly terrified him was the absence of the bindi between her eyebrows. It was as if the very essence of her identity had been stripped away, leaving behind an unsettling void. That small dot, once a symbol of her vibrant spirit was now conspicuously missing. It was a haunting reminder, a silent scream of everything that had gone wrong.

And with that realization, another truth hit him. What people said was true; love can reduce anyone to anything. Never in his wildest dreams did Arnav think that a small, round object could bring him to his knees.

As night approached, he was back at the Rajput haveli, sitting on a familiar bench in the garden where the entire story had begun.

The summer when he was 12, he had been fascinated with the game that the Britishers had introduced. Cricket, they called it. He begged his father, before he went abroad, to buy him a cricket bat and ball, and his father complied. That afternoon, he was playing cricket with Aman and Akash bhai. When he came home, hungry, he searched for his mother and found her lifeless hanging in her room. He cursed himself for going out to play that afternoon.

But right after he found her, an intense shiver took over his body. Why? He didn't know. He just vaguely remembered Roma Chachi wrapping him in a blanket and rocking him back and forth. He wished he could shrink himself to that size again so that Roma Chachi could wrap him in a blanket and hold him tighter once again.

"I love her," he whispered, looking straight ahead. "I can't measure it, but I do love her more than I have ever loved anything else in my life. Do you think my love will be enough?"

In the midst of all the chaos in his life, Roma Chachi had always been the one person who understood him without needing a word. She allowed him to be himself. She had been a mother to him without the title since his mother had passed away. So when he opened up to her Monoroma instantly knew who he was talking about and chastised herself for her oversight. They were her children in every way that mattered, even though she hadn't given birth to them. How had she not seen it sooner? She felt like she had failed as their mother.

She caressed the top of his head. "Ghar, paisa, jaydad sab humari khushiyan ke liye hote hain. Hawaali nahi hai toh ban jayegi, khoa hua naam bhi waapas a jayega, lekin khushi chali gayi toh tum use waapas kaise laoge?"

They sat there in the dark for some time, Arnav drawing comfort and strength from her presence. His determination was solidified by her wise words. Eventually, the mother in her became worried. " tumne din bhar kuch khaya?"

Chuckling, Arnav stood up,''You should go inside. it's late. Chachu must be worried,'' he said as he started to leave but then turned suddenly. 'Please, don't tell Chachu anything. I want to talk to him myself."

But three days had passed without any words from Arnav. Monoroma was worried. What was the boy up to? She couldn't get a hold of Arnav, so she focused on Khushi. Her little 'titli' had wilted like a delicate flower deprived of water and sunlight. Sighing heavily, Monoroma approached her. Khushi was sitting at her desk, pretending to read. Without a word, Monoroma gently took Khushi's hand. The unexpected touch broke through Khushi's reverie, and she allowed herself to be led to the bed. Monoroma sat face to face with Khushi. She squeezed Khushi's hand gently, offering silent comfort and support.

"I want to talk to you about something"

Khushi's face was devoid of any emotions. ''Amma, I am ready. I'll marry whoever you ask me to.''

Khushi's expression shattered Monoroma's heart. She gently cupped her daughter's face and coaxed her to meet her gaze. When their eyes locked, Khushi's resolve crumbled. She collapsed into her Amma's lap and started crying silently. Monoroma moved to comfort her when a knock at the door interrupted them. Aman stood hesitantly in the doorway. Khushi quickly composed herself. Sitting up straight she wiped away her tears.

"Someone's here to meet you khushi"

A astonished khushi asked "Who?"

"Tum khud hi dekh lo."

Arnav stood in the garden with his hands casually tucked into his pockets. Khushi noticed with astonishment that he had dressed up. A charcoal grey coat draped over a crisp white shirt complemented by a striking blue tie that made his eyes stand out even more.

"You didn't leave"

Khushi whispered as she moved closer to him. She never thought she would see him again. These past five days, were a literal hell for Khushi. She tried so hard to hate him. But she ended up hating herself for understanding his reasoning. It would be so much easier if she could just outright hate him. Then moving on would be simpler. But against all reasoning, she just wanted him to fight for them. May be it was a little bit naive of her. But the heart wanted what the heart wanted. And her heart wanted him.

Tentative, so cautious, Arnav reached out, hooking one finger around one of hers and tugged her gently.

"I found a house in the city, just a short walk from St. Stephen's College," Arnav started nervously, gazing into her eyes. "Hariprakash,he is my caretaker. He and his wife, Gauri, they will manage the household. "

Arnav swallowed thickly and continued, "Umm..I had applied for jobs at a few law firms here in Delhi, and they have made some offers." His tone grew more confident. "I've also informed my mentor in London that I can no longer continue the apprenticeship." He finished as he gazed at her intensely, taking her hands in his. His thumbs drew circles on the back of her hand while she processed everything he said.

"Marry me, khushi"

Some promises were indeed incredible and dreams did come true, offering beautiful surprises when least expected. Still, Khushi couldn't help but double-check his words.

"What made you change your mind?" she murmured.

Arnav chuckled, looking down at their joined hands," You stopped wearing bindi."

"What?"

Shaking his head, Arnav tried again, "I would rather fight with my conscience than let my decision hurt you anymore." The corners of his eyes crinkled as the spark returned in Khushi's eyes, "And why live in a haveli that others have built when you can design your own?"

Khushi hadn't taken her eyes off him since he started talking. She kept searching, searching, and searching and slowly the corners of her lips lifted up. Without hesitation, she threw herself into his arms, shocking Arnav and also the other seven pairs of eyes that were watching them from different parts of the house. They averted their gaze and retreated inside, leaving Khushi and Arnav alone.

"Is that a 'yes'?" Arnav whispered in her ear as he engulfed her in his arms.

"Do I have to spell it out?" her voice muffled against the curve of his neck, her tears soaking his skin, seeping into his pores.

"No," he murmured, burying his nose in her hair. As her scent enveloped him, he felt the tension of the past few days dissolve from his body, bone by bone.

"Have you talked to Babuji? What did he say?"

"He said it's all up to you," his lips stretched into a grin as she tightened her hold even more. "We are being watched, by the way," he whispered, aware of their audience.

"What? Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Untangling herself from his embrace, she straightened up. She could already feel the warmth spreading across her cheeks.

"Would you have done that if I had told you?" He questioned her while cupping her face with both hands, gently wiping her tears away with his thumb.

"No," she was irritated yet a smile ghosted over her face.

"Then I'm glad I didn't tell you," he rumbled softly, words meant for her ears alone.

Khushi's cheeks flushed even more as she perceived the shifting dynamics between her and Arnav. With a happy yet accusing look, she dashed inside the house, leaving Arnav alone. Feeling the weight of someone's stare, Arnav looked up to find Mahindar Chachu watching him keenly. Awkwardness wash over him as he struggled to decide where to look under Chachu's penetrating scrutiny.

Mahindar was taken aback when Arnav asked to speak with him, accompanied by his two sons. Arnav seemed unusually nervous. He kept clenching and unclenching his fists. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, " I want to marry Khushi. " His words hung in the air which left Mahindar speechless.

Arnav kept talking, "I understand that my current status and situation may not be ideal for someone like her. But I am determined to work hard till I make myself worthy."

"You all have always believed in me, and I ask you to do so one last time. Let me have her as my wife. I promise I will do my best to keep her happy." He finished speaking, looking up at Mahindar with eyes that were eerily similar to those of his best friend's.

Mahindar didn't know what to say to him, so he left everything to depend on Khushi. From her reaction, it was clear she wanted it too. This left Mahindar even more baffled than before. It wasn't that he didn't like Arnav. He loved that boy and knew he had great potential. But allowing Arnav and Khushi to marry was a risk. It was a decision he had to make carefully. Otherwise what would he answer to her father in the afterlife?

His Khushi had always been full of life, aptly nicknamed 'Titli' by his wife for how she had brought colours into everyone's life with her presence. She had danced like a sunflower in the spring breeze and had spread joy and happiness wherever she had gone, true to her name. But a few years ago, her light had dimmed a little. His little sunflower had somehow withered. Mahindar suspected the pressures of growing up had taken their toll. Then, a few months ago, he was pleasantly surprised to see a glimmer of her former self return. It was around the time Dhruv entered her life. Mahinda thought it was because of him.

And, then, suddenly, all colours had faded from his little sunflower again a few days ago. He couldn't fathom the reason. But seeing the colours return instantly at Arnav's mere words, had soothed his worries to a great extent. Mahindar knew he had to take this risk for her happiness.

For the next few days, he kept a close eye on them and marvelled at the fact that his Khushi was back. All the colours had returned to her wings. He noticed something intriguing as well. He observed how incredibly attuned to each other they were. Khushi's eyes seemed to trace his every move and in return, his gaze always sought her out. Like a sunflower instinctively turning towards the sun and following it across the sky, her face would seek his presence and instantly light up whenever he was near. Mahindar sighed, he could now put his worries to rest.

His little sunflower had found her sun.

Finally.

@featheredclover @arshifiesta @phuljari @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @chutkiandchotte @msbhagirathi @titaliya @arshiradio

#ipkknd #iss pyaar ko kya naam doon #arnav singh raizada #khushi kumari gupta #arshi #ipk 13th anniversary fiesta #my fic #angst #angst with a happy ending #whispers of the heart

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haveyoureadthishorrorbookpoll · 10 months

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Have you read...

note: If you did not finish but feel you read enough to form an opinion, you may choose a ‘Yes’ option instead of 'Partly' (e.g., Yes, I didn’t like it). Interpret "neutral or complicated" however you like, I intended this category to be a broad option between like and dislike.

John Dies at the End is a comic lovecraftian horror novel written by Jason Pargin (aka David Wong) that was first published online as a webserial beginning in 2001, then as an edited manuscript in 2004, and a printed paperback in 2007, published by Permuted Press. STOP. You should not have touched this flyer with your bare hands. NO, don't put it down. It's too late. They're watching you. My name is David Wong. My best friend is John. Those names are fake. You might want to change yours. You may not want to know about the things you'll read on these pages, about the sauce, about Korrok, about the invasion, and the future. But it's too late. You touched the book. You're in the game. You're under the eye. The only defense is knowledge. You need to read this book, to the end. Even the part with the bratwurst. Why? You just have to trust me. The important thing is this: The drug is called Soy Sauce and it gives users a window into another dimension. John and I never had the chance to say no. You still do. I'm sorry to have involved you in this, I really am. But as you read about these terrible events and the very dark epoch the world is about to enter as a result, it is crucial you keep one thing in mind: None of this was my fault.

submit a horror book!

#John Dies at the End #David Wong #jason pargin #horror books #horror #bookblr #books #comedy horror #sci fi horror #horrorbookpoll #lovecraftian

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eretzyisrael · 5 months

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By Josh Levs

Or take use of the word "terror." For years, many news organizations have refused to call Palestinian terrorists what they are: terrorists. These news organizations freely use the term "terror" and its various permutations in reporting on similar attacks literally everywhere else in the world—from other parts of the Middle East to Europe to the United States. But when it comes to groups like Hamas that primarily attack Jews, the term is suddenly verboten.

When called out on this, news organizations including the Associated Press and the BBC have cited internal rules that allegedly limit use of the term. But a simple look at their stories shows that they use the term liberally in other contexts. Citing a "rule" only for coverage of Israel is selective enforcement, and just another way of establishing bias. (Try searching the words "terrorist group" at npr.org. You'll see the term used freely, but avoided like the proverbial plague when it comes to Israel.)

The list goes on. News agencies have spent decades accusing Israel of violating "international law." In doing so, they have violated a cardinal rule of journalism, which is to say that a person or entity is alleged to have violated a law, and to include the person or entity's response to the allegation in the report. The media have simply appointed themselves as experts on both land agreements over the West Bank and the nebulous network of rules that establish "international law."

They've also long been wrong about the U.S. position on this. Dozens of reports have insisted that, until the Trump administration, the United States consistently considered any and all settlements in the West Bank to be illegal under international law. But in making this claim, they ignored the fact that President Ronald Reagan said the exact opposite—and no presidential administration contradicted him for decades, until then-Secretary of State John Kerry made remarks at the end of 2016.

In recent months, news organizations have, all too often, parroted Hamas talking points by providing alleged "death tolls" from Gaza without informing their audiences that the source of those figures, the "Health Ministry," is part of Hamas, a vicious terrorist organization known to lie—or how many of the dead were terrorists, or that other recent wars (including in Ethiopia and Syria) have incomparably larger death tolls.

#israel #media bias #occupation #terrorism #international law

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ifonlyitwasmidnight · 1 year

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TW: DARK CONTENT. Massive yandere themes. Dubcon. Murder. Knife play. MINORS, BLANK, OR AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. I WILL BLOCK YOU ON SIGHT.

WC: 3.7k

This is dark. If you are not okay with obsessive stalker exes coming after you to get you back and murdering your date, DO NOT READ THIS.

Shikamaru is obsessed. He wants you back, and he won't let anyone stand in his way. Not even you.

ShikamaruxF!Reader

CW: Names (including whore), threats, violence, fingering, vaginal sex, coercion, forced voyeurism, aged-up content

Shikamaru stood across from the restaurant you were in. That fancy one you had been begging him to take you to for the past few months, watching as you reached across the table and placed your hand on your date's forearm. The heavy drag he took from his cigarette did nothing to calm his nerves.

You'd stopped returning his calls three weeks ago. Now he knew why. You must have thought you were smart by changing your phone number and moving jobs. It had been an easy task tracking you down again. A charming smile and a quick hook-up with one of your co-workers, and she spilled all the information about you he was looking for. Simple enough for a man like him.

He always told you that you needed to be more careful about who you were friends with. He watched, never removing his eyes from you, as you gingerly drank from your cup, covering your mouth as you placed it down to cover a giggle. He knew the sound of that giggle—he could hear it in his mind. He'd be hearing that sound from your sweet lips again. Soon.

Your apartment was bathed in moonlight as he pulled himself up to the second floor of the building, hopping smoothly over the railing onto your patio. Shikamaru reached into his pocket, fishing out the keyring that contained a key to your new lock. You'd had them changed one day after someone had broken into your apartment while you were asleep. You never figured out it was him checking on you after a night out with your friends.

Shikamaru had simply taken the liberty to swipe the extra key when you called him, crying and begging him to sit with you while the locksmith did his job. You had said you needed him... even though you'd already asked for a "break" at that point. He couldn't deny you, not when you were begging in that sweet way you knew drove him crazy.

Your keys jingled in the hallway. Shikamaru disappeared into the shadows in the corner of the room, where he knew the light from the hallway outside wouldn't permutate and reveal his hiding spot. He could hear your tipsy laughter and the deep timber of a male voice.

You'd brought him home. Here. To the place he lived with you.

His blood ran cold. Had he put his hands on you in the car? Had this nobody touched what belonged to him? You tumbled in through the door, tossing your purse and keys onto the entryway table while your date was pressed against your back, arms wrapped around your waist as he peppered kisses over your exposed flesh.

Every muscle in Shikamaru's body was poised to strike. To beat the man bloody. But he waited. Waited until you turned in your date's arms and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pressing your lips against his in a hungry kiss. Watched as you stepped backward, stumbling over your own feet as the bastard reached behind you to unzip your dress. The air was quickly turning thick. The scent of lust in the air seeped into every nook of a place that was once filled with you and him.

Your date tried to lead you to the couch, closer to where Shikamaru stood, and he relished it. How unsuspecting you both would be. At the last second, you pulled away, grabbing him by the hand and tugging him towards your shared bedroom because it was his bedroom still, even if you refused to admit it to yourself. You didn't even bother to shut the door before he heard you both collapse onto the bed in a fit of giggles.

Shikamaru stalked slowly toward the door, straining his ears as your contented sighs began to fill the next room. He stopped just on the other side of the wall, listening as you let this man attempt to fuck you right. He could tell by your strained grunts that he hadn't even bothered to try and prep you, that he didn't bother to give your sweet pussy the attention it deserved. He wondered if you were regretting it yet, bringing home a stranger to try and fuck him out of your memory. Shikamaru knew it would never work.

Ten minutes. That's all the fucker lasted before he whined, asking if you had finished yet. He smirked when he heard you fake your orgasm a moment later. The bed creaked as you excused yourself to the bathroom. Shikamaru reached into his pocket, knowing this was his chance.

The idiot didn't have a chance to scream before Shikamaru was on him, yanking him off the bed, quickly wrapping an arm around his neck, cutting off the airflow. He covered your date's mouth with the rag he had retrieved. The pathetic sounds he made muffled as he tried to warn you of the danger waiting for you upon return. His body soon went limp in Shikamaru's arms, and he let the bastard's body collapse to the floor.

Shikamaru moved to the bathroom door next and waited once more. The door cracked open, and you emerged wrapped in a silk robe he had purchased for you. You paused just over the threshold, looking around whatever his name was. Shikamaru grabbed your arm, pulling you tightly against his chest before slapping a hand over your mouth, muffling your screams of panic.

"Shh, angel. You wouldn't want the neighbors to hear, right?" He whispered in your ear.

You were frozen. Unable to move even a single finger. You knew what this was. You'd played with these shadows too many times in your life before. Shikamaru knew you would understand the implications.

"I'm going to move my hand. I need you to stay quiet for me. Can you do that?" He could feel you shiver as he trailed his nose up and down the column of your throat. You were wearing his favorite scent. He savored the way you felt in his arms again. Safe. Secure. You'd see in the end that this was what you needed, just a simple reminder that he was what was best for you.

Shikamaru tightened the arm around your waist when you didn't answer, squeezing hard enough to make you whimper. You nodded quickly as fat, hot tears fell onto Shikamaru's hand.

"That's my good girl," he said.

He let the shadow possession fade away before pushing you forward to the bed. He turned you in his arms, not giving you a chance to run from him again, before digging into his pocket again for the zip tie he had stashed there.

"I'm going to tie your arms behind your back, and then I want you to sit. Can you do that for me, baby?" He didn't wait for your answer before securing your arms and gently pushing on your shoulders until you were sitting. He wiped the tears from your cheeks as they continued to fall.

"What're you doing here, Shika?" Your lip trembled as you spoke.

"I missed you."

"We broke up."

Shikamaru froze and felt the anger roaring in his mind. It clouded all rational thought. It drowned out all the things he wanted to say. He gripped your thighs tightly, hard enough to bruise, before looking you in the eye. He knew by the sharp intake of breath that he must look terrifying.

"You're mine." The words were laced with venom, dripping in ire as he spat them at you. He knew you were trembling out of fear now. You flinched as he raised a hand and pressed the backs of his knuckles against your cheek. "Don't be afraid of me, angel. You know I'd never hurt you."

Shikamaru pushed your back onto the bed and climbed over you to press his lips against your forehead before retreating. He went to the small table for two where you used to have breakfast together and grabbed a chair, dragging it across the floor and back into your room. He placed it at the end of your bed, facing you. He quickly retrieved your unconscious date and sat him upright in it, using the remaining zip ties to secure his hands and legs to the metal legs and backing.

"Dan!" You gasped when you saw his lolling head. Dan, Shikamaru now knew he was called, groaned as he slowly regained consciousness. A loud crack sounded through the room as Shikamaru's hand collided with Dan's cheek, rousing him completely from his stupor.

Dan coughed as he gasped for air. He struggled to raise his arms to rub at his abused throat, which already had a purple bruise blossoming across the skin.

"What the fuck?" Dan yelled in a hoarse voice.

Shikamaru grabbed Dan tightly by the jaw, forcing his face up at an unnatural angle while sneering down at him.

"You touched what's mine," Shikamaru spat.

"Shikamaru!" You screamed from the bed.

"Shut up!" Shikamaru yelled back, whirling on you. "I told you to stay quiet!"

You shrunk back into yourself, trying to retreat as far onto the bed as possible to escape. Shikamaru looked back to Dan, who was struggling with new vigor to escape his imprisonment. He spat in Dan's face before shoving it away. He returned to the bed, ripping his shirt off and dropping it to the floor. You wiggled, desperate to get away as Shikamaru advanced on you. He grabbed your arm and sat you upright, dragging you back to the center of the bed. You were looking at him with such fear and hatred. He'd fix that soon enough.

Shikamaru climbed behind you, leaning back into the mountain of pillows still askew from your previous encounter with Dan. He pulled you back against his chest and hooked his feet under yours, pushing your legs apart, causing your thighs to be draped over his own. Your robe fell open, exposing you to Dan, who looked upon you with fear and disgust.

"I don't think he likes me being here, angel," Shikamaru whispered in your ear, dropping his voice an octave. He touched your inner thigh, and you jumped from the unexpected contact.

"You're a sick bastard," Dan said.

Shikamaru felt your skin prickle as he dragged his fingertips over your exposed skin, making his way up to your center. He felt you shiver against him and hid his smirk against your shoulder. He couldn't resist pressing kisses there, covering the places he had seen Dan kiss you. He'd erase all the marks on your body put there by another man. Shikamaru groaned, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head when his fingers grazed over your pussy; you were wet.

"My, my, my... if I didn't know any better, I'd say you missed me too," Shikamaru said.

You whimpered when his fingers brushed over your clit.

"I just need one more thing from my pocket, love." Shikamaru nipped at your earlobe as he fished a kunai out of his pocket and pressed it gently against the underside of your jaw. You froze as the cool metal met your skin.

"What're you doing?" Dan yelled.

Shikamaru looked Dan in the eye as he resumed the light brushes over your clit, causing you to whimper again.

"If she wants to act like a whore, I'm going to treat her like one," Shikamaru said simply. He applied more pressure to your clit, rubbing it in a perfect figure eight like he knows you enjoy, and your body instantly responded, chasing the stimulation.

You tried to suppress your moans at the ministrations, struggling to keep your composure.

"I want you to look at him while I play with you, baby. Did he make you cum?" Shikamaru felt your head turn slightly as more pressure was placed against the kunai in his hand. "Tell him. I know the answer."

Shikamaru slowed the assault on your clit as your legs began to tremble.

"Go on. Did he make you cum?" The words were said a little more forcefully this time, Shikamaru's patience running thin at your continuously delayed answers.

"No." Tears fell from your eyes once more at the confession, stifled by the loud moan reverberating through the air when Shikamaru plunged two of his long fingers into your pussy, curling them tightly to drag against your g-spot.

Shikamaru placed a hot, open mouth kiss on your neck as he pumped his fingers into you. Only aided by the gushing of your pussy as he increased the pace.

"Did he fuck you as good as I do?" He continued.

"N...no," You whimpered.

"Did he play with your pretty pussy before he shoved his dick into you? Did he bother to get you wet like this?" Your hips writhed against Shikamaru's hand, spurred on by the words he was spitting into your ear.

"No!"

"You sick fuck!" Dan yelled again, horror across his face at what he was witnessing.

Shikamaru stopped his fingers and removed the kunai from your throat, pointing it at Dan.

"If I hear another word out of you, this kunai is going into your heart." Shikamaru turned your head by placing the back of the blade against your cheek. "Do you want me to keep fucking you, angel?"

Your pupils were blown wide. You were looking at your ex-lover with a mix of lust and fear.

"Why are you doing this, Shika?"

Shikamaru slowly pumped his fingers back into you. Once. Twice. Before stopping again.

"I already told you. Now answer my question: do you want me to keep fucking you in front of your date, or should I kill him now and leave you here unsatisfied?"

Your eyes darted between Shikamaru and Dan. Dan trembled in the chair, his eyes shut tightly.

"Will you let him go?" You whispered, and Dan's eyes snapped open.

Dan was shaking his head, "No! No, you don't have to do this! Tell him to stop!"

"I'll think about it." Shikamaru began pumping his fingers back into you quickly, rushing you toward the precipice of orgasm. Your legs shook, still hooked over Shikamaru's thighs.

"Open your eyes, Dan!" Shikamaru shouted. He grinned as Dan made eye contact with you. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he watched you submit to Shikamaru's wants. He couldn't tear his eyes away from watching Shikamaru's fingers disappear into your cunt.

Your walls fluttered around Shikamaru's fingers, sucking them back in each time they retreated from your heat.

"Let go, baby. Let him hear you."

Your back relaxed into Shikamaru the closer you got to orgasm, letting your head lull against his shoulder. Your moans grew in volume, little whimpers of Shikamaru's name thrown in every so often that made his cock strain against his pants. He wanted to slam his cock into your wet cunt. He longed to feel you wrapped around him again and hear the sound of his flesh against yours as he made you scream.

"Tell him how good my fingers feel," Shikamaru demanded. You shook your head, biting down hard enough on your lip that Shikamaru could smell blood. "Tell him or I stop," he growled.

"Good! Fuck, Shikamaru! Please don't stop!"

Shikamaru dropped the kunai to the bed and grabbed your jaw with his now free hand, turning your face up so he could slam his lips against yours. You moaned into the kiss as your legs shook and your back arched off Shikamaru's chest.

"Cum, whore," Shikamaru growled against your lips, and you exploded. You came with a scream of his name, and if Shikamaru were a lesser man, he might have come in his pants from the sound.

Dan was sobbing and shaking where he sat. Your chest rose and fell quickly as you came down from your high, melting completely into Shikamaru.

"Shika," you whimpered.

"Hmm?" He answered as he pressed kisses along your hairline.

"My hands. Please."

Shikamaru retrieved the kunai and cut the zip tie, content with you lying in his arms now that you had begun to remember who he was to you, where you belonged. The knife clattered on the bedside table.

You leaped for the knife and quickly turned back to Shikamaru, straddling his hips before pressing the blade against his throat. Shikamaru chuckled darkly at the turn.

"You gonna kill me, sweetheart?" Shikamaru lifted his chin and leaned forward, pressing the blade deeper into his Adam's apple until it drew blood.

"Do it!" Dan yelled at you.

Your hands trembled as you loomed over Shikamaru. He knew you couldn't do it. You would never seriously hurt him.

"Do it, baby," he teased. His hands landed on your hips, pulling you down onto his stiff cock and rocking you against the fabric of his pants. "Go on. Do it."

Shikamaru groaned at the feeling of your cunt rubbing against him, unbothered by the knife to his neck. Seeing you like this, over him, threatening him, made him harder, only reaffirming in his mind that you were just as crazy for him as he was for you. That you would be willing to do this and still hesitate confirmed how much you still needed him. He knew his cock would be dripping in pre-cum by the time he finally got to fuck you.

"Can't do it, can you?" He increased the pace of his push and pull on your hips, and your resolve faltered again, loosening the grip on the knife. "You want me too much, huh, angel?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you! Kill him!" Dan yelled.

"Shut up, Dan! I can't fucking think!" You screamed.

"Kill him, whore!"

The room froze as the words escaped Dan's mouth, and Shikamaru quickly disarmed you, launching the kunai with perfect precision into Dan's throat. You didn't even scream as Dan gurgled, eyes wide with shock. Blood pooled from his lips and escaped down his chin before he slumped over.

Shikamaru gently guided your eyes back to him.

"No one gets to talk to you like that," he said as he brushed hair away from your face.

"You killed him..."

"I said I would."

"You said you would let him go!"

Shikamaru shrugged. "I said I would think about it."

Your eyes bounced from Shikamaru's eyes to his lips, clearly panicking about what to do next.

"You're mine," Shikamaru said again.

You pressed your lips against his in a heated kiss, fighting for dominance as emotions overtook you both. Shikamaru nipped at your bottom lip before forcing his tongue into your mouth, resuming the rocking of your hips. You reached your hands down and undid the belt and button on his pants, grabbing his cock through the material of his boxers, forcing a hiss from his lips.

He pushed you off him onto your back and quickly shed his pants. You ripped at the robe, letting it fall from your body just quickly enough before Shikamaru latched his mouth around one of your nipples, causing you to yelp as he sank his teeth into it, sucking the bud into his mouth harshly. His fingers trailed up your slit again, testing to see how wet you were. He paused, letting your breast fall from his mouth.

"Did he fuck you raw?" His voice was low. A threat lingered.

You shook your head.

"Good." He bit into the skin at the top of your breast, leaving a harsh imprint before lining himself up and slamming his hips forward, filling you in one thrust.

Shikamaru moaned at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him already. He pressed your legs back against your chest, settling his chest on the back of your thighs. His pace was relentless, knocking the breath out of you with each punishing thrust. Your moans grew in pitch each time he angled his hips to abuse your g-spot.

"This my pussy, baby?" Shikamaru's words broke through your moans, and you nodded. A sharp slap landed against your thigh, causing you to yelp. He asked again.

"Yes! Yours, Shika. Only yours!" Tears forced themselves from your eyes at the overwhelming pleasure.

"Good. Now prove it." Shikamaru thudded to his back on the bed, pulling you with him and settling you on top. He grabbed your hips, forcing you to bounce. Each downward pull was met with a harsh thrust up. Your hands landed on his chest, digging your nails deeply into his skin. You worked your lower body, keeping up with him, rolling your hips in a way that made Shikamaru's eyes disappear into the back of his skull.

"Gonna fill you up. That way, you can never leave. You'll be mine forever," Shikamaru was rambling, too lost to the pleasure to be able to control his moans. He felt it in his lower stomach, that growing sensation that clued him to how close he was to filling you with his cum. Your legs began shaking again as your walls gripped him tighter. Shikamaru leaned forward and captured a nipple between his teeth again, twirling his tongue around it. Your fingers tangled into his ponytail, and you pulled, causing him to groan against your skin.

"'m gonna cum, Shika," you whimpered.

"Do it. Cum on my cock, angel. Fuckin' do it!"

You screamed his name as you came, sobbing loudly as he pulled you down once more onto his cock before he pumped you full. His hips weakly twitched, ensuring you drained him of everything before collapsing back on your bed, pulling you down to lay on his chest.

You both panted, sucking in desperate gulps of air as reality set in. Shikamaru felt you stiffen against him.

"Nara..."

"Don't you fuckin' dare," he said.

"Shikamaru, you killed my boyfriend." You said it so matter-of-factly.

"And I'd do it again." It wasn't a threat. "I love you. Don't you see that?"

You sighed heavily, fully collapsing your weight against him, surrendering to the circumstances.

"Don't you love me?" The whisper was broken. You looked up at Shikamaru, who looked so broken, so lost in that moment.

"I wish I didn't have to."

Shikamaru pressed his lips against yours in a gentle kiss. He'd deal with the body once you were asleep.

AN: I blacked out and somehow wrote 3.7k of Yandere Shikamaru which has been plaguing my brain for the past 72 hours. It's barely proofread, don't come at me. <3 Take care of yourselves.

@tengens-4thwife

#tw: dark content #tw dark themes #shikamaru smut #shikamaru x reader #shikamaru nara #yandere #shikamaru x y/n #shikamaru x you #naruto shikamaru #naruto fanfiction

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