#it holds up my keyboard ironically

[synthshenanigans]

OMG YOURE IN BAND??? WHAT SO YOU PLA. Y

OH well its not like a BAND band [tho i wish i could]. Instead its marching band lol. Ive already graduated from high school so im just helping my sister since its her last year in band/high school.

BUUT I played the Alto Saxophone! Also did Trumpet & Mellophone for a bit. Now though usually play piano/keyboard at home. [Not amazing at it but I can play all of The Mind Electric & Battle Against a True Hero!]

[nereidprinc3ss]

relax

in which spencer helps university student reader de-stress after a particularly exhausting assignment

18+ (smut) warnings: fingering, overstimulation, happy crying, lowkey softdom spencer, slight d/s dynamics, reader is referred to as a girl, ????idk i've never had to tag for smut before lols wc: 2624 a/n: been doing some insane literary cooking. lots of smut AND more fluff in the works (all uni reader... lol... ). idk if i love this but again need to fucking get it out of my word doc so here u go, PLEASE lmk if you like it!!

You don’t even realize the room has gone completely dark until Spencer comes in the front door and flicks on the light. 

“Why did you do that?” you snap immediately, looking up from your laptop screen for the first time in potentially hours, blinking hard as your eyes painfully adjust. Your boyfriend gives you an odd look. 

“Hello to you too...” 

“I’m sorry. Hi. How was dinner?” 

“It was good,” he says, crossing the room to the couch that has been your entire world for the past five hours. You sigh, releasing some of the tension in your shoulders when he leans down to kiss your head and set down a to-go box on the coffee table. “Have you moved since I left?” 

“...no,” you admit, moving your eyes dejectedly to the keyboard.  

“You made progress,” he appeases, leaning over you to angle the laptop upward. Immediately you wrench it away, holding it protectively against your chest. 

“Stop! I don’t want you to read it yet!” 

“I could help you with it though,” he pleads, bracing a hand on the arm of the couch. You look up into his hazel eyes, where he’s definitely playing up the puppy dog factor. His tie brushes your stomach, and he smells like lavender and clove and-- 

“You need to go away,” you realize, snapping back to reality and shrinking into the couch, away from him—trying to escape his all-encompassing sensory presence.  

“Wh- I just got back!” he scoffs, straightening. 

“You’re distracting me,” you accuse, throwing him a baleful look. 

“I’m literally offering to help you.” 

“And I’m respectfully declining because I care too much about your opinion to show you this essay until it’s less terrible. I really just need a couple more hours to finish it, please?” 

Spencer sighs, regarding your pitiful state before moving to sit down next to you. Automatically you move your legs out of the way before settling them in his lap and damn it he’s supposed to be going away. Your iron grip on the laptop involuntarily loosens a little as his hands begin to run back and forth over your legs. No—you must stay focused.  

“Spencer,” you whine, flopping your head back. You let the implied complaint hang in the air. 

“You’ve been writing all day. Your brain is exhausted, and your synapses aren’t firing at a rate that is intellectually productive.” 

“What is the point of having a brain if I can’t even use it half the time!” you almost-shout, pressing the palms of your hands into your eyes until you see fireworks.  

The couch shifts and you feel the warm, robotic weight of the laptop unpin you as Spencer lifts it from your lap. “Don’t read it,” you beg, watching through parted fingers as he sets it on the coffee table, and relaxing slightly when he settles back into the couch.  

“Come here,” he says, holding out an arm. Too mentally exhausted to do anything but comply, you pull yourself up just enough to fall into him. Immediately he wraps his arms around you, one hand slipping under your shirt to rub your back in hypnotizing passes. “I think you burnt yourself out,” he mutters. 

You nod into his shoulder, surrendering yourself to his warmth, letting yourself sink into a lavender-clove fog, wanting nothing more than to dissolve into it. The darkness behind your eyes glows an inviting amber, threatening to pull you under...  

But the essay... 

“Stop thinking about the essay,” he demands. 

“But I have so much to do,” you sigh against his jacket, the words coming out muffled. 

“The best thing you can do now is give your brain a rest. I promise you you’re not making that paper any better if you’re exhausted.” 

“I am not exhausted,” you insist, although your eyes are still closed, “I’m just really stressed.”  

Spencer hums, continuing to rub your back.  

“Do you need me to help you relax?” he says innocently. 

Oh? 

One of your eyes opens to peer up at him suspiciously. He sweeps some of your hair out of your face. 

“Because I would be happy to.” A moment passes—him looking down at you fondly; you wondering if you’re picking up what he’s putting down. 

“And how would you go about doing that?” you ask suspiciously. 

“Orgasms reduce tension and stress and improve brain function.” 

Damn. Why did the nerdiest, most un-sexy pickup line ever just turn you on?

You groan, burying your face further into his shirt—mostly to hide any trace of a blush. 

“You know what else would reduce stress and improve brain functioning? Taking an Adderall and finishing my fucking essay.”  

“Angel, you're such a smart girl, and you are fully capable of doing whatever you set your mind to—but I will lock your laptop in my gun safe before I let you look at that essay again tonight.” He speaks so softly, and his fingers are still gently combing through your messy hair... all in all, you put up a good fight, right? Maybe you should just listen to him...

“... fine.” you say eventually, reluctant to give in too quickly even though the idea quickly has filled your stomach with butterflies. 

“Fine?” he says, pausing his motions as you turn your head just enough to look up at him. “Sounds like you don’t really want it, baby. Maybe we should just go to sleep. Or I could take you back to your-” 

“Spence,” you whine, gently grabbing the front of his shirt. Now he’s going to make you beg? As if it wasn’t his idea? Those puppy dog eyes of his are deceiving. 

“You’re gonna have to do better than that,” he sighs, hand moving from your hair to your outer thigh. 

“Please?��� you whisper, dignity forgotten as you look up at him imploringly. 

“Lean back, sweet girl,” he says, helping you adjust your position til you’re lying against his chest, legs sprawled across the couch. Your head lolls on his shoulder, intoxicated by his close proximity. “Perfect. Such a good listener.” 

Normally, you’d be quick to make a defensive remark, but with the way he’s slowly hiking your shirt up, running his hands over your sides so lightly it gives you goosebumps—you're really in no position to argue. Your eyes flutter shut as his hands grow bolder in their explorations, crossing your stomach, fingers just slipping under the waistband of your shorts and skimming over your hipbones before coming back up. 

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs, and you nod lazily, apparently losing access to your language facilities after running them dry all day. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem good enough for your boyfriend. “Do you remember when the last time I touched you like this was?” 

Through the hazy blur of your exhaustion, you try to think back. Was it... two days ago? Three? More? 

“Almost a week ago,” he supplies the answer for you when you take too long. What? That can’t be right. 

But when you think about it harder... it is right. It was right before finals week started.  

An errant hand straying up your torso distracts you. “Do you remember what I did?” 

You flush. 

“You... yeah,” is the best you can offer, too flustered to say exactly what he did to your body. That stray hand moves over your breast. Your back arches just slightly at the stimulation through the thin fabric of your bra.  

Thankfully, he lets you off the hook.  

“I made you cum three times, right?” 

“Mhm,” you hum through closed lips, tense with anticipation as he finally slides both hands down to your shorts and wordlessly directs you to lift your hips so he can pull them all the way off along with your underwear. 

“You’ve been so busy lately, huh. Working so hard.” 

You unconsciously drop your bent legs open, brain too foggy to be insecure about how utterly bare you are—allowing him to slowly rub up and down your inner thigh. 

“I’m gonna make you feel good, honey. I don’t think three times was enough for such a stressful week.” 

You gasp when his fingers finally brush your clit, whimpering slightly when they just barely skim your entrance before tracing the wetness back up.  

“Give me your hand,” Spencer says, taking his own from between your legs and holding it up. You don’t even think about it, releasing your grip on the arm he now has wrapped around you and holding it out for him. At this point, you’d do anything he tells you to without hesitation.  

He takes the proffered hand, gently guiding it back between your legs. Your fingers meet slick, soft warmth. “Do you feel how wet you are?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe, seeing how your fingers glisten when you pull them away. His remain, running slowly up and down your clit. Your brain seems to be vibrating in your skull as warmth spreads throughout your body. 

“Who’s that for?” 

“You, Spencer,” you whimper. He hums in approval before the room falls into silence as you both watch his teasing intently, your breath baited as you try to be patient. But your body isn’t with the program, you keep twisting slightly, your hips cant upward. “Please, please,” the words escape on a held exhalation as you finally break, arching your back against him as your search for more friction.  

Without warning, he sinks two fingers inside you. The slight stretch after not having taken anything in a week scratches an itch you didn’t even know you had, and you let out a broken moan. 

“I know, honey. You’re so good, I know.” Spencer kisses your head as he speaks over your cry, barely moving his fingers for a few moments while you get comfortable. 

Still you’re not ready for it when he withdraws and pushes back in. 

“Look at that,” he breathes. 

“Oh, fuck,” you choke, watching how your arousal completely coats his fingers as he slowly, slowly begins to fuck you with them. 

Again you feel the vibrations in his chest as he laughs slightly—probably at your earlier insistence that you didn’t desperately want this. The laughter fades as you both become entranced by the sight of his fingers disappearing into you, and your stomach twists with pleasure. His pace remains languid, and he seems to delight in the filthy, wet sounds his hand is producing between your legs.  

“You okay, baby?” he asks after a moment, seemingly snapping out of some trance. 

“Uh huh,” you whimper. One particular drag of his fingers at just the right angle has you dizzy, and then he’s speeding up. Your jaw drops at the change in pace and your hips chase his hand, wanting even more. 

“So pretty,” he mutters as his other hand moves to spread you open.  

You attempt to shut your legs around his wrist, but instead he just ruts his fingers deeper into you, palm pressed against your clit. You attempt to twist away from the extreme stimulation, but he doesn’t allow it. 

“Too much,” you squeak, bucking your hips inadvertently. 

“No it’s not,” he states, like you’re talking about the weather. 

“Spencer, I really c- ah- can't!” 

“It feels like a lot, huh?” he asks soothingly, not letting up one bit. 

“Yes!” you cry, eyes stinging as tears begin to well. 

“You’re okay, angel. It’s just been a while.” 

You are so completely fucked. Each stroke of his hand feels like an electric jolt through your whole body. It is too much, but at the same time, pleasure is pooling deep in your stomach and at the base of your spine and you never want him to stop. You throw your head back onto Spencer’s shoulder, eyes screwed shut.  

“Relax,” he mutters, carefully bearing down the pressure across your waist with his arm to try and keep you from squirming. 

A rhythmic whine breaks through the barrier of your sealed lips as you focus all your energy into taking it, when the all-consuming need to kiss him hits you. You twist your neck to look up at him, observing the furrow of his brow and the way he’s tucked his bottom lip into a bite. Thankfully he notices your movement—his eyes dart from your own half-lidded gaze to your lips and he understands what you want. 

The kiss is messy and the angle is awkward and you’re moaning into his mouth half the time anyway, but it feels so good to have his lips moving on yours that you don’t care about any of it.  

“I—ah,” you cry into him, unable to form a coherent thought as your stomach drops like you’re mounting the peak of a roller coaster. 

His fingers again change their angle and he finds the spot inside you that makes your legs spasm. Attempting to hold in whatever noises you were making is now futile—the whimpers and pants turn to full-fledged keening moans interspersed with taut silences as you fail to breathe properly.  

Your wrench your gaze and lips away from Spencer to watch through a blurry haze the rapid movement of his hand between your bare legs, the way your hips buck and twist and the way your leg bends as he hooks his free hand under your knee and hoists it toward your chest. 

“You’re doing so well, honey. Being so good for me.” 

Moisture spills over from your eyes, tracing down your cheeks and down your neck as you begin to come with no warning and a desperate, broken cry. 

A string of praise from Spencer underscores your pleading moans, but you can’t focus on anything other than the buzzing warmth emanating from your core, the bright, pulsing white that blinds you and the feeling of stardust flowing through your veins. 

Your boyfriend continues pumping his fingers slowly in and out of you for a blissful few moments, before sensing the tail-end of your orgasm and bringing his fingers up to rub lazy circles over your clit. Aftershocks resonate from the hypersensitive area and make you clamp your legs shut around his hand as your toes curl and you attempt to squirm out of his grip. 

“Done! I’m done,” you squeak, rocking your hips back and forth to try and escape his toying. 

“Okay, okay,” he soothes, relieving the pressure of his hand between your legs and moving it to run over your stomach as you come down. 

You lie in silence for a minute, enjoying the liquid sensation weighing down your muscles and basking in the warm afterglow of your orgasm.  

“Shit,” you breathe shakily after a moment. Spencer chuckles. You manage to turn yourself over, laying your cheek on his shoulder and slipping your arms under his waist. He looks down at you as he moves on to massaging your back and bare hips, eyes full of warm adoration.  

“Feel better?” 

You hum an affirmation, wiping your eyes on his shirt. 

“Oh, honey, did I make you cry?” 

You laugh into his chest and nod, a few stray tears leaking from your shut eyes. “It’s okay. Not sad tears.” 

“What kind of tears?” 

“Orgasm tears,” you mumble, a tidal wave of exhaustion you’d been fighting all day finally washing over you. 

“That makes sense. Orgasms can be cathartic or even therapeutic depending on your head space. Major losses and life changes are often associated with sexual dysfunction but the opposite is actually just as if not more common. A spike in libido can—” 

Spencer pauses, looking down to see that you’re either asleep or close to it, and smiles to himself. You’ll probably be mad about it when you wake up, but he had to get you to stop thinking about that paper somehow. 

[princessbrunette]

what do u think the boys would be like with a sleepy gf

rafe: all exasperated and dad-like about it. he’s like those dads that say shit like “wow, good afternoon.” when you wake up at like eleven. all condescending about it, blaming any negative feeling you have throughout the day on the fact you sleep so much. “my head hurts.” “uh, maybe cos you sleep until fuckin’ noon, i dunno.” he starts to set alarms for you, and if you turn it off and roll over in the morning he scoops you up and carries you to the kitchen — huffing and puffing as he holds you on his hip and lets you wake up slowly, burrowing into his neck. “i’m making you a coffee, to wake you up. jesus— how is it possible for someone to sleep this much, huh?”

jj: sleeps with you, because something about your sleepy lethargic presence makes him sleepy too (hes an empath 😍) so if he sees you dropping off on the couch, he squishes himself right up behind you, dragging you back into his chest. “hey, make room for me. i’m tryna sleep too.” the two of you can literally sleep until afternoon if you let it happen, cuddling beneath the sheets without a care in the world for your responsibilities.

pope: he worries and tries to over analyse why you’re so sleepy. you curl up to his side in his room whilst he does some work on his laptop, heavy breathing indicating you’ll fall asleep in the middle of the day soon, again. “hey, why are you sleepy?” he asks, dropping everything to shift his body to face you. “hm?” you ask, disturbed by his voice. “i keep telling you you’re iron deficient. you know no one sleeps this much. are you depressed? what can i do? actually let me google—” his fingers are already typing at his keyboard and you groan, explaining that you’re just like this.

john b: it doesn’t bother him in the slightest because he doesn’t mind the peace and quiet, even letting you nap on his lap whilst he’s sat at the table overlooking maps. he accepts that sleeping is just a part of your personality, and he’s such a caregiver at heart that if you’re not napping — he knows you’re gonna get all crabby, so he is constantly enforcing routine on you, leading your grumpy self to the couch and pulling a blanket over your body. “i think someone needs a nap. c’mon, down girl.” he gently eases you to lay down, arm resting on the back of the couch as he focuses his attention on the tv quietly buzzing. “i’m gonna be riiiight here.” he soothes, rubbing your back as you fall asleep, your boyfriend focused on some old game show on the screen.

[kairiscorner]

ok but like it's canon in the comics that miguel's not as good at tech compared to biology. so imagine...

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

lyla was apparently resetting herself and would be unresponsive for a few hours, but it seemed he had no choice. coming from the future, he has little clue about how technology in the 20th century was supposed to work, but luckily, you were a natural at using 20th century technology! unluckily, miguel was too prideful to ask you for any help. the rest of the society had decided to resort to cell phones to contact each other for the time being, though it wasn't as great as the watches, it was at least useful for something. however, only one person remained to be clueless about these cell phones, and ironically, it's the guy from the future, miguel o'hara himself.

he had asked jess and peter b how to use a phone, but they, unsurprisingly, only know how to use it when someone calls--they don't even know how to facetime properly. he asked ben to help him since he classified as 'part of the youth', but his explanation was full of onomatopoeias and edgy narrating that miguel was totally lost. you approached miguel as he was practically snarling at his phone's screen, not being used to calling an AI assistant who wasn't lyla to fetch him information on the anomalies you all were monitoring, but the only search results siri gave him were the definition of anomaly and earth-1218 search results from fan pages.

"hey mig." you greeted him as miguel sighed and tried to compose himself. "how are you holding up?" you asked him, knowing full well he was losing his mind over the countless notifications he was getting from his chats from peter b that were all just pictures of mayday and his keyboard mashing over how cute his daughter was. "i'm barely holding on, to be honest." he said as he forcefully scrolled on the screen, which ended up in it being scuffed and scratched on by his talons.

"puta." he muttered as he looked at the now scratched screen. you took the phone from his hands and asked him what he was going to do, with him explaining he just wanted to dismiss the incessant notifications from peter b. you set his phone on a 'do not disturb' mode and shut off his notifications from peter b in an instant. "that's all you have to do, really." you explained as you handed the phone back to him, with his eyes following yours as you smiled up at him. "ah, thank you." he said as he took his reading glasses and tried to read a text that came his way. "congratulations, you have won a 100,000 dollars. email this contact to claim your reward... but i didn't do anything?" he remarked aloud, confused. "oh, that's spam. just ignore it, delete i--" he was calling the fucking number.

"hello? yeah, i didn't play any game. you texted me about a prize i didn't win, i think you have the wrong number. ...what do you mean i have to email you? just forward the message to the right individual. ...no, i'm not gonna email you, we're talking right now! look, i don't even want your prize, i make more than six figures a month. ...what do you mean you need my credit card information? hijo de puta, i'm not the guy you're looking for!" miguel screamed into the phone as he spoke to the scammer. you wanted to tell him to drop the call, but seeing him scare the scammer had made you want to watch this unfold. he was screaming curse words in spanish and repeating how he doesn't need any prizes from these hacks.

"on second thought, always call the number." you murmured to him as he angrily put the phone down. "shocking idiots, is the 20th century full of guys who can't double check numbers and force you to email them when you're already talking to them over the phone?" he asked you as you nodded slowly with a slight grin. miguel shook his head as he checked the progress on lyla's update. "17 more hours of this madness." he groaned as he buried his face in his palms. "well, you can always go on... i don't know, tiktok?" "no. we're stuck on earth 1218's internet, i've been warned by peter b it's a scary place i should never visit." "i wonder why..." you muttered as you avoided his gaze and smirked.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @fiannee @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @arachnoia @melovetitties @ophanimgold

[oneshotnewbie]

Hello can you make Maddie and Buck's little sister who is a teenager has an accident or is injured and she calls 911 to find her sister who sends the firefighter and her brother and in a panic with Maddie on the phone who is panicking too

ᕚ---ᕘ

With a choked gasp, you startled and looked around in a halting darkness that human eyes could never adjust to. Cold, rough chunks of concrete that painfully buried you underneath did not let in any light. Not the slightest ray could stray through it.

Orientation in the blackness was almost impossible and the disorientation made you seem even more helpless than you already were. "Hello? Can someone hear me?" Struggling to lend strength to your dusty voice, you tried to straighten your torso, but a searing pain tore through the upper left quadrant of your abdomen prevented you.

The air was damp, musty and cold. Fine particles of the collapsed concrete still trickled onto your tear-streaked face, while your lungs filled with a teaspoon of dust with every breath you took.

You did not know if you were alone when the parking deck collapsed on itself, but the thought that someone else might be trapped in her, or possibly even dead, frightened you. "Please, is someone here?"

The vibrating of your phone pulled you back from your thoughts. Totally forgetting you had it with you and surprised to find it had still a transmission to the outside world, you were grateful.

Silently and cautiously, you pulled out your phone with shaky, wet hands and clung to the piece of plastic, trying to shed some light on your situation. It was only through the brightness of the screen that you had realized, you were in more trouble than you thought you were.

The liquid on your hands was nothing more than dark red blood stretching across your fingers and was trickling down your wrist. Your leg was buried below the knee under a steel beam, which is why you had long lost feeling in it while a small iron rod protruded from your torso and penetrated your lower ribs.

"Crap," you moaned disconcertingly and laid your head back down on the concrete slab that allowed and supported to keep your upper body upright. The chunks of gray stone that had embedded your body, shifted cruelly under your movements, some small pieces trickling down on you from above.

Covering your eyes protectively, you could not feel if new small wounds adorned your skin and you did not dare to move any further to check which put your heart in a more obvious state of panic, but you hardly felt the beating in your chest. It slowed down.

With the last ounce of your strength steadily oozing out with the blood from your wounds, you dialed 911 hoping the network would hold up this conversation. After all, you were buried under debris that could interfere with the signal. "911, what is your emergency?"

"Maddie," you groaned wearily, instantly recognizing your eldest sibling through the cracking line. Her voice was dulled and partially interrupted, yet you felt a deep sense of relief to hear it. You were not alone anymore. "I-I need help"

The brunettes breath caught in her throat as your faint and barely audible voice entered her ears. It had come as quite a shock to Maddie, when she unsuspectingly had you on the helpline and found a chilling story about your well-being. "Y/n, where are you? Are you okay? What happened?"

"T-the parking garage at Cherokee Avenue collapsed," like a second hand, sweat formed on your forehead, although the warmth had long left. Dizziness caught up with you, but with a lot of luck and willpower, you managed to escape it and searched for a spot to focus on in the slightly lit environment. "I am buried under the rubble"

"Oh my god, a-are you hurt?"

"My leg is crushed. A metal rod is sticking out of my stomach, it hurts terribly. I am losing an awful lot of blood," Maddie had to listen helplessly to the spectacle that was taking place in disbelief and bewilderment. Absentmindedly, she fiddled with the keyboard and at the same time played with her private phone to call and inform your brother.

Meanwhile, the air was becoming increasingly scarce. Under no circumstances should you breathe in too deeply, using the precious oxygen sparingly. "I can not breathe," it came hoarsely from your lips as tears streamed unabashedly down your face.

A fit of coughing shook you and an iron taste kindled in your mouth. You could hardly breathe, the oxygen supply was running out and your lungs were heavier by the minutes. Just as quickly, the fear of endless, terrifying darkness and the cold that towered over you.

"I do not want to die, Maddie," you sobbed into the phone, the optimism of getting out of her alive dwindling. Walled under concrete and buried under dust, you knew no way out and fear filled you more with every passing minute. "You will not, sweetheart. Buck is on the way, you just have to hold on. Hold on and listen to me while we wait together for your brother, okay?"

The familiarity of Maddie´s voice allowed you to remain calm, at least on the surface, while your soul rampaged around the stable like a panicked horse. And so you had begun to wait for the approaching help with the fear of death and the agony that awaited you.

ᕚ---ᕘ

The sun was already beginning to set and the clouds hung gray in the sky as the team around Bobby Nash drove up to the scene. Upon arrival, the remains of various building material and destroyed vehicles were scattered on the crumbling ground.

Cold, dusty air blew in the faces of the team and the feeling that was churning in them as they saw the collapsed building, knowing you were under there, stretched bitterly through their chest. With heavy strides, Evan Buckley ran up to the top of the rubble, his phone clutched tightly to his ear, frantically calling your name while following his sisters panicked statements.

With his right leg, he swept away the small chunks and bits of metal. "Y/n!" his voice sounded rough and scratchy, he could no longer think clearly when uncertainty and sadness overcame him. "Where are you?"

Huffing and distraught, tears welled up in his eyes as he watched his teammates pull some stones from the pile. Evan rushed and jumped down, desperate to get through to you with all of his accumulated power. "Maddie, I can not hear her, is she still there?" with a jerk, he thoughtfully scratched the back of his head while biting his bottom lip hard and tasting the stale taste of blood.

He felt like complete destruction.

"Call is ongoing, but she is not responding to me anymore!" Maddie answered. Hard, he pounded his fist against the stones until his knuckles were severely sore and bleeding, only to repeat the procedure in frustration. Evan Buckley possessed a mental strength that was admired by everyone. But when it came to his little sister, he lost all of the stability and raged through life like a tornado. "Come on, move. We have to get her out of here"

As they spent hours trying to dig their way out to you, you vacillated between consciousness and unconsciousness. The phone meanwhile had slipped out of your hand and was inaccessible, nevertheless your sister was still panicking on the receiver, calling your name several times unsuccessfully.

You had no strength, empty air escaped your mouth instead of simple words.

From afar, you heard murmuring voices gathering around you. They talked frantically and at once a while some of them screamed and interrupted the conversations. Everyone seemed so far away, that you hardly could understood their words. "Y/n, where are you?"

"I am here, please" you whispered in a low voice that was probably barely audible. A violent chill went through you as the voices slowly approached and called out to you. The ground beneath you vibrated, bits and pieces of thick stone clamped above you, whose pillar was preventing it from coming down and crushing you, rained down dust before moments later a faint, dirty light flooded your place through a small crack.

"We found her!"

[justanamesstuff]

Fix me - Matty Healy x f!reader

Based on this request.

A/N: Couldn't find a better pic, but I liked this one :)) Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: hospital environment, blood, stitches, swearing, fluff, flirting, trypos.

Word count: 2K

Blog MASTERLIST

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot.” George didn’t hesitate to express his current thoughts.

Matty walked, staring at his side profile, meanwhile he spat, “Can you keep your mouth shut, you twat?”

They had been quiet during the driving from Matty’s house to the nearest hospital. George was moving forward along Matty’s side, holding a white cloth secured around his friend’s hand. The drummer tried not to show entirely how annoyed he was with the situation. He knew Matty didn’t mean to sliced his finger, while cooking dinner for them, but coming to the ER wasn't his ideal plan for a Friday evening. 

“It amazes me how smart and fuckin’ dumb you can be at the same time.” George continued, slightly scolding Matty.

“Oh, really?” Matty’s voice dripping with sarcasm. “Want me to tell you what I think about you knobhead, ha?” his finger was hurting like a bitch, and George giving him shit for his actions wasn’t helping. 

They suddenly stopped at the front desk of the hospital area, without acknowledging the person at the other side. George and Matty were face to face, while the taller one held the cloth tight. 

“Please, be my guess-” the drummer encouraged his friend to keep talking.

“All right…”

Although, someone cleared their throat. The guy’s stunned faces turned to look at the nurse. “How can I help you, gentlemen?” she accentuated the last word in an ironic tone, making the guys blush as they were behaving like proper children. 

“Sorry.” Gorge was the first one to stated, Matty followed him close behind.

She didn’t waste one more second, her sight fell on Matty’s hand. The cloth was no longer entirely white, the blood was coming through. “What happened?” Y/n inquired.

Matty stayed in silence, admiring her features. She was young and visibly hot. The singer found himself feeling incredible nervous around her. The young nurse was very front forward, he wasn’t really used to girls like her. There was something unique about her. It made him look insecure. 

George made him snapped out of his daydreaming, hitting the back of Matty’s head slightly. George’s mate turned to gift him a look. 

Matty returned his sight to the nurse, “I cut my finger.” he simply said.

“How deep?”

“Very, very deep.” George interfered. Something about his tone rubbed Matty off. 

“Thank you, George.” Matty groaned.

“Please, fill this.” she gave G a paper to put Matty’s information in. 

G completed it as fast as he could. On the other hand, Matty watched the nurse taping the computer keyboard. 

Her hair was up in a messy bun, her uniform accentuated her body, and she didn’t have makeup on. He liked the natural aura she exuded. 

“Done.” George broke the silence.

George let her take the form from him, walking with the paper far from the desk. She said, without turning around, “Thanks. Follow me, boys.” she took a good look at the information. 

******

The emergency room was small and very white, Matty thought, trying to focus on something else than his finger throbbing under the cloth.

The nurse instructed him to sit at the hospital bed, placing herself in front of him, almost between his legs. Matty felt the room got one degree hotter. 

“Let me see.” she asked, going to remove the fabric. “Oh, yeah…” Y/n exclaimed when her eyes found the wound. “Definitely, you’re going to need stitches.” she held his hand between hers. “Sorry, what’s your name?” Y/n inquired, looking up at his eyes, not letting his hand go. 

“I’m Matty.” he muttered.

George –interrupting the intimate moment– introduced himself, “And I’m George.” Y/n blushed, realizing Matty’s friend was in the room with them.

“Nice to meet you guys.” Y/n’s sight went from one to the other. “I’m going to call someone to fix your finger, alright?” she let Matty know. 

“Thank you, Y/n.” Matty said, watching her leave the room from the other door opposite to the one they came in. 

Y/n stopped with the door half open when her name came from Matty’s mouth. “How..?” she looked surprised. 

“Name tag.” Matty smirked at her.

“Right.” 

She left the room without saying anything more. 

Once she was out, George couldn’t help to laugh at Matty. His mate questioned him, “What?”

“Leave her alone.” G leaned backwards on the opposite wall, folding his arms. 

“I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Sure, mate.”

“Oh, come on! She’s fit…” 

“Matty…”

Matty’s mouth asked before he could stop the words from spilling out, “Ask her if she’s single.”

“I’m not going to do that, idiot.” George answered to his request, while he put his hood up.

“Please, I’ll pay you for it.” Matty begged.

“No.”

“Please.”

The small fight was interrupted by Y/n’s return, “Okay, everyone is busy. Big car crash.So, lucky you…I’m going to do it myself.” she informed Matty.

“Perfect, not complaints from me.” he winked his right eye. 

George rolled his eyes, “Excuse him, Y/n. Sometimes he behaves like a four-year-old.” he excused his friend.

Y/n chuckled, “Are you mates?” she tried to know, going to get all the things she needed to fix Matty’s finger. Y/n tried to not feel nervous, or even show how restless she really was. 

“Sadly, yes.” the drummer replied.

“And ‘m the child…” Matty protested, following Y/n’s form.

“Okay, time to work.” Y/n left the supplies at Matty’s side, proceeding to take his hand. “I’m going to clean the wound, yeah?” she checked with him. 

“Do your worst, Y/n.”

She started to clean the wound with so much care, paying attention to his little sounds and movements.

“What were you trying to do when you…?” Y/n interrogated Matty.

“When I chapped my finger?” Y/n laughed, going to throw away the used gauzes. 

“Yes.”

“Cooking dinner.”

“Oh, you know how to cook?” Y/n returned to his side. 

Matty felt proud of himself, “Yep, I can make something for you, if you want…” he suggested.

“Very kind from you.” Y/n tried to dodge his proposal. 

Next, Y/n took the needle and thread, going to star the real fixing. She tried to stabilize her shaking hand.

“If it hurts too much, let me know, and I’ll anaesthetise the area.” Y/n let him know everything she was going to do before every one of her actions. 

“Okay, Y/n.”

Her hand continued to shake, not matter how hard she tried. Y/n ignored it and went to pinch his finger with the needle. Before Matty could feel anything, Y/n moved slightly backwards. Matty frowned, looking at her hesitate.

“G, can you go and get me some snacks?” he asked without taking his eyes from Y/n.

“What?”

“Snacks, George. Now!” he urged him out of the room.

“Okay, okay.” G stomped out, leaving the pair alone.

“Hey,” Matty moved his good hand, reaching for her right hand. “What’s wrong?”

Y/n felt embarrassed to admit, “It’s my first time.”

“Fixing someone?” Matty drew circles on her skin, trying to distract her. 

“Stitching a real person.” Y/n shared with him.

“I’m taking your stitching virginity?” Matty regretted speaking when Y/n contracted his face. “Sorry, joking…”

“I know, I know…and yeah, you’re taking my-”

Matty interrupted her, “Please don’t complete the phrase. ‘m so stupid, sorry.” Matty hid his face behind his good hand.

“It’s alright. I’m going to-” Y/n encouraged herself to keep going.

“Come on, you can do it! I believe in you.” he cheered for her, which she found it charming.  

“Here I go.”

Y/n took a big breath, focusing again on his finger. 

When she pierced his skin with the needle, Matty hissed. “Hurts?” she inquired. It really did hurt, but Matty tried to be brave and macho with the pain. 

“A little.” he let Y/n know grudgingly. “I have a lot of tattoos, so I’m used to this.” It wasn’t anything similar to get a tattoo.

“That’s really cool, I always wanted to get one.” Y/n made conversation with him.

“You should.”

Even though the conversation was short. Y/n wasn’t stupid, and she knew the procedure was painful. 

Matty grew anxious with the silence, so he admitted, “Never thought I’d witness you getting nervous.”

Y/n looked up, taking a break Matty thanked in silence. She crooked her eyebrow, silently asking.

“Don’t know…I judged you by how you cut our shit out there.” 

Y/n chuckled. “Do you guys bicker that much?”

“Nah, George is pissed I forced him to take me here and waste the night.”

“That’s a shame. I can feel he’s a good mate.”

“He is, definitely.”

Y/n continued to work. Matty stared at her puckered forehead and the tip of her tongue coming slightingly between her lips. She looked fabulous, all focused on him.

“You’re doing amazing.” he tried to motivate her.

Y/n tried to mess with him, “Shut up, you know nothing about this.” but it came all wrong.

“You don’t know me, sweetheart. I’ve cut fingers, knees, and a lot of places of my body multiple times.”

“I’m sorry…was stupid to assume that.” she apologized.

“Y’know…you can get to know me.” Matty made his try to ask her out, more obvious this time.

“Oh, really?”

“If you want…”

“Did you flirt with every nurse that fixes your wounds?”

“Only with the pretty ones, and I’ve only encountered one…tonight.”

“Your girlfriend don’t mind?” Y/n stared at his eyes. 

“Sweet of you to assume I’m taken.” Matty smiled at her without breaking eye contact. “For your information, I’m single…had been for a long time now.”

“Mmm.”

“What? Don’t you believe me?” Y/n started to finish her work, feeling better with herself. 

“I have eyes, Matty…”

“Does your partner mind you flirting with patients?” It was his time to ask if she was taken or not.

“He doesn’t.” Matty’s stomach sank with her replied. He was really hoping she was single. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I’m single, if you so want to know.” Y/n rapidly said.

“That was rude.” Matty pouted. “I’m not sure any more if I want to ask you out now…” he teased her.

“Oh, really? Were you thinking about it?”

“Since I first saw you.” Y/n cheeks turning red was the best encouragement for him.

“Cute.” 

“Yeah, you.” he kept going.

Y/n cut the thread, wrapping his finger on a clean gauze, finishing with her work.

“Alright, charmer. All done.” she said, taking a step backwards.

Matty checked his finger, “You were nervous? This is the best work I’ve seen.”

“So full of shit you are.” she dared to say.

Matty snorted. “That’s not a nice way to talk with a patient.”

“Are you only a patient?” Matty watched her fold her arms in front of her. She was so cute in his eyes.

“I hope I’m not just another patient for you.”

Y/n analysed Matty, still seated at the hospital bed. 

“Give me your phone.”

The singer only managed to give her his phone, without muttering a single sound. She could be so extroverted and so introverted at the same time. The duality amazed him.  

Y/n saved her contact in his phone, and then said, “There. Gotta get back to work, Matty.” 

“I’ll call you, Y/n,” he said, moving the device in the air. 

“Okay.” she smiled at him, and start to leave the room. 

Matty shouted from behind her, “Wait for my call.” coming to his feet.

She turned around, “Sure.” Y/n didn’t sound so convinced. 

*************

Matty left the emergency room, founding G seated not so far away. 

“So?” the drummer inquired.

Matty, proud of his actions, exclaimed, “Got her phone number.” 

“Was asking about your finger!” George stood up. “Really?” he asked.

“Yeah, she’s amazing.” Matty started walking down the hall towards the exit.

“Can see that.” Matty’s friend poked him. 

Once in the car, George started talking about some random history while he waited. Matty didn’t listen to him. He opened his text, pressing to start a new conversation. 

Tell me if I'm wrong, but I can't call you during your shift, can I? x Matty

It took her a minute to answer.

No, you can’t. I have my break in 5 minutes though... x Y/n

Calling you in 10 then ;) x Matty 

Matty smiled looking out the window.

[pxgeturner]

Miguel O'Hara is a world-renowned professional boxer, and Hobie's other best friend. One night he finally makes the two worlds collide and sparks immediately fly between the two of you. But will he distract you from meeting your publisher's deadline? And will you distract him from getting World Champ?

before you follow. m.list. Iron Fist gfx library. series m.list. tag list.

Prologue. I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. Epilogue.

wc. 1.5k

an. hi. its me! Giselle, or gi, or gigi to few (not to be confused w gg, that is one of my moots. she makes really cool art.) n e ways here is the awaited Prologue for Iron Fist. Oh goodness I'm so nervous. I just want to make a few things clear. the reader is an author (obvs). She's recently graduated uni and is Latina! I write with a woc!r in mind always. I try to be as inclusive as possible, pero porque soy Mexicana, r might lean towards being more Mexican but I'll try to keep her Spanish standard and not be too specific to my family's culture. much love! hope you enjoy <3

please don't forget to reblog! likes do nothing to boost engagement.

Your foot taps against the floor. The damn blank document stares back at you. Mocking you is what it’s really doing. Fuck you, you think, I achieved my goal. I published a book and it is a damn bestseller! Only problem is that the readers want more. It’s been… some time since your first book. And sure, Jess said you can take a break before starting a new project. But you also know that it’s good to ride on existing publicity. At least be able to make an announcement that you’re writing something while all this excitement lasts. Maybe you should write something about vampires. You love vampires and how they fit into romance and how them drinking blood is a euphemism just a bit away from, the whole cannibalism-equals-all-consuming-love trope and how when a vampire attacks it’s often an allegory for rape and— but you have nothing to add to the conversation. You have nothing new to say, no new perspective or hot take, or twist. You have nothing. No ideas.

Not a single word on the page.

You have an idea, leaning forward to peck the keyboard. “F-u-c-k. T-h-i-s!” You highlight the text and italicize it.

Fuck this. At least it’s words on the page.

You reach for your cup and take a sip. “If all else fails I can ride on the rest of the signing bonus and royalties for a bit since the book is doing good, and once that dries up, I can apply to be circulation assistant at a library or something.” You sigh and take another sip. “But nobody has to know for now.” You get up, searching for your phone. You find it resting on the arm of the couch, you grab it, sliding onto the cushions, resting your head where your phone just was. “God, don’t make me a one hit wonder, I wanna be a star. I wanna be the one to push that bitch Colleen Hoover into obsoletion. Please God. Please.”

You open your phone and look for your mother on speed dial.

“Hola, nena!” Your mama’s voice is happy, she must be having a good day. You move into the kitchen. You need a snack.

“Hey, mama, how are you?” You hold the cell with your shoulder as you look through your pantry.

“Good, good,” you find a pack of roasted seaweed snacks and grab it.

“I went on a date anoche.” Your shoulder drops and the pack of seaweed slips out of your grasp.

Mi mami fue a una cita. Con un man! You stand there, trying to process that she is actually back on the dating scene.

“How did it—” you aren’t holding your phone anymore. You use the wall as support to lower yourself to pick up your phone and snack.

“—ay, mami, lo siento, mi cellular se cayo de mi mano.”

“Todo bien, hija! I’m glad you’re ok.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m ok, I’m ok. Anyways— how was the date? What’s he like? Am I going to have a stepfather soon?” you joke.

“My time for marriage is gone, muñeca, I’m just looking for companionship, pero, tu lo sabes.” You hear some subtle clinking in the background of the call, she must be stirring her coffee. You open your snack and park yourself on the couch. “Are you writing?” Ugh. Not you, too.

“I was, just finished for a bit before I called you.”

“You called me to procrastinate.” You choke on your seaweed from the accusation.

You clear your throat, “I called to check in with you. I call you practically every day.”

“But right now you called me to check up on me as an excuse to not write. Nena, I know you.”

“Okay, fine. I might be having some writer’s block,” you admit, sighing.

“And that’s okay, nena, but then you need to get out, get some inspiration. Allow the world to give you a story.” There’s mama, with her easier-said-than-done advice. But, maybe you should get out of the house.

“Alright, I’ll go out soon.”

“Tonight,”

“—I will go out to the Chinese place across the street and nothing more. I’ll talk with Hobie when he gets back to see if he has any ideas.” You hear your mama make a noise in her throat.

“You still live with that boy?” Here it comes. You’ve lived with Hobie Brown for three years and have known him for five. She’s always been apprehensive of him, since he’s radical and looks like he’s been in jail, with all the metal in his face, and why does his hair look like that? But Hobie is the one who’s kept you sane all these years. He’s held you while you cried and pushed out of your comfort zone when you were getting too stuck into your routines, most likely by dragging you to a concert or a protest. You help him thrift and flip clothes and ever since that one time his stylist had an emergency and canceled, you now help him tighten his wicks every so often. On days like that the two of you stay in, watching nostalgic movies and listening to any demos he’s recorded recently. He’s like a brother to you at this point.

“Yes, mama, I still live with Hobie. Nothing’s changed.” You move the phone down to your chest and take a deep breath.

“I didn’t like him when I first met him,” you clench your jaw as she continues— “…and although he’s one of those kids, I can tell he is a good boy. I’m glad he takes care of you.” You relax. “But it wouldn’t hurt to have someone you could kiss.” “It would be nice, but right now it’s not happening.” “Alright, muñeca. I’ll leave you alone for now, but keep your eyes open for a nice man.”

“I will, con cuidado, mami, besitos.” You make a kissing noise into the phone, and she responds with a goodbye of her own, and you wait for her to hang up the call.

You sigh, and look at the coffee table. Hobie left his song book at home, weird. It’s open to the song he was working on the other day. It’s a slower song, you can still hear the melody. You drum your fingers to the tune. He’s on an unfinished verse. You pick up a pen from the little catch-all dish and scribble down a line or two.

…

Hobie weaves through the roar of chattering, anticipating fans and into the tunnel, and walks past employees and into Miguel's prep room to see him tying his shoes. “Hey,” Miguel looks up. “Hey.”

“Are you excited?” He moves to sit by the boxer, shimmying up against his shoulder.

“Haven’t really been excited for one of these in a while.” Miguel breathes.

“Well, one step closer to retirement!” Hobie bounces out of his seat. He turns to face his friend, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re gonna do great, you big fuckin’ bear of a man.” He ruffle’s Miguel’s hair.

Miguel gives a half-ass hum in response.

“Well then, I’ll be out there, mate, cheerin’ you on.” He puts his hands in his vest pockets and walks out the room.

As he reaches the empty doorframe, Miguel speaks up. “Thank you, Hobie.”

“Anything for you, mate.” Hobie nods and goes to join the audience. Miguel fastens his gloves and puts on his robe. He warms up waiting for his coach.

“Ready, O’Hara?”

Miguel turns around. “Always ready for a fight.” He clenches his jaw. Walking down that hallway, the festive colors lighting up his path and the music blaring, he does his little bit, the movements molded into muscle memory.

This is it. This is his last year fighting. If he gets world champ again, he’s free.

Soon, he gets to fight his last fight. And dammit, the world championship will be his last match. Then, he’s never gonna have to come back.

He weaves under the ropes, entering the ring. Sitting on the stool, he shrugs off the robe and lets Carlos put the mouthguard in.

“You are going to show this guy exactly why people call you el oso!” Miguel beats his gloves together and nods. He might not like his job right now, but he really wants to hit something and goddammit if his opponent doesn’t look so beatable right now.

Coach Carlos steps out of the way, and Miguel stands to walk to the ref as he calls for him to center.

“We went over the rules in the dressing room.” Right before Hobie got here. “I want to remind you to protect yourself at all times, and obey my commands.” Ring the damn bell already. “God bless you both,” I don’t need it but this kid might. “Touch up,” here we go. He touches gloves with his newbie opponent and each goes back to their respective corners.

Miguel takes an orthodox stance.

The bell rings.

Miguel lands the first punch. He also lands the last.

[angrelysimpping]

no thoughts,, just,, the pc finally paying all the debt that they owe bailey so they demanded him to finally let them go but,, bailey just,, can’t,, they can’t handle the thought of them leaving the orphanage,, leaving HIM,, so they just make up some bullshit excuse as a desperate attempt to make them stay,, the pc immediately saw right through him though and just,, blew up,, what is it this time?? what other shit are they gonna be forced to do just to be set free?? why can’t he just let them go?? BONUS POINTS IF THE SIDE PLOT IS THE LAST BAILEY FICLET U WROTE WHERE THE PC JUST USES BAILEY FOR SEX JDNWHJSJSJSJSJHWJSJWJ 😼😼

eheh so

[part 1] [part 2]

(gn Reader, you/you; amab Bailey, he/him; noncon; incredibly brief gun mention; aaaaaaangst; penetration, reader receiving; collaring)

Words: ~1.1k

"Here."

Bailey doesn't look up as you hold out an envelope, this week's "rent" tucked safely inside. He doesn't see you roll your eyes dramatically as he continues to work on his computer, slowly yet steadily typing away, but he doesn’t need to. Not really. He knows you by now, more than he's really willing to admit. 

You huff a small laugh, letting the door shut with a soft click as you take confident slides across the room. Unafraid. Makes his blood boil. Makes his jaw tense, his fingers twitch. You haven’t been afraid of him for far too long, since before the first time you took his cock. Of course not, not when you’ve just used him for a good lay. People don’t tend to fear their toys. Maybe mock shudder at the size, gasp about the thickness, mark out the length on their arm. But fear them? No. No, people don’t fear their toys, and that’s what you've been using Bailey as this whole time. A toy. 

That would change today. 

He’d make sure of it. 

You toss the envelope on his desk, laughing as you slide between your caretaker and his work. Laughing at how he lets you. It’s with a practiced ease that you straddle him, arms draping over strong shoulders and a hand coming up to thread through dark locks. It feels nice, having you close, body pressed to his, nails scratching his scalp. Still, Bailey sneers as you block his computer from view, scarred hands falling to rest on your hips as their place at the keyboard becomes useless. 

“Pouting?” you coo, laughing again when his only response is to give your hips a harsh squeeze. "Big bad Bailey, upset that his favorite is leaving? Mopey you won't get a nice fuck every now and then?” Teasingly, you rock your hips forward, pressing against the growing bulge in Bailey’s trousers. There’s a spark in your eyes, an infuriating grin on your lips as you delight in his body’s reactions to yours. “Want one last fuck before I leave the shit hole forever, hm?” 

He ignores the twinge in his chest at your words, instead meeting your mirth-filled gaze with a deadpan stare. "I don't have favorites-"

"Course not," you butt in with another soft laugh. 

"And you're not leaving."

Your laugh dies, body going stiff in Bailey's lap. "What?"

Squirming gets you nowhere, Bailey is more than ready for your reaction, his grip on your hips bound to bruise as he keeps you firmly in place. The bruises on your hips might even match the ones you’re giving him, fingers digging into his forearms. 

“This is my last payment,” you snarl, all the light-hearted teasing long gone as you keep trying to put space between you and your caretaker to no avail. The only thing you achieve is to unintentionally grind against Bailey’s cock in your struggles. 

“You still owe me.”

You freeze, fury burning bright in your eyes as you look at him. “That’s bullshit,” you all but spit. “I’ve paid your fucked up ‘debt’ back, I owe you nothing.”

There’s a beat of silence as you and Bailey stare each other down. Maybe you realize it then, that Bailey won’t let you go, that he can’t. Maybe from the way his pupils have blown wide, maybe from the tilt of his jaw, maybe from the way he hasn’t done anything to hurt you besides keep an iron grip on you. Maybe from the way his cock is still hard, straining against the fabric of his trousers. 

It doesn’t matter, really. 

With a half-strangled shriek, your hands wrap around his throat. That’s all he needs for him to justify slamming you back onto his desk, one hand keeping your wrists pinned so you can’t claw at his face, the other ripping away your clothing so he can show you where you belong. You want to tease him? String him along for months? Use him? Fine, he dealt with that, he dealt with the tightness in his chest and the long nights where he couldn’t keep his mind from wandering to you. He made plans and fuck if he wasn’t going to follow through on them.

You’re yelling, swearing, thrashing in his grip. But that doesn’t matter. It doesn't. Not when your insults turn to pleas or when your screams turn to sobs. It doesn’t matter. Bailey tugs down his trousers just enough to free his aching erection from the confines of his pants. It’s then that tears spring to your eyes as you feel the fat head of his cock press against your entrance, an act that makes something in his chest twinge even while it makes his cock twitch. Both are equally concerning if he were to be honest with himself, which he isn’t. Instead he ignores both, pressing into you with no prep, delicious friction almost painful.

It’s as he bottoms out, sharp hip bones pressed flush against you, that you go limp, fight dying out in you as Bailey sets up his customary brutal pace. Normally something like this would have you squealing, singing his praises with your ankles locked behind his back and any snarled demand for you to shut it only making you clench around him harder.

Not this time. Of course not, he knew what he was doing. Still, the way you just lay across his desk, taking it, eyes glassy with unshed tears and focused on some point behind him makes him want to get your attention. Fully. 

The hand not keeping your wrists pinned grips your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. “Don’t look away.”

“I hate you.”

If something cracks in Bailey’s chest at those words, he doesn’t show it. “I know.”

You don’t say anything else, don’t do anything else, silently fighting back tears of pain and frustration, enduring Bailey’s treatment of you until he cums with a soft grunt. 

He keeps himself pressed against you as he cums, painting your insides with his seed.

Marking you, he thinks dimly, before shaking the thought from his head.

You lay there, motionless on his desk as he keeps you pinned. 

Perfect.

Without looking, he pulls open the top drawer on his desk. Normally he’d have it locked, his gun tucked securely inside. Not today, though. Not when he knew you’d be stopping by to give your “last” payment. Before you get the chance to try squirming away again, his hands are around your throat, snuggly securing a shock collar in place.

Your hands fly to the metal, attempting to tug it off, but it’s already too late. 

“See,” he says with a sneer, “you’re not leaving.”

[literary-motif]

I love you writing really really muchh!! 💗

Can u write something with kayson?

Thank you <3 I'm glad you like it :)

Under The Surface

Kayson x Reader

Warnings: implied issues of self-worth, overworking

You overwork yourself, but Kayson is there to take care of you.

You were dead on your feet. The past few weeks of lectures and exams had taken everything out of you, and whatever dregs of strength you had left after handing in your final essay were rapidly draining by sitting at your desk and preparing yet another presentation. 

The professors should be tired of them by now, but evidently, they got some twisted enjoyment out of forcing you to work past your breaking point. 

You sighed, checking your notes again and trying to fit the picture you had found into the little box next to the text. Powerpoint was not cooperating and you were increasingly getting annoyed. You were not even halfway done, and the urge to curl up on your bed and sleep for a week was growing harder to ignore by the second. 

Still. You knew you couldn’t. If you did not finish this presentation now, you were sure you never would. It took all of your self-composure and an iron-tight hold on your sense of duty to sit down at your desk and leaf through the textbook to take notes on your assigned topic. 

It took all you had left to start the presentation, and you knew you would break down sobbing the next time you would have to sit down to finish it. No, it was easier to do it now, and after you would get to relax. After you were allowed to lay down and finally, finally rest. 

After the work was done.

“Hello my spooky Ghost,” Kayson’s voice startled you out of your revision, making you lose the train of thought on how best to connect the subjects on the slides. 

You turned your head and smiled tiredly in his direction, too worn out to even mutter a simple greeting as you faced your keyboard again. You had to finish this.

“Hard day?” he asked softly, walking towards you and looking over your shoulder at the presentation. “Wow, this looks amazing,” he muttered, skimming over the slide you were working on and glancing at the pages of notes spread out next to your laptop. 

Kayson tilted his head to place a soft kiss against your cheek. You could feel the smile on his lips. The sheer joy radiating off of him when you two were in each other's company still had you perplexed sometimes. He was overflowing with love for you, that a simple thing such as seeing you walk across campus, hurrying to your next class while he had a free period, and shooting a small smile his way, had him beaming back at you, his eyes shining with adoration. 

His open affection was something you had not entirely grown used to, and the heartwarming feeling of being loved unconditionally — no matter what you did, no matter the worth of your work, no matter your intelligence or academic career — still had you tearing up when you thought about it too much. 

It was foreign, seeing the worth in yourself outside the things you accomplished. Kayson made you feel comfortable with yourself and helped you to accept the mistakes you would make in everyday life. “Not everything you do has grave consequences,” he had told you once, smiling sheepishly as you noticed a glaring spelling mistake in the email you had sent, “It doesn’t matter, relax. You don’t have to be perfect all the time.”

You knew that, of course. Perfection was an unattainable goal, but your brain somehow had not quite internalized that memo. That was why you had studied relentlessly for weeks.  That was why you wrote half a dozen essays for extra credit. That was why you agreed to do another presentation despite barely being able to string together a coherent sentence, worn out and exhausted out of your mind.

“I got dinner,” Kayson whispered kindly, wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his head on your shoulder, nuzzling against your neck. “And I hope you’re willing to eat takeout with me while we cuddle on the couch and watch one of these old horror movies you wanted to show me. That sounds nice, doesn't it?”

Humming in agreement, you kept typing. Kayson frowned, loosening his embrace to stand beside you and look at your face properly. Your eyes were dull, your fingers hitting the keys with only a fraction of the accuracy you usually had. The exhaustion he could see in your hunched posture, the tension he felt in your jaw as he kissed you made his frown deepen. He was worried about you. 

“Hey Spooky,” he said, nudging your chair to turn to face him. You did not comply, keeping your eyes fixed on the screen. “Can you look at me for a moment, please?”

“‘M busy, Kayson,” you mumbled, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment to fight off the burning, turning your vision blurry. How long had you been working? It didn’t matter, you were still far from done.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, the slight teasing in his tone was replaced with a quiet sadness that made your heart ache and you sighed softly, giving in to his wishes. Seeing him sad was a pain you always tried to avoid. When your eyes met, he gave you a tender smile, lighting up with his usual fondness for you. “Thank you,” he whispered, reaching out his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

The window behind him showed the darkness of the night sky, making you wince at the hours that must have passed ever since you sat down to continue your work. “Takeout is great,” you said, noting the distant hunger making itself known now that your nearly unbreakable concentration had lessened. “But later, I need to finish—”

“No,” he interrupted you, taking your hand to tug you out of the office chair, “Enough for today. I can tell you’ve been at it for hours, and you’re tired. You look exhausted. I know I call you my Ghost, but that doesn’t mean I want you to look like the dead!”

You tried to protest, but Kayson wanted none of that, sneaking an arm around your waist and leading you towards the couch. “Kayson, I really need—” you tried again as he drew you  to sit down on the soft cushions, making sure the pillows were arranged the way you liked them and the blanket was within your reach.

“Yes, you really need to unwind right now, I agree,” he said, looking at you intently with a stare that told you he would be immensely hurt if you dared to get up and walk back to your desk. 

You sighed, resolve breaking as you sunk deeper against the pillows. It was no use to fight Kayson when he tried to take care of you, so you just let it happen, allowing yourself to relax and trying to push away the nagging thoughts about your unfinished work.

Kayson smiled again, leaning over to place a chaste kiss against your lips before he got up, shooting you another warning glance to stay put. He returned a moment later with the food he had picked up, placing it on the coffee table in front of you before sitting down beside you again. 

“Do you want to watch a movie?” he asked, the care for you bleeding into his every word as he gathered you into his arms. You hummed in contentment as you felt him trace slow circles against your back, working out the tension that rested there. “Or are you too tired? We could watch a show instead and you can fall asleep on me. What would you like?”

You buried your head against his chest, mumbling something incomprehensible. Kayson chuckled, running his fingers through your hair before tilting your chin upward slightly to understand you better. “You decide,” you repeated tiredly, reaching over his lap to grab the takeout.

Kayson chuckled, taking the bag from you gently and placing a kiss against the back of your hand before handing you your food. “I’ll take care of everything,” he said, looking at you with a love so deep reflected in his eyes, that it stole your breath for a moment. “Don’t worry about anything. Just relax, Spooky. I love you. So much.”

[mae-gi-writes]

More love, more us, more healing . mark lee

Burnt out and overworked, your boyfriend Mark decidedly takes your mental state into his hands and shows you that life is much more than just jobs and routine.

Genre: fluff, angst, feelings of anxiety and helplessness, mark is a cutie.

A/N: For all those who are struggling with their day-to-day life, this is for you.

Song inspiration: More - Sam Ryder

----

"No."

Mark looks at you as if you've grown two heads, "what do you mean, no?" He demands with wide eyes.

"No means no. I need to finish this chapter before I can chill out," you don't even bother looking at him as you type out the words, the sounds of the keyboard bouncing off the walls of your Air BnB apartment that you've rented out for this week.

"You're in Dubrovnik," Mark leans over the table to catch your eye, though you do a good job of avoiding his, "there's no way you're being the slightest bit productive--"

"Mark, please. I'm really trying to finish this here," you send him a look that shows you're actually serious, "just give me ten minutes and I'll be good to go."

A sigh escapes his lips and he collapses into the chair next to yours, looking out at the panoramic view of the seascape speckled with shards of white from the reflection of the sun.

You're actually surprised and glad that he's listening to you, and resume typing up the last chapter for the story you've been posting online for free. It's easy getting back into that headspace when the silence overtakes the room, the quiet buzz of the air conditioner providing good background noise to channel your focus.

But all that is quickly shattered when Mark suddenly bolts upright, chair squeaking. He grabs onto your forearm and tugs you up to standing

"What the--Mark!"

He closes your laptop and drags you out of the door.

"Mark!" You're fighting against his iron hold even if you know it's in vain. He's not going to let you go so easily, so soon, "I didn't even save my work!"

He responds with a mere “later” as he continues dragging you out wherever he’s planned this small adventure.

Your mind immediately starts racing to all the things you still have not yet done; you forgot to send that work email that had been promised this morning, your files still need to be sorted and you briefly remember seeing your colleague’s message pop up on your screen as you were writing out your story instead of focusing on work. You mentally groan; why couldn’t have started with the ones that needed your attention the most?

It’s always this weird downward spiral in which you realize that you haven’t accomplished what you hoped you would. And then, the disappointment seeps through. Followed by shame and irritation.

Mark must have seen the look on your face, for he’s quick to press a kiss to your forehead. You blink, steered right back into the present.

“You’re getting distracted again,” he grins lopsidedly as he always does, that crooked smile that always gets your heart beating a little faster somehow, “stop that brain for a minute,” and he presses a finger to the same spot he’d kissed earlier.

“I’m trying,” you mumble out.

It’s not just work. It’s the fact that you’re not even doing a job you particularly enjoy. You spend your days wasted away at a desk, filing paperwork and printing stuff for people upon request. So whatever you do after work-hours has to be decidedly productive or towards your ideal career, that’s what your brain has trained you to think, anyway.

Every day upon coming home, it’s routine to dump the laptop and work bag on the couch before opening up your personal PC, where you’d type away at a new chapter in hopes of getting it done by the time Mark gets home for dinner. You take a small break during dinner to have nice, simple conversation, then you switch to the small art pieces you’ve been trying to create and that means splitting your time between actually making the art work and actually managing the Instagram page.

There’s no time left before bed. And the next day is the exact same cycle all over again.

No sooner have you started this so-called ‘productive’ routine that it turns toxic, though you don’t see it. Mark does and he’s reprimanded you multiple times for it.

“That much social media ain’t good for you,” he used to say as he watched you from his spot at the sink. He’s the one on cleaning duty while you’re the one cooking. It’s only fair that you divide the tasks.

“I need to do it.”

“You don’t need to do it.”

“Yes. Yes I do,” you looked at him then, “easy for you to say when you write songs for a living. That’s literally the best life anyone could ever ask for.”

“It’s a job,” Mark replied, “at the end of the day, we’re all tired.”

He’d been right that time. He’s always right.

But he came from a place of success. He had multiple opportunities to show his talent. Had the choices given to him.

And you always had to grovel as if you were being left behind.

“Alright, we’re here.”

Mark’s voice jolts you back to the present and you snap back to attention, only to gape at the entirety of seascape that dwarfs you over the horizon, beyond the bus windowpanes from behind which you’re watching. Mark’s hand finds yours, squeezing softly as he leads you out of the vehicle and it isn’t until you’re stepping onto the pavement that he throws his arms out, head tilting back up to the sky.

“Breathe in!” He sucks in a loud breath and you giggle, swat his arm for good measure, “stop it. You’re so embarrassing.”

“That’s my middle name baby,” he winks at you, causing you to swat him again as embarrassment takes over. Always the one with the flirting, even after four years together.

The roads in Dubrovnik aren’t like normal city streets. They follow the flow of the mountain, winding up and down, going narrow then expanding wide whenever it allows for space. They are flanked by multitudes of rocks and a rich foliage of green adorning the houses that line the street.

You spot other tourists making their way down the stony steps leading to the beach, where Mark is currently directing you. Beyond lies the glimmering turquoise sea water sloshing up to the bank of jagged rocks from where people are currently jumping off of. In the distance, you hear the sound of waves, the call of seagulls, the chatter of voices.

Life, in general.

"Shall we?" Mark gestures towards the stone steps leading to the beach and you nod mutely, still on the fence about leaving everything behind. Aren't you just wasting time like this? Maybe you should--

All thoughts scatter when he tugs you to him and before you know it, he's sauntering down the said stairs, whistling a tune under his breath, you in tow.

"Mark, I--"

"If it's about doing something productive, I don't wanna hear it."

Your laugh escapes you before you can stop it, "actually no, it's about the beach thing."

"What about it?" He turns to look at you and his sunglasses slip down his head to his nose. Your laugh increases tenfold and if you had taken notice of him, you would've seen the grin widening across his face.

"Well, I wanted to tell you that I'd prefer the shade," you say, following down the rest of the steps until you reach the rocky floor leading to the water, "it's hot and I don't feel like burning myself."

"That can be arranged princess."

You flush once more, swat him on the arm, "stop it you idiot.”

"You like it when I call you that huh?" Mark teases as you move to a shadier area and you pull a face at him, knowing that hitting him won't have any effect anyway.

People are everywhere; lounging along the beach on towels, sunbathing like cats in the sun, plunging in and cliff jumping like there's nothing else more important in the world.

You’re about to say something, only to be interrupted by Mark grabbing your cheeks and squishing them up.

“Gotta smile a little,” his voice is bubbly and yet, it’s the tenderness in his eyes that makes your heart feel all fuzzy, “life’s good. Right?”

“Right,” you mumble, mystified that this amazing man would want to go out with the likes of you.

But true to his promise, Mark is right. The water does cool you down and allow the thoughts to melt away as you submerge yourself. The freshness makes you gasp, hairs on the back of your neck rising with goosebumps as your body automatically moves to provide some warmth.

You can’t help but yelp when he inevitably splashes you with water, “Ugh Mark!”

He laughs, shrieking as you splash him back, “okay okay!” He giggles, ducking this way and that in an attempt to avoid your assault, “truce! I call truce!”

You lower your hands, lowering your guard and it’s only when you’re swimming away that his hands come pressing down on your shoulders.

He dunks you headfirst and you come up screaming.

“You are so annoying!” You push seawater and hair out of your eyes, hands blindly splashing him some more.

“Oh gosh Y/N,” he’s chortling and choking on water, hands coming up to shield his face, “your face! You should’ve seen your face!”

“I hate you!”

“No you don’t!”

And in a flash, his arms weave around your waist.

He blocks your arms at your sides, cages you in his hold until you’re face to face.

He grins at you with adoration in his eyes and you find yourself grinning too.

“You’re an idiot,” you murmur while his forehead leans against yours.

He chuckles softly before one of his hands slide up to cup your cheek, “an idiot for you, surely.”

“Oh stop it with the sweet talk.”

“But how am I supposed to woo your pants off?” He pouts.

“Easy. You don’t.”

"I so do."

Your hand clamps down onto his mouth, “you talk too much.”

He mumbles a string of incoherent words that make you laugh even more, only to lick your hand.

You yelp, pulling away as he smacks his lips, “hmm. Salty.”

"You are disgusting."

"But you love me."

"Not when you do that, no."

"You dooo," he whines like a kicked puppy, "you can't live without me Y/N."

Sighing, you're well aware that he's saying the truth, "you're right. I cannot--"

He's quick to interrupt with a kiss. He grins at your astounded expression. Then, heat flushes right up to your cheeks.

"Idiot," you hide your face into the crook of his neck so as not to show your embarrassment but it's of no use. Mark pulls you away to grin at your flustered expression and you know, despite the fact that you hate how transparent you are, Mark loves it terribly.

"Cute," he steals another kiss before you cab say anything else, and you splutter, "y--you--"

"Yes? I? Blew you off your feet?" He nuzzles his nose with yours, "as I always do?" And proceeds to kiss your cheek, giggling.

This is presumably what you love the most about Mark. He makes you forget the troubles of life if only to live in the moment. You can let go of everything and just be for a little while, you can relax and be yourself. The self that isn't weighed down by the numerous impossible tasks set for you.

You get cold soon enough and decide to warm up in the sun, sitting atop rocks with both legs dangling as you talk about everything, about life, about what you should do for the rest of the day.

"I'm hungry." You tell him after a while.

He hums, "what shall we eat? I know they're famous for their seafood."

You decide on walking along the street, as per what Mark likes to refer as "Hakuna Matata" style. That is, until you stumble upon a hot dog stand.

"You want that?" Mark asks after noticing the way you keep glancing back at it.

"Do you?"

He slings an arm around your shoulder with a grin, "if you want it, I want it too."

Afterwards, you decide to visit the famous Old Town, a tourist village of old stone buildings, millions of stone steps winding in and out of the main road as if you've stumbled into a fairytale. Your eyes take in the red-tiled rooftops, the buildings made up of stone pieces and the beautiful architecture that surrounds it. And you suddenly realize one thing:

You're incredibly lucky.

You are lucky to be here. Lucky to even have the opportunity to see all this.

And yet, you had been stressing about work and about not meeting deadlines.

It's when you're sitting outside on the steps leading to a random cathedral eating ice cream that you voice this out to Mark.

"Yeah you stress a lot Y/N. Sometimes you gotta just--" Mark gestures a wave with his hands, "let it go."

"I know," you mumble, finishing off the last of your ice cream, "it's easier said than done though."

His hand rubs comforting circles over your shoulder. Then, he motions for you to get up.

"Come on," he wipes the dust from his shorts, reaches a hand out for you to take, "let's go do something wild."

Turns out that "something wild" means cliff jumping on the edge of the open-air Pub that overlooked the ocean.

"You want me to jump that?" Your fear gets the better of you. You peek over the rock edge down at the deep aquamarine of the water below and wonder if this is the day you'll die.

"You better, because there's no other way down than this one," one of the other boys who had climbed up after you and Mark says. And then off he goes, catapulting into the water with a huge splash and a cry.

You look at Mark, "you want to kill me."

He laughs, a hand circling your waist before he presses a kiss to your forehead, "you want me to go first?"

"No no," you know that if Mark goes first you'll never have the courage to jump, "I'll go."

And so you do.

Taking a deep breath, you try to atabilize yourself and close your eyes. Then, without thinking twice, your feet kick off the stone and push yourself into the void, adrenaline rushing through your body.

You float in mid-air for a moment and you can't help the scream that tears out of your mouth.

And then the water hits. Your body plunges into the depths.

It's refreshing. It's cool, and the sound of rushing water fills your ears as you float up to the surface.

A grin blossoms across your face as you look up at the rocky cliff.

"Wooo!" You yell at Mark, "this is so cool!"

"Woo!" He yells back, "catapult! Incoming!"

And a second later, he's splashing in right beside you and you laugh. A full, deep-bellied laugh for the first time in ages.

"Pretty cool huh?" He pushes his wet hair back from his face and you help him, an affectionate smile on your lips, "yeah, pretty cool indeed."

"See? You would've missed all this if you were cooped up in your room," he nudges your arm with his as your hand finds support on his shoulder.

“Maybe I would’ve finished my work earlier,” you joke.

“But you’d just go back to work on something else,” he pushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “at least you get to enjoy yourself a little.”

“Have you ever considered doing a ted talk?” You ask him as you start swimming back towards the ladder, the cold finally seeping into your bones and making you shiver, “you might want to switch careers.”

“Nah but then I wouldn’t be able to personally counsel my girlfriend,” he looks up at you while you rummage for some dry towels. Tossing them at him, he continues, “where’s the fun in that?’

“Your girlfriend can do just fine.”

“Can she?” He raises a brow, “I don’t doubt it. But she still needs someone.”

It’s the way he looks at you as he says those words coated with nothing but a deep, full-fledged affection that makes you want to burst out into happy tears. You blink them back fiercely, turning away so as not to make a fool out of yourself as you grovel for an answer, “stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” His grin widens. He moves closer, chest almost touching your shoulder before he leans in and ever so slightly, murmurs into your ear, “like I love you?’

“Yes,” you narrow your eyes, “exactly that.”

Laughing some more as he winds an arm around your waist, he squeezes you to him, “love you,” he mumbles into your hair.

“Love you too.”

As the sun falls over the coast of the island, the pair of you decide to dash back to your little accommodation for a quick shower before deciding to have an early dinner by the beach. You walk along the shore spanning from one coastline to the next and as the golden hour comes up to unfurl its dreaminess onto the Croatian landscape, you can’t help but lose yourself in the beautiful way the sun glimmers over the waves to cast amber light over its surface, the sky turning a bright pinkish orange with cotton candy clouds that makes you dream forever.

You find a little spot by the rocks where the waves lap up at intervals and, with your Mcdonald burgers in hand — as basic as you are despite the abundance of amazing Dubrovnik food in the area — you sit back and watch the sun cast a final goodbye over the horizon before its like disappears.

“I actually don’t want this day to end,” is what falls out of your mouth when the final slithers of the sun drop away from view to cast shades of blue over the beach, “I don’t think I’ve laughed that much in a while.”

“It’s nice to see you like that,” Mark turns to you then, that same soft smile gracing his lips and making your heart tickle. He presses his shoulder to yours, a gesture of comfort that warms you up, “you work so much that I tend to forget how you look like when you smile—“

“Don’t be so dramatic—“

“I’m not, Y/N.” His eyes find yours, “I mean it. You come home always tired and I don’t know what’s going on because every time I ask you, you brush me away and say you don’t want to talk about it. That’s fair enough, but do you know how helpless I feel when you’re literally sleepwalking around the house? It hurts me more than you think, Y/N. And it’s worse because I can’t do anything about it.”

Everything he says rings with truth, and despite the fact that he’s being gentle and is actually saying this for your benefit, you can’t help the tears that swell up in the corner of your eyes and you look away in fear that he’ll see you sniffling, hating how ignorant you’d been of what Mark was going through because you were too wrapped up in your own little world to care.

“I’m sorry,” is what you mumble out, “I didn’t realize how bad it had become.”

Mark shakes his head before his arm weaves around your waist to tug you closer, “no need for sorry’s,” his lips ghost over your temple, “I just want you to smile more, to be happier, to have things to laugh about.”

“I’ll try to take care of myself more.”

“Yeah and I’ll be there to bully you if you don’t,” he grins against your forehead.

You push at him in response, though there’s a wide grin almost splitting your face in two as you nuzzle even closer to try and hide your face into the crook of his neck. A comfortable silence takes hold and you bask in the serenity it brings; here with Mark and with remnants of salt on the tip of your tongue, you allow yourself this moment to enjoy the lapping of waters, the soft rocking of boats tied to the harbor, the call of birds to signal the end of the day. And you know that you’d live for more days like this with Mark at your side.

“Hey,” Mark’s murmur causes you to blink up at him, only for his mouth to descend on yours, sealing that moment with a sweet kiss.

You stifle a breath to kiss back, one of your hands sliding up to press along his neck to deepen it. His tighten his hold around your waist and as your bodies press together, your mouths start moving in sync, slowly, slow waves softly bobbing and meeting half-way. Goosebumps rise along the back of your neck, heat coiling through your stomach the more you keep kissing, the more your lips chase each other’s as if there’s nothing else in the world that matters but this moment, this touch from him to you, from you to him.

Mark tilts his head to the side and you angle yours as you feel the warmth of his tongue licking along your bottom lip. You open up to him, allowing him to delve in as a soft whimper jumps out from your throat. He grunts in response and pulls you even closer if that’s possible.

As light-headed as you feel, you pull away in order to halt yourself from getting too carried away by the magic of it all. You are in a public space after all and definitely not in an appropriate one to exchange such intimacy.

Mark’s forehead finds its way to yours and he grins down at you wickedly, the same little mischievous boy that has stolen your heart for safekeeping.

“Thank you,” you breathe out in the comfortable silence wrapping you up in a cocoon of warmth you’d like to call home, “thank you for taking care of me.”

“Thank you,” he says back before pressing one last kiss to your lips, “for loving me.”

“Ew, how are you so cheesy?” You try to wrinkle your nose, even lean back for good measure, but he beats you to it by caging you in his hold and chuckling when it’s clear you won’t be able to get out so easily.

“Just for you, baby,” he smiles at you easily and your heart melts in your chest.

Mark’s right. You need to stop, and breathe, and live a little more. All this time you’ve been running around the clock in a competition against no one but your own shadow, and at the end of the day, you’re still human. You still need to rest, to have peace, to have love. And to be loved.

To be loved, and to give more love.

And you can’t think of anyone else you’d like to share it with other than Mark.

[crushedgraham]

Submitted by @sgetous: "sombra smut and fluff with fem latina reader 🌚 the plot can be up to you! im just sooo THIRSTY for sombra"

Drunk on You

pairings: sombra x fem! latina reader

summary: after one too many drinks at festival de la luz in sombra's hometown, she gets a little too handsy in the club

warnings: bottom!sombra, top!reader, public sex (Olivia gets horny on the dance floor), semi public sex, alcohol consumption, weed, intoxication, bad google translated spanish, not proof read bc im tired

a/n: as an asian, i don't know how to write for latinas BUT I TRIED MY BEST (also, i attempted a new format bc im trying to be like those cutesie aesthetic fanfic girlies)

As the New Year approached and festivities were in full force, Talon's schemes were put on hold. And considering it was officially your first year with Olivia, you thought it was rightfully fitting to spend the holidays together in one of your home towns. Olivia didn't seem to share the sentiment.

When you proposed the idea to her, her fingers stopped working at the holographic keyboard instantaneously. "Why would you want to go there?"

Even with her back turned to you, you could just hear the curl in her upper lip to really emphasize the "there". Though you paid no mind to her obvious distaste, instead, gripping the leather of her office chair to swivel her around to face you. Olivia's arms were crossed and her bottom lip poked out ever so slightly in the smallest of pouts.

Bending down to rest your hands on the arm rests of her chair gives Olivia the perfect view of your cleavage accentuated by your tank top. Distractedly, the hacker licks her lips, eyeing the remnants of faded hickeys that lingered on the flesh. Taking advantage of the situation, you lean further down, trailing your nose along the length of her neck until you reach her ear.

"Por favor, amor"

The groan she lets out and the subtle tilt of her head backwards lets you know that you're definitely getting your way (in more than one way), after all Olivia was always weak for you.

That's how you ended up 7 shots deep into the winter night of Dorado's chilly air. But the sweaty bodies bumping against one another in the cramped club and the alcohol flowing through your veins brought an intoxicating warmth to the air. And as much of a fuss Olivia made about the trip (she agreed after a long night in bed and on the account that you stayed relatively hidden in an underground club), she seemed to be enjoying herself just as much as you were - if not more.

This was one of the rare occasions that Olivia didn't have to care about Talon or work and she was ready to take full advantage of it. And that she did.

At this point, you didn't know how many drinks she had drunk or how many joints she smoked. All you knew was that her hips were grinding against your ass and her lips were bruising your neck with promises of her love for you. Olivia's breaths were heavy against your skin as her hips swayed and rocked, her hands dragging along your waist to match her movements. It was simply intoxicating - she was intoxicating.

"Feel's so good, Corazón- so good,"

The change of pace makes you turn your head to the side, Olivia's hips more so rutting into your ass instead of actually dancing and the blissed out expression on her face made her intentions a little too obvious. As turned on and drunk as you were, you were not about to have sex in a sea of partygoers.

With more force than you thought you needed to use, you pull your body away from Olivia's iron grip. The whine she lets out makes a small smile spread on your lips.

"Come, Liv, let's take a break" You have to shout the words a little louder than necessary solely because of how loud the music was.

But the hacker seemed almost in a haze - nodding obediently while taking your guiding hand.

The small bathroom drowns out a little of the blasting music, enough for you to be able to hear your own thoughts without a base drop accompanying it. Sparing a glance at Olivia slumped against the tile of the wall, in between her lips sits a sloppily rolled joint she must've snagged from a random table. The smoke filters throughout the bathroom, forcing you to lean over the rim of the sink to get a better view of your smudged make up. Pulling together what little amount of soberness left in your body, you carefully drag the lip liner across the edges of your lips.

The feeling of familiar hands dragging up your arms to your shoulders pulls your gaze away from your lips to meet Olivia's eyes in the mirror. The typical violet irises are almost completely drowned out by her dilated pupils. Her eyes follow the ministrations, now of your lip-gloss smearing across your lips.

Once you secure the items back in your bag, Olivia slips the joint from her lips to yours - her eyes never leaving from your lips wrapping around the joint. Slowly, you inhale, the smoke puffing up your lungs with burning addiction. Two of your fingers pluck the joint from your lips, smearing your lip-gloss ever so slightly. The sight of your smudged make up and the smoke escaping your pretty lips has Olivia biting at her lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Chica bonita, mi chica bonita," Olivia mumbles the words like a prayer, her thumb reaching up to wipe at the smeared gloss.

As her thumb drags along your bottom lip, you slip it into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around the digit, drawing back to press against the pad of it - opting to hollow your cheeks and suck along the weight of it. The innocent look on your face as you look up at her through your lashes with her thumb snug between your lips does unimaginable things to her.

Olivia reluctantly pulls her thumb out and brings the joint, still held between your fingertips, to her mouth. She holds the smoke in her mouth and pulls you in for a bruising kiss - breathing the smoke into your awaiting lungs. Olivia's lips are unrelenting, the kiss is sloppy and it's just what you wanted - all teeth and tongue, almost like she was trying to devour all of you.

Her hands roam across your body, mapping out every curve and contour of your body. And yet it's not enough for her.

"Touch me. Need you Corazón" Olivia's hands are greedy - one groping at your body and the other pushing your own down her jeans. The amount of slick pooling and seeping through her panties (if not for the dim lighting, you'd surely see a dark patch along the seam of her jeans) makes you moan against her lips.

The position is awkward for your hand but as worked up as Olivia is, even the slightest bit of friction could make her cum. Your unmoving hand has her whining and begging into the messy kisses.

"Please, please- fuck! Need you so badly baby," Typically Olivia was a stuck up brat who refused to beg unless she had been edged or teased for quite some time so seeing her submit so easily was a pleasant surprise.

Olivia's hips took the initiative, grinding helplessly against your palm - even that had her eyes rolling into the back of her head. Taking pity on her you pushed two fingers into her, the digits slipping in with no resistance. The moan she lets out is raw and rips from the back of her throat - her head throwing back in euphoria.

"Did you just cum...?" In any other scenario, Olivia would've been embarrassed - knowing that you wouldn't let her live down the fact that she had came so fast. But at this point she couldn't care. All that mattered was that you had two fingers knuckle deep inside of her and she needed a third.

"Don't..hah..stop!" Her voice breaks into a moan at the exclamation.

Taking mercy on her, you work a third digit into her greedy pussy. Pumping the digits in and out of her - smearing slick across her inner thighs and fabric of her ruined panties. The movement that she oh so craved has her screaming and clamping down on the exposed skin of your chest. Shifting ever so slightly for a better angle, you're able to brush against the spongy texture of her g-spot.

"Oh my god- fuck! I'm gonna cum, Y/N-"

Her words die on her tongue as you swiftly pull out your fingers from her, a loud banging on the locked wooden door catching your attention.

"Yo! Anyone in here??" The sounds of a feminine laugh and a masculine voice shouting brings you back to reality - remembering you were occupying the bathroom that other horny couples wanted to exploit.

Olivia's eyes are frantic, her eyebrows cinched together. "I swear to god Y/N if you don't make me cum in the next five seconds I'll delete everything from your phone"

"Better keep quiet then, Princesa"

Swiftly you bring your free hand up to clamp itself against her mouth as you pick up the pace. Curling your fingers repeatedly against her g-spot which in turn grinds your palm against her swollen clit.

Even with the make shift muffle, her scream lets the couple know that the bathroom is currently in use.

At least your phone was safe from Olivia's fury.

[drmflm]

—summary: a visit with the matchmaker proved you had various compatible matches, both in your four pillars and bloodlines. but funnily enough, the greatest of them all was none other than the matchmaker himself.

—pairing: jeonghan x gn!reader

—word count: 2.3k

—genre: fluff, slight angst

—au: matchmaker

—rating: pg-15

—warnings: there is one profane word used at the end, some caressing and kissing, jungkook makes a cameo lol

—prompt: a big thank you to @woozisnoots for the amazing prompts!!! check out their booth here and the rest of the fair here! (it's only open a little while longer so make sure to look around!!)

—note: i did get some inspiration from traditional and modern korean matchmaking, but kind of portrayed it in my own way? so i’m sorry for any inaccuracies u may find 😅💞

—masterlist

When you woke up in the morning, you were immersed with thoughts of loneliness. Being alone for a long time took its toll on the human body, bringing forth a craving for companionship so vast it was unquenchable.

It would have been alright, you supposed, if you were granted the peace to find companionship in your own endeavours, but alas that wasn’t how life worked. Instead, companionship found its way to you—often presenting itself in a form that simply perpetuated your loneliness further. Alas, what was companionship lest it was a filler for loneliness? A superficial replacement, an ersatz of the necessary feeling aloneness awoke… being loved and having someone were two very different concepts. Sure, people found love and companionship—tethered together and happy as can be. But for others, love wasn’t always synonymous with companionship.

This was why you hired a matchmaker.

You’d heard good things about him, Yoon Jeonghan, from your friends and acquaintances. He had a high success rate, often finding perfect matches on the first date. He was prim and proper, and exuded regality. With his wavy brown hair and ironed blazer, he made it very clear that he prioritized his job and only his job.

Hell, the first time you walked in, he said nothing to you unless it was to take in your preferences, bloodline information, and compatibility requirements. He was professional and authentic to the standards your family had set—prioritizing the compatibility of your four pillars, it was critical you found someone who aligned with you in every way.

It was perhaps the most interesting thing you had ever done. Sure, you enjoyed the single life immensely, but after a while, whether it was from societal or parental pressure as well as your own debilitating loneliness, the hunt for someone to love was underway.

You wanted to hold someone close at night, someone to talk to about anything and to have fun times with. You needed someone who wasn’t afraid of trying new things or deviating from what was considered acceptable and instead prioritizing what was right.

So maybe you had high standards, but if nobody fit the bill, you were fine with that. Because settling for someone just for the sake of calling them yours wasn’t something you would ever do. You weren’t in it for the games, and you weren’t ever going to play them with anybody else.

“This is about you,” he said clinically as he worked with your papers, pushing his lenses up his nose. “Based on what I see here, I see that you prefer masculine-presenting people, as well as those with a rebellious streak.”

You felt warm at this candid expression of your preferences, but nodded nevertheless to let him know he was correct.

At this, he hummed, assessing everything once more before typing furiously into his computer, clicking wildly before nodding his head quickly. “Alright, I’ve scheduled a date for you with a lovely fellow named ‘Jeon Jungkook’, and he seems to be compatible with you in 3 of 4 of your pillars.”

You once again nodded at this, accepting kindly and smiling as he typed something into his keyboard before giving you a smile. This time, it felt genuine.

“Well then, I wish you luck on your first date, Y/n. Since there’s still some time left, would you like to ask me any questions or update your preferences?” He asked kindly, placing your papers neatly into a folder.

You thought about it for a moment, tapping a finger against your chin, before looking at him. His eyes screamed kindness at you, even if the tone of his voice seemed antiseptic—not scaling, but rather unemotional.

So you opted to ask a question. “How’s your day been?” You asked, letting a small smile grave your face at his startled expression.

He quickly composed himself, “I am doing just fine, thank you so much for asking. But this is not about me, and I am committed to using our time to give you the best possible options and aid on finding your future life partner.”

There it was again, that professionalism which you respected and also seemed terribly condescending. You knew this wouldn’t be the last time you met with him, and you wanted to ensure that you remained cordial, friendly even.

But he had this wall up, and perhaps it was just protocol, in order to ensure people didn’t get any ideas. So you let it go. But you couldn’t deny that he was devilishly handsome, and if it was in your fate, you wished you could have matched with him.

Jeon Jungkook was very sweet. He was charismatic, and had so many beautiful facets to his personality. He also had such an attractive mischievousness to him that you adored. But he wasn’t someone you could see yourself loving for forever. He was so friendly and sweet, but there was nothing there, nothing more than just friendship.

He agreed, and it seemed you left on good terms, even if you didn’t find the love that you were craving. You had similar interests, and you enjoyed the same things, but it felt more like camaraderie than romance—which, thankfully, you both seemed to recognize.

Now that you had experienced your first match from Mr.Yoon, you realized that he was very serious about his job, and you were stunned to find out how perfect his matches suited you.

Yet, it was almost too perfect, how everything aligned. You craved something that defied the expectations of something comfortable, something perfect. Perhaps it was your reputation for wanting things outside the confines of normalcy, but you wanted something natural, something that didn’t align with everything you wanted.

And you articulated that to him. He seemed to take in these considerations thoughtfully, and before you knew it, he was already preparing your next match. Whilst he worked, he continued to ask you questions, and you in turn, carefully thought out your responses.

Still, no matter how many dates he set up for you, no matter who he found that suited your preferences, they always seemed to let you down. Your potential matches seemed glorious on paper, like they would suit you so well, but when you went to meet them, the atmosphere always felt so uncomfortable, and you hated that.

So it was to be expected that you spent a lot more time in Mr.Yoon’s office. As one of his more difficult clients, the more matches you rejected, the more determined he became to find you the love of your life.

You started having some serious conversations about what you were looking for, and after a while he became someone you could lean on and talk to. He started opening up a little too, confessing that he had yet to find someone who suited him as well, which is where his determination to help stemmed from.

The clinical, assessing nature of your relationship slowly dwindled the more and more personal you got, as well as the longer your search continued on. Yes, your parents were still impatient, but as they heard about how you went out on dates every night, eventually they began to ease the pressure off of you, actually beginning to divert your attention away from it.

It made you realize that you weren’t doing this for them. It wasn’t about fulfilling their expectations, or finding the perfect match. It wasn’t about being determined or tenacious to love. Your motives weren’t noble like that.

Instead, you just found yourself infatuated with the idea that maybe you had already found love.

When you walked in for yet another appointment with Mr.Yoon, he didn’t even bother sighing at another one of your failed dates.

“What was it this time?” He asked, and you noticed he was sporting a pleasant smile. “Not enough mischief?”

“On the contrary, he seemed too mischievous,” you sighed, slumping into the chair across from him. “I didn’t think I could trust him.”

He hummed, typing something into his computer, “okay, I totally understand. It seems you have exhausted all my resources. You’re the first one who hasn’t made it past the first date that I’ve worked with.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, and you just shrugged, “I don’t know why either. I guess I just have high—“

“No,” he interrupted, holding up a hand. “It’s not a matter of high standards. It’s the fact that you are looking for someone specific.”

You blinked, “no, I don’t think so. I think I will know what I want when I find someone who has the qualities I like and fits what I need.” Like him.

He looked at you warmly over the rims of his glasses, before sighing tiredly, “that makes this entire process a lot more difficult.”

You laughed, “I’m sorry, but if it would help I can give you a deeper rundown on what I’m looking for.”

He perked up, “yes yes, that would be perfect.”

“I’m looking for someone who I can have deep, meaningful conversations with, someone who is comfortable to be around,” you said honestly, pleased at how attentive he was, gesturing for you to continue. “I also think it’d be nice if they wore glasses.”

You feared you were being too obvious, but he seemed to gloss over this detail, typing furiously. “Anything else?”

You shook your head, before looking at him, “Hey, what are you four pillars?”

He stared at you for a long moment, frozen in place. He assessed your face, and he must have found something there he liked, because he sighed before standing up and retrieving something from his filing cabinet.

“I don’t usually share my personal information with clients because it lacks professionalism,” he confessed, sitting back down in front of you. “But I consider you a friend now, so it seems only fair to show you this.”

He took in a deep breath, “I don’t want to make things weird, but both our bloodline and four pillars are a perfect match. Both our earth and water pillars seem to complement one another very nicely. Therefore, technically speaking, out of all the matches I’ve found for you—“ he swallowed. “I’m technically the most compatible with you as you are with me.”

You tried to understand his expression, what it was that he was feeling, but he kept his heart so hidden, that you could only nod, leaning in closer, “I guess that’s only one part of it though. Because…” you hesitated, so he gestured for you to continue, “I think it’s how they make you feel that really decides whether they are someone you want to keep by your side.”

He smiled before looking away, “Right, the thing that was missing from all the people I set you up with—“

“I’ve seemed to find it in you.” You blurted, looking away when you saw his shocked expression.

The silence was thick and uncomfortable and you felt your heart sink as he sighed that familiar sigh of finding an incompatible match.

He took his specs off his face, simply looking at you with a sad expression, as if he understood the gravity of what he was about to say.

“Y/n,” he said softly, kindly, much too kindly to bear. “I understand that we both feel strongly about one another but—“

He leaned in closer and closer, till you were face to face. He gently lifted a finger to tilt your head to the side to whisper something in your ear, “I’m sorry, but because of our professional relationship, I find it difficult to accept your confession.”

Both of you were breathing deeply, but more so you at the prospect of your heart being shattered into a million pieces.

You shivered as you felt his breath gently send tingles along your skin, you felt him grin against your skin, “but when was I ever one to ignore a perfect match?”

You froze as he gently tilted you chin towards him with his thumb and index fingers, “Y/n, I don’t know about you, but I think I found what you were missing.”

“You fucker,” you whispered before you gently brought your face forward to connect your lips to his.

At his gentle ministrations, you knew that this is what you wanted. You wanted to have soft, intimate conversations with him, you wanted to hear everything he had to say, and you wanted him to hold you like this for forever.

He was perfect.

You smiled into the kiss, perhaps bloodlines and pillars had a semblance of truth to them, after all.

Having Jeonghan meet your parents was nothing short of terrifying. But after dating for a few months, and having known one another for even longer than that, you felt it was time.

You often laughed about how the two of you started your relationship, noting how sometimes the most fulfilling love was one that wasn’t pursued, but one that gently fell into one’s arms. It was the love that you found serendipitously.

And as the two of you walked up the stone pathway to your parents’ countryside home in the provinces, your intertwined hands swung with the promise of something to last for a very, very long time.

© 2022 svt1117 . all rights reserved.

[fandom-imagination-ss]

Marvel Preferences how they take care of you while your sick 

***********************Bucky******************************

Bucky has been touch deprived for Years. Mainly your entire life plus give or take 20ish years. The moment he meant you he was hooked, you were losing your Mind on a broken-down toddler Ride outside of the Food mart. you were hitting it with your purse as you screamed a bit and were losing your Mind. you just caught your Fiance (the moment you saw him basically Bonking your Sister in the alleyway. while they were supposed to be in the Car waiting for you to grab snacks for movie night) you cursed and While Everyone was trying to leave you alone and was Slightly scared about the women Losing her mind on a red toddler car. Bucky just Melted and watched in Awe. when Bucky later told you after dating for a few months, the moment he knew he loved you and he mentioned that. you begged him to change to another moment when security didn’t escort you off the property. But it was locked in his mind. Bucky was supposed to be a Hot one-night stand to get over your Frustration with your Sister and Fiancé. But the One night turned into more. and you rarely go to sleep without Bucky’s big arms wrapped around you in a big bear trap. 

 but you were now Sick. Not even a little Sick. you had the Flu your body was on fire as you were laying on the bed sweating out the sickness. and you also felt clammy, sore throat, and a bucket next to the bed in case you couldn’t run to the bathroom fast enough. Bucky was a Prince throughout your entire Flu, Getting you crackers, and the soup you like from the store, forcing you to Drink water and whenever your water was empty he would go up and fill it. ordering you to drink more water to flush out the flu. Something about being Sick. you didn’t care you looked like a Troll that just crawled out of the Depth of Hell. or that you looked hideous you felt too awful to Care. Bucky lay beside you. holding your hand as you watch old tv shows. Bucky being a Super soldier couldn’t get Sick. which you were slightly jealous about as he kissed your lips. you smiled softly, ‘i’m so gross. Don’t,  I don’t want you to get sick.” Bucky grinned, cupping your face, “I can’t get sick, remember?” 

“This is like a Super Flu god I’m having hot and cold flashes, and my head is pounding.” he reached over and kissed your forehead softly, “let’s get you more medicine and you take a nap. I Need my favorite girl better.” you smiled softly hearing that. as you smiled reaching up kissing him. he smiled as you spoke, ‘advantage to you never getting sick I can kiss you whenever I want.” he grinned saying you better. 

***********************Tony******************************

Tony loved you, you were an unexpected surprise in his life, brought in by Piper you were a cheerful soul. so when you went home early one day, tony was shocked to hear about it from Happy who kept an extra eye on you while at work. happy regretfully called Tony telling him that you were Sick. Big red Nose, throbbing head, you were found asleep at your desk. with your blanket, which you kept in your office when you get cold wrapped around you as your head was pressed on the keyboard and there were 30 pages of just ‘gibberish of your head pressing the keys  Now tony will fight anything, beat up any bad guy or alien. but when it came to the common cold. he wasn’t your “hero” he bluntly hates sick people and being sick. so when he came to visit you with soup. he wore the iron man suit. which at first you thought was funny. until he started to come in and relax on your sofa. while still in a suit. 

“you going to undress?” you asked to only have Tony give you a cocky grin. till you realized your knight and shiny armor wasn’t going to be “Tony” he was going to stay in the suit. which you found rude. which resulted in you kicking Tony out until you were better. 

revenge was yours when three days later you learned Tony was sick and repaid his kindness to him and wore the suit that you had for emergencies. he then realized how rude he was. and apologized

. ****************************Loki************************************************

Loki has seen you slice your thumb by accident and gushing blood, needing two stitches and you didn’t quiver or shred a tear. you did curse like an old God. but crying or being “dramatic” wasn’t your style, you left your dramatic flare to him. you however refused to accept when you were sick. other because it was an inconvenience to your life, or you simply tried to Will your body to pretend it wasn’t sick. But Loki had No idea how stubborn you truly were until today. when you were supposed to take Loki to a Gala event. that your Parents were dragging you to. Like a true gentleman, he was there early. dressed perfectly in a nice three-piece suit and was dashing and smelt perfect. then he saw the state you were in. More pail than him, the rosy cheeks you always had were gone, your eyes were puffy, and even your throat was slightly swollen. if your death-like appearance didn’t give away you were sick. the two sweaters you wore were a good sign to him that you weren’t up to stuff. a Jumper and your Lazy around Lounging Sweater that you had wrapped tightly over your body. 

Loki stepped over kissing your lips softly, ‘your sick you should have told me.”

you pushed him back stunned, “I am not sick!” Loki Never fearing anything especially human illnesses cupped your face, ‘you need Rest.” 

“I need you!” you said kissing him. he smiled weakly before cupping your face as you pulled away to cough as he heard the flume, you cleared your throat to kiss him and dodged your kiss, “Let’s get you into a hot bath, and curled up in bed.” 

“I’m not sick!” you snorted at him pushing him softly as he fell down falling onto your sofa as you climbed onto him, “if I was sick would I want you right now?” 

Loki chuckled softly caressing your sides as you softly kissed his neck. as you stopped as he craned his neck to look at you seeing you fell fast asleep.” he grinned weakly caressing your sides, “you know how to show a guy a good time Y/N” He lifted you easily up off the sofa. and carried you to your bedroom where he put you under the blankets and caressed your face as you were fast asleep. 

************Steve***********************

Something about being on a mission with your favorite avenger made your day extra gleeful. it wasn’t until mid-day. your stomach Cramp. turned into a twist. and you had to rush from your post. and bolt to a bathroom. Luckily Nat was there to cover for you. but Steve was Furious you ran off. it wasn’t until he came to find you that he found you leaning against the bathroom stall. your body was completely white and you were sweating. bad.

“your sick.” 

“no im dying.” you whinned, Steve walked over touching your forehead feeling you burning up as he scooped you up into his arms as he spoke, ‘you done good Y/N leave the mission to us. you rest up in the hotel.” 

you grumbled you could walk but Steve didn’t let you. he carried you right to the hotel room and in bed. Nat once seeing you sick. was slightly gleeful. finally after two years of dating. Steve was finally going to see you sick. and Nat. who was your best friend. and ws basically your family. was sickly excited to have Steve see you sick. when you weren’t sick you were cheerful and optimsic and generally happy. but when your sick. your nice switch flicks off. and you dont care if your a bear. your grumpy, snappy and honestly mean. Nat couldn’t wait to see Steve reaction to the Sick you. 

“drink lots of water.” 

“I know, unlike you i can get sick. i know what to do!” you grumbled as Steve looked up at you shocked as he spoke, “okay, just dont forget.” 

“shut up.” Steves’ mouth dropped as you told him to just shut up as you rolled over grumbling. he walked out stunned seeing Nat leaning against the wall chuckling, “yea.. Y/N a bitch when she’s sick..” 

“I CAN HEAR YOU!” 

Steve chuckled softly as he spoke, “whoa!”

Nat nodded her head, “you should see her with a cold.. I almost lost a arm!”

Steve couldn’t help have a large smile on his face hearing you get cranky. The most uplifting happy go lucky girl in the world. It was entertaining for him.

**************Thor*********************

The moment Thor hears you have a slight little illness he’s first thought is to take you to his homeland to get healed by his healers. From cramps to a common cold. Even a headache from not drinking enough water. His solution was taking you to Asgard. Which you always refused.but always lead to you being picked up and sent anyways. Thor hated seeing you in pain or discomfort and he’s healers could fix you easily. So he didn’t see the issue. he was a rince after all! what point of being Royal was there if he couldn’t bend the Rules and fix he’s favorite person in the galaxy? 

**************************Steven Grant**************************************************

Steven was the sweetest when it came to you being sick, he would make sure you had some sort of Drink, making sure you drink enough water. he would always Push water at you in a Kind gesture reminding you that the water will Flush away the sickness. if that true or not you weren’t sure but it was hard to say No to Steven when he was so caring. you would gladly take it. as he would make soap for you and get you the crackers you like. which you never have at the house because you Only eat crackers when you are Really sick and they never last. So he would go to the store to get you crackers, and popsicles for your throat. when he returned he would lay next to you in bed. making sure you had your distance as you both would watch movies. as you fall in and out. falling asleep easily.

***********************marc**********************************************************

you hate being sick, but once Marc came into your life. you secretly loved it. he would drop everything to help you, and call you “Baby” every chance he gets, sure he calls you baby when your well and your out. but the sound of “baby” sounded very different. and you loved hearing the softness of his voice. as he called you “baby” and would volunteer to clean up your river of used tissues. which you would complain that he shouldn’t touch so he doesn’t get sick, which he would Risk it. And you would ask the question if he got sick does that mean Steven also gets sick? how does that work. but he would just chuckle and kiss your head and tell you he would tell you when your better. he never does the thought dissapears the moment your feeling bette Go into the danger zone like that. and listen to someone puke their breakfast (and in your case the day before dinner)  He was a caring boyfriend when you weren’t Sick but he treated you extra nice when you were sick and as Messed up as it was. you secretly enjoyed it. you tired faking it Once to get extra attention after he was away for a little to long. but he figured out and gave you a spanking  ((YT Sheldon giving Amy a spanking lol )) 

[plantsarepeopletoo]

Only Friends Music EP3 (1/2)

What am I to you?

Another installment of the Only friends music series. The details continue to be amazing, all praise JoJo. 

Quick recap, music is used in three different ways:

Just background music (Background) - It’s important and creates an atmosphere, like using Disco Frog for Mew and Cheum’s chat at the bar. These I will not use unless I see a theme or something important later.

Playing with Music (Playful) - It’s like body language, the music will pause, start up, move along faster or slower. It's intentionally moving with what is happening on screen.

Verbal/Vocal - Music that is telling us things. It could be songs that have names that seem important or have lyrics that may or may not be in the show. If there are lyrics I will include them, but will specify if they are in OF, and where they start and stop.

Master List here, in my pinned post. These will be long and split into parts, mostly because of lyrics and Music players. Written after EP4 came out, so some EP4 spoilers.

As always, thank you @rocketturtle4 and @shouldiusemyname for help editing and song lyrics.

[1/4]

Song: Eyes in the Back of My Head by Katori Walker Scene: Nick asking twitter about Friends with benefits/Nick and Boston NC scenes Type: Vocal

The full song starts with Nick asking twitter, “Can friends with benefits turn into lovers?”. It ends when Boston lays on the bed. Did Nick finish? Who knows. Not that Nick is here for that right now, let me explain.

Lyrics:

Okay, let's try this I wish I had eyes in the back of my head I been workin' on my pride but the rest of me cares Every time I feel alive, it be love in the air You're my center, don't fold like it's vanity fair Every time that I be down then I'll be runnin' to you It's ironic that I'm scared but I'm callin' you boo Please don't ghost me Love me, hug me, hold me See me, grow me I see whole thing, bragging, boasting To all of my ** Workin' on my pride I been workin' on my pride, yeah I been really scared but a ** really tryin', yeah Never bite my tongue when it's something on my mind, yeah Baby you a gem, I'll never leave you undermined, yeah Pray that's just a phase and we get it back aligned, yeah Oooh Love, pray you stay around me forever and never leave me We'll go together forever, I know you need me It ain’t hard to love you, I promise that shit is easy I can see the future so vivid, I think it's 3D Stay the night forever and ever, I think I'm needy Bein' my reflection, my mirror, I know you see me See me Need me Easy Hug me Love me Trust me Love me Love me

Nick’s fallen hard, so hard, he’s using sex to plead with Boston to need him, love him, SEE him. Nick loves Boston, knows him better now, knows he can’t step out of the narrow box Boston has put him in, but now he’s cornered. Even though Nick sees himself in Boston, he has to keep his pride in check so he can play the submissive cute boy Boston wants. 

“You're down for me. You can’t survive a day without me. I guess my status will be promoted soon.” He knows he’s being needy, Boston’s told him as much, so he’s doing the only thing he knows Boston won’t hate: Using sex to make Boston love him. Nick’s been throwing himself at Boston over and over, everyday. Until he feels sure that Boston will do anything to keep him from going away. Nick got brave, bringing up his status again with Boston. Boston says “It did. I’m your regular now.” Not what Nick was hoping for, he goes quiet. 

Song: Daydreaming At Night by Heyson Scene: Boston and Nick discuss what they are Type: Playful

Song starts after “I’m your regular now” with a ticking sound, the keyboard chords come in when Boston becomes soft to him, and the drums start after “we did promote our status though” the music sounds more and more hopeful, mirroring Nick's mood. And as Boston stands up we get the vocals. 

Nick’s other tool he can use to get Boston to bend, to become a little more soft to him, is to sulk. He did it in the darkroom, asking If he should be glad that he’s a favorite. He did it when he it asked what they were and ended up choosing Fuck Buddies. This time he’s getting Boston to give him a few more crumbs of hope. He'll do it again and again.

Song ends when Nick sets down the picture of the friends.

Song: The Jealousy song. I Still don’t know the real song title.  Scene: Nick looking at what is on Boston's desk

We're shown the pictures and get another twitter response: Maybe he isn’t serious with you because he’s got feelings for someone else.

Last time this played was when Top saw Ray and Mew hugging by the pool in EP2.

Song Replica by I’MIN Scene: Boston asks Nick about CCTV Type: Vocal

Lyrics not in show, Google translated the lyrics.

I wish we were always together   Because everything works  Feels like day dreaming when I’m with you, I love my life don't disappear my everything The chemistry is like no other too You who were always with me whenever I was having a hard time The moment our eyes met share your thoughts telepathy between the two of us Look at me And no where no where can I find someone like you I recognized you at a glance, you are my replica We don’t need to see each other, to know that we’re on the same wavelength oh yea Why can’t we just meet tomorrow still, you are still looking for me I fall asleep thinking of you every day My heart is beating for you Why why why are you wondering  I don’t know what more to expect Of course not You are me, I am you I really don't want to (bad translation, sorry) I'll go see you across the sea I'll do anything, tell me what you want I don't want to be alone again Let's try it first, me and YOLO Yeah I go side by side with you Like an ordinary lover on the weekend want to eat with you There's nothing wrong with what I said Throw away the thought that it won't work Without you, not okay okay To eat well and live well, low key low key It's okay to show all your heart I endured enough, it's unfair Baby I can feel it with you,  Maybe you feel the same with me, too

This whole song hurts so much, unrequited love, maybe even obsession over someone who the singer thinks of as a replica.

It’s a simple scene, Boston comes to ask about cameras for the Hostel, and this cute song starts playing as they discuss security cameras. Nick brings up sound recording 3 times, Boston saying no each time, and Nick accuses him of not being interested in education. 

Nick might be disappointed in Boston not wanting to share in what he likes. This is a maybe for me.

Nick wanted Boston to not just rely on him for camera stuff, wanting Boston to do some work on his own. This feels weak to me.

Nick is disappointed in Boston not wanting to be “educated” by spying on people. Nick is seeing himself in Boston, just like he tells Top in ep4. This is the second song that’s brought it up. So what in Boston is he seeing of himself? This is the explanation I like the most.

Boston is heavy handed with his manipulation, Nick is softer, quieter, quite literally. But they’re still out to get to their goal, they’re both obsessed. Boston uses mostly video surveillance, Nick uses sound, but I would not be surprised if he’d use anything he can get his hands on. Whatever is best for the situation. 

Nick is trying to stretch Boston's morals, no matter what the education comment means. He tries three times to convince Boston to use sound recording. As @rocketturtle4 said, "He is trying to lead Boston astray." And I agree. Nick is soft, Boston is loud.

Song: ร้ายก็รัก by Joey Boy Scene: Top and Mew at the disco Type: Vocal

Lyrics in show:

Every time I watch dramas on TV There are some parts I can never be In the dramas, there are good guys walking around They must be the ones you fantasize about Back to reality, they and I have nothing alike Everyone regards me as a bad guy I guess good guys only exist in fairy tales I’m a villain, no matter how much I love you, I must die eventually, I guess good guys only exist in fairy tales I’m a villain, no matter how much I love you, I must die eventually, In the end, he’s the one who has your love, Though I’m bad and unruly, I love you dearly, I might not look decent but God destined me to be I wanna be a hero, but a villain is my role

Putting in what was heard in the show because the rest is much the same, I’m going to say I don’t have enough information on this. It looks like Top is letting down his barriers and is enjoying his time with Mew. This is a song I’d love to come back to in the future.

[2/4]

Song: All to myself by spring gang Scene: Top and Mew at silent disco, Beam comes to say hi. Type: Vocal

No lyrics in show, but the song lyrics are:

If I can’t be with you, I’d rather be by myself No, I can’t lie, I don’t want anybody else Those happy days, that we once knew So long ago, they still make me blue I want you right right right now If I could show you somehow How much you mean to me If you could only see Baby you know what I want,  and nobody else No one but you Can make me feel the way I do All that I want is to have you to myself No one but you Can make me feel the way I do I lose myself when I think about you I search within, and I want you to find me I want you right right right now I want you right right right now If I could show you somehow How much you mean to me If you could only see

Watching this scene “knowing” Beam is a dealer, not a lover, makes me think Beam knows Mew is a potential partner, and he wants to mess with Top. Beam “I’m taking care of you well in and out of bed” Beam knows what he’s doing and I don’t think Top told the whole truth. I think there is more to Beam and Top's relationship.

Is the song from Beam and Mew’s perspective? This interaction did mess with Mew(and me) 

Another option is the song is from Top’s point of view, a version of Top who wants to date Mew, but is being made into a villain who Mew has to hold at a distance. 

I do want to say Top starts calling Mew his boyfriend after this at the Pool party. Although that was in front of Ray, who he was feeling threatened by.

Song: Eyes in the back of my head (again) Scene: Boston helping nick move Type: Vocal

Stripped down song, no lyrics, but the song ends with:

I can see the future so vivid, I think it's 3D Stay the night forever and ever, I think I'm needy Bein' my reflection, my mirror, I know you see me See me Need me Easy Hug me Love me Trust me Love me Love me

The song starts after Nick says “Besides, if I stay home, I can’t bring people over, right?”

He’s happy, he’s thinking about making sure he can be around Boston, he’s thinking about the future.

Song: Way out of New Orleans Scene: Sand and Ray making food Type: Playful

We start off with a double entendre.

Ray- “I’m hungry. Can I eat too?” Music starts here, guitar repeating a few times, joined by keyboard.

Sand- “Is there any duty I haven’t done for you? I’m your driver, drinking buddy, and shrink. And now I’m your chief?”

“There’s one more duty you haven’t said.” 

“It’s a one-time thing. It doesn’t count.” 

“It doesn’t have to be a one-time thing. I can eat more. It’s delicious.” Ray brings the food parallels back and starts the drums and bass.

“If you want to eat, help out. I’m sure you’ll love my Railway Fried Rice.” The guitar finally moves and starts to play a melody here.

Song: Don’t let me be this way by Sleepaway Camp Scene: Ray and Sand are eating Railway Riced Type: Vocal

lyrics in the show:

Using a tapestry As a map only leads To pattern Rеcognition

Full Lyrics:

I go to bed early And I hope when I Wake in the morning I'm someone different And I wake up And do the same things I Did the day before I'm losing it Oh God please don't Don't let me be this way, I Can't breathe, I can't I can't communicate, I Find every way To start another day and How many more Cycles before I Fade? Let me plot it out Let me steam away All the wrinkles In this fabric Using a tapestry As a map only leads To pattern Rеcognition I need an intervention And still Still it goes It goes and goes And still Still it goes It goes and goes And still Still it goes

As Ray and Sand are eating together, they continue the food innuendo. “It’s so good, I guess I have to eat it more often.” Sand replies “what is this? You’re not my special one. I don’t have to cook for you repeatedly” The music starts here, a bassline just repeating a riff. Sand reminds Ray again that they are not together, and that he said it was a one time thing.

“I’m not special yet?”

“We’re only friends. Friends who slept together.” 

“That’s right. What? You think I want you as my boyfriend? Of course not. I just like to tease you. I like your stupid reaction.”

“You asshole. If you want a boyfriend, get yourself a boyfriend. Stop messing with me.” 

As Sand walks away, Ray grabs his hand, and the music changes, we get rhythm guitar and wordless vocals. “Hey, Seriously, Are you ok with this?” More guitar as sand replies “Yeah, You’re happy, I’m happy. We don’t develop it. It shouldn’t be a problem, right?” Another change in guitar melody with “But I still want to talk to you” Sand reminds Ray, “I can differentiate between love and sex.” As they settle out the rest of it the music goes quieter again. Until Ray says “Finger-licking good.” and walks away, and we finally get the lyrics.

Stuck in a cycle, going around and around, we’re back at just friends, separating love and sex, Ray going off after flustering Sand “Finger licking good” “Priceless Night” They’re both making the same mistakes, Sand falling in love, saying he can separate love and sex. Ray falls for the person who saves him. 

They can’t get unstuck from the cycle, they can't communicate, but every time they go around this cycle, they might hope that it’ll be different.

Ray himself is stuck in a cycle with his mom’s death and falling in love with his savior. Sand might also be stuck in his own cycle with the baggage of his ex and Top.

Song: The Jealousy song (The one I don't know the real name to) Scene: Nick looking up Top and Boston's instagram

Not a lot to point out. Boston is the first to comment on all of Top's post, and Top is horrible with captions. "My cribs"? really?

Continue to EP 3 part 2

Master list

[athena5898]

One of the things I find interesting with the vote blue no matter who crowd (which includes just leaving it blank aparently). Is that they act like you not voting for biden is this self entitled thing. That not voting for biden means im being selfish.

Except...how can I in good conscious vote for a murderer. How can I see what I've seen and vote for that? It feels from my perspective is ones who are naive or entitled are the ones telling me to vote for biden. You are telling me and others that your *percieved* comfort is more important then the actual harm being done? I'll pass.

I actually think it's a little sad that you think the democratic party is going to save you at this point when they care more about holding marginalized people randsom and fundraising then actually doing anything against the republicans. Seems like you should be mad at them then randos online.

Ironically Im still voting. There are important local things on the ballot for me this year...but im going to leave at least that area blank unless something changes.

Oh and before I get the pearl clutching "you are a doomer! We are doomed! You haven't told me an exact point by point plan on a alternative! Trumper"

Or whatever other bullshit going to come out of your keyboard. Let me make my stance on that clear.

No one is coming to save us. We save ourselves. Stop waiting around for a fucking hero. We are the people we are waiting around you are just so fucking caught up in American individualism and probably whiteness that you think the only thing out there is voting. Join/work a union (or radicalize one near you. Its probably needed). Build solidarity around you. Empower those around you. Ffs build a community garden. If you build community you'll have a better time against fash then the empire making them. And if you are upset cause I'm not giving you individual details, I literally can't. What are your skills? What is your area like? Etc all of these things change best courses of actions.

There is no easy way out. But if we have each other then we'll make our way through it.

[lingshanhermit]

Lingshan Hermit: The Contrast Between Eastern and Western Cultures

Max Weber said, "Confucian culture is not practical learning, but only a set of value systems for maintaining social order. Schools teach neither mathematics nor natural science nor geography, resulting in people without logical and creative abilities." As you know, this is not the first time I have singled out Max Weber for criticism, and it certainly won't be the last. As far as I know, Weber's viewpoint is no longer unique to him personally today, but rather a consensus shared by many in academia. As for the general public, although they know almost nothing about Confucianism, this does not prevent them from holding similar views.

In my previous discussion of Max Weber, I talked about what constitutes useful knowledge. This time I intend to talk about the differences in origin and standpoint between Chinese and Western cultures. For a long time, I have wanted to write an article on the differences between Chinese and traditional Western cultures. To be honest, in all my years of reading, I have almost never seen anyone who can really explain Chinese culture clearly. Over these years, I have been observing the cultures left behind by the Eastern sages and watching their effects on Chinese people and their application in East Asian life. I have also been continually observing Western society and Western culture. This kind of observation sometimes provokes intense sorrow in me, especially when I see that many Easterners completely fail to understand and even strongly reject Eastern culture. This gives me an even stronger motivation to write this article.

From the practical perspective of modern people, traditional Chinese culture seems to be completely impractical, or more precisely, useless. According to modern definitions of “useful,” Eastern traditional culture has invented almost nothing that you consider useful—no irons, no Uber software, no instant coffee or mechanical keyboards. Chinese society also did not give birth to a Faraday or a Lavoisier. From an empirical perspective, you do not see anyone attain Buddhahood or become immortal, nor do you see the gentlemen advocated by Confucianism; on the contrary, you do see many hypocrites. Therefore, many people have concluded that Eastern traditional culture is entirely deceptive. For most ordinary people, these traditional cultures are of no help at all in their daily lives—most people believe they are just a lot of big, empty, useless words. The states described in traditional culture are mostly like living in the clouds, completely unrelated to real life. What is required is entirely beyond people's capabilities. Unlike books like the Talmud that offer guidance on every aspect of life, even pointing out specifics like what time you should get up, what kind of wife you should marry, and from whom you should earn money, when you encounter specific problems, you consult a psychologist or lawyer rather than Confucius or Mencius. Because for the general public, their words are too vague and offer no practical help in life. Because they cannot be applied and connected concretely to one's own life, most people living in 2023 feel that the teachings of Confucianism (or Buddhism or Taoism) offer no help at all in their lives. Compared to the words of Confucius, they find things like capsule coffee machines and KFC coupons more useful.

I am not surprised by this result. The reason this result occurs is that these words were not written for the general public. They were not written for housewives or shopkeepers. Whether it be the Tao Te Ching or the Analects, they were written for people who truly want to explore the truth. So if you want to use them to solve specific problems in your life, I'm afraid you will return empty-handed. For most ordinary people, it is very difficult to directly apply these words to solve your problems because they are too profound. Whether it is the Chuang-tzu or the Great Learning, the words recorded therein all come from verifiers of different degrees. They represent the experiences and insights of those who have attained verification. For ordinary people, it is impossible to correctly understand these words, let alone apply them. These words need to be decoded by people with corresponding attainment and wisdom, who can then refer to your specific situation and tell you what you should do. Only by going through this process can you possibly apply them to your own life, benefit from them, and slowly understand what these books are actually talking about. Unfortunately, however, this system has not been systematically established in East Asian society. Only a very small number of fortunate individuals have the opportunity to glimpse the essence of Chinese culture in this way. Because of the lack of this system, when the public faces the sages' books, they can only try to approach the sages' thoughts through their own contemplation, like solving a riddle. In traditional Chinese society, you are asked to read and re-read the sages' works until you know them by heart. Those teachers probably assumed that just by thoroughly reading Confucius' works, you could slowly understand his state of mind. But clearly, this is just wishful thinking by amateurs. In the Buddhist, Taoist and Confucian systems, even the relatively basic words of Confucius cannot be understood without the corresponding cultivation state. If you want to know what Confucius and Lao Tzu were talking about, you need to have a teacher who truly understands to teach you and tell you what those words mean. It is as absurd as imagining that an ordinary person could directly understand the words of the sages without guidance as imagining a human kicking away a rhinoceros.

You have not seen Chinese people invent washing machines, anesthetics or global positioning systems because the focus of traditional culture is not here at all. The Chinese sages did not believe that inventing these things would help alleviate suffering, so they did not spend their time and energy on inventing means of transportation or improving production efficiency. From their point of view, these things were not very meaningful. They did not believe that these could solve our problems. On the contrary, they believed that they would instead increase our problems. Rather than solving problems one by one, they were more concerned with the most fundamental problem innate in human beings.

Traditional Chinese culture is a cultivation culture (and is mostly unsuitable for the general public). Therefore, Chinese sages were not concerned with secular life. They did not seek ultimate happiness in secular life, nor did they believe that such a possibility existed. Therefore, the creators of traditional Chinese culture did not devote themselves to building sound legal systems, trimming gardens, constructing urban sewage systems or creating parliamentary systems. They believed that these could not solve our real problems. Although at certain historical moments these things can make some societies appear very advanced, ultimately they will find that these things cannot solve any problems. Americans once tried to curb human greed through institutions, but they will slowly discover that when human desires are aroused, humans can find a hundred thousand ways to circumvent restrictions.

Since modern times, Asian intellectuals have been instilled with various standards from the West. One of the most ridiculous standards is that they use whether a society has established sound secular institutions to define the degree of civilizational progress. Many foolish people use this standard to measure the world, then reach the absurd conclusion that China, like Africa, has made no contribution to world civilization. But the fact is that China and Africa are completely different. Africans have never built a proper city; they haven't even woven a piece of cloth. When Russians were still living anxiously in wooden-fenced towns, fearing looting by nomads every day, China was already the highly developed Song Dynasty. Therefore, given the intelligence and talent of the Chinese people, achieving results in this area would not have been difficult had they wanted to. The reason Chinese culture did not focus efforts here is due to a lack of interest. They have their own completely different set of theories and practical systems for achieving happiness compared to Western culture, although this logic is mostly unsuitable for ordinary people and large-scale promotion. Contrary to Western ideas, Chinese sages had no interest in conquering large tracts of land. They did not believe that perfect sewers, well-trimmed gardens, or antidepressants could be of great help in life. Nor did they think that sailing to find the land of gold was the way to happiness, much less that commerce was a noble act—they felt it would give rise to human greed and sin. They believed that only by understanding the true reality could one be free from suffering and attain happiness. Therefore, they devoted all their energy to transforming the human heart and their own minds. Although from a historical perspective, they cannot be considered very successful (of course you can accuse them of not making the whole society gentlemen, but obviously this was an impossible task). Still, you cannot condemn them for that because, whether transforming the human heart or one's own mind, it is the most difficult project in the world. My experience over the years tells me that there is nothing more difficult than guiding an ignorant being to understand the true reality.

As mentioned earlier, traditional Chinese culture is a cultivation culture aimed at attaining liberation through inner cultivation. This kind of culture is not suitable for large-scale popularization. Even Confucianism, regarded as the foundation of traditional culture, when popularized throughout society, can lead to widespread hypocrisy. Because most of the time, it only provides goals without ways. When you only have goals without the necessary guidance and methods to achieve them, you become a hypocrite. In Confucian traditional society, there were concrete requirements and expectations of everyone. Everyone was asked to do this and that, but few people truly understood why they should do so and how to achieve these demands—which is like asking ordinary people to have the state of verifiers without providing any methods or tools. When you are told how you should be but do not know how to achieve that, I'm afraid pretending is the only option left. Thus, hypocrisy became the only choice for most people.

In the eyes of modern intellectuals, traditional culture is completely deceptive and useless because it produced neither computers nor Thompson submachine guns. It merely puts forward a set of moral norms that they see as useless. In their view, these moral norms also did not make everyone better. Instead, it turned everyone into hypocrites and taught people to lie and pretend. Therefore, in their view, Confucianism is entirely fraudulent, a set of shackles restricting human freedom, completely contrary to human nature.

If I were not a cultivator, if I did not know the relationship between the whole Confucian system and cultivation, if I had received systematic modern academic education, I would probably agree with their thinking and believe that traditional culture is worthless.

From the practical results of Confucianism in Eastern societies, I believe that for ordinary people, if complete and hierarchical teachings cannot be provided, it is better to let them build their own secular lives. One day, when they find that secular life cannot provide what they want, when they become weary of secular life, it will not be too late to start spiritual exploration. I think this would be better. Rather than forcing teachings into everyone's lives with power, as Confucianism did—telling everyone how they should be, what kind of person they should be, what they should do, yet without providing the corresponding logical system and concrete steps to become such a person. This makes their requirements extremely unreasonable. But because of the intervention of power, the public has no choice but to accept. However, they do not understand the logic and benefits of doing so. They are only asked to do so but are unable to achieve it, so they can only pretend to be such people, resulting in widespread hypocrisy. (The Confucian scholars after Confucius did not realize that what Confucius demonstrated was the result and state of his cultivation, those states were by no means something ordinary people could reach just by reading the Analects intently. You cannot ask others to achieve Confucius' state from decades of cultivation just by reading his teachings, especially when you provide nothing but a goal.)

It may seem that I am blaming Confucianism for not providing comprehensive services for their theories, but in fact I am very clear that this is completely impossible—to provide specific and comprehensive education for everyone. No one can do it.

You may not know how much wisdom it takes to make the teachings understandable to everyone, or what kind of realizations a person needs to be able to teach according to individual capabilities. Even in Buddhism, such a person is rare as the feathers of a phoenix. So it is too much to ask those Confucian scholars who only read books to do these things. In China's long history, there has always been a lack of people who can connect traditional culture with the reality of the situation. This requires high attainment and skillfulness. Therefore, even if it was the wish of Confucianism, it would have been completely impossible. Even in Buddhism, most practitioners do not receive teachings suitable for themselves or sufficient explanation. Most of the time, they can only understand the teacher's words according to their own state, which gives demons tremendous room for manipulation, allowing them to distort everything they hear.

As we said before, the Chinese sages had no interest in establishing a sound secular society. Chinese traditional culture does not intend to establish a sound secular society. Those who are committed to building sound secular systems all live under one assumption: that we only have this life; that the more we possess, the happier we are; that if we establish a perfect secular society, we will be happy; that if supervision is in place, evil will retreat; that if all laws are improved, our suffering will be reduced or disappear; that if we can manufacture a drug that can treat all diseases, we will no longer suffer from illnesses. Judging from the tremendous changes American society has undergone in just the past few years, these assumptions of theirs are collapsing one by one. All these assumptions of Westerners seem extremely naive in the eyes of Chinese sages. Chinese sages do not agree with their thinking. Therefore, they did not strive to develop AIDS drugs, did not try to create artificial intelligence, did not attempt to contact aliens, nor design systems to curb human greed. They only teach us how to improve ourselves, starting from observing our own problems, slowly understanding the root of suffering, understanding the constitution of suffering, understanding which behaviors and speech will cause suffering, which notions will cause suffering, and then slowly correcting past notions and gradually arriving at the state of liberation.

For a true cultivator, most of their cultivation takes place internally. That is to say, true cultivation occurs in inner turmoil that outsiders can barely discern from external appearances. What you may see is that this person seems to have done nothing but sit there every day or chant some useless mantras. Therefore, the public has almost no way of knowing their attainments. The public does not know what they have obtained, experienced, or felt. Those ascetics by the Ganges in India, those meditators in the Himalayan mountains, seem to the slaves of modern civilization to be doing completely meaningless things. They might even be considered cunning idlers. But in the eyes of those cultivators, it is the elites in business suits who punctually appear in office buildings every day whose lives are meaningless. They are about to die, yet still working hard to accumulate things that will soon no longer belong to them.

Like Indian culture, Chinese culture also far transcends the comprehension of modern civilization. From the public's point of view, they can hardly see any useful results. Most people cannot see the achievements of those who truly practice Eastern traditional culture. After all, their accomplishments are not as self-evident as Elon Musk's. Even if you stand face to face with an enlightened being, you cannot experience their state or know what they have attained. You might even feel that they look no different from your neighbor. Therefore, to the general public, practitioners of traditional culture are far less attractive than the likes of Musk. Moreover, among those who claim to be cultivators, there may be a large number of impostors mixed in. Do not expect the public to distinguish between impostors and true cultivators. They will lump them into one category.

For the general public, verifying the effectiveness of traditional culture is almost impossible. Because few people can persist in doing something without seeing obvious results for a long time. Also because most people do not receive proper guidance. For example, Chinese traditional culture says giving up is gaining, and taking losses is blessing. But most ordinary people neither know what the proper giving up is or how to give up, much less have the patience to persist. For the public, lacking proper guidance and complete correct understanding, what they do is like throwing a can of fish food into a river and waiting for the fish to leap in crowds to their feet. So it is difficult for them to see results. And when they cannot see results, they will feel that it is all deception. Compared to the efficient, visible, verifiable systems built by Western civilization, they naturally feel that is superior civilization.

Someone once asked me: Why does Chinese traditional culture seem to contradict normal human desires? In dealing with greed, hatred and delusion, they unanimously exhibit stern opposition. Many modern people see this as another major fault of traditional culture. Whereas Western culture is more tolerant in this regard. Therefore, he felt that kind of culture is more in line with human nature. Western culture is tolerant of this because Western culture is based on you as an individual, so you will have various desires and demands that people should have. Fulfilling these desires is not considered sinful in modern Western culture. They believe it brings happiness. I think it only brings disaster. I have seen many people who do not restrain their desires bring tremendous harm upon themselves and others. Eastern sages believe desires are endless. Once you open this door, you cannot stop it and can only destroy yourself in the end. In today's prevalence of Western culture, I see some live streamers making money in a day equivalent to decades of income for others—and they think this is a good thing. I don't know why anyone would think spending all your money in a day is good.

On the other hand, as we said before, Eastern traditional culture is a cultivation culture. This kind of culture is based on there being no real "self" in existence, based on "fulfilling desires will not make you happy" (desires only arouse more desires, thus inducing more sins and chaos), based on conventional truth and ultimate truth. Eastern traditional culture is based on these tenets, so it does not look humane at all. Confucianism tries to constrain our desires within a certain scope in preparation for higher-level cultivation. But because most people completely fail to understand this system and its purpose, they just live very reluctantly in such a society, required to comply with various standards. It is like requiring a bunch of ordinary people to do things contrary to their nature without explaining the reasons and benefits for doing so. It is not hard to imagine what would eventually happen—this is the cause of many tragedies. I have always believed that the Indian caste system and Confucian system are very good things—if used correctly. Unfortunately, they have not been applied correctly. They were brutally and indiscriminately used on the whole society, causing quite a number of issues. But at the technical level, they are also very difficult to apply correctly—partly due to a lack of people capable of doing so, and partly because demons spare no effort to sabotage implementation. (Just as the original intention of some religions making women cover their faces was to sever the conditions that arouse desire, yet this method has also been condemned for being applied very foolishly. Demons never miss an opportunity for sabotage.) When the public does not know the meaning of Confucian (or Indian caste) requirements for the masses yet are still required to implement them, over time, all sorts of problems will emerge and surface. When these problems appear, it becomes difficult not to associate them with this kind of culture, which then inevitably faces accusations from all sides. Because people who have lived in this kind of society for a long time can only see its downsides and completely fail to see any benefits.

If our existence were real, if possessing more made us happier, if we could truly gain happiness by overcoming others, then Western culture would be right, and the whole set of paths to happiness designed accordingly would be correct. But unfortunately, that is not the case. You just need to understand a little quantum mechanics to know that the way we exist is not what we imagine.

Therefore, Eastern culture is a cultivation system based on "no self." It is not suitable for the general public (though it may be in the future once a certain level of civilization is attained). Chinese traditional culture has many different levels and angles, with methods for people of different levels. Confucianism, Taoism and Buddhism, some provide concepts, some provide concepts and methods. These concepts and methods are also divided into many levels and angles. But unfortunately, now these methods of different levels have been jumbled up by those who do not understand, making them chaotically incomprehensible to the public, which has likewise caused all kinds of problems.

Chinese traditional sages had no intention of establishing a sound secular society. They did not want to build nursing homes or migrate to Mars, nor were they interested in making perfect sushi or medical security systems. Compared to these things, they would rather observe their own minds. Compared to overcoming and defeating others in Western culture, they would rather overcome themselves and battle their own greed, hatred, delusion, arrogance and doubt. They arrive at happiness in this way. But from a layman's perspective, they seem to have done nothing but sit there and require you to bring them meals. Even after their attainments, they do not produce rice cookers, so they appear rather useless.

Written by Lingshan Hermit on December 18, 2023. First published on December 21, 2023.

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灵山居士：东西文化之辨