#most of them it seems extremely unlikely if not impossible

[brionysea]

when it comes to the umbrella academy, a lot of people seem to think that the first half is great and the second half is terrible. personally, I think only the first *season* is great, or even good. here's why:

the mission statement at the end of season 1 is fixing viktor, but viktor isn't the only broken one, so you can infer that they're all going to have to fix *each other* - as a family, the one thing their abuser never let them be. and the world's burning down around them because of the most dramatic sibling confrontation to ever grace the earth, but they're holding hands and escaping together and surviving the impossible with the intent to move forward, even if that means momentarily moving backwards. it's a masterful allegory for finally growing up, accepting responsibility for your personal trauma and tragedy and how they shaped you, and the moment you take that power back by choosing to heal your inner child, only after being slapped in the face with the fact that if you don't, it *will* destroy everything you've ever built, ever cared about, and ever could.

and then the rest of the show forgets all of it. as it were, it goes in the *exact opposite direction.*

on the surface, the second season isn't *as* bad as the subsequent ones are. but season 3 and 4's faults can be traced back to season 2 by how it pivoted away from the serious subject matter that the story (not the plot - the *story*) was heavily baked in, leaning hard into the goofier elements instead, without ever understanding the contrast that those conflicting elements served to highlight. it made them both more powerful; the jokes were funnier because you were just devastated, and the trauma was more devastating because you were just in tears laughing. the emotional roller coaster is key to understanding these people, and you *have* to take the serious stuff seriously for it to work. at least half of the show doesn't, and as a result, the emotional moments feel hollow.

controversial opinion: as a character, luther is better in season 1 than he is anywhere else. he's more unlikable, but that's because he's implicitly there to show what *not* to do - even if he'd succeeded narratively by locking viktor up and saving the world, he still failed thematically by emulating their father and continuing the cycle of abuse - so luther's a character that's being very effectively used to add to the core theme of the story. he feels like a real, frustrating person, whose brain chemistry got messed up by years of abuse and isolation, all for the crime of thinking his father loved him and wanted the best for him. not like a made up guy on your screen doing silly stuff solely for your entertainment.

season 2 was also the start of the characters getting love interests instead of storylines, which season 1 never would have *dreamed* of; klaus and dave's tragic romance only served to further klaus's character arc, viktor's creepy boyfriend was actually manipulating him the whole time, five's fractured-psyche-mannequin was a narrative tool to let us see into the head of such an emotionally reticent character, and so on. the romance served the character, but fairly quickly into the show's progression, it felt like the character started serving the romance. five was immune to this curse for a long time due to aidan gallagher's age, which is why he's (for the most part) the best, most consistent character across the show, because they had to use their *imagination* for him and actually *write an arc* instead of falling back on tired romance tropes that any selection of characters could slot into to fill the dead space.

after season 1, the umbrella academy is entertaining, but it doesn't have anything to *say.* which is extremely disappointing when the show initially made such a strong case for what it wanted to be.

[atozfic]

splish splash.

pairing. san x seonghwa x wooyoung x yunho x fem!reader synopsis. they’re out to prove who’s the best at the breast-stroke- gets dragged off stage as the people boo over such a terrible pun. warnings. no use of y/n, swim team au, lifeguard!reader, pro-swimmers!sanhwawooho, they’re all wearing speedos :), smut ( porn with unnecesary plot, degradation, m+f oral sex, piv sex, anal sex, double penetration, triple penetration bc u got 3 holes for a reason sweetcheeks, mxm interactions, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, hair pulling, way more warnings that there’s honestly no point listing, just know this is pure filth that covers most bases of stereotypical fanfiction smut, mother in christ what have i written? ) no verbal consent is given throughout this but all parties are willing participants !! word count. 20k+ ( of literal porn. i need to leave this physical terrain bc i am not worthy of existing after writing this i fear. ) hyde’s input. hey girlie pops, long time no see.

it’s crazy, what some people will do for money.

take, for example, your roommate. she’s a smart girl. a beautiful one, too. with a promising future in criminal law, once she gets herself that pesky little degree. and, yet, she’s funding her tuition with money she earns distributing high-end drugs on campus. rather counter-productive, most would agree. or, in a far less extreme version, there’s that overly-hyper frat boy, who can always be found doing the dumbest dares at a party, all for a few bucks and a keg of beer.

and then there is you.

you would have arrived home twenty minutes ago at this point, had things gone to plan, a backlog of neglected assignments and a baby bonsai tree in need of watering desperately awaiting your return. yet here you are, stuck in your ugly flip-flops and uncomfortably stale shorts, whistle around your neck and a look of exhaustion on your face.

the swimming pool had closed, technically, an hour and a half ago. the sports centre seems to believe, however, that certain members of the college swim team reserve the right to use the pool for however long they require and desire, even if it is at your expense. if you were being paid overtime, perhaps you’d have a more positive outlook on things and less of a frown creasing on your forehead.

if the swimmers weren’t so irritating, maybe you’d enjoy the view.

“all that height, and for what?” the sophomore boy’s voice- jung wooyoung? you aren’t overly familiar with him, seeing him only in sporadic flashes when you pass each other on campus or at some uncivilised frat party- echos through the large room, his hair a wet mess. if you were gaining anything from being here, you’d perhaps muster up the energy to remind the boy of how a swim cap is necessary at all times in the water. “can’t even out-swim me with those long legs!”

“wanna know what my long legs are for?” jeong yunho, a junior with the face of an angel and the body proportions of a sinner, pipes up from across the olympic length pool. unlike the other boy, a crimson cap keeps his own locks out of sight. “climbing up the stairs to go fuck your mom!”

it’s impossible to stifle your laughter, no matter how hard you try to just play it off as a tickle at the back of your throat, a cough forcing its way out. when your eyes meet those of the glaring senior, however, you’re wishing you hadn’t made a sound.

“even the lifeguard can’t take you seriously, yunho,” park seonghwa speaks, eyes not leaving yours as his muscled arms work to pull himself out of the water, before letting his well-rounded behind sit down on the edge. a breath hitches in your throat as his gloriously muscled thighs come into view, drops of water cascading down them in a pattern set to hypnotise you, keep you staring a little longer than is good for your health. “bet she’s heard all about you and the boner incident of 2019.”

truthfully, you have no clue what the dark haired male is on about. that doesn’t stop you from laughing again though, this time a little out of malice and a lot because it’s quite endearing to see a loudmouth like jeong yunho be silenced so easily, head bowed and ears a little rosier with embarrassment.

this small moment of peace is soon shattered by the reality that these boys can’t spend more than ten minutes in a room- particularly one that includes a pool- without arguing. while one boasts about his speed, the other begins to jab at his lack of endurance, and the remaining of the three reminds them all of the fact he holds the most medals amongst them.

“are they always like this?” you jump, surprised by the cold drop of water that lands on your exposed thigh, all courtesy of the boy who’s invited himself to sit down next to you on the bench.

“not always,” you bite at the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to not look at san in all his wet glory. you’re afraid that, once you start looking at him, you won’t be able to stop. it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve fallen victim to the crime that is his enchanting smile. “guess they’re feeling a little feistier than usual, with the district championship just around the corner. rumour has it one of you guys is risking his scholarship if he’s not in the top three.”

are you and san close?

that’s a good question. see, by social standards, you’re not strangers. you share several classes, you attend the same parties, you’ve even texted a few times- mostly on the days one of you miss class (read as: san misses class thanks to his swim-meets) and you need a copy of any notes taken that lesson.

but, you aren’t exactly friends either. you don’t go out of your ways to spend time together, you don’t know more than the surface level about one another, you don’t check-in with each other.

so, is acquaintances the best word to describe you two?

that depends on how common it is for an acquaintance to suck another acquaintance’s cock. granted, there had been a lot of alcohol in the mix, on both ends, with you drinking to forget a botched assignment and san drinking to forget how badly his voice had apparently cracked in front of his crush.

a few weeks have passed since the incident and things haven’t exactly been the same. you’ve missed class twice and ended up contacting heather- a sweet girl who sits down by the front and seems to live with her hand raised in the air- for any notes. likewise, san has found himself declining party invitations, the knowledge that you would be there all too prevalent in the front of his mind.

the irony is that neither of you quite know the reason why you’re avoiding each other, you just are.

or, were, until san had walked in with his swim team buddies- if they could even be considered that- and spotted you in your lifeguard attire. he hadn’t been as slick as he thought he was, sneaking glances at you between laps and even gaining an undeniable smile each time he watched you blow that stupid whistle at some misbehaving kids.

he was slicker with the fact he didn’t need to be here, at this hour. but, he figured staying gave him the chance to stare at you a little longer and, maybe, think up an excuse to talk to you.

“i should-”

“i missed-”

you both speak at the same time, minutes after watching the three musketeers disappear into the locker rooms, with the smallest of them continuing to dig at them for not being able to out-swim him despite their ample amount of height. san’s quick to signal you to go first, a dimple making itself known on his face and reminding you of the deadliest part of him: the false innocence that drips off him like warm candy.

sweet, sticky, making a mess all over the place.

“i should probably start cleaning up.” it turns out san also isn’t discreet when it comes to hiding the disappointment in his face, because no sooner than those words leave your mouth, the dimple is gone and he’s sat a little straighter, a little more ridged, like when the professor points him out in the middle of the class and the golden boy can’t stomach all the attention being on him. “but, what were you gonna say?”

“oh,” and it’s like he’s just remembered that yes, there is something he wants to say. “i missed you in class yesterday.”

it catches you off guard, leaving you to almost drop the whistle you’ve been fiddling between your fingers for the past few minutes. something about sitting so close to him while both of you are dressed so scantily has you feeling unnerved, like you need to run away as fast as possible, yet also wanting to plant yourself right in his lap.

“i didn’t think,” you’re cut off by your own throat, dry and desperate for a drink under his intense gaze. san is a walking contradiction, you think, with his sharp cheekbones and soft heart, his intense eyes and his easy-going smile. his presence gives you never-ending whiplash, never sure if he’s more angel than devil. “i didn’t think you noticed.”

“how could i not? there was no one to laugh with me at professor nam and his weird toe-shoes!” his laugh is infectious, willing your own to make an appearance. 

the sound of distant muffled yelling fills the air of the swimming pool and it isn’t hard to recognise wooyoung’s high-pitched laughter amongst it. clearly, their childish arguing has carried on into the changing rooms. it surprises you in no way, already more than used to their antics.

their rivalry is one for the ages, all of them constantly bumping heads for the spot of the top swimmer on campus, their sports scholarships becoming their pride and joy.

you suppose it doesn’t help that all four boys run in different circles, only really crossing paths when faced with swim-meets and days of practice. the senior, park seonghwa, runs with the richer kids of the college, all sharing their trust-funds and god complexes as a common interest. you’re not overly familiar with them, though you’re certain he and a particular blue-haired boy are rarely seen apart. jeong yunho, the tallest, is in with the jocks, which is mostly just because his taller friend is the captain of the basketball team. and jung wooyoung tends to surround himself with the stoners from the school, something you’d learned from kang yeosang, a dealer you shared a couple classes with back in your first semester.

san, ever the golden boy, drifts between a couple different groups but he can usually be found alone and enjoying his own company, if not being followed by a flock of his own little fan-club, men and women alike begging for just an ounce of his time.

your name echos around the room. your head snaps to the side and you find that san is now closer, staring at you in a way that’s making your insides knot up. you’ve seen that look only once before, and it done nothing but leave your knees and your ego bruised. “were you listening to me?”

“what? uh, yeah, i was,” you’re quick to lie, knowing it’s about to backfire when he breaks out in a challenging grin.

“really? what did i say?” he only allows you to stumble over words for a minute before cutting off your incomprehensible speaking when he grabs at your chin and tilts your head up, staring straight into your eyes. “that’s what i thought. you were too busy getting lost in that pretty little head of yours to pay attention to me.”

you stutter over a noise and settle for that as your response, though entirely incomprehensible and nonsensical. the way he continues to stare at you feels cruel, demons dancing around in those pretty eyes of his. demons that are telling him to tease, torture, torment the fragile eyes staring back at him, the same ones he’d delighted in watching fill up with tears a few weeks back, the pressure of his crown slamming against the back of your tight throat entirely overwhelming you to the point of crying, tears dripping down your cheeks and mixing with your own drool pooling over the swell of his balls.

“need me to repeat myself?” you’re slow to catch up to the fact he’s speaking again, and even slower to notice the hand resting on your knee. at first, you think you’re imagining things, the feather light tracing of nails over your soft skin a mere figment of your imagination. but, no, your eyes flash down to glimpse and his hand is there, fingers dancing over your naked skin like it’s their own personal stage and he’s intending to put on the show of a lifetime. he speaks your name. “questions are meant to be answered.”

“i-” san picks the perfect time to apply pressure on you, hand gripping the flesh on the lower end of your thigh. goosebumps spring to life at the feeling of his cold ring on your damp skin. it takes a shaky breath to try compose yourself but you do eventually manage to get a reply out. “sorry... please say it again.”

“huh,” he pauses to contemplate, slowly leaning his face closer to your own, giving you all the time to pull back if you want to. you stay still and his minty breath infects your senses while the hand on your leg replaces your thigh with your face, the grip he has on it forcing blunt nails to nip at your skin. normally, you’d worry about the marks it’s going to leave behind. right now, you want him to grip tighter, dig deeper into your flesh till he’s drawing blood and licking it off your cheeks. “how the fuck do you still sound so cute begging?”

“is that,” his other hand curls around the back of you, finding a resting place on your hip. the window of opportunity you once had to pull back or run away is slammed shut the moment he tugs you a little closer, the side of your body crashing into his naked chest. “what you said earlier?”

“oh, no.” san almost sounds like he’s cooing, a mocking tone in his voice that has your thighs clenching in a way you’re sure he notices. his eye flickering down to glance at them confirms your suspicions, the smirk taking over his features the metaphorical cherry on top. “i was just talking about how i’ve still not returned the favour.”

mind blanking out on you, you stare back at him in what you can only imagine to be a dumb-founded look, mouth slightly agape and teasing your answer.

what follows, however, is a resounding silence on your end.

“c’mon, princess, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what happened the last time i got you alone.”

forget? it’s all you’ve been able to think of every time you’ve seen him since, whether he was a figure in the corner of your eye during class or making his way down the campus car-park in search of his beaten up mustang.

each time, like an old record player, your mind plays on loop the way he looked staring down at you, long legs spread enough to fit you between them, closing in on you to trap you in place each time you swallowed him a little deeper; replaying the symphony of whiny moans and airy breaths you’d pulled from him, lips swollen and red from trying too hard to hold back his cries of pleasure; reviving the memory of his vice grip on your hair, tugging at the roots to tilt you back into the perfect angle for his hips to piston into your warm mouth, meeting his own crescendo in one final pathetic whimper of your name.

a whimper that’s pushed you over the edge several times since, fingers soaked in your own sins and mouth biting down on your pillow to keep your poor sleeping roommate oblivious to your actions.

“no,” an answer escapes you alongside a shaky breath, something about the way he’s slowly trailing his fingers down your neck and the intensity he’s staring at you with hypnotising you into forgetting all about the boisterous boys and their changing-rooms chanting. “haven’t forgot.”

it’s his turn to stay quiet and you begin to wonder if he’s recalling it too, if he’s reminding himself of how easily your bodies melted together, like candle-wax meeting a flame. the question of if he’s thought about the exact scene, hands stuffed down his pants while a dull ache builds in his wrist, burns the tip of your tongue.

but his eyes burn you more.

they’re usually wide, bright, full of that bubbly nature san is known all over for. but, if what people say is true and the eyes are the mirror to one’s soul, then san’s soul must be a dark pit made up of lustful glares and hooded eyelids, resting so low his eyes almost appear shut.

“then, don’t you agree that it’s my turn to have a taste?”

it’s the question to end all questions, no time to even think of forming an answer when his fingertips are dancing over your skin so rhythmically, like a practiced choreography when they curl and wrap themselves around your neck. they rest there for a heartbeat, and then another, before you feel it begin.

the pressure is dull, at first, and you think you’re imagining it. but it grows, like a seed under the sun, blossoms into thorns squeezing around your airways, a deformed rose made from the red marks his fingers will be sure to leave behind.

you try to breath in, only for it to get caught somewhere between your lips and his tightening hold.

“you’re too fucking pretty, you know?” the hand on your hip has found a new home on your cheek, palm warm and thumb rough as he swipes it over your bottom lip. “all i can ever think about around you, even when you were drooling all over my balls.”

you want to answer, you really do. but between the hand around your throat and the heat shooting straight for your core, burning up in a puddle of arousal, you can’t. all you can do is watch the man before you, raven hair a beautiful mess just begging for some fingers to be ran through it and stare promising to ruin you in the best way possible.

the silence pleases him.

“y’know, it’s so hard to get you alone. always got someone wanting to talk to you, stealing your attention. do you even know how many stupid parties i had to attend to finally get the chance to talk to you?” san pauses, like he’s waiting for you to relay an answer, guess a number. he loosens up the grip on your neck, teasing your skin with a few soothing strokes of his slender fingers, lulling you into a state bordering insanity. “no answer, angel? or are you lost in that pretty little head again?”

“i’m,” your voice is but a whisper, raspy with your new found thirst. “trying to figure out what you want from me.”

if it’s the wrong or right thing to say, you’re soon to find out, the sharp faced boy releasing a dangerously low chuckle as he takes a hold of your chin. like a pretty doll, you move any time and any way his fingers command you to, finding yourself staring right up into his eyes, a swirl of melting caramel that reminds you of how sweet yet sultry every inch of him is. lips near touching, he refuses to break eye contact as he speaks up once more, sealing both your fates when his breath hits your face.

“then let me show you what i want.”

his mouth comes down on yours like it’s the answers to all your prayers and, yet, all your nightmares.

it excites you how easily he works his lips over your own, captivating every inch of you when he tilts his head to the right and deepens the kiss. the rhythm to his kiss is a mismatch of beats, where one moment your lips are moving in a sensual waltz, grazing tongues and dipping heads to get rid of that inch of a space remaining between your bodies, and the next moment your tongues are tangled in a tango, the kind where his teeth send blood rushing to your lips with every bite he drags over them and his hand drags shivers down your spine as it makes its way down your body.

yet it terrifies you how willingly you succumb to san’s touch, intoxicated by whatever witchcraft he currently holds over you. there’s a deadliness to the way his lips part from your own only to begin a seamless descent down your jaw and the expanse of your neck, a poisonous element to the way his hand once again finds itself clutching the meat of your thigh.

the moment his fingertips meet the bottom of your shorts, you’re wishing you’d never slipped them on in the first place, every fibre of your being growing angsty under the weight of his suddenly halted hand. it stays still for an immeasurable amount of time, grazing over the bottom of your shorts occasionally while he continues to mouth at your neck.

like mosses and the great sea, san parts your legs with little to no effort, creating a pathway for his fingers to travel further up your thigh. blunt fingernails drag up your skin, a trail of goosebumps being left behind, a visible marking of where he’s touching you.

his movements halt too soon for your liking, too much distance between his lithe fingers and your body’s very core.

“have you figured out what i want yet, pretty?” his voice is a stark difference to the usual light-hearted, almost squeak-like tone you’ve grown used to hearing from the smiley boy. right now, there’s no trace of humour in the thick rasp and there’s no time for smiling while he’s glaring down at you through hooded eyes.

something compels you to nod your head, even though you’re a little too lost in the thoughts concerning what you want, rather than what the devil incarnate by your side wants.

“you have?” the words come out in a layer of amazement, and you have to wonder if it’s because of the lie you’ve just told or the way your legs have closed in around his hand, trapping it between them. “i want to know what you want, though.”

you want his thumb to stop stroking over the flesh of your inner thigh.

you want his eyes to stop gazing down at you like you’re the perfect prey.

you want him to stop teetering your impending pleasure on a string.

you want-

“you.” is all you manage to breath out.

it seems to do the trick, however, your point getting very much across to him. a softness flickers over his features, brows unfurling and smirk curling up into a full smile for what feels like an eternity, but is actually no more than a couple of seconds before his devilish aura is back.

lips meet lips again, the desperation and force behind each stroke of his tongue against yours the same as before. san, much to your delight, seems to grow just as impatient as you’ve been since the moment he welcomed himself into the empty space next to you on the bench.

one hand still resting between your thighs, his other seizes the opportunity to drag your body closer, so close that you have no choice but to swing one leg over him and slot yourself in his lap.

there was one time, in the middle of what you’ve deemed to be the most boring lecture ever, that you had thought about what it would feel like to sit in choi san’s lap. unintentionally, of course, for how could anyone look over at him in those grey sweatpants, legs manspreading like it was nobody’s business and pen tapping away at the table in front of him, and not daydream about being perched in his lap, head resting somewhere between his shoulder and his soft hair?

you’d imagined him to be the embodiment of soft and comfortable, warm and reassuring the way he’d lazily lay an arm over your hip to make sure there’s no risk of you slipping out of your new seat. you never, for the life of you, imagined you’d feel the outline of his dick resting against your ass the first time you finally claimed your throne.

choosing to not dwell on the heavy feeling of him pressed against you, you choose instead to focus on the way his lips trail away from yours and make their descent towards the top of your chest.

his hand abandons post between your thighs and rises to the surface, where long fingers begin to pull at the straps of your red swimsuit, successfully manoeuvring the nylon material till it’s bunched around your midriff and your breasts are exposed to the damp air of the swimming hall. 

with no want left to play around, he dives right in to dragging his lips down the upper swell of your left breast. you imagine he can feel the beating of your racing heart beneath the goosebump littered skin. it doesn’t take long for his tongue to enter the scene, skilfully flicking over your hardened nipple a couple times before enveloping his mouth around the bud.

one, two, three sucks and he’s moving on to your right breast. there’s no lead up, this time, simply his mouth finding delight in toying with your body while he busies his hand with your left side, thumb and pointer finger rolling and tugging and spreading the remnants of his saliva over your heated skin.

the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and has you arching your own, is the faintest pressure of his teeth biting down on you. it dances on a thin line between pleasurable and painful, exhilarating enough to make you throw your head back as a moan slips past your lips. it echoes in the empty room, replaying your own sound for both of you to hear again and again before the chain is broken by a giggle.

his giggle.

“why are,” he picks the right time to trail his fingers down your body, dragging your swimsuit with them till it sits uncomfortably tight around the top of your hipbones, skintight fabric digging into the damp skin. “you laughing?”

“has anyone ever told you how pretty your tits are?” it’s crude and heartwarming all at once, quite like the man who says it and the little smile he shoots up in your direction as he rolls his tongue over your nipple once again.

“no, i can’t say they have.” the hands that have been resting on his shoulder, grasping them in a vice grip in fear of slipping off of him and and directly onto the concrete floor, gain enough confidence for you let one slide around to the back of his neck and thread your fingertips in the back of his locks, hair as soft as you’ve always imagined it to be. “you’re the first.”

“i’ll wear that title with honour,” he seems to delight in the way you’re carding through his hair, eyes closing while he tilts his head back further into your touch. a delighted sigh follows. “has anyone ever asked you to sit on their face?”

“again, no.”

“another honourable title for me, i guess.” san’s giving you whiplash, with all this switching between being his usual goofy self and the man that minutes before was speaking profanities on how you’d looked choking on his dick. he peaks his eyes open again, slowly, adjusting to the bright lights he stares up at each time he’s doing the backstroke. when he has the nerves to smile at you, all dreamy eyed and relaxed sitting beneath your body on the bench. “now, can you please stand up and get naked so you can fuck yourself on my tongue?”

this time, it’s your laugh that echoes in the air.

“stop, i’m being serious!” he seems to whine his way through his words, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly in a way you’re certain is going to drive you insane. “i can’t go another second like this, you literally sitting on my dick, without blowing my load. and i really don’t feel like having to explain to coach kwon why my team speedos are stained in cum.”

“you’re so-” you give up on trying to find a single word to describe him, knowing there’s no word that can quite capture choi san’s essence. “okay, okay, fine, but you kind of need to let go of me for me to, y’know, stand up.”

“oh, sorry bout that.” san’s sheepish smile shouldn’t be this cute, not when it’s followed by him removing his hands from your half-naked body.

reluctant, your feet meet the ground and you stand up from his lap. he seems to move quicker than you, no hesitation to be seen as he twists his body around and lays along the bench on his back, eyes all the while watching you expectantly.

your fingers are far from as nimble as his, and there’s a shake to them, meaning you’re a lot less slick with how you pull the swimsuit off yourself. you opt for killing two birds with one stone, dragging your shorts down alongside the red suit, till both are pooled around your feet and you’re begging with every cell in your body that you look more graceful than you feel, stepping out of the leg holes.

in all honesty, you’re more embarrassed with the fact he’d watched you remove your clothes than with how you’re now stood naked, legs a little shaky and the wetness gathering between your folds you’re suddenly so much more aware of, the cool air fighting against your pulsating heat.

“well?” san speaks with expectation, legs bent at the knee while the balls of his feet rest on the edge of the bench. “are you gonna just stand there or you gonna sit on my face?”

“are you... sure you want me to?” even you feel the idiocy behind asking such a thing, when he’s laying right there with eyes full of glee and a raging boner pressed against his hip, nothing but the familiar colours of your college to stop you from seeing him all his naked glory. still, you can’t help elaborating. “i mean, the bench isn’t exactly sturdy and, i mean, what if i slip off of you?”

“y/n, are you joking? you have to be joking!” his offence is playful enough to ease a little of the hesitation inside of you. “do you see these puppies, baby? these are my mad gains from flailing my silly little arms around in a pool six days a week!”

you think this can’t be real as you watch the golden boy of the school put on a show, flexing his arms in an effort to display his muscles and voicing the most ridiculous words that not even he seems to be taking seriously, a bubble of laughter popping in every sentence.

“i’m not gonna let you slip, now hurry up!” again with the whining.

“god, you’re so desperate!”

“for you? always.”

the following minute is made up of wobbled steps and a poor attempt at amping yourself up, repeating mantra after mantra in your head that you are the sex goddess and no man is going to make you feel nervous. not even if that man has a jaw one could slice diamonds with.

he’s got a firm grasp of your thighs before you’ve even got the chance to get comfortable, legs a little shaky as you hover over his naked chest and will your knees to find grip on the bench beneath them.

“come closer, my tongue’s not that long!” san’s pulling you up, closer, all the way to where his wanton mouth awaits you. as if to give you a preview of what awaits you, the kisses from before reduced to nothing, his tongue pops out to run over the smooth of his bottom lip. you repeat the process of trying to find balance, a position in which you don’t need to worry about toppling overboard. though, with the way his finger squeeze into your thigh, you doubt you’ll have to worry about that truly happening. “comfortable?”

“as i’ll ever be.”

“all the people that would die to be in your position, and you say that?” he tsks, tongue hitting off the roof of his mouth before a blow of air hits against your folds and, though it’s faint from the distance still between his mouth and where he wants it to be, it sends a jolt of excitement up your spine. “i’ll just have to make sure i over-perform, make you more eager for next time.”

neither of you choose to dwell on the words next time.

him, too occupied with getting his first taste, tongue licking a strip up your core and coming to a stop as the tip of it bumps against your clit.

you, too busy having the air knocked out of your lungs, hand unconsciously finding safety in gripping his hair as you lurch forward momentarily, mouth falling open in a quiet gasp that echoes around and around.

“hmm, make sure you hold on tight.” you know he’s teasing you, with his words, and with his eyes, and with his mouth that seems to find enjoyment in trailing itself over your clitoral hood and up your pubic bone. “you smell mouthwatering, you know? enough to make a man go feral.”

the chance to reply never comes, not when san makes his way back down to your clit and greets it with the stroke of his flattened tongue. every tiny nerve sparks to life under his touch and you feel yourself grow wetter, a wave of warm arousal leaking out of your hole. his tongue dives down to welcome it, not allowing more than a single drop- landing on his chin- to go to waste.

you don’t even notice the lack of his grip around your left leg until you feel it: the first few seconds of his fingertips probing around your soaked cunt, coating themselves in your liquid pleasure until it’s dripping down the back of his hand.

the first finger to enter your hole is gentle, tentative to the way your body receives him, his pointer and ring finger keeping your folds spread and allowing him the full view of the middle one slowly disappearing from sight, burying itself in the warmth of your pussy. distracted, his mouth pulls back and his head meets the bench again while his eyes soak in the sight above him, flickering up to catch your reaction when another finger enters you, this time with a lot less care as it forces you open around it.

“so pretty,” he mutters the words, more to himself than to you, delighting as he witnesses you struggling to bite back a pathetic moan when his digits curl within you. he repeats the action a couple times, flicking his wrist back and forth, fingers brushing over your tight walls each time and culminating in a curl that has him pressing against the spongy-like flesh inside. “so, so pretty.”

your hips begin to rut against his hand, meeting every one of his thrusts with perfect timing that has him reaching deeper, further, better places inside of you. all the while he’s just watching and admiring the furrow in your brow and the way the swells of your breast bounce in sync with you.

your pussy clenches tighter and his fingers fight to reach deeper before spreading themselves wider in an attempt to scissor you open. he’s giving it his all, a third finger slipping in despite the dull ache setting in his wrist while he coaxes you closer and closer to the tipping point.

san takes just as easy as he gives, and it’s that fact alone that drives him to pull his hand back, fingers withdrawing from you and the pleasure you’re pursuing.

“why’d you-” you heave through heavy breaths, brain fuzzy from the unvoiced orgasm you were so close to having, every nerve ready to tingle, every muscle ready to tremble, every toe ready to curl. “stop?”

“because,” the wet smack of his fingers hitting against your clit is louder than the whimper that drops from your mouth. san hears both, however, and grins, quickly landing another smack against your engorged clit. “the goal is to make you cum on my face, not my fingers. consider them the appetiser, something to awaken your senses.”

his tongue licks in an upward motion, starting from the tip of your taint and ending at your clit, and you get deja-vu to just minutes before, when you’d first felt his tongue on your melting skin, the saliva it leaves in a trail behind it serving to cool you down. a shiver runs up your spine as he blows air onto your cunt, the pressure of it doing wonders to stimulate your clit.

“would you stop?”

“look who’s whining now.” san, despite what he says, does as you ask and puts an end what feels like unending teasing- really, it’s hardly been a minute but the pulsing of your heat and the loss of a climax leave you no room to think about something as abstract as time.

his lips make a victorious return, wrapping themselves around your clit and sucking against the pulsing nub. every so often, he delivers a couple kitten licks- ups and downs, sides to sides, figure eights- before swiftly returning to kissing your most intimate parts.

in an attempt to make your toes curl, he dips lower and teases the tips of his tongue over your entrance, wet muscle moving over wet skin and tastebuds covering themselves in your essence, till the moans echoing off the walls are indistinguishable between san’s and your own.

“you can move,” he grunts into you after a few minutes of repeated alternating between kissing your clit and tonguing at your hole. it’s muffled with the way he’s holding you down against his face and you feel his lips brush against your lower ones as he speaks. “need you to move. wanna see you use me, pretty.”

and, who are you to deny the man?

you’re hesitant at first, just like you were all those weeks ago as you sank to your knees for him. you test the waters and give a single roll of your hips. it feels good, great, especially when paired with his own efforts at dragging his tongue over you.

it takes a few more attempts, and san’s patience wearing thin to the point he resorts to grabbing a firm hold of your arse cheeks and planting you flat on his mouth, tongue flat and eyes staring up at you in a demand to move, goddamn it. 

move you most certainly do, grinding down on his tongue like you’ve done many a time with different men’s cocks. it’s messy, sloppy in the way that his spit mingles with your wetness, a cocktail of fluids sliding down his throat, and painting his lips, and dribbling down his chin as he eats you like a man starved that’s alas getting a taste of the sweetest fruit.

the rhythm of your hips is thrown off when the man beneath you switches from having you grinding down onto his flattened tongue to slipping the muscle inside of your hole, thrusting it as far as up as the length of it allows him to. with every time your body comes crashing down on his mouth, the tip of his nose bumps against your clit, forcing you to angle yourself upwards to gain more of the friction.

hands find hair, lips part in unabashed moans, thighs shake with the oncoming of an orgasmic state of mind.

the moment builds too quickly, too unexpectedly, like the ghost of your stolen climax is back with a vengeance and set on ensuring there will be no denying it this time.

“s-shit,” your eyes squeeze shut, too scared to look down at his ecstasy filled eyes in fear of it being what finally tips you over the edge. “i’m gonna- ah- gonna cum.”

san pays no mind to your warning. if anything, he takes it as a challenge, an invisible timer beginning in his head and forcing him to see how quickly he can get you to unravel all over his face. he’s getting everything he asked for, your naked body a mess above him as you fuck yourself on his tongue and your hands, with minds of their own, sliding up to grab and squeeze at your tits.

he watches how the pastel blue nail polish clashes with the darkened colour of your abused nipples, fingers working to pinch, and twist, and pull at them as you lose yourself in the moment.

when you cum, it’s with rolled-back eyes and shaky thighs, his hands gripping at you tighter to steady you as you sway above him, his tongue working at coaxing you through your high.

he licks up every drop of cum he can manage, until you’re cringing in overstimulation and reaching down to push him away. he let’s you move him, mouth moving to trail a couple kisses over your inner thigh, something akin to lipstick stains- yet so much dirtier in nature- being left behind on your soft flesh.

“told you i wouldn’t let you fall,” he’s the first to speak, partly because he correctly thinks you’re incapable of forming anything coherent in the afterglow of your orgasm, but mostly because he wants- no, needs to hear you praise him.

needs to hear you praise him like he’d done for you that night, eyes still hooded and chest visibly heaving as he finished processing watching you swallow every spurt of hot cum he’d shot down your throat. the praise never comes.

well, at least not from you.

at first he thinks he’s imagining the sound of clapping. it’s slow, and booming, and tinted with the slightest hint of sarcasm. it grows louder though, far too loud for it to just be in his imagination. the stilling of your body, going rigid as you fall back onto his chest, the sticky remnants of your orgasm cold against his heated skin, confirms that you hear the clapping too.

“bravo, choi. always thought your reputation with the ladies was a little overhyped, but i stand corrected.”

never has he hated the sight of park seonghwa so much, not even in the times they’ve been head-to-head in the final lap and the older male’s offensively bright swim-cap is all san can see every time he twists his head to catch a breath of air.

the three swimmers stand on the opposite end of the swimming pool, all in various stages of undress.

there’s wooyoung, who looks like he’s not so much as dried himself with a towel, still dressed in his team swimwear. and yunho, who’s got a towel wrapped around his waist messily, hair damp against his forehead and likely smelling of the cheap shampoo provided in the locker-room showers. lastly, seonghwa, who’s seemingly fully dressed spar for one of those irritating long coats san always sees him trailing around campus in.

one look into your panicked eyes is enough for san to spring into action, fumbling to sit himself up and pull your body flush against his, facing your naked back in the direction of his rivals.

he bites back a groan as you shift in his lap, unknowingly- or maybe you do know- pressing your soaked centre against his erection, which already strains inside the confines of the nylon material, leaving very little to the imagination.

“do you mind?” he’s glad the words come out clearly, booming across the pool at them and their unwavering staring.

“not at all.”

san holds you tighter against him, eyeing at your discarded swimsuit on the floor as he listens to a shuffle of footsteps. assuming the three men have made their way back into the locker-room, he’s speechless when he looks up to find them approaching the bench, seonghwa leading the trio with a secure grip on the back of wooyoung’s neck, whose eyes can’t seem to leave the floor, while yunho trails a little behind them, one hand grasping onto the towel around him.

“get your hands off her!” he leans back, pulling you with him, in an attempt to stray out of seonghwa’s reach as he extends his hand out. he fails, however, and the tips of seonghwa’s elongated fingers brush over your shoulder.

a shiver runs down you, one that san feels, the unexpected touch tickling your nerves.

“she’s a grown up,” the eldest of the men muses as he builds a rhythm out of how his fingers soother over your sweat slicked skin. “who i’m sure can speak for herself if she wants my hands off her.”

out of all the men, seonghwa has always been the one san despised most. between the constant boasting of wealth- money he acquired through labor, though not the working kind- and the disrespect he’s never had a problem showing towards others, he never fails to strike a nerve, awakening a dark part of san’s brain that activates his fight or flight response. by far, however, his arrogance is the worst, that sense of entitlement that drives him to think everything and everyone is a piece of clay for him to mold and manipulate till they fit his ideal shape.

the rich boy’s hand smoothes over your naked shoulder and san can’t resist glaring up at him.

“c’mon san, now’s hardly the time to be modest,” behind the oldest swimmer, yunho and wooyoung seem to be battling an inner conflict, yunho fighting to keep his towel in place and wooyoung fighting to keep the shame off his face while his dick visibly strains against the confines of his chlorine-covered swimwear. “not after the show you two just put on.”

“we didn’t,” it’s the first time you manage to speak since covering san’s tongue in your cum, breathing at last steady and face hidden from everyone’s view, much to san’s despair. “know you were watching.”

“and, if you had known, would you have stopped?” yunho is the one asking the question and, suddenly, san’s so much more aware of what exactly he’s hiding underneath his towel.

you give no answer.

“of course she wouldn’t,” seonghwa answers for you, hand moving to grasp the back of your neck. with no warning, he grips a little too tight for comfort and and yanks you backwards, till you’re staring right into san’s eyes and the only thing keeping you perched in his lap is seonghwa’s body pressed flat against yours. “there’s nothing a whore loves more than an audience, right?”

if put on trial in a court of law and sworn to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, over whether or not you’d just clenched around nothing at park seonghwa’s degrading name, you’d plead that you never did such a thing.

you’d be found guilty.

“poor woo nearly came untouched just watching you two. isn’t that right?” the eldest turns to stare back at where you imagine wooyoung to be. “pretty boy nearly whined just at the thought of being in san’s position, a mouth full of cunt and someone using him like the fuck-toy he is.”

the air grows thick, between you, and san, and every other living being in the room. it feels like the walls are closing in on themselves with every second that passes, the sweat dripping down your back and coming to a rest between your arse cheeks evidence that the space is heating up. or maybe it’s just your body, hardly processing the high it’s just come down from and there’s already another source for a new-found arousal, a source in the shape of three muscular men stood behind you and one beneath you, eyes wary as he gazes into your own, like he wants to ask if you’re okay but all the blood is too busy circulating in his crotch for his brain to be productive.

“now, i hardly think it’s very nice of you to get our wooyoung all riled up and not even offer to help him out.” you decide you’re being lulled into a false sense of safety the second you feel the pressure of seonghwa’s hand leave your skin. behind you, there’s a shuffling of footsteps that call you to crane your neck and catch a glimpse of what exactly is going on but san’s eyes beg you to keep staring into his, to count the galaxies that dance within them while he grips at your waist. “so the chance to offer is off the table and you’re simply going to do as told. doesn’t that sound easier, hmm? no having to make pesky decisions, just spread those legs and follow orders.”

at last, you get your first glimpse at jung wooyoung.

he sits down on the bench, no more than a breath of space between where you and san are perched. he’s a vision in himself, shoulders hunched and embarrassed face the same shade of red as the tip of his cock, an angry looking bulbous head poking out the top of far-too-tight speedos.

san’s grip tightens the longer you stare at the other boy, gaze dancing over the shape of his body and mouth-watering as, for the first time, you see the appeal of jung wooyoung. never before have you understood why eyes follow him in the hallways, like he’s more than just another pretty boy on campus- something that’s in abundance. but you see it now, understand the appeal of his stand-out nose; and the veins that run down his arms; and floppy style to his hair, that seems to be calling out to have your fingers running through it. 

with no prior warning, the grip on your hips tightens even more, till san is digging crescents into the soft skin and he’s lifting you, off of his lap and right into wooyoung’s.

the usually boisterous boy’s eyes meet yours, no longer filled with that spark of defiance and, instead, glazed over in tears, a quiet pleading being exchanged between you.

only, you’re unsure what he’s begging of you.

“are you going to just sit there,” seonghwa speaks up, boredom in his tone that has you picturing him rolling his eyes and picking at his manicured nails. “or are you going to help the poor pup cum?”

“what?!” that certainly helps you find your voice, and the guts to turn around and look at the man.

you find him stood closer than you imagined, with tailored trousers hugging his thighs and a perfectly ironed shirt tucked into them, the last few messy buttons the only indication he’d rushed to dress himself. eyes looking past him, you find more of a friendly aura in yunho, who, despite fighting a battle against the towel wrapped around his figure, manages to shoot a smile at you.

and then there’s san, who stands with muscled arms crossed over his chest and a painfully obvious boner resting in the confines of his swimwear, though he’s done a better job at keeping himself concealed than the boy beneath you. his face appears indifferent, yet the twitch in his eye speaks of a tamed anger, a frustration he’s yet to unleash on the men who’d interrupted him amidst his feast.

“are you now deaf along with being dumb or something?” the eldest pulls your attention back to him with little effort, a smirk meeting the glare you shoot his way. “you made that brat hard, now do your job and fix the mess you’ve made.”

words of protest get lost in a surprised gasp as the boy in question takes your hand in his, veiny hand guiding you down to a veiny shaft. wooyoung wraps both of your fingers over his leaking cock, his holding yours in place around him while he ruts his hips up once, twice into your hold, the action sending his swimwear even further down the his length and exposing nearly the full sight of it to the swimming hall.

you don’t mean to compare, yet you’re incapable of ignoring the fact that while wooyoung may be on the slightly shorter side compared to san, he’s certainly leading in the thickness department, with a mushroomed head and the prettiest trail of trimmed hairs leading down his pelvis.

he guides you over his shaft a number of times, a little less shy now as he outwardly whines when your thumb runs over his tip, wiping away the fat bead of precum resting upon it. at some point, he moves his hand away, needing both of his free to lean back on the bench, yet yours keeps moving at it’s own volition, stroking him in a pattern of threes, interrupting every trio with a swipe over his tip or a fondle of his still-concealed balls.

“please,” the whine in his voice is so unlike the jung wooyoung you’ve watched week after week, hurling abuse and echoing boasts of his own talents while keeping himself afloat in the swimming pool.

“he asked nicely.” you’d just about forgotten about everyone else in the room, until seonghwa’s irritatingly unbothered voice serves to remind you of his presence. “rule number one: good behaviour is rewarded.”

“what do i,” you interrupt your own question to glance over wooyoung once more. “do?” you pinch your thigh, skin stinging as nails bite it, and confirm with yourself that this is not a dream but, in fact, very much real.

jung wooyoung is hard and begging you to do something.

“i don’t care how you do it, just put one of your holes to good use for once and make him cum.”

there’s still an echo of seonghwa’s voice by the time you successfully manage to rid wooyoung of his swimwear, the damp fabric clinging to the warm skin and the taut muscles of his thighs. the boy isn’t much help either, seemingly reduced to nothing but a writhing, panting mess instead of someone competent enough to raise himself off the bench just enough for you to undress him.

the sight is mesmerising, one you’re certain will remain ingrained in your memory till the day you die: wooyoung, disheveled and untouched, with his achingly hard cock pressed flat against his lower stomach, his swimmer-thighs spread with a set of balls between them that you find yourself near salivating over as a trickle of his own precum runs down them.

“your cock’s...” you begin to speak, yet trail off as your digits wrap themselves around his shaft, just to delight in the way his breath jumps when you drag your hand upwards and give a soft squeeze as you reach the head. “so pretty, woo.”

“youngie.” seonghwa cuts in from behind you. “he prefers to be called youngie when he’s getting his cock teased.”

“yeah, youngie?” you try it out.

instantly, he nods and something akin to a whimper flies out of him.

fascinated by his shaky breaths and his pretty chest, where warm, tanned skin appears to be near glowing under the swimming halls bright lights as his cheeks flush a palette full of reds and pinks, your eyes are completely fixed on him. there’s something vulnerable and breakable about the way he’s looking at your with the widest of eyes, his eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip receiving countless abuse from his teeth.

never have you been so desperate to push someone past their own limits.

officially running on nothing but pure instincts, you close your mind off to thoughts, like how the boy you’d spent weeks avoiding and missing is stood only metres away, witnessing the way the tip of your finger teases over the slit of his sport rival’s cock. or like how park seonghwa, perhaps the campus’ most infamous trust-fund baby, seems to have complete control of the situation at hand, yourself and jung wooyoung nothing but idolised dolls he’s moving into whatever obscene position he wants you in.

instead, you focus on how wooyoung’s eyes roll back and he lets out a gasp when you gather up fluids from within your salivating mouth and part your own lips, watching how your own spit drips onto his lower stomach, and your hand, and his painfully hard cock.

the saliva serves not only as a visual pleasure, something that’s awakening inside of you at the sight of it leaving you with whole new kind of excitement bubbling along your body, but as a physical pleasure for wooyoung, who seems to have no protest to how much easier it is to slide your hand up his length with the added lubrication of your own spit. 

“fuck...” he curses under his breath and his hands find purchase on your body, one gripping your hip while the other grabs at your forehand, like he’s scared you’ll release the grip you have on him and strip away the sweet release of friction. “don’t just focus on the tip- shit, ah- play with my balls too.”

“wooyoung!” ready to oblige, ready to give the pretty faced boy anything he demanded of you, you’ve no time to think of a reply before the ringmaster of this circus reminds you of his overlooking presence behind your back. “stop speaking like an ungrateful brat and take what you’re given. or else... well, i’m sure you don’t need reminding of what happens to pups that misbehave.”

the way jung wooyoung’s whole body grows rigid beneath you, paired with the countless times park seonghwa has butted in to speak on the boy’s sexual preferences, leaves you with the sense that the two are not only acquainted with how each other’s bodies move underwater..

“s-sorry,” this is not the voice of boastful jung wooyoung, who near bounces down the college halls and airdrops nudes in class because he’s bored. this is a voice that’s soft and meek. like a beady-eyed puppy, so quick to submit to it’s owner. “just feels too good. i’m sorry”

“yeah, you will be sorry.” seonghwa’s hand is cold against your back and it lulls a shiver out of you as fingers trickle down your spine like water off a duck’s wings. part of you hates him for stealing wooyoung’s attention off of you just as you were beginning to revel in it, a larger part of you wants to know why the sternness in his voice is enough to have your clit aching to be touched. “spitfire, be a good cocksleave and sit on his dick.”

“ok, stop!” a sense of shame comes over you when it takes hearing san’s outburst to remember the fact he’s watching the scene unfold. “don’t you think you’re taking this too far now, park seonghwa? i know you and wooyoung have your... agreement on how you treat each other, but don’t drag someone else into it. not when she never even asked for this.”

“you had your tongue tasting the eighth wonder of the world on that bench twenty minutes ago, both of you knowing there was a chance you’d be caught, and you want to tell me no one was asking for this?”

“that was private! you guys are the ones who-”

“there’s no such thing as privacy in a public area. besides, it’s hardly like she’s not enjoying this. if anything, i think spitfire doesn’t like the way you’re getting in the way of her teaching youngie a lesson in obedience.” you’re naive to think no one would notice the way you’ve began to grind down on wooyoung’s cock, stealing whimpers out of him as the soaked lips of your pussy rubbed up against him and holding back your own moans each time his tip meets the bundle of nerves that make up your clit. “choi, if you’re that much of a pissy pants that can’t enjoy himself even just this once in life, then feel free to leave. i’m sure the four of us will be too occupied to notice your absence.”

you’re not paying close enough attention to figure out if san’s newfound silence is due to his departure, or if he’s simply too stunned to speak, your eyes focused on nothing and no one but the boy at your mercy.

the initial burn of wooyoung breaching your entry reminds you of how long it’s been since you’d been stretched open by something other than someone’s cold fingers or wagging tongue. it’s been more or less three long months of juggling test after test, assignments piling up on your desktop and a relationship with your now ex-boyfriend being tossed completely into the gutter.

not once had you thought your return to the world of sexual bliss would be in front of an audience, much less at the very place you work.

doubting that it’s been as long for him as it has for you, wooyoung still spares nothing when it comes to reacting to your touch. with eyes squeezing shut, head rolling back, abdomen muscles flexing along side every shaken intake of breath, the boy puts on a show so pornographic it puts the professionals to shame. a whine exits his lips, lips that carry marks of his own teeth and look like they’re in need of a healthy dose of chapstick, and look so disgustingly kissable that your own tingle at the thought.

all those rumours of jung wooyoung being a camboy rush to the forefront of your mind, feeling truer than ever when your eyes take in the bob of his adam’s apple, and the perfectly timed run of his tongue over his lower lip, and the pretty way in which the prominent veins in his hands looks as he clamps his grip down on your hips.

he’s a sight worth paying for. 

“are you okay?” not the first thing you’d imagined saying after sinking all the way down on his cock, the need to check up on him taking over before you’d even noticed it’s existence.

“yeah...” he sighs his way through the word, eyes still closed and grip still very much tight on your skin, blunt fingertips likely leaving crescent moons you’ll find yourself staring at for days to come, memories of this moment replaying in a rose-tinted haze. “just need a second, you- you feel good, fuck me.”

“i’m kinda already doing that, youngie.” you giggle, like a lovesick adolescent speaking to their crush of the week, but the boy’s instant smile upon hearing it puts out the fire of shame building in the pit of your stomach.

“hmm,” he hums back, acknowledging your words without giving you the satisfaction of hearing him tell you how you’re correct. “are you okay?”

wooyoung flips the question on you and it parallels with the way he pulls the rains in physically, lithe hips thrusting upwards in search of feeling more, reaching deeper inside of you. in the back of your mind you already picture a look of displeasure on park seonghwa’s face, scowling lips loading up to berate you and demand you take repossession of jung wooyoung’s sanity.

“yeah, i’m-” with the eldest man in mind, you stop and compose yourself, as well as you can while wooyoung’s mouthing at your neck, your collarbones, the tops of your breasts. “i’m wondering who told you you were allowed to touch me?”

control is easily regained, all it takes is your hand squeezing around jung wooyoung’s throat and your soaked walls clenching around his aching cock and he’s melting like ice cream on a warm summer’s day, leaving behind a sticky mess.

satisfaction and pleasure come crashing in tandem, wave after wave moving in motion with each lethargic roll of your body against the swimmer’s, who seems to be a quicker learner than you’d believed him to be, hands flying off your body like it was made up of hot stones and, instead, now holding a firm and grounding grip of the bench beneath you both.

“harder.” you feel a hint of emotion within park seonghwa’s voice this time he speaks. it’s fleeting, and hard to make out quite what feeling it is he’s experiencing, but it’s there and it’s certainly a step up from the usual shameless, egotistical, megalomaniac tone he takes on. “squeeze his throat tighter.”

under the possession of his commanding tone, you find yourself caving into his command, fingers pressing a little harder into wooyoung’s warm skin. the boy gulps down whatever pride he has and delivers a pleasured whine. you grind down harder and an evil, twisted part of you you’ve never met before longs to laugh at the way he so desperately is struggling to keep his composure, fighting back the urge to meet your hips with his own upward thrusts.

so, you do. 

“hear that, youngie?” seonghwa’s voice becomes less grating each time you hear it, once an unwelcome and intrusive thought but now a second voice and a valued player in a game of wreck the wooyoung. “you’re being laughed at. isn’t that just pathetic?”

“y-yes, fuck-” he falls victim to your walls clenching around him, gripping his cock in a vice grip. the image of confidence withers away so easily to reveal a teary-eyed, pretty-faced, cum-desperate man. “i’m pathetic.”

“yeah, you are.” seonghwa circles his way around the rocking bench, no longer out of view hidden behind your back but, instead, staring you down with piercing eyes that cut through you like a knife to hot butter. “he’s getting close. never lasts long, really, even seen him cum untouched just from giving me head. but that’s okay, isn’t it youngie? you’re a slut for having your sack drained, huh?”

the swimmer beneath you has never looked redder than he does right now, secrets of his sexual nature getting exposed to the people he likely considers his biggest athletic competition. though you probably should, you don’t push him away when his face finds safety in the crook of your neck, parted lips covering your burning skin in sticky drool.

“don’t let him fool you guys, he’s into the degrading nature of it all. trust me.” you wonder if it should concern you the way seonghwa speaks about jung wooyoung as though he’s nothing but a pet, a possession of which he just so happens to have complete control over. you’re more concerned with the fact it excites you. “call him a good boy, i dare you.”

the words haven’t even formed in your throat and the boy between your thighs is gripping onto your waist a little tighter, lips near pouting and eyes screwed shut in uncontrollable pleasure, burning down his spine and threatening to push him over the edge of sexual bliss.

you consider having mercy, the inexperienced side of you thinking the boy looks like he’s full of shame and embarrassment. the throbbing of his rock hard cock repeatedly stuffing your aching cunt reminds you he’s getting off on the humiliation.

“is he a good boy, though?” you stare up at park seonghwa, not even sparing a whimpering wooyoung any attention as he begins a rambled protest to defend his good behaviour. “i mean, i don’t remember telling him he could touch me. do you, hwa?”

the hands that grip you tightly let go quick, like your skin were an unexpectedly warm stove, scorching his skin right off him.

“i don’t remember either,” the eldest’s agreement has you reeling in a way you never expected, filling you with a new found sense of control.

a control that is ripped away far too quickly, like park seonghwa sensed you growing falsely confident over the situation at hand.

like a shark circling it’s prey, the tall man makes his way back around the bench, each fall of his shoe-covered feet echoing in the quiet swim hall. click, click, click, and he’s right at your back, not a word uttered as the soft of his palm lands on the nape of your neck. achingly slow does it travel down the expanse of your back, not a single noise filling the space other than the rise and fall of your body on top of wooyoung’s and the same boy’s poorly contained moans and mewls of pleasure.

the silence is interrupted by your own shocked gasp, mouth falling agape in shock as your movements come to a complete halt. his hands, no longer soft and delicate, grip you in an iron-tight hold, fingers greedy as they dig into your meaty flesh with no mercy or regard for the pain it may inflict on you.

“no, get up,” like a switch was flipped in as little as a minute, park seonghwa’s voice has lost all sense of the excitement it had whilst he spoke on jung wooyoung’s dirty endeavours and has returned back to the cold, callous, commanding tone it had originally.

he sounds angry, feels angry in the way the fingers of his free hand tangle themselves in the hair at the back of your head and give a harsh tug, forcing your head back till you’re met with his scowling face and perfectly groomed hair, even in it’s dampened state it seems to frame his face perfectly.

“what?” you babble out, dumbstruck, much like the desperate boy beneath you who’s began to mutter apology after apology between pleadings of please no don’t do this and i promise i’ll behave, i’ll keep my hands to myself.

none of it works.

“you heard me. get. up.” the fingers on your waist tug, pull, drag you away from the quivering mess that has become of jung wooyoung, who near sobs as the cool air hits his now painfully hard cock, tip redder than the bottom of your favourite heels and a vein more prominent under his sensitive skin than the ones on his muscular arms. you’re not given much of a chance to process what’s happening before seonghwa speaks again. “wooyoung, up, now. you’re not getting to cum, so get off the bench and make room for someone else.”

the boy makes no further attempt to protest, cheeks painted pink in shame and chest shining with sweat as he shakily rises to his feet, head hung low when you watch him walk out of your line of sight.

then, your knees meet the floor.

park seonghwa chuckles as you go down, hands finding grip in your hair and forcing you to sit up right. heart beating faster, your mind begins to race with questions of what comes next, who comes next.

what dirty desires are about to be unveiled within you, forced into the unforgiving fluorescent lights of the swimming hall?

“jeong, you’re up,” seonghwa’s knee digs into your back and his fingers tug until your scalp begins to sting a little. you don’t want to like it but, in life, you don’t always get what you want.

there’s a series of shuffles behind you, followed by heavy footsteps. there’s no rush, yet no hesitation, just calm and collected footsteps of someone making their way over to do god knows what with you.

when jeong yunho, with his towel that’s looking a lot tighter around his crotch still around his waist, steps into frame, an inexplicable sense of comfort washes over you.

maybe it’s the way he smiles down at you, or the fact his hands brush seonghwa’s off of you, or the way his fingers take a hold of your chin once he’s seated in front of you.

maybe it’s just the fact he’s jeong yunho, campus himbo with a reputation for walking girls home at night just to make sure they’re safe and for singing britney spears with no shame each time the karaoke mic gets passed around.

whatever it is, it’s turning you on.

your knees are burning with fresh pain as park seonghwa shoves you closer to the mammoth of a man and you can’t help but swallow down the ball of anxiety growing in your throat.

everything about jeong yunho’s demeanour has always seemed large, with powerful arms that drag his body through the weight of water and large hands that effortlessly carry countless textbooks through the university halls; a tall frame that helps him stand out in any crowd and a personality loud enough to set off alarms; his thighs a muscular stairway leading up to a well rounded, remarkably defined posterior. it’s safe to say he’s carried a reputation for some time, one that consists of whispers between girls on campus who recount just how well endowed he really is. 7 inches, 9 inches, 12 inches, you’ve heard it all, each girl claiming it to be bigger than the last.

unfortunately, there’s no ruler at your disposal to uncover the truth of the rumours, but you confirm he’s certainly large as you watch him undo the towel. larger than you’ve ever seen before, with a thickness to match, and two heavy looking balls decorating the base.

he wraps a hand around it and you watch how he gives a light squeeze at the head, slowly sliding down the length of it till he reaches the tuft of groomed hairs on his pelvic bone. one of his hands alone holds half of his cock, leaving you almost certain you’d need to use both hands on him.

“d’you want it, sweetheart?” his words are teasing but his voice is soft, a complete one-eighty to the verbal berating you’ve been receiving- and enjoying- from park seonghwa.

you’re sure he notices the way you clench your thighs as he slaps his cock once, then twice against his stomach, the precum leaking out on to his tanned skinned.

there’s an itch inside your throat, one you imagine only he can scratch.

“you wanna taste it?” he’s still speaking to you through the arousal that fogs over your brain, commanding your tongue to swipe over your bottom lip as you burn your gaze at the glistening liquid on his warm skin, tastebuds aching to have him paint them in white.

you nod your head.

his own throws itself back, a chuckle rupturing out of his chest as he continues to tease himself with his hand.

“fuck, yeah, bet you can’t wait to taste my cock, feel it stab the back of your tight throat.” a smile should never look so sweet while it’s part of the same mouth spewing out such filth. somehow, jeong yunho makes it work. “gonna get it nice and wet for me, yeah? make it sloppy, i love it when a pretty thing like you gets all messy over my cock.”

the knee that’s suddenly digging it’s way into your back has no mercy. you wince, pull in a sharp breath and inch just that little bit closer to the bench. like a glove fits a hand, you slip right in between the muscled tree trunks that make up jeong yunho’s thighs. 

you wonder, if only momentarily, what sweet a death it would be to be crushed between them, taut muscles constricting the flow of air to your lungs like a boa with its prey.

but there’s a far more preferable way to be choked by the man before you, body carved out in such definition you fear michael angelo himself stands in admiration of it.

his hand snakes its way around your body, warm and heavy and imposing with the grip it settles for at the base of your neck. in spite of the sharp stab coming from behind- where you have no doubt one park seonghwa stands with disgruntled impatience written all over his irritatingly perfect face- there is no doubt in your mind that the man in front of you holds the reigns. with eyes of honey and lips of velvet, he peers down at you with a tendered expression, saying nothing yet everything with the gentle, repeated sooth of his thumb over your skin.

you need no verbal instructions this time around.

a hand grips the base of him as the other squeezes the flesh of your own thigh, piercing your skin with just enough pressure to assure you this is the reality you find yourself in, rather than some twisted, substance influenced dream.

the first taste is the sweetest, tongue a missionary sent into the foreign land of his body to discover the way he reacts as you drag it over the tip. he gives nothing but a squeeze to the back of your neck; and that crumbles you under his control.

with a few more kitten licks- for good luck, if anything,- the show begins with the parting of your lips, the widening of your mouth, the burning of your skin as you struggle with your ability to swallow him whole. you make it no further than a third of his length before he’s tugging gently on your roots and bringing you back to the surface of existence.

“breathe, okay,” his voice is gentle, calming your nerves yet sending your heart into a fit of patternless beats. “inhale, exhale, got it? through the nose, that’s gonna help you relax.”

doing as he says, you swallow three whole breaths. shaky, ragged, each feeling hollow in your chest in comparison to the weight of his cock on your tongue.

“pretty girl,” he practically coos, hand cupping your chin as his thumb smoothes over the swell of your bottom lip. it’s tender, sweet, and almost enough to make you forget the sight of his engorged cock that sits angrily between his tree-trunk shaped thighs, crying out for the return of your mouth’s affection. “someone’s gotta teach you to not be greedy, hmm? small little mouth of yours is no fit for me, don’t go choking on it.”

heat flashes between your thighs, your heartbeat dropping right down to your clit and leaving you with a burning ache, the kind only a gentleman like this could soothe. your fingers may have to do, however, if the stubborn arsehole behind you would be so kind as to let you enjoy yourself.

the way park seonghwa curls his hand round the front of your neck and flexes his nimble fingers- that goddamn family heirloom ring a punishing cold to your warm skin, near brandishing you as touched by some nepotism child- when you do so little as clench your thighs together to relieve the pressure, or lack-there-of, between your thighs tells you he’ll grant you no such fun.

“you’d need to have something big enough for her to choke on,” san, precious san. still here, still somewhere beneath this god-forsaken tin-can roof swimming pool, watching you bruise your knees and your ego for another man, another one of his team-mates. what must he think of you? has he lost whatever respect he may have had? does he think he’d been just another body to exchange fluids with, that night at the party? if you could just see his face, you’d not need to wonder all these things. his eyes, they always give him away, too earnest and pure for his own good.

“shut it, choi,” yunho’s bark isn’t half as loud as seonghwa’s booming commands have been, and are nowhere near as malignant. if anything, the gentle giant is humoured by his team-mate’s words, as if he knows they’re a preposterous thing to say about him. then again, you can’t imagine any man remaining humble about themselves if they were so well-endowed. “or do you wanna crack out the measuring tape again and remind yourself of just how much of me there is to choke on?”

silence.

it takes a few moments for the spotlight to return to you, a gradual shift from playful to lust driven energy encapsulating the broad frame of the man before. he cups your cheek, feather-light touch smoothing over your skin while his eyes burrow daggers into your soul.

why must his shoulders be so wide? it almost angers you as much as it sends a wave of heat between your legs.

almost, but not quite.

“‘s cute,” he half mumbles, distracted by the sight you paint below him on your knees, bruises already forming and thighs clenching for some relief of pressure. “your little pussy’s all wet just from having my cock in your mouth.”

“i think you’re forgetting she was bouncing on woo’s dick a few minutes ago, yunho,” the devil on your shoulder won’t let you rest, hand snaking through the threads of your hair and tugging on your roots. not enough to hurt, just enough to sting. “have some modesty.”

“sure, let’s act like i’m not the one who had her cumming all over my face a while ago.” san mumbles a string of words you wish you could unhear, face heating up as the shame burns through your bloodstream.

how had you gotten here?

you’re allowed no such freedom to ponder over previous actions as jeong yunho’s all encompassing frame works to remind you of where you find yourself: on your knees dressed in nothing but your own shame- shame which seems to slip off of you, piece by piece, baring you shamelessly to this pack of wolf-eyed boys’ for their eyes to feast upon.

strong, veiny hands reach out and drag you forwards, just an inch yet it’s all you need to feel the weight of park seonghwa’s domineering figure float off of you, rendering you under the control of this much larger, far smilier looking man. “eyes on me, okay? don’t wanna miss the way i’m about to make them roll back.”

there begins a game of push and pull, where jeong yunho pushes you closer and closer to his evident arousal, all the while teasing you as he pulls his hips back, keeping your waiting mouth open and empty, and oh-so frustrated at the feeling of being so close yet so far away from his dripping tip.

the first real taste you get of him does, in fact, nearly have your eyes rolling back. a kitten lick, barely there yet fully felt, running over the underside of his cock, a taste of salted skin, and musky sweat, and stale chlorine mixing in with the warmth of him flooding your senses. his reaction is no more composed than yours, blatantly parting his lips in a gasp and bucking his hips up, forwards, any direction they need follow to chase after your mouth.

happy to comply, you take pride in tasting him a second time, this time right over the growing drop of pre-cum pebbling on his tip. white flashes behind your closing eyes as his grip in your hair tightens, a pulse of heat firing straight down your spine as your mind floods with images of what it must be like to watch this man, this gentleman, this figure that so wholly encompasses what it means to be a himbo in this day and age lose his cool and revolt into his most carnal, basal instincts to take whatever pleasure he needs from you with a reckless abandon, burrow his throbbing cock down your throat till the beat of his heart takes over your own.

instead, you settle for wrapping your lips around him, at last, and letting him guide you just that little bit down his length. the weight of him feels nice, a strange sense of comfort birthing in your bones as you grow used to feel of him taking up your palate. his breaths seem to run in tandem with the inches he sinks deep between your parted lips.

a deep breath, he lowers you further, till your left cheek begins to bulge out.

tongue pinned to the floor of your mouth, you make use of it as best you can, rolling it over the bottom of his shaft and earning yourself a plethora of gratifying sounds, each deep and desperate and crooning straight out of jeong yunho’s broad chest. 

another deep breath, another inch.

for all the false dominance you wield over the situation, with the heat of your mouth and spill of your own saliva slickening his cock, his real and visceral dominance doubles it by tenfold, with a hand on the back of your neck, guiding your every move, and a knowing, gentle look cast downwards at you from where he sits propped on the bench, thighs a heavy mass to case your body between. a silly little voice in your head whispers a seductive tale of how easily this man could get you in a headlock and suffocate your fragile windpipes. a wave of heat, this one going right down to your core and forcing you to pay attention to it, shifting awkwardly and clenching the muscles in your own legs in hopes of getting some pitiful amount of pressure.

all breathing stops as he hits the back of your throat.

hands pulling tight, a biting pain ripping through your hair and a tired gag creeping out of your constricting throat, yunho holds you still and strong, as unmoving as the mountains that fill the horizon from your bedroom window.

he’s not even fully in, an arguably obscene amount of him still awaiting some form of attention beyond the spill of the spit filling up your mouth. but there’s nowhere for it to go, not within your mouth at least, and so you manoeuvre your hand up and grip the neglected inches, the tip of your pinkie teasingly brushing over the swell of his balls.

he lurches forward, gasping in a breath of air at last. “fucking christ- shit,” he grits his teeth. “her mouth’s warm.”

“well, obviously. this your first time getting a blowjob or something, jeong?” god, the reminder of seonghwa being here, somewhere behind you, fox eyes judging your every move and keeping his cool, no matter how hard you’d seen his cock straining in those ridiculous pant-suit trousers he sports. it’s sickening.

“yeah, yunho, watch out before you have a repeat of 2019.”

if the taller jeong wants to snap at the other, you never find out, instead dedicating yourself to the glory of worshipping him between your parted lips and tight throat, jaw ready to lock itself in place so long as it keeps him inside.

you treat him differently than you’d treated san that night. you’d been tipsy then, buzzing off the colourful shots of who-knows-what you’d been conned into downing a half hours before, mind hazy as you kneeled between him and teased your tongue over every crevice of him it could reach, dripping him in drool and working an ache into your overused tongue by the time you got watched him spill over the edge of ecstasy. that wasn’t even about san’s pleasure, no real care put into getting him off, your own selfish need to indulge in the pleasure of feeling, tasting, worshipping him taking precedence.

but, right now, you’re overwhelmingly sober, mind hazed only by a cloud of inexplicable lust that rolled in the moment san shot you his stupid smile, and you care about making jeong yunho cum. in fact, it’s the only thing on your mind as you bob your head up and down, letting his own hand guide your pace.  

“shh, shh,” he’s hushing your own struggles for breath and carding his fingers through the tresses of your hair, his legs clamping down on either side of you, pinning you in your rightful place. “taking it so good, baby. so fucking good.”

good’s not good enough.

you want to leave him mind-blown, exhausted, unhinged. you want him clenching his jaw, and baring his teeth, and stuttering over any praise he tries to give you. in fact, you need it, need that thrill-driven lust of collapsing the sanity of a man as broad and strong and capable as him.

so you pick up the pace, fight against the steady up-and-down of his grip and try to take just that little bit more of him in your mouth and down your throat, till you’ve no doubt there’s a visible bulge of where he sits down your windpipe. you think back on what he said- i love it when a pretty thing like you gets all messy over my cock- and work towards doing just that, mouth a fountain of over-flowing spit that paints lines down your chin and over his heavy balls. the hand at his base lightly drags the tips of its nails over his burning skin and you physically feel the way his cock jumps in your mouth, head twitching as his hips involuntarily jolt forwards.

eyes as wide as a deer in headlights, you glance up to stare into his own, only to find they’re rolling back in his head, too caught up in the headiness of having your mouth on him to visually focus. it’s erotic, tracing your eyes over the protruding vein in his neck and the unrhythmic heaving of his chest- like every breath he pulls is a rare gift and a miracle- and the straining of his muscled thighs that hold back his urge to buck freely into your mouth, use you as nothing but a hole to get himself off with.

your free hand stakes claim over your own sexual frustration, nimble fingers rubbing tight, slow circles over your clit in an attempt to just ease that heat burning you from the inside out.

“she’s touching herself, jeong,” not even the irritating, grating voice of park seonghwa’s unwanted commentary can take away the kick you’re getting out of working this man into a frenzy. “are you just going to let her, without your permiss-”

“shut up, park,” yunho is wrecked, voice divulging so far from that loud, boyish charm into a dark, broken sort of gruffed out thing, echoing straight out of his chest. but, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t listen to the other man, doesn’t force his eyes open to glance down in a hazed daze to witness your pathetic attempts to work your fingers over yourself.

only, he doesn’t tell you to stop.

he just... watches. and then smiles, squeezes out what can only be described as a broken whine, and tilts his head back once more, relinquishing all control of his body over to you. the scene divulging into a chorus of mumbled words, fuck and please and yes becoming the only word yunho knows, the only three you hear. 

only as he cums does jeong yunho regain that bit of self-control he’s lost, ripping your mouth off him- a stuttered mumble of i wanna paint that pretty face- and erupting in a mess of grunted moans, cock twitching in his palm as rope after rope of white, hot fluid shoots out of it. it’s messy, and disgusting, and sticky, marking the skin on your cheeks, nestling in your hair, dripping over your shut eyelashes.

the last drops land in your parted mouth as his grasp shakes and you regain the right to wrap your lips around his mushroomed tip.

lips stained in pearly white, cheeks and neck matching too. the throb of your neglected cunt, clenching itself around nothing but the mere thought of having jeong yunho stuff you full, break you in two and leave you spent.

the man in question is in a no better state, head thrown back and chest a heaving mess glistening with the shine of his own sweat. his mouth hangs open, near heaving in breaths of air and his hands, adopting a mind of their own, grip harder in your hair and hold you firmly in place, tongue laving over his sensitive tip, pushing him closer and closer to the ledge of overstimulation.

“fuck- uh, fucking look at you,” sweet voice, foul words. two fingers drag over your cheek, coating themselves in the sticky substance he’s painted you in. “drooling all over me.”

he’s right, you are drooling. down your chin, an uncomfortable damp coat covers your overheating skin as you continue to stretch your lips around his length, ready to rip another thigh-shuddering orgasm out of the man.

yunho grants you no such pleasure.

instead, a grip tugs back on your hair and, before you can feebly attempt to catch your fleeing breath, he’s pulling you up into his lap, straddling you across the well-defined muscles of his thigh. those big, capable hands he pushes himself through pools, and rivers, and all other bodies of water manipulate your limbs however he likes, a rag-doll free for him to toy with for as long as he sees fit.

“yun-” you don’t even manage to say his name properly, not when he grinds you down into his lap, smothering his tanned skin in your juices. the friction runs straight for your pulsing clit and you’re rendered to sinking into his welcoming arms, head collapsing into the crook of his neck, parted lips panting up a storm against his sweated skin.

“that nice for you, angel?” the soft words, the rough hands, the perfect roll of your hips. you feel like you could sob, break apart completely. yunho tracing a hand up the curve of your spine and soothing his long fingers over a knot in you back doesn’t help your case. “bet it is. little bit of release to all that tension you’ve been feeling, yeah?”

you think you nod.

it’s hard to tell.

sparks fly within your loins, heating you from the inside out. yunho, at some point, has wound his fist into the tresses of your hair, nails scrapping along your scalp. it’s pleasurable, all over, soothing you into a state of utter relaxation, a being with no purpose other than to take whatever this mass of warmth and muscles and width offers you.

his hand makes a fist and gently tugs, forcing a whine out of you as you’re faced with the bright lights once more. traces of his own cum stain the very place your face had lay. it’s erotic to see, drying up your tongue with a need to lick it clean.

“no, no, focus, right here,” a single finger taps at your cheek, followed by the tilting of your chin that forces you to stare back at the hungry eyes of jeong yunho. “eyes on me. want a front row seat to watching your eyes roll back.”

god, he’s filthy, and delicate, and that just makes him all that more filthy.

swiping his digits through the remnants of his sticky cum, he makes sure you’re staring right back at him as those same fingers snake their way down between your grinding bodies and burrow themselves deep in your soaked heat. shallow pumps of his hand fuck his cum-coated fingers deeper, long and lithe enough he barely needs to move to have you feeling him all over, everywhere.

by the time he curls them, pressing against that spongy wall, you’re just about ready to cry.

“think she’s gonna cum,” oh god, no, why must he remind you of your audience? why does it no longer frighten you to have eyes watching you be defiled but, rather, have you clenching around him tighter, chasing that fever-like ecstasy the man means to deliver? “she’s gripping my fingers so tight- shit, almost makes me wanna bust my load just thinking how warm her pussy would feel round my cock.”

“don’t let her cum,” you vow, some day, to wring the neck of park seonghwa. “just cause she’s gone all cockdrunk doesn’t mean she’s earnt-”

“shut up, hwa,” the boy’s thumb pokes up and you can’t help the way you grind down into it, smothering your clit in whatever pressure you can get. “pretty baby’s more than earned it. stop being bitter that i’m the one who’s gonna give her it.”

give you it, he does.

three fingers deep, the cocktail of your wetness mixing with his cum-cated digits aiding the ebb and flow of his rhythm, jeong yunho has your toes curling, eyes rolling, thighs shaking. you blackout, for only a moment, lost in the wilderness of pleasure.

the aftershocks are barely kicking in when you’re suddenly ripped away from yunho’s hold. the sounds of your beating heart and heaving chest muffle the disgruntled exchange of words between the swim-team, inhibiting your ability to stay clued-in on the events that surround you. all you know is that when your body meets the bench once more, on all wobbly fours, jeong yunho no longer sits tall and proud.

a sharp sting hits your rear- a smack, that echoes in the empty space of the swimming hall. the only appropriate response is the shriek you let out, twisted in your own conflicting emotions of pain, and pleasure, and painful pleasure. a second smack meets the other cheek. this time, there’s no doubt a wanton whine escapes you.

“since the rest of them can’t take orders,” you’d already known it was seonghwa whose hands were suddenly all over you, pinning you in a position of submission. the sound of his grandiose voice sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine, top to tail. “i’ll have to do it myself.”

with no word of warning, he smooths his hands down the globes of your ass, teases the crease of skin where your inner thigh meets your dripping heat, and fucks two whole fingers into your sensitive core. knuckles deep, they sit still upon initial intrusion, basking in the warmth of you and coating themselves in the essence from an orgasm you’ve yet to even fully recover from and the cum yunho’d scooped off your own face.

then, at last, when your nails dig marks into the wood below, he curls them a come-hither motion.

with shame painted on your skin, you toss your head back and release an inhumane cry, eyes hazily gazing up at the horrendous white lights above. “oh god!”

“not quite. i do appreciate the flattery though,” there’s no need to glance over your shoulder to know that pompous, trust-fund baby is wearing the most earth-shattering smirk, some stupid strand of his perfectly groomed hair dangling over one of his eyes, like some 90s heartthrob boy-band member. you do it anyway.

park seonghwa is an unfairly attractive man, sporting a beauty so ethereal it almost makes you angry.

that anger seems to dampen the wetter he gets you.

his touch is slow, but by no means is it gentle. calculated and malevolent, he plays with your insides like they’re nothing but the strings to your puppet. a curl of his fingers and one of your hands shoots forward. the torturously slow pace that he pumps his digits in and out, and your jaw falls slack. his thumb bumps and grinds against your throbbing clit, and your elbows give out, sending you crashing face-first down onto the bench.

his free hand presses down on your lower back, bending you deeper, hiking your ass up higher in the air. and, at first, you think you’re imagining it, that trickle of warmth against your other entrance, believing it nothing but a trick of your melting brain.

you’re who-knows how many hours deep in a whirlwind of pleasure and penetrative stares, people have been driven to the brink of insanity over far less in the past.

but then seonghwa’s fingers leave your cunt, warm and wet trails following their journey over your skin. there’s no imaginative mind great enough in this universe to conjure up that initial shock to feeling how he prods and pokes at your puckered hole, lubricating it with the dirty mixture of both you and yunho’s cum and his very own spit.

the tip of his pointer finger ventures onward first, breaking through the surface of your tight muscles in a shallow intrusion.

the feeling has you frozen, frightened, intrigued. eyes widening, moans dying, pussy pulsating in an empty need.

“don’t go getting shy on us now, spitfire,” the collective language he uses brings back the weight of all the boys’ eyes on you. hesitantly, you angle your face off the bench, and regret it the instant you meet the brown comfort of his eyes. “fun’s just starting. ain’t that right, san?”

a tense energy takes over the large room, with san’s shoulders tensing, and yunho’s feet fidgeting, and wooyoung’s cheeks blushing. seonghwa seems impervious to the shift, whether voluntarily or not, and instead invites himself to further exploring the limits of your body.

he’s kind enough to spare a bit of care into the way his finger sinks deeper into your unexplored hole. another dribble of his hot saliva lands messily onto you, aiding the slip and slide of his hand. two, or three, or four strokes of his finger and you’re submitting to the intrusion, hips rutting higher and presenting yourself more to the man.

“come here,” the command calls over your body and, at first, you think its aimed at you. so you try scooting further back, only to be halted by seonghwa speaking once again. “yeah you, choi. come get under her.”

for the first time since this all began, you’re on the precipice of saying no.

they’d listen, all of them. wouldn’t push you, pressure you or force you to keep going, not if you truly voiced your negation. even park seonghwa, as big an arsehole as he may be, would have no qualms ending his fun and agreeing to never speak of this again.

and it’s not that you don’t want choi san under you. far from it, as you’ve already made pretty clear earlier, thighs his personal ear-warmers while his tongue delved deep for your honey-suckle glory. you’re hardly uncomfortable at the thought of him under you, chest rising repeatedly in frantic breaths and legs bent at the knee to give him just the right leverage to fuck up into your messy cunt-

it’s not till he’s three feet away from you, hands fidgeting by his side, eyes looking anywhere but you and your compromising position, and the world’s most obnoxiously boner-strained tent in his swimming gear that realisation washes over you. you’re hesitating because of him, because of his possible discomfort.

what if he wants to say no? what if he doesn’t want to get under you? what if his eyes will never look into your own again, too shocked and disgusted by all the things you’ve let be done to you? by his own team-mates/rivals, too?

hell, you’ve shocked yourself even, never in a million years had you pictured a day you’d be at the mercy of some rich prick, overdressed for every occasion and looking like a vogue-cover-model reject. but when he’s edging another finger into the already-tight squeeze of your ass, and pushing your buttons just enough to nudge you towards an edge that never seems to arrive, how could you ever dream of being anywhere else?

a hand touches your cheek.

soft. tender. it takes the extra time to soothe the pads of its fingers against your burning cheek.

“you feeling okay?” san’s quiet tone, meant only for you, is enough to move you to near-tears. you crave his hug. the position you find yourself in only allows you to reach out and grasp at where his knee bends as he crouches down to your level. it’s all the same, san knows. san understands. his own hand lands on top of yours, messily threading digits.

“she’s literally stuffed with another man’s cum and you’re worried about her? well aren’t you just the sweetest.” a cheap remark from seonghwa.

san purposefully ignores it, and everything about the man, instead choosing to keep his focus on what matters.

you.

“think you could make some room for me down there?” your nose wrinkles at his choice of words.

his giggle echoes.

“no, no, not... like that,” he guides you as he talks, grip moving to your shoulders and coaxing you up into a seating position. somewhere along the way, seonghwa’s hands leave you. he doesn’t stray too far, however, and your back soon collides against his chest. “here, pretty. want you to make space for me down here.”

within seconds, choi san’s back in his rightful place: splayed out beneath you, body fit snug between your parted legs and hair an unruly, sweated mess against his forehead.

no clothing sits between you both, blessing you with the mouthwatering drag of his cock through your folds. hard, and red, and leaking at the tip, a slight curve to the right, dribbling precum against his well-toned stomach. you’re biting your lip before you fully register your own thoughts, body a mind of its own as you grind down onto him.

control is limited and fleeting, that of which seonghwa reminds you without uttering so much as a word. instead, he clamps a harsh grip down on either side of your hips, rucks you up to where he needs you and guides you down onto san’s cock.

it’s thick, imposing and something that seonghwa blesses you no time to ease into things. instead, you’re slammed down, san buried to the hilt inside of you.

“hey there,” delicate fingers skim up the tense muscles in your thigh and find pleasure in delivering a teasing tickle to your sides. “come here often?”

the cheeky grin, the double entendre, the way san looks so goddamn proud of himself for saying it. you can’t help it, you wind up giggling uncontrollably.

wrong choice. bad idea. danger zone.

san contorts in pain, and lust, and something else you’ve never seen behind his eyes before, hissing through his teeth like some feral cat. his eyes match that of a feline too. “you trying to squeeze my dick off or something?”

you compose yourself upon the reminder of that san can feel you tensing around him, pull in a deep breath and find your voice again, at last. “or... something.”

maybe you’re a little out of breath. maybe you’re a little hoarse. it doesn’t seem to matter to the boy below, his only response being to cant his hips up and lick at the fire burning in your insides.

“you two are disgusting,” once again, park seonghwa wins gold in the nobody-asked-for-you-bum-ass-opinion olympics. let’s see if he’ll continue his winning streak and go for gold in the hypocrite-athon too!

the hands on your sides begin you guide you, with seonghwa squeezing his perfectly manicured nails into your plush skin and bouncing you down onto san. up, down, up and down, repeated strokes like the ones their hands deliver each time they breach the surface.

it’s easy, this pleasure. it’s a gift, hand-delivered by two god-like men that sandwich you between them- one a mass that fills you, the other a weight that controls you. liberating in every sense, you can’t help the way your head rolls back to find purchase on one of seonghwa’s shoulders, completely melting into the ways he winds you over san.

“shit, yes, you feel,” san’s no better than you, mouth agape and hands unsteady as they trace every inch of skin they can reach: the dimples of your back, the swell of your breasts, the hood of your clit. his hips are the only steady thing about him, not a falter in the way they grind up to kiss your dripping pussy with his cock. “so good. so warm, tight. love it.”

a hand curls round your front, travels up between your breast and over your sternum. it settled for a grip a round your throat, no pressure applied, it simply exists against your windpipe, a silent threat.

“look what you do to him, hmm,” a squeeze around your neck. seonghwa’s warm breath fans against your ear, taunting you. “look what you’re doing to them.”

through your glossed-over gaze, you trail your way past the sight of san and all his captivating beauty, settling instead on the equally erotic, not-at-all surprising image that stands just past where his head rests at the edge of the wooden bench.

a sweaty wooyoung, bent at the waist and whining up a storm, while a far more composed yunho pounds his hips into the boy’s arse.

your walls clench and san whimpers, a string of curses and pleads leaving him.

“think you’re finally ready for me?” the devil on your shoulder- at your back, more truly,- smirks into your skin, careless enough to not even feign it being anything but a rhetoric question. ready or not, park seonghwa is going to finally get his own fill of the thrill, his own satisfaction, beyond mere observation and controlling.

the spill of your own wetness slips down your thighs as san continues to fuck himself deep. it doesn’t travel far as seonghwa coats himself in you, wetting his fingers before they slip back inside your ass. a few generous, tempting pumps into your ring of muscles, fingers spreading a little further apart each time, till he decides that’s enough, he’s ready, you’re ready.

the unbuckling of a belt.

an unzipping of trousers.

trousers bunched down muscled thighs.

the first cut may be the deepest, but you highly doubt it’s as deep as seonghwa feels feeding his cock into your arse, stretching you apart to make way for him. a part of you feels like it can’t breathe, impaled on both these men who sit so deep inside you, you fear you’ll feel the ghost of their touch for weeks to come.

but what does it matter, really, when seonghwa pulls you back against him and whispers filth against your ear? 

this is all you’re good for. cock-drunk whore. gonna let us cum inside?

and san’s coaxing you down to trail his mouth over your chest, the tongue flicking over your nipple a terrible juxtapose to his crooning words?

taking it so well, baby. so tight, and perfect, and god. ‘s that what baby needs, huh, for me to touch her little clit?

the two men find a rhythm, a synchronised routine to how they pull and push you around. their thrusts ebb and flow, no moment existing where you sit empty. they treat your body like they treat the pool, swimming through your waves of pleasure and effortlessly advancing to the finishing line, the winning stroke. then, san’s hand meets your cheek and your thoughts are dragged underwater, muffling the sounds of everyone else- the shlickt sound that echoes with each inch of cock fucked into you, the high-pitched whimpers of a fucked out wooyoung, the slapping of skin against skin- as he pulls you in for a kiss.

it’s a hungry one, all teeth and tongue and swollen lips. you pull away more breathless than before and fighting back a big dopey grin, toes curling as the swell of one of their cocks hits a nice spot inside you, body too on fire to know just exactly where the new wave of heat is coming from.

“h-how d’you do it, hm?” it’s almost a whisper, something meant only for your ears, yet you hear him loud and clear, voice stuttering off in a mess of whines and moans. “still got that pretty-girl smile, even while getting fucked silly.”

it almost makes you shy, till you remember what you’re doing and who you’re doing it with. you settle for a quick, short answer. mostly because you fear you’re losing the ability to think in full-sentences, much less speak one out loud. “can multitask.”

like your own words are the key to pandora’s box, your eyes widen, and your mouth dries, and your heart reels as a new desire burrows itself somewhere between the parts of you owned by san and the parts owned by seonghwa. the desire makes room for more, for someone more, and, without much chance for second-thoughts or hesitation, you find what little stability you can manage with one hand pressing down onto san’s toned chest and reach forward with your free hand.

fingers, light as a feather, curl around wooyoung’s solid shaft. the man’s hips stutter at the unexpected contact, eyes flying open to glance down in time to watch you reach out your tongue, licking up the droplets of precum that threaten to spill from his mushroomed tip.

“please, god, please!” he’s beyond the point of sense, poor baby, struggling to keep up with yunho’s hips’ repeated slamming into his tight ass. so, you can’t really blame him or shame him for the way he hastily rips his hand through your hair, tugging your mouth as far down his cock as the angle allows.

a few hairs rip from your skull in his grip. you reward him with a pleasant hum, moans muffled with the mouth-full he’s providing you. 

“shit- look at that,” seonghwa pipes up from behind you, the motion of his hips never faulting or failing as he continues to take part in the filthiest three-way tango known to man, hands bouncing you down to meet each raise of san’s hips, plundering the other man’s cock deep, deep, deep, till he’s kissing your cervix and you’re seeing stars before your eyes. “should cup youngie’s- fucking christ- his balls, san, cup ‘em.”

you’re vaguely aware of his compliance, hand lifting off whatever part of you it was touching- your nipple, your hip, your jaw, it’s hard to tell when you feel like san’s everywhere, all over you, part of you- to graze the set of well-groomed spheres that threaten to slap your chin each time wooyoung thrusts forward.

barely two seconds, hardly any pressure against them, and the youngest of the four is nearly in tears, wailing and begging over broken whines that it’s too much, can’t take it, don’t stop.

there’s a ringing in your ear. because everything is becoming too much: wooyoung in your mouth, san rutting up into you and seonghwa’s hands clawing and pulling your body back into each of his overpowered thrusts. the boy in front of you is the first to fall apart, twitching in your mouth and, without a warning, choking you on the cum he shoots down your throat. a hand pulls you back, just enough to paint your face in the final drops released from wooyoung.

one of the other men is next, a string of curses and grunts filling the air. there’s a new stickiness between your legs, gooey white staining your skin. it’s all building up, and up, and up, until you topple over and are sent reeling into wave after wave of blinding pressure, toes cramping up and muscles spasming as you shoot off into another astral field, creaming around san and chocking seonghwa’s cock.

you don’t register the release of your hips nor the crash-down of your body. one moment, you’re pressed back against seonghwa, mouth dropped open in a silent scream for merciless pleasure, and the next you’re cradled in san’s warm embrace, a crooning tone to the way he hushes and calms you, unheard i got yous, and did so good for us, babys, and just let me hold yous falling on deaf ears.

for a moment in your own history, time ceases to exist.

there’s no ticking of the large clock on the wall, reminding you of how long ago your shift had ended. there’s no thoughts of your plant friend drying out in the staleness of your room, desperately awaiting you to revive it with some h2o. there’s no consequences awaiting your actions, no shame to be feared and leaving you unable to look any of the four swimmers in the eye ever again.

instead of being crashed against choi san’s body, a mixture of his, yours, and several other people’s bodily fluids serving as the adhesive that keeps you stuck together in your mess, you’re floating in space, not quite alive but not quite dead, just there. 

nerves tingling, body aching, mind switched off.

four, or five, or ten, maybe even fifteen minutes pass by the time you regain focus on your surroundings.

your name, whispered. it’s his voice that pulls you back, sweet and soft and oh so like the san you’re used to, the one that sends teasing winks your way when your eyes happen to meet his in class, and the one who has the prettiest notes you’ve ever seen, a colour-scheme for his every highlight and the cutest of doodles to go along with the topic on the paper.

the one who’s hand is currently brushing through your hair, fingers careful as they catch on the tangles near the split ends.

“hmm,” you swear you want to say his name, say more than that, but there’s an ache in your jaw that hinders you from even attempting, your voice-box likely having taken a beaten in the throws of your pleasured moans.

“you okay there?” he giggles over the end of the sentence, and you feel your slowing heartbeat stutter at the sound.

he feels you nod into the crook of his neck and lets his free hand find perch against your hip, moments before giving it a light squeeze. 

he’s warm, and pleasant, and soft.

and moving you both into an up-right position, hands splaying flat against your back and keeping you secure against him, your legs wrapping around his slender waist. you drift off again, between time and space, and come to at the first drop of water that lands on your back.

one drop, two drops, and then a downpour of heat crashing onto both of you.

you can tell from the colour of the pinkish tiles along the communal shower floor that you’re in the women’s changing room, and mentally note to thank him, even if he’s not aware, for bringing you somewhere you won’t have to shamefully stumble out of in the nude, your change of clothes safely tucked away within one of the lockers.

“i’m gonna put you down now, okay?” he speaks so gently that it overwhelms you, answering him only with an affirmative nod of your head.

neither of you speak while he lathers shampoo into your hair, nor when he’s dragging his soap covered hands over the cum that stains your skin, wiping it away and leaving nothing but suds where the liquid once was. he doesn’t speak while covering your eyes with his hands, blocking the sting of the shampoo. you don’t speak when you inch closer, head falling forward to rest against his chest.

when he does eventually speak again, both of your fingertips are wrinkled and bodies are clean, the water of the shower serving as nothing but a way to keep warm.

“you’re, uh, not” the echo of his voice in the empty lockers feels so much more intimate than how his cries sounded by the pool. “doing anything on wednesday, right?”

too lazy to move, you angle your face to stare up at him from his chest and take a moment to just stare, look at the way his hair is sticking to his forehead, at the way his eyes are back to being wide, at the way the marks you’d littered along his neck are becoming more prominent.

“how’d you know?” your question confirms his own, and a tenseness you’d not noticed melts off of his shoulders.

“wednesday is race day. you never work race days.”

it’s such an odd detail to have noticed, and it’s making you question everything you thought you knew about your relationship with san. do acquaintances remember each other’s schedules? do acquaintances bring each other soothing teas when they notice the other developing flu symptoms? do acquaintances waste time pulling faces at each other in lectures they should probably be paying attention to.

“i’m not taking part in the race this time, by choice. my grades are good enough, don’t need to worry about winning some championship to keep my education.” san is speaking unpromptly at this point, rambling in a way you’ve only seen him do when he’s nervous, or excited, or both. “it’s okay if you don’t want to, or you have better things to do or places to be! but, i was just thinking, maybe you’d wanna spend some time with me? there’s this medieval market down on main-street, it’s meant to be really cool, and i just think it would be even cooler to go with you? but, again, you don’t have to. forget it, actually, i’m being stupid and assuming you’re not doing something with your friends or your-”

the kiss you interrupt him with is far more innocent than the one you shared earlier, no hands rushing to touch and tongues desperate to taste, just two sets of lips moving as one.

you pull back and he chases after you, lips landing another peck before you’re grasping his cheek in your hold and forcing him back.

“i think you could have asked me to come help clean your apartment for you and i’d still say yes, just to spend my day with you,” you say, and he smiles as if on instinct, unable to stop it even if he tried.

“really?”

“really.”

“good, cause i already bought us two tickets and i really didn’t wanna have to go alone.” there’s drops of water dancing on his eyelashes, and laziness in his every movement, and you’re both still very much naked, but none of that seems to matter when he gives you another peck, like he’s awakened an addiction and your lips are now his favourite vice. “but, now that you mention it, my apartment could do with some cleaning. and i bet you’d look amazing in a maid outfit.”

a slap echoes in the showers.

“hey! don’t worry, i’ll be wearing a matching one!”

[moonstruck-poet]

His Love Language

Pairing - Kaz Brekker x reader!

Summary - This fic depicts Kaz and the subtle ways in which he shows his love.

Warnings - curse words, injury, wounds, blood, fight.

Kaz Brekker noticed everything. Whether it be someone cheating in a game of cards, enemies tailing him during his walk, or even his crows being unlike their usual selves.

Because he always paid more attention to what a person is doing than what they're saying. Talk may thrill, but action reveals.

He had an eye for taking in the details. It was both terrifying and beautiful.

Terrifying for his rivals of course. He knew exactly what to pull off and how to pull it off for them to go insane.

And beautiful for his love, his one and only. Him having such a knack for remembering the littlest of things helped him immensely in his relationship with you.

Not many people noticed it before, not even you yourself. But as time passed, you learned that his love language were actions. Not physical touches, words of affirmations, gifts and presents. No.

But it was all about those small acts showcased by him that made you fall deeper for the bastard of the barrel. Your heart now always took notice whenever he did the most mundane things for you. It immediately took up its pace and reminded you of the exact reason why it still kept on beating.

Your fellow crows took a hell of time to gather just how deep the love of Kaz Brekker was. But once they did, saints were they both shocked and ecstatic.

All of them had their own doubts when they came to know of your relationship. Nobody was a stranger to the fact that both of you were extremely closed off people. Not opening more than what was necessary, and in the case of Kaz, not opening up at all.

But one look at the way you two understood each other without even having to express, made them believe that you two would make each other happy.

===============================

Dirtyhands had struck another deal with a man named Arken Viking. The plan seemed quite simple, understandable even when it was explained.

And naturally everybody was feeling good knowing that they had a hundred percent chance of survival as it wasn't a difficult mission by any means. It just had a lot of steps that needed to be followed and so all seven of them were heavily involved.

Jesper, Wylan, Kaz and Matthias were waiting for the other girls to arrive. It was the final task of the day and they would then carry on again tomorrow.

Jesper was the one to pace around, unable to sit still in one place. He hated waiting more than anything else. Ask him to put up some money for a gamble? It would be done without wasting a second. Task him with shooting something impossibly far away? He'd have it completed before you could say shoot. But staying put in one place, he couldn't do it.

It was only for Wylan engaging with him that he even sat for ten minutes.

"Where did they go?" He grumbled and finally got up, stretching his legs and walking to stand near the two men who stared ahead, their expressions tight.

"They're late," Matthias muttered, trying his best to hide the worry he felt for a specific one but it was useless, all of them knew about his feelings but him.

"It'll be fine, they'll be here soon," Wylan said, standing next to Jesper and blushing very slightly when the tall boy leaned his shoulder against his and let out a sigh.

"You're sure that there's no danger right, Kaz?" Jesper asked and looked at his boss who didn't look away. His eyes firmly set on the road in front of them.

"Yes," he spoke, sure of himself. But there was this slight, very tiny nagging in the back of his mind that something had gone terribly wrong and he clenched his jaw.

But all of their worries dissipated at seeing the silhouette of three women walking towards them.

Matthias let out a sigh of relief once he saw Nina's bright face, him sending a quick prayer to Djel for looking over the three.

Kaz felt himself lighten instantly, his previously tensed posture relaxed as he saw you looking positively unscathed. His eyes found yours instantly and you sent him a smile, while quickly closing the distance between you two.

"You're late," was all he said, his eyes sweeping over everyone before landing on your figure which was leaning against the wall, right next to him.

"Let us live a little, Brekker," Nina rolled her eyes while Inej shook her head, though she too smirked.

"We were worried," Wylan was the one to speak that was on the tip of everybody's tongue.

"All of you?" She said with a raised eyebrow, looking pointedly at Kaz who merely glared at her sharply.

"Obviously!" Jesper exclaimed. "Now that you're all here, we can finally get some well deserved rest. Kaz let's take a room somewhere, yeah?"

"We can't," he said, turning his eyes away from you, rather unwillingly actually.

"What do you mean we can't?"

"Use your eyes, Jes," Inej said with a teasing smile. "Do you see any shops, hotels or anything nearby?"

"Then where the hell are we sleeping?" Nina said with a incredulous look. "I am not going to lie down in the middle of the street!"

Jesper too looked alarmed at the prospect and whipped his head around to stare at their leader.

"You think I'd let everyone sleep on the roads?"

"Can't put anything past you at this point," she grumbled and you laughed making Kaz give you a disbelieving expression.

"There's a warehouse ten minutes from here, we'll stay there for the night".

All of them groaned loudly at the thought of walking once again but soon started their small journey. And once they had reached the place, Jesper quite literally threw open the doors and scanned the area.

"Clean enough," he shrugged and laid the small blankets they had brought onto the floor. "Good night then," he waved lazily and Wylan followed his lead but not before gazing fondly at him for a few seconds.

"You failed to mention this in you plan, Kaz," Nina shot him a look and dragged her belongings to the corner of the room, accompanied by Inej and Matthias.

"Let's sleep, shall we?" You said softly and he nodded, taking off his coat while you arranged the sheets and removed your shoes, sighing at finally being able to rest.

He laid down himself, his body close to yours so your arms brushed a little. "You're okay, aren't you?"

"I'm all good," you turned your head to face him, taking in his features that you so loved. From his dark brown eyes that softened at your reply to his hands placed in front of him, the pale skin shining under the minimum lighting present.

He gave a curt nod and scanned your face once before closing his eyes, depriving himself of your addictive beauty.

"Night," you whispered and turned on your side, one hand under your head for support and the other lying in front. He didn't reply but instead reach ahead to brush his thumb against your forearm and interlocking your little fingers together.

You smiled, him being the last thought in your mind before sleep overtook you.

The rest of the night passed in peace before it was time for the sunrise. Naturally Kaz, Inej and Matthias were the first ones to wake. The rest were all sleeping soundly and soft breaths echoed in the room.

Kaz was looking over the layout of the building once again, making sure that everything would go on without any problems or worries when suddenly your knee brushed against his.

He stiffened at the contact for a second before turning around to see you pulling your legs up to your chest and curling into a ball. He immediately spotted the goosebumps that littered your arms and an unnoticeable shiver pass through you.

His eyes searched for a spare blanket somewhere but found none as all were used as mattresses for everybody to lay on. A small frown marked his lips as his mind raced and landed on a conclusion.

He took his coat that he had used as a pillow and dusted it before gently putting it over your body. Your curled figure made it easier and he adjusted it, making sure the warm jacket covered you completely.

You involuntarily grabbed the collar, your eyes still shut and cuddled into it.

While he felt himself ease up with satisfaction and he shot you one last look, unable to keep the fondness away from his gaze and returned to check the papers.

Matthias who had been watching the unspoken exchange felt his insides warming up at seeing the cold and distant demeanour of Kaz Brekker melting a little for you.

===============================

Predictably, the heist was successful and no one had expected anything less. In fact, it had gone a little more than satisfactory. They had no troubles waiting for them inside the building and no distractions outside too.

So to conclude, everybody was high on the fact that they had managed to pull it off with such stealth.

They were all given their paychecks when they returned back home.

"Saints," Jesper sighed and lovingly twirled the kruge in his fingers while Wylan unknown to anyone else but you shot tiny daggers at those pieces of money.

You hid your smirk, keeping the check in your pocket and walked over to your friend, "I understand, Wy," you patted his shoulder sympathetically while he became red.

"What do you understand?" He asked hurriedly and avoided eye contact.

"Oh come on," you chuckled. "I know about your not so little feelings. You fancy him, don't you?"

"No I don't," he mumbled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe just a little," he added as an afterthought.

You just brought him in a comforting side hug, quite endeared by the boy and ruffled his already wild hair. "I hate to say it, but he's more oblivious than anyone".

"I know," he groaned in exasperation, resting his head on your shoulder as you were considerably taller than him.

"Planning to steal her from Brekker?" Nina's playful words broke their conversation making the others laugh.

"Who's stealing what from me?" The man himself entered, as usual being perfect in his timing of showing up at the most unnecessary of times.

Wylan immediately removed your arm from his shoulder but Kaz being himself obviously glimpsed it. His expression did not betray anything, it was carefully kept stoic and calm. But he couldn't fool you, there was a reason why he'd let you walk fearlessly into his locked up heart.

His eyes seemed sullen for just a fraction of second. He wasn't reacting on the joke, of course not. He was now used to the crows trying to make him jealous. But rather the thing that had made him feel lost, was touch.

His inability to provide you with every bit of himself was killing him inside. For heaven's sake he couldn't even bear to embrace you without feeling as though he were on the edge and one small step would make him fall deeper into the oceans.

He swallowed and averted his gaze making you stare at him even more, trying to figure out what was bothering him.

You got up from your place and went over to sit in a chair beside him, keeping the distance because you weren't sure if he was okay with the proximity or not. But then he himself shifted his chair, and your legs brushed making him pull away quickly.

"Kaz," you said worriedly, moving back a little. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he lied and you frowned. He knew very well that you could tell he was being untruthful.

He willed his mind to focus on you rather than his surroundings and took your hand in his, taking a deep breath despite the barrier of his glove.

But it wasn't enough, he felt the strange need to be even closer to you despite his brain screaming in denial. And for the second time in his life, he decided to go with his heart and looked you in the eyes, noticing your evident concern as you approached him cautiously.

He gave his surroundings a quick scan. It was only the seven of them and they were all minding their own business. He made a split decision and started taking the glove off of his right hand.

You didn't say anything, finally understanding that he needed your touch and you were more than happy to provide.

He stopped in his tracks after pulling it off, staring at his pale, vulnerable hand.

"It's okay," you whispered softly, fighting the urge to lean over yourself. "I'm here. It's just you and me. You can do this".

He looked unsure but slowly extended it towards you. It wasn't like he hadn't done it before, he had, but it had been quite a long time ago.

He gently brushed his fingertips over your palm and relaxed when no waters rose. He nudged his little finger with yours and looked up to see you before locking them.

Your face held a small, adoring smile. It was so simple, yet so complex. You squeezed gently once and he returned it instantly making you laugh softly.

He felt strange in a good way, as if he had accomplished everything he wanted when he had only heard the sound of your laughter.

"Okay you two stop your gossiping, it's dinner time," Jesper broke the moment and was rewarded with a threatening glare. He just grinned in return when his eyes fell on a hand, Kaz's hand to be specific and his mouth hung open slightly.

"Never seen a hand before?" Kaz raised an eyebrow and swiftly pulled on the glove.

He looked away, his mind still trying to figure it out as he grabbed the plates.

You stood up from your seat much to Kaz's displeasure who shot a heartbroken look your way that you missed. But Jesper caught on as he was sitting right opposite.

He'd never thought that he would live to see the day when Dirtyhands would look sad like a lovesick puppy. He was debating with himself whether he even saw it happening because the look was gone in less than a second, replaced by his usual dark gaze.

But he was cut off from his thoughts when you smiled at him, keeping a plate of food on the table. "Enjoy".

"Yeah, 'course love".

All of them were now sitting at the table for the first time in months. They just never seemed to have a time fixed that would match everyone's schedule. And for most part, they were all lazy as well.

You were sitting at the corner of the table with Nina at the opposite side, her having every bit of your attention at the moment as she chatted away happily much to the disappointment of the man sitting to your right.

"The cake is great, Nina," Inej complimented her and she gave her a wink in return.

"It is nice," Matthias agreed making the said chef blush despite her smirk.

"Yeah I love it," Wylan smiled brightly.

"Oh damn," you winced as the spoon fell down with a loud clatter, breaking the conversation for a bit before it resumed again.

Inej watched you with amusement, laughing at your resigned expression when you bent down to retrieve it with a sigh. But then her eyes widened in surprise.

Kaz Brekker, the most ruthless man she'd ever met was maybe not that uncaring. She merely watched as his hand went to cover the sharp corner of the table as if it was an everyday occurence.

And you got up, putting the spoon away to take a new one when you stopped mid-action to see a gloved hand had been placed inches above your head that would have definitely rubbed against the edge.

At the moment all that existed for you was the person sitting right next to you. You stared at him blankly, planting holes on the side of his face.

He, sensing it turned to look at you, raising his eyebrows as though to ask, 'What?'

But you just shook your head and offered him a small smile and you swore you saw his lip twitch slightly.

===============================

"Ready Inej?" You asked, as softly as you could muster though you were shaking inside, knowing that you two only had one shot at this.

"All ready," she whisperer back and crouched down slightly, preparing to jump.

A gunshot was heard and the guard was successfully distracted by the sound giving Inej some time to slip in between the shadows and enter the room.

You had no choice than to shoot a bullet and now they were all alarmed which would make escaping very difficult.

Your eyes squinted in the darkness as you surveyed the room, hoping no one caught a glimpse of you and praying to whichever Saint there was for Inej to finish her job.

"Come on," you muttered to yourself, your legs shaking with anticipation as it had easily been ten minutes since she had disappeared. "Where the hell are you?"

Just then you spotted some movement going on further to your left and loaded your gun while also keeping one hand on the scabbard tied around your waist. Your footsteps were barely heard as they travelled softly on the wooden floor.

Someone had definitely seen you and were on a hunt, all you could do was make sure to stay hidden perfectly. The darkness was surely an ally but an enemy too.

A loud thud was the only warning you had before someone knocked the air out of your lungs making you skid backwards. You gasped, hands pressed to your chest while taking in deep breaths and moving away from the man, buying yourself time. It didn't feel like your ribs had broken but it hurt nonetheless.

You wracked your brain for a sign of another presence but it was only him. "Viking," you growled in anger after he stepped into the light. "I should've known".

He simply chuckled darkly, "You didn't though. Even Brekker failed. So I think I did my work to perfection, yeah?"

"Who else have you got?"

"No one!" He said, sounding strangely happy and you believed him to be a psychopath. "But the same can't be said for you, am I right?"

But you just shrugged, knowing if you spoke he'd be able to distinguish because of your voice. You should think about asking Kaz to teach you how he managed to always control his tone perfectly. But that would only be possible if you got out of here alive.

Not saying another word you charged, knowing using a gun would prove to be dangerous for you if he snatched it from you. Unfortunately, one of your downfalls was thag you didn't have much of a strong grip. And so you took two knifes and attacked him from both sides.

He took on a few cuts, some going deep and you were scarred too. A small one painted your cheekbone, one on the side of your neck and some on your arms.

You fought for quite a time, both being bloody with sweat dripping off your bodies. It was only when you pretended to hit him from your left and he fell for the basic trick, blocking your attack and in turn giving you easy access to wedge your knife straight into his abdomen. You shot him too for safety measures and double checking.

"Motherfucker," you heaved a sigh, wincing after feeling the burn of the cuts littering you and the stickiness of blood. "Fucking finally!" You exclaimed when your friend came into view, panting slightly and you knew she had gotten into a fight as well.

"Atleast we're matching," she said with a smile and pointed at the similar scars on your forearms.

"Yeah sure," you laughed and quickly moved out, not wanting to personally invite trouble.

The journey back the the Slat was a peaceful one, as it always was with Inej. You talked about Arken's betrayal, the documents she'd found and copied and some amounts of kruge that was just lying on the desk.

"Well despite everything, atleast we got it done," you grimaced slightly and opened the door, immediately walking over to the bar to get yourself a shot atleast. You needed the liquor desperately.

"Oh you're h- Saints!" Wylan sputtered, taking in the bloody sight when you turned. "You're drinking whiskey?!"

"Wy," you said, trying to explain before you faced his wrath. "I needed it".

"Like hell you did," he shook his head and called Nina so urgently that anyone would think you were dying.

"Don't- Wylan-" you cut yourself off after seeing his glare.

"Calm your potions, she's not dying" Nina Zenik said after one glance at your figure lounging in the chair.

"But she's injured!"

"Injury and death don't mean the same thing! And she looks alright to me except for a few cuts. Oh you and Inej have matching tattoos now," she said with a laugh.

"Jesper!" You summoned your gunslinger and he appeared right before you. "Take your man away or I'm going to actually die".

The boy got out of his haze of sering you all bruised and bloodied up before smirking a little and throwing a wink. He took hold of Wylan's arm and dragged his away.

"Matthias get me some bandages would you?" Nina asked as she healed the cuts and Matthias who had finished dressing Inej's arm walked over to you.

"Ouch woman!" You groaned and threw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut.

"It's the size of a paper cut! You don't shout this much when you have a literal bullet in your shoulder".

"They hurt more".

She rolled her eyes though a smile was present on her face as she cleaned the blood from your neck and healed the long cut there.

"Where's Kaz?" You asked, not wanting to admit that you had missed him and wanted to be in his presence.

"He's out somewhere, probably finding another deal," Matthias sighed and bandaged your palm.

After some time you were all healed though the scars were as clear as day. You didn't mind them at all because you were convinced they made you look even more terrifying and beautiful.

"You all okay?" You questioned Inej who was sharpening her collection of knives.

"I always am," she smiled and took your knife to sharpen making you give her a grateful look.

It was now almost past eleven at night and you were sitting on the bed in Kaz's room waiting for him. You wanted to see him, had longed for him after being away for almost an entire day.

And the Saints did answer your plea albeit a while later. You heard the familiar tap of his cane and heavy footsteps as he climbed the staircase and opened the door. His eyes sharp but relaxing upon seeing you.

"Mission went well?" He asked and took off his coat and hat while walking towards you and slumping down on the bed.

"Yes, though Arken's betrayal was a great bit of surprise," you said and sat up, unconsciously putting weight on your elbows and arms in doing so and hissing hissing angrily, clutching your sore muscles.

"What's wrong?" He asked immediately but when you didn't answer, he got up to turn on the lights and saw your scrunched up face.

And one by one he took notice of the bruises that were turning black and blue, bandages being wrapped around your palm and bicep and a thin but prominent scar on your neck. He swallowed the unfamiliar restlessness, fighting the urge to wrap you in his arms and kill the man who had injured you so badly.

"You're hurt," he stated as though you weren't aware of it and closed the distance, sitting as close to you as possible. "You're hurt," he repeated, his eyes flicking from every part of you back to your eyes.

"I was, I'm okay now".

"Who?" He all but spat out, his insides burning with hatred.

"Arken. But I killed him, don't worry".

He eased a little and removed his gloves, cautiously reaching forward to hold your bandaged palm in both of his hands. His breath hitched at the coldness and you made a move to pull away but his grip tightened and he shook his head firmly.

Slowly but surely he relaxed again, feeling comfortable as he unknowingly cradled your hand with such gentleness that you closed your eyes. His fingers traced the edge of the white material, rubbing slow circles.

He suddenly looked up and your breath got caught in your throat at the sheer proximity between you two. You were so close that you could feel the air he heavily exhaled and a faint blush was quick to rise on your cheeks. His dark brown irises staring intently into yours with a flame of possessiveness.

His eyes dipped down to your lips before moving to the scar on your cheekbone and his eyebrows furrowed just a tiny bit. He raised his hand once again, he had only done it once before and the feeling was a huge rival to drowning.

His jaw tightened when the tip of his index finger touched your jaw as softly as a feather. Despite wanting to stay still, you couldn't help it and leaned into his hand, conveying the message that you needed more.

He understood and gritted his teeth, carefully sliding his palm upwards to cup your cheek. His chest expanded as he released the pent up frustration.

This feeling, it was a rival to heaven.

Now that he had touched your skin, he craved more. His thumb softly caressed the scar like it may disappear under his brush. The finger moved at a leisurely pace, soaking in the beautiful feeling for as long as he could hold on.

You couldn't bring yourself to talk after witnessing the tenderness that oozed from his touches and caresses. It was like nothing you had experienced before. The moment felt so precious and for good reason.

You smiled at him, your eyes displaying the immense love that your heart held only for him and also silently thanked him.

He noticed. Of course he did.

And he offered you a gorgeous smile of his own. His lips stretching though not too wide but it was perfect for you and you fell for him yet again.

You found home in his smile and he saw love in your eyes.

===============================

[starkeyslust]

𝐀 𝐓𝐎𝐗𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐍.

𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌. 𝙢𝙪𝙧𝙙𝙚𝙧, 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙, 𝙖𝙗𝙪𝙨𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙧, 𝙘𝙪𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙚𝙭𝙪𝙖𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙨. 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙨, 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙗𝙚 𝙖𝙙𝙫𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙙.

𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝.

𝙧𝙖𝙛𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙮/𝙣 𝙮/𝙡/𝙣, outer banks’ hottest couple. the couple everyone idolized and wished they could be. girls all over the island wanted to be her. guys all over the island wanted to be him. the parties, the drugs, the love, the money. what more could anyone want on the island of outer banks?

one look at the couple would leave you questioning how two people could be so picture perfect. driving their fancy and brand new cars, never dirty and never a scratch or dent. always smiling, showing off loads of pda on any occasion. looking like they stepped right out of a romantic comedy movie. the type of couple you would watch on the tv as a child and only dream to have the impossible.

she was a walking goddess. from her shining smile to her sweet angelic laugh. her hair was shinier than anything anyone’s ever seen. she smelt like heaven. her perfume was intoxicating and left anyone who smelt it in another mindset. she seemed to never have a pimple, a bad day, never a hair out of place. her skin was buttery smooth, shiny and clear. some would say she quite literally was glowing. always dressed in luxury brands, heels on any occasion, the newest and most expensive handbags with matching jewelry. her nails never having a chip. always manicured to perfection, toes painted white. she didn’t need to work, her family had it all. she had money up to her head, swimming in the bills. she just got to prance around town, going to every shop in the mall, just to go home to her prince charming.

he was the guy every girls wanted since he hit puberty. standing at six foot four, built with muscles that would have any girl fainting. his cologne reeked of money and power. his deep husky voice made anyone melt in their spot, fawning over his even deeper chuckle. his smirk was extremely attractive and caused far too many girls to squeeze their thighs together. his captivating ocean blue eyes holding an intimidating gaze but at the same time, all anyone wanted to do was dive into them. he was every girls dream man. the type of guy they wished to marry as little girl dressed like a princess. although his flaws were out in the open for anyone to observe. everyone in outer banks knew of his explosive tendencies. his willingness to fight anyone who ticked him off in the slightest. his haunting cocaine addiction that only added to the ticking time bomb inside of him. his deep hatred for pogues never went unannounced. if you weren’t his friend or fawning over him, you hated him.

he would die for you and he’s told you that far too many times.

what more could anyone want? a picture perfect life straight out of a fairytale with just the added bonus of a boyfriend who would fight any guy who even gave you a sideways glance. 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙡, 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙠 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙢𝙚 𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙮𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙡.

keep your eyes up as you traverse the driveway, past the gates and up the steps to the front door. don’t bother knocking, no one’s going to answer. turn the knob and open the door. watch the true rafe cameron and y/n y/l/n unfold right in front of your eyes.

─────────────────────────

as many are lead to believe, rafe cameron is an explosive shell of a man who can’t handle his fragile masculinity being threatened. unafraid to scream in anyone’s faces if they try to test him. didn’t matter if it was his family, friend, man or woman. even his girlfriend. right?

let’s actually scrap that. that’s how he was before he met you. y/n changed his life around. he felt he was able to control his anger better. he could talk things out without a fight unlike his previous ‘relationships’. he felt calm when he walked the halls of his childhood home for once in his lifetime. only because he knew he was walking to him room where you resided. you and your warm embrace. your angelic laugh and cosmic smile. he felt like he was living in a fan fiction, a dream. in reality it was a nightmare, a horror movie.

six months and six days is all it took for y/n to change. you were a nightmare dressed as a daydream. you knew the game all too well. how to dig deep into his brain and feelings. you knew just the way to make him feel safe and secure. to back down. lose his confidence in defense. he won’t fight back anymore. that was something you are confident in. an confident you should be.

the first time it happened, it was a sunny saturday afternoon on topper thornton’s boat. rafe was talking with kelce while you and topper were at the front of the boat. he had just broken up with sarah and he always had his eye on you. rafe had been alerted by your all too familiar flirty tone and even flirtier giggle. it made his head snap to you guys, only to be met with your hand feeling up his bicep. he didn’t want to accuse you in front of everyone, but he was twitching to say something. an excuse later, the day was cut short and you were back in an empty tannyhill with no one but rafe.

“were you fucking flirting with topper?”

that set you off. how dare he accuse you of flirting with his best friend? “what the fuck rafe? why would i ever do that?” you asked in disbelief, anger bubbling all too quickly. although you knew that you were and you didn’t care. you would do what you pleased. he wouldn’t hear that from your lips though.

that was your first real fight. one sentence caused a full on screaming match between the two of you. one sentence caused rafe to find out who you really were behind those sparking eyes and perfect face. he should’ve known it was too good to be true. he would never get his happy ending. a guy like him didn’t deserve it.

before he knew it, you were grabbing the closest thing to you and chucking it with a strength he never expected you to have. it was a glass statue. one that shattered upon impact and left him littered with glass shards in his delicate skin. the impacted areas began to bleed nearly immediately and you just walked away. he would clean up the mess he started on his own.

he broke a seal that day. every little thing began setting you off that he did wrong in your eyes. which was nearly everything. the slightest tone change or glance in the wrong way and he would earn yet another bruise to his body. you were stronger than your small body gave off. way too strong. a slap, a punch, something thrown, it didn’t matter. you were doing one or all on the daily at this point. he put up with the torture for months.

rafe began crying more than he was smiling. he was left to clean up your mess on his own, bandaging himself up, crying from the pain as he showered. the hot water hitting every spot causing a burning sensation that made his body feel like it was on fire. he was living in hell everyday with you.

not once would he fight back. he knew you would run with it and twist the story. your father was more prominent than his and would do anything for his little girl. his life would be ruined way too quick if he put his hands on you. he took it with pressed lips and dull eyes that held nothing but pain and sorrow. the love that once lit up his eyes slipped away, taking his bright blue hue with it. leaving nothing but dull gray regret in its place.

it was only a few days after your thousandth fight that you began using his cocaine. you told him he didn’t need it and needed to stop anyways. it formed an addiction in your veins that left you high everyday, unable to function without it. it only made you meaner, stronger. the bruise here and there turned into bruises littering his body daily.

he had even ended up in the hospital once. he had nightmares about that day. you were cutting up some fruit when he set you off and your first instinct was to throw the knife directly at him. it hit just next to his heart by pure magic and he was rushed to the hospital.

you spent hours of your life putting makeup on his visible bruises to hide what you truly were behind closed, locked, and bolted doors. he was forced to act happy and in love. the pictures you two posted kept up the idea of just how perfect you two were. no one even batted an eye and the two of you. why would they? you were perfect together after all.

you sat at his desk, snorting lines while he was in bed rest from the stab wound. you starved him and would leave to be with topper. he could fend for himself after all. he was a grown man who did nothing but push your buttons. like a little kid in an elevator.

he would be in too much pain to move so he laid there until he was able to get wheezie to bring him something. he would open instagram or snapchat just to be met with pictures of you and topper. waterworks began like clockwork.

─────────────────────────

he would rather be dead than live another day as your boyfriend.

after being hospitalized again, rafe cameron had decided he had enough. once he recovered, he stood across the living room from you. he wasn’t backing down this time. he was fighting back.

“y/n you can’t keep doing this to me! you’re going to kill me! i never did anything to you to deserve this kind of treatment. i fucking loved you and you had the audacity to flirt with my best friend!” the blonde boy yelled, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

you could only laugh, crossing your arms across your chest in a testing manor. “you’re a big boy rafe. you can handle it. i told you time and time again that i never acted in any flirtatious way towards topper.”

“that’s bullshit. i see all the shit you two post. no best friends post like that. especially when one of them are in a relationship.” he scoffed, rolling eyes following. “i’ve had enough of it y/n. i have no feelings but hatred for you now. i’m fucking done!”

“you’re done? good luck rafe. you can never leave me and you know that. your father will be pissed you fucked up such a big business deal for him.” you said, laughing at the audacity this boy had.

“i’ll tell him what you’ve been doing. why im really in the hospital, why his shit is really broken almost daily. i’ll tell the police, your family, everyone. you’ll be the one with nothing. i would rather be dead than with you another minute.” he threatened, narrow his eyes. his heart was racing a million miles per hour. his anxiety was through the roof and quite frankly, he was scared.

“oh yeah? you’re going to tell everyone? listen to me carefully rafe cameron.” you snapped, tone dark and senile. you began stepping closer to him. he only backed up in response until he was against a wall. he was trapped as you got in his face.

“you are nothing without me. you’ll have no friends left. everyone will believe that you’re just the same coke addicted, hotheaded, fucking piece of shit you’ve always been. you were always getting in fights and suddenly that just stopped? oh no. no one will believe that. you’re just an insecure little bitch with daddy issues. ward would never believe you and he will never love you rafe. you’re no sarah, get that through your thick skull. all that matters when it comes to you is that you see through this business deal for him. do you really think anyone will believe a little boy that can’t do anything right? a little boy that could never do anything right in the public’s eyes. keep talking your bullshit and see where it gets you.” you ranted, voice holding venom. a dark twisted laugh escaped your perfectly glossed plump lips. “if you would rather be dead, than so be it. i’ll make sure that happens. you’ve always said you’d die for me.” you said, a smirk growing.

your eyes were devoid of emotion, almost pitch black. he had never seen them like that before. he had never seen you turn into a full blown psychopath. he seemed to have really pushed you over the edge this time. he had a feeling he would never get his happy ending. he was about to meet his end today. there was no way out of this. he signed his death contract the day he asked you to be his girlfriend and you said yes. he realizes that now. slowly as the minutes pass, he comes to peace with his inevitable death at your hands.

he was at peace with the fact he would never feel his fathers love. his friends aren’t his friends. you aren’t who he fell in love with. he was never good enough. just a fuck up. a disgrace to the cameron family name. you were right in the end. you always were.

─────────────────────────

rafe cameron’s death was the talk of the island. not a single soul wasn’t talking about it. you were painted as the grieving girlfriend who was the victim in all of it. an autopsy was never performed on his body. his death was passed as an overdose from cocaine. after all, he had loads of it in his room and all over his desk. his friends warned him about his addiction. it would kill him. only they didn’t realize it was a different addiction that would kill him.

─────────────────────────

𝙘𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙮’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨!

first fic! it went a completely different direction than i had planned but that’s alright! what do we think? i also haven’t proofread it yet, so excuse any typos! <3 hope you enjoyed it!

[badasbebi]

the cupid project ➛ 1/2

part two

✦ pairing: bada lee x fem!reader

✦ summary: you and your long-term work crush devise a plan to win a company contest. in the end, you wind up going to extreme lengths to commit to the bit

✦ genre/au: fluff, fake dating, videographer reader, bada's extra sweet here, slight friends to lovers

✦ word count: 7k

✦ warnings: isn't proofread. another unrealistic meet cute that doesn't really make sense. smut in part 2

✦ a/n: another two-parter simply bc my fics are too long. 2nd part is finished and will, again, be posted soon (literally tomorrow). didnt put as much thought into this one as I have with my other stories, which will probably be a pattern from now. still think its fun. enjoy!

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

"It's been three minutes. Why are we still waiting on people?" Youngj fusses, running his fingers through his hair, tousling it

"Relax, Jae. You called us here last-minute. People are busy," Minho says from where he is sitting, scrolling through his phone.

Youngj's eyes snap to him. "Too busy for an emergency meeting with their boss?" He retorts, raising an eyebrow. 

Minho looks at him, then shrugs. "Well, that's what happens when you hire a bunch of ultra-talented, sought-after dancers. We don't need you," He finishes, swiftly turning back around, sunglasses concealing his eyes. 

Youngj gapes for a second, then seemingly surrenders, slouching back in his chair with a scowl. 

Meanwhile, you're balancing a camera lens in your hand on the sofa across from them, twisting and turning the machinery in your hand as you stifle your laughter. Still being somewhat new to the team, you weren't sure if you necessarily had the right to take part in Minho's teasing. You became an employee at JustJerk Dance Academy only six months ago, after JustJerk announced that they were looking for new hires. However, you weren't a part of their star-studded lineup of top choreographers and instructors. Instead, you were hired to be a videographer and photographer, working behind the scenes to ensure that every breathtaking move, every impassioned sequence, and every dancer was captured flawlessly. 

Which, it was not like it was very hard. The people here were phenomenal enough as it was, making your time spent at work nothing less than a blessing for someone who's long watched dancers from the sidelines. Even better, the members of JustJerk Dance Academy aren't just a group of talented dancers, but also a lovely group of people. They're kind and caring, often inviting you out to eat after a long day of filming or helping you with the things you struggled with. Sometimes, you still got awestruck around them because it was such a far cry from what you were used to. But, it was beginning to feel like home. And, as the days went by, everyone started to feel more and more like family.

Well, almost everyone.

Suddenly, you hear the doors swing open and glance up to see who's arrived.

"Sorry I'm late," A voice rings throughout the room, revealing none other than the legend herself, Bada Lee. 

Even after having passed by her a million times, the woman never failed to take your breath away. She was gorgeous and had an allure unlike anyone else, with a presence that seemed to shift the energy in every room she entered. In other words, she was also intimidatingly cool, which led to you frequently avoiding her because you were, simply, terrified. Though she's always been nothing but sweet and brilliant during your brief interactions, this kindness almost made things worse. It'd be much easier to disregard her if she was an asshole. Unluckily for you, she was one of the most charming people you've encountered in your life, making it nearly impossible to ignore the magnetic pull that's been causing an increasing amount of debauched thoughts and dreams. 

Bada walks toward the rest of the group with an apologetic smile on her face. Her long, black and blonde hair was tied back in a bun, and her baggy clothes were noticeably wrinkled, suggesting that she came straight from practice. Despite her slightly disheveled appearance, she looked as enticing as ever. 

You avert your gaze and continue playing with the camera equipment in your hands, attempting to appear nonchalant. 

"What happened? You're never late," Youngj asks, sitting upright. 

"I was helping one of my students out with a routine and got a little distracted. Sorry," Bada explains with a pout, sitting down on a separate couch next to yours. You keep your eyes on the camera in your hands.

"Don't worry about it, I just need everyone's attention for a few moments," Youngj says, scanning the room. "Is this everyone?"

"No, Redllic should be coming in soon. She was right behind me," Bada says, looking over at the door.

Your eyebrow inadvertently quirks up at the sound of Redllic's name escaping her lips. 

"Good enough, then. Let's get started," Youngj leans forward in his seat, clapping his hands together. "I want to first apologize to all of you for calling you here so abruptly. Unfortunately, this was the only time I had to get you all here together.”

Everyone eagerly waits for him to speak, the air thick with curiosity as Youngj takes a deep breath, his gaze shifting from one person to another.

"So, to clarify, I didn't call you guys here for anything particularly important."

Minho laughs bitterly. "I fucking knew it."

Youngj gives him a pointed look before continuing. "There's a special event that the company is holding and I wanted to inform all of you about it in-person, because even though it isn’t anything to worry about, it is admittedly a bit...unusual for us."

"What is it?" Redllic asks, appearing out of thin air. Everyone, except for Bada, jumps slightly, surprised by her sudden arrival.

"Redllic!" Youngj says, placing a hand on his heart. "You scared the hell out of me."

"Oh, sorry," Redllic shrugs, plopping down next to Bada, throwing her feet onto the coffee table. "What's going on?"

"Right, um," Youngj clears his throat. "As I was saying, there's an event that we're hosting for Valentine's Day. We're calling it the 'Cupid Project.' Basically, you're all going to get into pairs, and you'll be doing a variety of activities together," Youngj explains, his eyes scanning the group, watching the reactions on everyone's faces. 

Ew, is the immediate word that pops into your head. This reminded you of the group projects your teachers forced you to do in school. You can already see how this project will play out, and it's probably not going to be pretty. Based on the skeptical expressions you can make out, you are at least relieved to see that you aren't the only one feeling hesitant. 

"What kind of activities?" Bada asks softly, tilting her head.

"Just activities to get to know each other. Doing things you wouldn't normally do," Youngj replies, shrugging his shoulders. "Jho and I have some planned activities, but the point is for you and your partner to find things to do voluntarily. If we plan everything out for you guys, then it'll be completely forced."

"Wait, wait, wait," Minho interjects, pushing his sunglasses onto the top of his head. "So, you're telling me I have to go on a date with someone here?"

"No," Youngj shakes his head. "We're not forcing you to fall in love or anything. This is purely platonic, just a fun way to bond with each other. And there'll be a prize," Youngj says, wagging his finger.

"A prize?" Minho echos, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes. You and your partner will compete against the others and the pair who does the most activities and seems to have actually become good friends with each other will win a reward."

"How are you measuring that?" Hoyeon, another videographer, asks. 

"We'll conduct anonymous votes and collect them at the Valentine's Day party we're hosting," Youngj explains. "But, it's not supposed to be all that serious, everyone. We're just trying to do something fun and, you know, team-build since we've gotten a lot of new hires recently. And, we'll get a good video out of it. We're planning on making a highlight reel of the Cupid Project for our Youtube Channel, which will be nice promotional material, too."

So that's what this was really about: content. Truthfully, you wouldn't have an issue with this if it were not very likely that you'd be the one filming or editing this highlight reel. You internally groan, realizing you'll have to deal with an increased workload because of this clusterfuck. 

"I think it's a great idea," Redllic says, a mischievous smirk on her face. You watch her glance at Bada, who is staring at nothing with an unreadable look in her eyes.

"Well, what's the prize?" Minho asks. 

"600,000 KRW"

Others around the room whisper in excitement. You almost drop your camera. Out of shock, yes, but also because that was exactly the amount of money you needed to buy a brand new camera that you've been eyeing for ages. You've been wanting to record more complex videos, wanting to work on actual music video sets, but your current setup is limiting you. If you were able to get your hands on that camera now, you'd be about a year or two ahead of the original timeline you had in mind. You bite the inside of your lip, hoping Youngj doesn't see the desperation in your eyes.

"Holy shit," Hoyeon mutters. 

The two of you make eye contact, and you already know that the two of you are working together. You were close, having joined the company at the same time and being around the same age. This would be an easy win. 

"Alright, so it's settled, then," Youngj says, a confident grin forming on his face.

"Are we choosing our own partners?" Redllic asks, moving a blonde strand of hair away from her face. 

"No. That would lead to a bunch of people asking to be paired with people they're already friends with, which would make the whole thing pointless. We're drawing names out of a hat," Youngj says, gesturing towards the baseball cap resting on the coffee table.

Everyone collectively groans. You try not to cry. 

"Stop, come on, don't make this difficult," Youngj frowns. "The sooner you choose, the more time you have to prepare. Now, who wants to go first? I already have your names written,"

"Wait, let me go first," Hoyeon volunteers, jumping up and grabbing the hat. She reaches her hand inside and picks a small slip of paper out, then reads it aloud. You bite your lip, praying.

"Howl," Hoyeon declares, holding the piece of paper out for everyone to see. 

Your name is not Howl, but you nearly howl right then and there. Realistically, the probability that you would get who you wanted was unlikely considering the number of people in the room. Nonetheless, it hurt. 

The man with the wolf-centric name quietly stands and moves away from the corner he was situated in. He had been quiet the entire meeting, and most did not really notice he was there until Hoyeon mentioned his name.

"Guess it's you and me," Hoyeon laughs, smiling at the tall figure beside her.

Howl gives her a slight smile, shakes her hand, and they sit back down.

"Alright, Bada. Why don't you come over here?" Youngj says, gesturing to the coffee table.

"The one that everyone wants, I'm sure," Redllic comments with a bemused smirk, causing a clamor of chuckles.

Bada scoffs, and heads over to the table. She reaches into the hat, rustling through the papers. You hold your breath, reminding yourself of the unlikelihood that you'd be the name she pulled. However, as the woman's fingers curl around a single sheet of paper, your heart skips a beat. You feel as if you were the one reaching into the hat.

Bada pulls the paper out and unfolds it, her eyes scanning the sheet. Then, her eyes lock with yours, and your heart leaps. 

"Y/N," Bada calls out, holding the paper up.

You freeze, the room spinning around you. There's no way. 

Bada cocks her head to the side. "It's you, right?"

"Oh! Um, yeah," You sputter, quickly gathering the camera equipment around you.

You hear whispers and feel a hundred pairs of eyes on you as you walk over to the girl. You ignore the feeling of your skin burning. 

"Hey, Y/N. It's nice to officially meet you. I've seen you around a lot," Bada says, eyes warm.

"Yeah, nice to officially meet you, too," You say, extending your hand.

Her hand is warm and soft, enveloping yours like a blanket. Your hand feels cold and sweaty. 

"Interesting," Redllic quips, eyes darting between you two, a glint in her gaze. Bada tears her eyes away from you, giving the blonde woman a questioning look as she retracts her hand.

You take the opportunity to step away, returning to your seat and letting the other dancers pull names. The rest of the pairings are revealed without much commotion, except for Minho's, who loudly complains when he has to partner up with Jaeyong, a good choreographer, but awkward man. 

After all the names are drawn, everyone is dismissed. You're quick to leave the room, eager to return to the comfort of your familiar space behind the camera.

"Y/n! Slow down! We need to talk!" Hoyeon calls, catching up to you.

You turn around, side-stepping out of the way of people walking past you in the hallway. You wait for her to stop in front of you before you speak."With all due respect, I don't really want to talk right now. I just want to record. Then go home, and eat some ramen."

"With Bada?" Hoyeon sings, a cheeky grin forming on her face.

"Shut up," You mumble, rolling your eyes and continuing down the hall.

"Wait, why are you so bummed?" Hoyeon starts, following behind you, "Bada's cool?"

You sigh. "Exactly. She's cool. I'm...not."

"What? Yes, you are. Why would you think otherwise?" Hoyeon scoffs, her eyes narrowed.

"I just," You pause in the hallway again, trying to formulate the words. "I'm a little scared of her, is all."

"Scared?" Hoyeon questions, her forehead wrinkling. "She's nice though. You don't have anything to worry about."

"Yeah, but she's so pretty, and talented, and again, I'm not. Not in the way extraordinary way that she is, I mean.” You explain, shoulders slumping. 

A look of realization dawns upon Hoyeon's face, and she laughs menacingly. "Oh, I see what this is. You think she's hot, and you're a scaredy cat who's afraid of rejection. Case closed. I understand."

"That's not how I would phrase things but, essentially, yes," You concede, turning the corner.

"You're being silly. She's not a god. She's literally just a human being...a very sexy human being but a human being nonetheless. Just talk to her like one," Hoyeon suggests, shrugging her shoulders. "I mean, are you not going to try to get that money? I know you want it. I saw that crazed look in your eye once Youngj made it to that fifth zero."

You laugh, "I mean, yes, I really want that money. I don't know if it's possible though. Even if I wanted to reach out to her, she’s so busy I doubt she's planning on actually committing to this. Especially because she's already loaded."

"You don't know until you try you wimp," Hoyeon says, nudging you in the arm.

"Ow," You groan, rubbing the spot in a manner that probably proves her point. "Aren't you going to try for the money too? Where's Howl, huh?"

"We're friends already, it'll be chill. I don't know if we'll necessarily win the money, but, like, we'll have a good time," Hoyeon states, grinning.

"Ugh, gross," You say, sticking out your tongue.

She ignores your immaturity. "What do you wanna do with the money anyway?" Hoyeon asks, leaning against the wall next to an entrance to one of the dance studios.

"Remember that equipment I told you about? So I can start working on sets?"

"Oh, right," Hoyeon says, crossing her arms. "You said that you've been wanting to do that for a while, y/n. Are you really not going to talk to Bada? I’ve recorded with her a few times now and I mean it when I say that she's nice as hell. I feel like she'd probably be down, or, at the very least, will understand if you explain things to her. "

"I'll try. Maybe. At some point. It's not going to be today, though," you mutter, reaching for the studio door before you are stopped by Hoyeon jabbing her french-tipped fingernail into your chest. 

"You better. Or else," Hoyeon threatens, a dark expression coming over her. 

"Move your finger, please," You say, swatting her hand away.

Hoyeon rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Good luck filming. I'm gonna go find Howl. Love ya,"

"Yeah, yeah. Have fun," You wave goodbye to her as she walks down the hall, pulling out her phone.

Once she's out of sight, you release a deep sigh and push open the door, only to be met with the sight of a familiar face. 

"Oh," You breathe.

Bada turns, a surprised expression on her face. "Y/n, hi. Were you coming in?"

"Um, yeah," You reply, slowly entering the room and closing the door behind you. "Are you rehearsing something?"

"Yeah," Bada answers, glancing at the mirror.

"Sorry. I can go-"

"No, no, don't worry about it. If you need to film in here, that's fine. I'll just go next door," Bada says, waving her hand.

You pause, taking a breath. Now’s your chance. "Actually, forget the recording, could I talk to you real quick? About the...cupid thing?"

"Yeah, of course. I was actually hoping we'd get a chance to talk," Bada grins, sitting down on the floor and patting the spot beside her.

You hesitantly walk over and sit down next to her. You take a moment to compose yourself, running your fingers along the smooth fabric of your pants.

"So," Bada prompts.

"Uh," You stammer, wracking your brain for what you were supposed to say. "Um, well, I just wanted to say that, uh, you are really, um, talented. And-oh, this sounds really weird." You finish, running a palm down your face in embarrassment. 

"No, no, it's not," Bada chuckles, a gentle smile on her face. "Thank you, though. But, um, that's not what you wanted to say, right?"

"Right. Sorry," You apologize, a rush of blood filling your cheeks.

"Don't worry. Take your time. We have a lot of it," Bada reminds you, studying the expression on your face. Her voice and words are calming, but her staring is freaking freaking you out further. 

You take another deep breath, hoping to quell your nerves. "Okay. I'm sorry. Uh, I'll try again. What I really wanted to say is, I know that it’s a stupid contest, and that you probably don't care about winning, but I actually really want to participate in that project and win that prize money. And, I was hoping you'd, maybe, help me win?" Before she can respond, you launch into another tangent. "I'm sorry, you're probably busy, which is okay, but I just want to upgrade my equipment so I can get more opportunities outside of-"

"Hey," Bada says, gently laying her hand on top of yours. "Of course I'll help you. You don't have to apologize. I think it'll be fun."

You nearly spiral, but Bada's touch is surprisingly soothing, and you calm down despite your anxiety. 

"Oh, wow. Thank you, so much," You breathe.

"It's not a big deal, seriously. I'm looking forward to it," Bada insists, squeezing your hand.

You stare at her, and her kind, sparkling eyes. What have you gotten yourself into?

You both sit there for a second, a pregnant pause in the air, before you quickly pull your hand away, remembering how sweaty they were.

Bada smiles, unphased. Then, she begins tapping her fingers rhythmically against the ground, a contemplative look on her face as she stares at the space where your hands were previously intertwined. 

"So," Bada suddenly looks up. "If you're just in it to win it, and you really want a fair shot, I think we need to do something a little extreme."

You blink, scared. "What do you mean…extreme?"

She bites her lip and you have to resist the urge to stare. "Youngj said this was supposed to be platonic, so that's how most people are going to approach it. How do we seem better or stronger than other platonic relationships? What’s more intense than that?"

You must be misunderstanding where she's going with this. "Um, a romantic one?" You say, furrowing your eyebrows.

To your shock, she nods. "Exactly. Y/n, I'm saying that we should make our Cupid partnership a romantic one," Bada states, her expression serious.

Your head is spinning. She is taking this much more seriously than you were anticipating. You were expecting to just go out for coffee a few times, and maybe post a picture of your twinning lattes on instagram to sell your friendship. You have no idea how to process this more intense proposition.

"Are you suggesting that we pretend to date each other?" You confirm.

A beat of silence. She leans back slightly, her eyes flickering. "I mean, yeah. Sure," She pauses. "Unless you're not comfortable with that."

"I am," You respond, the lie escaping your mouth with ease. 

Bada's eyes widen and she sits up, a smile growing on her face. "You're sure? If you're not cool with that, we don't have to. I know the idea is a little bit out there. I just, uh, want to help," She babbles, her fingers tapping against the floor again. 

You laugh. Was Bada Lee nervous? "I'm not uncomfortable with it. I trust you. As long as it helps us win,"

"It will, I promise. I'll make it worth your while," Bada vows, her expression determined.

"I can't wait," You laugh again, feeling the butterflies in your stomach flutter.

"Cool," She breathes, her body relaxing. "Well, I should go. I'll talk to you tomorrow?"

You grin, nodding. "Yeah, that'd be great."

"Awesome," She smiles, standing up. She reaches her down and grabs your hand, pulling you up. "I'm not gonna be able to actually meet-up with you tomorrow because I have something scheduled, but I already have your phone number. I'll text you."

You nod, distracted and unable to speak as her soft fingers brush against your palm.

"Bye-bye," She waves cutely, her long legs swiftly carrying her across the room. You wave back, her departing smile etched into your brain as you watch the door click shut behind her. Then, you're alone. 

You stare at the floor, processing the interaction. You had just agreed to pretend to date one of the hottest and most intimidating women you had ever met. You had no clue why you did it. Maybe the promise of money and fulfilled dreams had blinded you. Still, the whole thing seemed a little too ridiculous. Too dangerous. 

But there was no backing out now. You already went through the trouble of telling Bada about your desperation, and you told her that you trusted her. You'd have to commit. 

"Well," you whisper, hugging yourself in a soothing motion. "Here goes nothing."

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You fidget within the plush confines of your seat, hesitantly glancing around your dimly lit surroundings as you twist a gleaming piece of silverware between your fingers. Your other hand remains in your lap, afraid to touch the red linen covering your table. Your gaze settles on a couple a few tables away from you, clinking their wine glasses together with pompous grins. It crosses your mind that the wine they're drinking is probably worth more than the money you're doing all of this for, and you make the executive decision to reach for the bottle of wine the woman sitting across from you generously bought. 

When you drop your fork to outstretch your hand toward the bottle, the woman in question seems to notice, hurriedly grabbing ahold of it before you can reach it, and pours the liquid into your glass, herself. 

"Thank you," you murmur, retracting your hand and finally allowing it to fall on the table. 

"No problem," Bada replies, her voice warm and velvety, like the wine. She pushes your drink toward you, and you hurriedly snatch it up to take a large gulp, allowing it to trickle down your throat. The heat of the alcohol soothes your anxiety, and you exhale deeply. 

Your relief lasts for approximately one millisecond. Because, in the next, you're putting your drink down and are being reminded of the predicament you've gotten yourself into. Bada's preoccupation with her menu gives you the chance to observe the way the soft glow emanating from a nearby lamp illuminates her features. The light traces the curves of her face, accentuating every perfect line. Her eyebrows furrow in concentration, compelling you to consider reaching over the table to smooth the lines over with your thumb. When you try to look away, your gaze locks on the pouting of her lips as she focuses on whatever she's reading. 

"I'm thinking of getting the Frutti Di Mare," she voices, snapping you out of your trance. She sets the menu down and looks up, a gentle smile on her face.

"I don't know what that is," you respond dumbly. 

She laughs, the sound light and airy, causing the skin near her eyes to wrinkle adorably. "I thought Italian was your favorite?"

"It is," you confirm, feeling flustered. "I just-the Italian places I go to are super watered down. The fanciest thing you'll see there is fettuccini alfredo,"

"That makes sense," Bada nods, her smile turning playful. "Then, I'll let you know what it is. It's basically seafood. I think it's usually served with pasta."

"Ah," you reply, nodding slowly. "Tasty."

Bada laughs again, and you feel like a scratched CD—unable to get any words out, twitching in place, devilish sounds threatening to enemate from you at any moment. "I'll make sure to order an extra portion for you to try. Unless, of course, you don't want me to."

"No, that works. I'm fine with that," you respond, quickly.

"I figured." Bada smiles knowingly.

Your hand clutches your chest. "Hey, is that a little shade? Did I miss it? Please, elaborate," you joke, leaning forward.

Bada giggles. "Maybe. You've been drinking a lot of that wine. And I think you ate most of the breadsticks."

You glance at your breadcrumb filled plate, then at the half-empty basket of breadsticks. "Oh. Wow. I did."

"You did," Bada affirms, her expression amused. She scoots her chair closer and takes a sip of her own drink, her tongue darting out to lick her lips once she's done. You have the overwhelming urge to mimic the motion, but resist, choosing to instead stuff another breadstick in your mouth.

You swallow the last bits of the breadstick, wiping the crumbs off of your mouth, only for a new, smaller, crumb to appear. Bada notices, and when she raises her arm, your breath hitches. You feel her soft hand graze the side of your face, the pad of her thumb rubbing the crumb off your lip.

"There we go," Bada smiles, satisfied. You can't help but lean into her touch, the warmth of her skin a pleasant contrast against the cold room.

You're startled out of the moment when the waiter appears, setting a basket of warm bread down. You jump, moving away from Bada.

"Have we decided what we'd like to eat?" he asks, his accent thick.

Bada nods, seemingly unaffected by the exchange. "Yes, we're ready. I'll have the Frutti di Mare."

"Great choice," the waiter says. "And, for you, miss?"

"Um, Spaghetti," you answer, your voice strained. 

The waiter scribbles down the order. "Anything else to drink?"

"I’m good, thank you," Bada answers, her tone sweet, smiling gratefully at the man.

"I'll be right back with your food," the waiter bows his head, his ponytail bouncing, and swiftly leaves the table, leaving the two of you alone. 

Avoiding eye contact with Bada, you grab ahold of your glass and drink. The air crackles with something subtle, and you find yourself stealing glances at Bada’s pretty face in between sips, your cheeks warming.

But you needed to get down to business. It’s already been two days since you discussed fake-dating, and this is the first time you’ve done anything together. The clock was ticking.

You placed your drink down on the table and swallowed loudly, causing Bada to stop fiddling with the napkin in front of her in favor of looking at you. 

"So," you start.

"So," she copies.

"What's the plan?" you ask, drumming your fingers against the table.

Bada's eyebrows furrow again. "The plan?"

"For the whole Cupid thing," you clarify.

"Oh," she says, blinking. "Right. Well, I was thinking, that this was sort of the plan."

"This being..."

"Dinner. At a fancy restaurant," she responds, gesturing to her surroundings. "People will see us hanging out together here, and it'll get the rumor mill running. I wouldn't be surprised if the media picked it up, honestly. I think it's a pretty solid first step. We're just planting the seeds,"

You nod. "Yeah, okay. That makes sense. How do we get from here to actually dating?"

She leans back in her chair, pondering the question. "Hm. I don't know. An Instagram post, maybe? A soft launch?"

You consider this. "Okay, sure. But, what would the picture be of? This is all so, vague."

Bada shrugs, nonchalant. "We'll figure it out as we go. We're gonna be spending a lot of time together for the next few days so there'll be plenty of opportunities for pictures. For now, I think we should just enjoy dinner. We're supposed to look like a couple in love right now and I don't know if trying to scientifically plan a soft launch is really giving romance."

"Right," you sigh. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Bada says, reaching across the table to give your hand a quick squeeze.

You're interrupted by the waiter returning, bringing the food. He carefully sets the dishes down, and a delectable smell fills the air.

"Bon appetit," the waiter bows his head and disappears again.

"Thanks," you call after him, taking a moment to observe the meal.

"It looks great," Bada comments, reaching for her fork.

"It does," you agree, grabbing your own utensils. You take a tentative bite, moaning loudly as the flavors immediately explode in your mouth. "Holy fuck."

Bada stares at you, wide-eyed and frozen, a piece of pasta still stuck on her fork.

You blush, covering your mouth. "Oh my gosh, sorry."

She gulps, snapping out of her stupor. "No, no, it's fine. That was just, a, uh. It seems like you really like it!"

"It's really good," you confirm, your words muffled by the food.

"I can tell," Bada chuckles, her voice low and her eyes twinkling.

"Sorry. I'm gonna try not to embarrass myself any more," you say, chewing more delicately.

She laughs softly. "There's no need to apologize. You're funny, y/n," Bada says, the sincerity of her words and the fondness in her tone making heat rise to your cheeks. 

You eat the rest of your food quietly, listening to the bustling noise around you, the sound of Bada's utensils clinking against her plate unusually relaxing.

As you're finishing your last bits of pasta, a group of loud voices and giggles pass by your table. One of the girls, a brunette, notices the two of you and stops.

"Oh, my god," you hear the girl not-so-discreetly whisper, clutching her friends' arms. "Is that who I think it is?"

You glance at Bada, and she's looking at you. You raise an eyebrow.

"Bada Lee and...I don't know who that is? Who is that?" The brunette's friend replies.

You look down, pretending not to hear the conversation.

"I don't know either. You think that's her girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend?! No way. They're probably just hanging out or something."

At this, Bada drops her fork and reaches across the table for your hand, grabbing it gently.

"You okay, baby?" Bada asks, her tone sugary sweet.

You're taken aback by the pet name. But, you decide to play along. You smile at her, placing your other hand over hers. "I'm fine, sweetie. Just a little tired."

"Do you wanna leave, honey?"

"I think I'll be fine," you grin.

"If you're sure," Bada smiles, stroking the back of your hand with her thumb.

"I'm positive, honey bunch," you affirm, biting onto your bottom lip to contain your laughter. 

"Aw, they're cute!" the brunette sighs. "I've gotta tell Sooyoung about this."

"Yeah, we should leave them alone, though. Let's go."

You and Bada watch the pair walk away. As soon as the women are out of sight, the two of you burst into laughter, dropping the facade.

"Did you see their faces?" Bada giggles.

"'Who is that?'" you imitate, your voice high pitched and nasal.

"Baby," Bada says, smirking. 

You laugh, but the endearment sends butterflies to your stomach. "Sweetie."

"Honey bunch," Bada grins.

"Honey bunny," you fire back.

"My love," she replies, tilting her head with a smirk, her voice playful. 

"Lovebug," you answer, raising an eyebrow.

"Is this foreplay?" she jokes, laughing. 

"I mean, if you want it to be, I'm not stopping you," you say, the words slipping out before you can stop yourself. Bada's eyes shoot up, and you feel slightly mortified and shocked by your own brazenness. 

"Do you mean that?" Bada asks, her voice dropping down an octave.

You open your mouth, then shut it. This is odd. You were regretting your lack of filter at first, but Bada seemed a bit too intrigued by the idea of consensual foreplay with you. She could just be joking, or really committing to the fake-dating bit. The look in her eyes was telling you otherwise, though.

However, you're cut off by the waiter reappearing. "May I interest you in dessert, or shall I bring the check?" he asks.

"Just the check, please," she says, not breaking eye contact with you.

The waiter bows, leaving the table once more.

You opt to stare down at the table. "I'll pay half," you offer, avoiding her earlier question.

"It's on me," Bada says. "I brought you here."

"Thank you."

"It's no problem," she says, a small smile on her lips.

Once the waiter comes back, Bada gives him her card. When he returns to your table with the receipt, Bada locks eyes with you, your heart thumping loudly.

"Let's get out of here," Bada says, and you nod.

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You stand at the entrance of the restaurant, a gentle breeze caressing your face. Your hands are stuffed in the pockets of your coat, and the chilly air nips at the tip of your nose.

"Are you ready?" Bada asks from behind you. You turn around to look at her, and the way her eyes reflect the light of the streetlamps above you causes your chest to tighten.

"Ready," you confirm, a hint of a smile on your face.

"Alright," Bada says, shoving her phone, which you don't remember seeing her pull out, into her coat pocket. She leads you to her car, opening the passenger seat door for you.

"Thanks," you smile, and she responds with a nod. 

After the door is closed, she goes around to the driver's seat, starting the engine and driving out of the parking lot. You're both silent as she navigates through the streets. You peer out the window, watching the city lights flicker and blur as you replay tonight's events, attempting to ignore the now obvious tension. 

"So," Bada breaks the silence, causing you to whip your head toward her. "You still haven't fully explained to me what plans you have in mind for that camera you're wanting so badly."

"Well," you begin, relieved that she took the conversation in this direction. "I love what I do at JustJerk. Seriously, watching you guys dance is amazing, and the people are the best. But, I don't want my career to end there. I want to do more on top of that, diversify my portfolio and all. What I really want to do is get onto a music video set. Maybe start directing, too. One day."

Bada hums and smiles. "That's amazing."

"Thanks," you grin, scratching the back of your neck.

"With all due respect, though, do you really need the new equipment for that? You do such a good job with our choreography videos. I don't know anything about videography, but I'd be surprised if that alone couldn't get your foot in the door."

"Well," you draw out, considering your words. "That's probably true. But, I don't think I'm that lucky. The equipment will help, the camera will be useful...the lenses will be nice to have…”

Bada frowns. "Have you given it a shot yet, though? As much as I'm going to try my hardest to help you win this money, realistically, there's a good chance that we still won't win. I'd hate to see you postpone your dreams just because of this camera, or because of this project."

You pause, staring at the car's interior, listening to the sound of the engine running, lost in thought. You weren't sure if it was because you admired Bada so much, or if it was something about her tone, but you were actually starting to rethink things. Perhaps you were holding yourself back a bit. 

"Maybe," you simply respond, unable to say much else. 

"I mean, the equipment will probably help," Bada concedes. "But, not having it won't stop you, I'm sure. Our videographers really don't get enough credit. But, you're all great and you're especially amazing at what you do, y/n. The only reason why I haven't gotten around to working with you is because the other dancers keep getting to you first," she admits, bitterly. 

"Wow," you breathe. "Thank you."

"Of course. You're awesome," she says, the confidence in her words filling your heart.

"So are you," you say, turning away from her, trying not to blush.

"I know. You’ve said it already," Bada smirks, and you simply roll your eyes. 

A more comfortable silence envelops the two of you, and the tension from before dissipates. You lean back in the passenger seat, a smile on your face, feeling content.

Soon, Bada pulls up outside of your apartment, and you're disappointed. 

"This is you," Bada announces.

"Yep," you nod.

"I had a lot of fun tonight," she says, smiling.

"Me too," you reply with a matching smile. "Thank you for dinner."

"It was no problem," she states, waving her hand.

You step outside, but, before closing the car door, you hesitate. "Um," you say, unsure.

"What is it?" Bada asks, a hint of worry in her tone.

"Can I give you a hug?" you blurt out.

Bada looks startled, but her expression softens. "Sure," she nods, turning the engine off and stepping outside.

You meet her on the sidewalk, and pull her into a hug, wrapping your arms around her torso and pressing your cheek against her chest. She hugs back, and you swear that you can hear her heartbeat.

"Goodnight," Bada whispers into your hair.

"Goodnight," you echo, pulling away, already missing her warmth.

She opens the car door again, ducking inside. "Text me when you get upstairs," she instructs.

"I will," you promise.

"Great. Goodnight, y/n," she smiles.

"Goodnight, Bada," you reply, watching her drive away. Once her car disappears, you sigh.

As you trudge up the stairs to your apartment, a single question repeats in your mind: What the fuck am I doing?

You finish cleaning up and getting ready for bed approximately two hours later. As you lay in bed, scrolling through social media, a post from a JustJerk fanpage catches your eye. It's a picture of Bada and you together at dinner, with the caption, "Caught on a date?!"

You laugh at the predictability of the situation, and just as you're about to turn off your phone, you think to check Bada's Instagram, curious. She posted a new story.

You tap it, and it's a picture of you, taken from behind, standing outside the restaurant. There are no words attached to the picture. Just one, pink heart.

You smile, saving the picture, and fall asleep with the image burned into your mind.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Three days later, you are stationed near your camera, watching Bada teach. The day after your fake dinner date, she sent you a text describing the next stage of the plan, which was attending each other's events and collaborating in public whenever it seemed right. This initially felt like an excellent idea. You'd been dying to watch and record one of Bada's classes since you started working at JustJerk, and it brought you guys one step closer to convincing everyone you were seriously dating. What could go wrong?

The actual execution of this idea turned out to be much more distressing than you previously imagined. It started this morning when you were filming Minho's class. You kneeled in the front of the room, prepping your camera as Minho made rounds around the studio to talk to his students individually. Engrossed with your equipment, you didn't hear the sounds of the door opening and closing, or the following eruption of loud murmuring. It was not until you saw a pair of sneakers stop in front of you and caught a whiff of a now-familiar sweet aroma, that you bothered to glance up. When you did, you found yourself making eye contact with Bada, holding a bouquet.

"These are for you," Bada said, a proud smile on her face. 

Your jaw dropped and you scrambled to get up, almost knocking the camera over. They were roses, vibrant and beautiful against the dull gray of the dance studio. No one had done this for you before. 

"They're gorgeous," you whispered, accepting the flowers.

"I'm glad you think so," she replied, her smile deepening as she observed your reaction. You cradled the bouquet in your hands, inhaling the smell of the roses with a pleased hum and missing the endeared expression on Bada's face. You certainly didn’t see the way she started to lean forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead. Shocked, you loosened your grip on the bouquet, feeling nothing but the rush of warmth spread through every inch of you as a result of her tiny peck. 

She shifted back, as relaxed as ever. "I gotta go, but I'll see you later?" 

"Definitely," you nod, clutching the bouquet once again, head spinning.

"Great." She nodded, then made her way out of the studio.

After she left, you turned to face the room, only to be met with everyone’s staring. Right. That is what this is about. Getting attention. Nothing else. 

You glanced at Minho, who had a teasing smirk on his face.

"What?" you asked him, scowling. 

"Nothing," he laughed, then restarted his class. 

Now you are recording Bada's class. Or at least, that’s what you’re supposed to be doing. But, having to observe her so confidently lead her students through a routine, hearing her call out corrections with a simultaneously gentle yet demanding tone, noticing how hard her abs are when she lifts her shirt to wipe the sweat from her brow for the last hour? It's been painful. You're so busy trying not to swoon you've nearly forgotten to press record a couple of times.

She suddenly looks at you, flashing a small smile at you accompanied by crinkling eyes. You give her a thumbs-up and quickly shift your gaze toward the camera as if you were busy setting the frame, even though the shot is already perfect.

Bada returns her focus to the class, and the lesson continues. Every once in a while, Bada walks over to you, checking in and asking how everything is going. Each time, she offers a smile, a wink, or some form of encouragement, and every time, it takes everything in your power not to blush. She's clearly playing it up for the audience, but the effect she has on you is no act.

Her students are buying it, though. The moment she gets near you, the girls (and a few guys) start whispering amongst themselves. It's working.

"Alright," Bada claps, signaling the end of the session. "That's it for today. Good job, everybody."

"Thank you, teacher!" they all exclaim, bowing and gathering their things.

You're packing up your camera when you feel a pair of hands grasp your waist. Startled, you drop your tripod.

"Gotcha," Bada giggles.

"Shit, that scared me," you say, placing a hand on your heart.

"Sorry, sorry," she laughs. "How'd the recording go?"

"Pretty good," you say, bending down to pick up the tripod. Bada immediately crouches, beating you to it. "Thank you."

"No problem" she says, straightening up, extending the tripod towards you.

"Thanks," you say again, taking the device from her. "Anyway, you did good. It's not going to need much editing."

"Really?" Bada smiles. "Thank you. That means a lot, actually."

"It’s no problem," you grin, suppressing the fluttering in your stomach. "And, uh, thanks again for the flowers, by the way. They were beautiful."

“You are very welcome. Just fulfilling my fake-girlfriend duties," Bada beams, and you have to look away.

"Well, anyway, I should probably head home," you say, avoiding eye contact. "Gotta get started on the footage."

She tilts her head. "Uh, I don’t think so. That’s gonna have to wait for tomorrow,” 

"Huh? Why?" you ask, confused.

"Because, y/n, we're going bowling with Youngj and them? Don't tell me you forgot," she chides, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh," you say, remembering. "I thought that was supposed to be later."

"It's 7:30," she says, a slight frown on her face.

"Fuck," you curse, running a hand through your hair. "Sorry, I'll get out of here."

"We have to go there together," Bada reminds you.

"Shit. Okay, yeah, let's go," you sigh.

"Are you okay?" she asks, concern etched onto her features.

"Yes. No. Ugh. Sorry, I just had a lot on my mind today. Didn't get much sleep," you say, rubbing your eyes. It wasn’t a complete lie. Ever since your date at the restaurant, you’ve been getting bombarded with messages from friends asking about the two of you, giving you little time to rest alongside your work for Justjerk. There was more going on today, though. 

"That sucks," Bada sympathizes. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not really," you answer, bluntly.

"Okay," she says, softly. "But, if and when you do, I’m all ears."

"Thanks, Bada. I appreciate it," you reply, and a part of you is telling yourself not to get attached. But the bigger part of you, the part that wants nothing more than to fall into her arms, tells that smaller part to fuck off.

"Of course. Anyway, we should really get going," she says, and you follow her out the door, leaving your thoughts and feelings behind.

read part two

[nakedbibi333]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐓𝐨 𝐎𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞

Realizing the importance of your internal reality - a comprehensive guide to the law of assumption...

Link to document version

✧˖° 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ✧˖°

Receiving a gift does not mean that we are going to use it wisely, but we have the gift. Everyone has the gift; and the world simply reflects the use of that gift. (Control Your Inner Conversations Neville Goddard)

Welcome to my comprehensive guide on the law of assumption! 

This document is highly focused on understanding, changing, and properly utilizing your internal reality. It will also be mainly focused on self-concept. I understand that most people simply want to know how to manifest material things, however in order to truly give yourself the life you deserve, you must first change self. 

If you are still wary about changing your self-concept, think of it like this: You have lived your whole life believing your life is left to chance or some unknown fate. You have always believed that achieving your dream life was impossible, or at the very least extremely unlikely. However, now you’ve found the law of assumption. You know now that you can give yourself absolutely anything you want (and yes, I mean anything), but the reluctance to change your self-concept is all that is holding you back. 

You found out that the only thing you need to do in order to give yourself the life of your dreams is to change your assumptions about yourself, but you overcomplicate it, so you shut down. 

I promise that changing your internal reality, living from the 4D, and improving your self-concept are not as difficult as they seem. I hope that this document can help you guys realize that all the power is within you, not methods or any outside sources. It’s all you.

So, please enjoy and I look forward to hearing what you guys think!

✧˖° 𝐎𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠? ✧˖°

If you are reading this right now, chances are that you are not currently satisfied with the current state of your life. Maybe you’d like to become rich, famous, successful, etc. People usually discover manifestation because they want to change aspects of their lives. You may have begun by searching how to manifest an sp or how to manifest more money, and while these things are great, using the law of assumption as a means to get things is counterintuitive to the way the law functions.

First and foremost, the law of assumption is all about changing your internal reality in order to change your outer circumstances. However, most people hyperfixate on the physical aspect of this equation. You must be able to be completely satisfied with achieving your desires in imagination, without ever relying on the physical world. 

You fed and kept alive the things you did not wish to express within this world. (Thinking Fourth Dimensionally Neville Goddard)

Now, because of the way the world works, you have made it a habit to take what you see and experience in the 3D as an unchangeable fact. You have unknowingly perpetuated and “kept alive” that which you deem undesirable. Because of this, your current conception of self is most likely not as fine-tuned as you would want it to be. Maybe you falter, maybe you often react negatively to things that happen around you, or maybe you’re insecure. These are all a result of your current state of consciousness or your self-concept. 

For when someone would come into my world and describe their world to me, they revealed the being that they really are. When I ask the simple question, “What do you want?” and they named it and they told me they really want it with all their heart, and then I asked them how would they see the same world had they realized their objective? Looking at the same world they began to describe it differently. I said, “Now, that is the description you must make of the world. You must weave that into your mind, for in so doing you move into the state where that world becomes real relative to that state.” (The Power of Awareness Neville Goddard)

Ask yourself by looking inward and attempting to be as honest with yourself as possible, what am I embodying right now? What are the assumptions you have about yourself? Is it that you’re a responsible or irresponsible person? Capable or incapable? Attractive or unattractive? Limitless or limited? All of this relates to your self-concept. Your current state of consciousness dictates the circumstances that await you in your 3D reality. 

Are the assumptions you have about yourself benefiting or harming you?

You can either be attentive to the limitations and feed these and make them mountains, or you can be attentive to your desires; but to become attentive you must assume you are already that which you wanted to be. (Thinking Fourth Dimensionally Neville Goddard)

Only you have the power to change your internal reality and assumptions. You have the choice to focus on the limitations or to free yourself from them. Now that you are currently aware of what you are conscious of being, you can change them. You are not stuck where you are. You always have the ability to change what you are embodying and believe about yourself. You are ever-changing. 

All through my life I have always accepted the limitations of my senses, I have always looked upon them as fact (Thinking Fourth Dimensionally Neville Goddard)

If there is one thing you should immediately incorporate into your self-concept it is this: You are limitless. There is absolutely no one and nothing that can hold you back or be above you. In your reality, in your life, you are the operant power. The real you is never limited by the physical reality. 

So, what are you conscious of being? And, are you prepared to leave it all behind?

✧˖° 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭? ✧˖°

To the natural mind, reality is confined to the instant called now; this very moment seems to contain the whole of reality, everything else is unreal. To the natural mind, the past and the future are purely imaginary. (Thinking Fourth Dimensionally Neville Goddard)

You are now consciously aware of your current story. The assumptions you perpetuate, which are usually just habitual from the past, are now out in the open. This is now your old self. You can now let go of all the assumptions that are not beneficial to you. Whatever it is, you can let it go. I don’t care what it is, you can let it go. The past is the past. It is never set in stone. 

If you truly want to change who you are and your life, you must leave the undesirable behind. It must be as though it never existed in the first place. You cannot take any part of your old self into your new self. It must completely die in the past to never return again. You must make this decision yourself and commit to it. If you’re not committed to the law and to changing yourself, then it will always be an uphill battle. You must fall in love with your desired self to the point that you cannot live with yourself unless you are satisfied by being them. 

At this very point in time, you can make the decision to leave the old story in the past. By removing your attention from something, you deprive it of what it needs. To make anything real, all you need is attention and belief, so to remove it from your reality, you simply must deprive it of its needs and redirect your attention to the new story.

It’s time to give yourself the life that you deserve. It’s time to stop victimizing yourself in the face of your 3D circumstances. It’s time to take back your power.

You are never stuck where you are. No matter what is happening for you in the 3D, your internal reality is always able to change. Nothing is ever unchangeable. Nothing is ever lost. 

You simply revise, and as you revise the day you repeal the day, for the day is not slipping into the past, it does not recede as people think, it is always advancing into the future to confront you, either pruned or in some strange weed-like state. (The Pruning Shears of Revision Neville Goddard)

If it is difficult for you to let go, you can always revise, so that your past experiences never have to be present in your life ever again. You can change the past to be as you desired it to be simply by focusing on the desired outcome instead. Pay no mind to what you have experienced. Only give life and attention to the experience you wanted to have. That is all you have to do to revise. 

I understand that some people find revision to be more difficult than manifestation, but remember it’s all the same. The only reason you find it harder is because you are giving your memories and 3D circumstances too much weight. Imagination is reality in itself. Consciousness is the only reality. Therefore, your imagination of the future is just as real as the experience you remember having from the past. Revise, forgive, and let go.

Time is simply a construct of the human mind. In reality, time is happening all at once, but our human brains are only able to comprehend the present moment. Time moves linearly because that is how our human minds understand the universe. However, the past, present, and future are all already in existence right now. 

This is what we mean by “creation is finished.” You are not creating anything, simply tapping into the reality in which you have what you desire. While the 3D man is only able to access the present moment, the 4D man is able to access all dimensions of time. It is why you have deja-vu, or even how some people can access future events through “psychic visions.” Really, they are just manifesting the outcome they have access to. Your imagination has the ability to access any point in time that you can possibly experience. There are infinite possibilities for each of these moments in time. 

This is why you are able to revise and change your past and also manifest to change your future. You are deciding that another outcome happened instead and staying loyal to it so that it really was the version of the past that occurred. And yes, the people around you will remember the event as you revised. Revision is only a manifestation of the past. 

Because consciousness is the only reality I must assume that I am already that which I desire to be. If I do not believe that I am already what I want to be, then I remain as I am and die in this limitation. (No One to Change but Self Neville Goddard)

✧˖° 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 ✧˖°

You are absolutely responsible for every being you meet in this world; that’s your responsibility. (The Pruning Shears of Revision Neville Goddard) 

I know this may be a sensitive topic to many people, so I will try to explain it the best way I can.

First of all, no one is at fault for what manifests in their world unconsciously. Your experiences and your traumas are still valid, and they are never your fault. 

However, saying that we are only responsible for the good things we manifest is impossible. We can only be the cause for everything in our experience, or none of it. Otherwise, we would be giving our power away to an external source, even if that source is the 3D. You are the sole reason for every single thing you experience in your life. There is nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, that you experience that is separate from you. It all stems from you. You are the cause, but you are also the solution. 

There is nothing you cannot bring into your experience because if you can imagine it, you can experience it. Absolutely nothing is impossible. 

Does this concern you? Does this make you feel worried or scared? It’s a common feeling. The idea that you would be the reason for all the bad things that have happened in your life seems almost impossible. You’re probably thinking that you would never have wanted that to happen to you. Well, that’s the thing. What manifests isn’t what we want to happen, it’s what we accept as true, what we expect to happen, and the state that we remain in most often. Underlying and subconscious assumptions are also a factor. 

Remember that nothing that has happened to you, especially if it was unconsciously manifested, is ever your fault. We are not at fault for what occurred while we were asleep. Now, however, you have the chance to take control of your life. 

Man is always looking for some prop on which to lean. He is always looking for some excuse to justify failure. This revelation gives man no excuse for failure. His concept of himself is the cause of all the circumstances of his life. All changes must first come from within himself; and if he does not change on the outside it is because he has not changed within. But man does not like to feel that he is solely responsible for the conditions of his life. (No One to Change but Self Neville Goddard)

Thus, we must take responsibility for the life around us and decide with conviction to change it. Once you take responsibility, you will have a newfound confidence in which you know that you have the power, as the cause of the 3D, to change it however you desire. However, remember that you can only change it if you fall in love with your desired state. Otherwise, you will find yourself in a cycle in which you fall back into the old story again and again. 

You must leave behind the old story and fully embody the new story.

You cannot find a cause outside of your own consciousness. Your world is a grand mirror constantly telling you who you are. As you meet people, they tell you by their behavior who you are. (Remain Faithful To Your Idea Neville Goddard)

It is easy to want to place blame on something outside of you for the undesirable circumstances of your life. I mean, it makes sense. Why would you want to manifest any of the things that have hurt you in the past? So, you look for other reasons. This is why some people are so averse to learning about the law. 

The truth is, everything you experience is your doing. I am not saying that you deliberately did anything, neither am I saying that you deserved it, nor that you are not a victim when it comes to your traumatic experiences. I am saying that you are the cause of everything you have experienced and will experience in your reality. 

While many find this discouraging, I only wish that you find it empowering. Now you know that you have the power to change absolutely every aspect of your life.

Now every man in the world is rooted in you who look out and see that world. Every man is rooted in me; he ends in me as I AM rooted in and end in God. Because he is rooted in me he cannot bear other than the nature the root allows. So he is in me and any changes desired in the outer world can be brought about only if I change the source of the thing I see growing in my world. (The Pruning Shears of Revision Neville Goddard)

Everyone (and everything) is you pushed out. Everyone around you reflects your internal reality back to you. If you experience anything undesirable, then know that which you have entertained in your imagination was the cause. 

The only universal truth about your identity is this: I AM. It is the fact that you are conscious right now. You have an internal reality, an imagination, that is capable of creating the world around you. The great news about this is that if you are the cause, then you can be the solution. Actually, you must be the solution, because no one else is going to do it for you. Remember, you are the sole power in your life. No one else can do the work for you

All that we meet is our Word made visible (Mental Diets Neville Goddard)

Your inner conversations and what you entertain in imagination are the root of what you experience in your reality. If you are imagining inner conversations with others that often involve disagreements, arguments, or perpetuating undesirable 3D circumstances, then you are manifesting that into your reality. Be conscious of what you are entertaining in imagination. 

This is where a mental diet comes into play. 

Mental diets are not about policing or flipping or being afraid of your thoughts. Your individual thoughts don’t manifest. Also, intrusive thoughts are just thoughts, although you give them more weight by giving them attention and fearing them. Allow them to pass and not affect you. Since they are not part of your state, and they are not a true assumption you have about yourself or your life, they will never manifest. 

In reality, to effectively retain a mental diet, you need to discipline your mind. It takes practice and you may have setbacks, but persisting in that desire to change is the most important thing. Continue returning to your desired state, while also stopping engaging in undesirable states immediately, and cutting off negative inner conversations. Notice when you are entertaining something undesirable in your imagination and stop it in its tracks. If you do this consistently and effectively, you will find yourself struggling much less with your internal reality and circumstances, and also you will not be afraid of intrusive thoughts any longer. You will know that thoughts are just thoughts unless you give them the power to control you and decide your state.

If I am hurt, I am self hurt. If there is darkness in my world, I created the darkness and the gloom and the depression. If there is light and joy, I created the light and the joy. (Remain Faithful To Your Idea Neville Goddard)

✧˖° 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ✧˖°

You are functioning three-dimensionally and you cannot seem to reach the fourth-dimensional world where your present desire is already a concrete objective reality. You cannot seem to reach it because your senses bar you from it. Reason tells you it is impossible, all things round about you tell you it is not true. (Assumptions Harden Into Fact Neville Goddard)

The 3D world has limitations. There are blockages, disagreements, conflicts, and setbacks at every turn. There are also privileges and systemic issues that hold people back from their true potential. If you base your inner reality on the outer reality, you will be perpetuating undesirable cycles and therefore limiting yourself. The wonderful thing is that we are not confined to the 3D reality. This is because we have our imagination and that in turn is truly limitless.

Notice your imagination right now. Even if you are unable to visualize, simply be aware of your internal world. Notice how there are no restrictions. There are no obstacles. There is no money, no power, and no people. It’s only you. 

There is something that Edward Art mentions often about being all-powerful in imagination. In your mind, you are the only one in control. There are no limitations in imagination. There is no hunger in imagination. If you are hungry in imagination, you can simply imagine that you are full and then it is done. Anything can be brought into your mind with a simple thought or intention. You can imagine yourself at the top of Mount Everest without ever making the trek. You can have anything instantly in imagination. There is no need to fear in your inner world because you are completely in control. You are safe and satisfied in imagination. By experiencing your desires in this safe space, you are cultivating the state of already having and experiencing your desires. Therefore, you are manifesting. Experiencing and having what you desire in imagination is as simple as a thought. This is why you can manifest absolutely anything into your 3D reality. The 3D is a mirror. Whatever you entertain and experience in imagination will be reflected onto your physical reality. 

You will never lose the ability to give unto yourself what you are bold enough to appropriate as true of self (Assumptions Harden Into Fact Neville Goddard) 

I realize that some people are afraid of manifesting because they are worried that they will manifest something they don’t want, or that they will change their mind and decide that they want something else. The thing is, you will always have the ability to manifest. You don’t manifest once and then you’re done. You have infinite power at your disposal. Nothing is ever set in stone. You will always have the ability to manifest. You will always able to change your life. Even if you manifest your dream life and realize you want something else, you will always have the power to change your circumstances. 

Your consciousness is God. It is creation itself. It is the reason you are alive and conscious and experiencing the world around you. Your imagination is an extension of consciousness that you, the 3D man, has access to. By using your imagination with discipline and practice, you can express anything you desire into your life. 

As I stand here, having discovered that my consciousness is God, and that I can by simply feeling that I AM what I want to be transform myself into the likeness of that which I am assuming I am; I know now that I am all that it takes to scale this mountain. (Consciousness is the Only Reality Neville Goddard)

✧˖° 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 ✧˖°

As a man thinketh in his heart so is he. (Thinking Fourth Dimensionally Neville Goddard)

You are only able to change the external by changing the internal. The 3D, the physical world is simply a reflection of the 4D, the imaginal world. The inner man is your infinite consciousness. This is what you are referring to when you say that you are god/the god of your reality/the operant power. It is all-knowing and all-powerful. 

There is nothing your inner man cannot do. The outer man is limited by the physical world. It has rules and limitations that the inner man does not have. However, the outer man has the ability to influence the inner man to take control of the infinite power he has available to him. By changing your assumptions consciously, and also by changing your state, you will be able to use the inner man’s power to change your outer world. 

People consider imagination to be a world of fantasy or not even a world in itself. However, it is the basis of everything you experience in your life. What you experience, you have once before entertained in imagination. Once you realize that this world is real and tangible and that it truly affects your life, you will know how important it is to take what you entertain internally very seriously. 

Men call imagination a plaything, the “dream faculty.” But actually it is the very gateway of Reality. (Mental Diets Neville Goddard)

✧˖° 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐆𝐨𝐝 ✧˖°

The whole story is all about you (Control Your Inner Conversations)

Think about this phrase: I AM. It seems so simple. You use it all the time to refer to yourself, whether that be internally or to others. However, it is more than just a phrase. It is this idea that you are. You exist, you are conscious, and you are experiencing life. This is the one truth that you know. That you are here and you are alive.

No one can be before you when you alone possess the power to say I AM. (Thinking Fourth Dimensionally Neville Goddard)

You are the only person that can declare the phrase I AM. You are only able to confirm that you are conscious in your reality since you do not have access to the minds of those around you. This means that you are the sole power in your reality. No one else has any power over you. 

Think about it, in your mind, you don’t have anyone else who is able to tell you what to think, what to imagine, what to desire, what to feel, etc. It is only you. Therefore, only you have the power to manifest anything into your 3D world. No one else has the ability to manifest for you. No one can be above you because you are the operant power in your reality. You cannot lose because you are the only source of power. 

Do you know that no two in this room live in the same world. We are going home to different worlds tonight. We close our doors on entirely different worlds. We rise tomorrow and go to work, where we meet each other and meet others, but we live in different mental worlds, different physical worlds. (No One to Change but Self Neville Goddard)

Being the god of your reality means that there is no one and nothing above you. There is no other source than you. Your reality is your own. The reason you can manifest anything into your life is because you live in your own reality where you are the operant power. No one can manifest for you, no one can manifest harm unto you, and you cannot manifest for anyone else. You are the sole power in your reality.

We look upon the world as, I would say, a manifestation of consciousness; and the whole vast conditions of men but revelations of individual states of consciousness. (The Power of Awareness Neville Goddard)

This also means that any external power is obsolete. The 3D, other people, astrology, numerology, tarot, etc. have no power in your reality. Everything is based on your assumptions, your expectations, everyone is you pushed out, and your conception of self. 

You believe in astrology? You’ve got to sell it. You believe in numerology, in teacup leaves, in numerology and all these things? No matter what you believe in as a power to control you, you’ve got to sell it. It takes all these beliefs and you’ve got to sell them. No one will buy them from you, but you give them up as valueless. (The Pearl of Great Price Neville Goddard)

In order to fully take control and responsibility for your power over your reality, you must give up any and all external sources of power in exchange for your own. Once you have the pearl, you realize that nothing outside of you has any power and that you are the sole source and sole cause of everything that happens in your life. You cannot be the operant power, the god of your reality, by having anything outside of you be more powerful than you are.

If you think for one moment you can hold on to one little thing in the event this doesn’t work, you can’t buy the pearl. And so when I buy the pearl, I go all out and live by it. And there is no other being in this world, just this pearl, and I live by it. (The Pearl of Great Price Neville Goddard)

✧˖° 𝐀𝐬 𝐈 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝐈 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 ✧˖°

There is nothing to change but our concept of self. As soon as we succeed in transforming self, our world will dissolve and reshape itself in harmony with that which our change affirms. (No One to Change but Self Neville Goddard)

Now, you can use all of this to cultivate a new self-concept. All you need to do is leave your old self behind (all the undesirable aspects of yourself you wish to change) and fully embody your new self in the process. 

This can look like anything. Your ideal self-concept can include you focusing on confidence in manifestation, or even confidence in your everyday life. You need to decide who it is you want to be and how you want your life to look as a result. Everything you want to change externally will be changed only if you change internally. Remember that there is no one to change but self. You are the sole person that can change the world around you. You are the cause and you are the solution. 

Remember this: Self-concept is not necessary to manifest. You can manifest without a perfect self-concept. However, if you truly desire to have a life of ease, and to have the life of your dreams, I would greatly encourage you to prioritize your self-concept above anything.

Everything we do, unaccompanied by a change of consciousness, is but futile readjustment of surfaces. (No One to Change but Self Neville Goddard)

You cannot easily change your entire life, including everyday occurrences, without working on your self-concept. Here’s what I mean by that: you never stop manifesting. Even when you are not consciously and deliberately trying to manifest something into your life, you’re still manifesting unconsciously. If you work on your self-concept, most things in your life manifest the way you desire unconsciously. You are getting ahead of the game and proactively creating favorable circumstances for yourself. Without this, you will have to be consciously manifesting every little thing you want to change. Working on your self-concept simply makes it easier for you to live a wonderful life filled with your desires and favorable circumstances.

The most important thing in this world to you is your concept of self. When you dislike your environment, the circumstances of life and the behavior of men, ask yourself, " Who am I?" It is your answer to this question that is the cause of your dislikes. (No One to Change but Self Neville Goddard)

Your circumstances are a reflection of your concept of self. Everything, including the way that people treat you and interact with you, is all based on your self-concept. Nothing is separate from you. Everything is coming from you. Therefore, in order to change your life and circumstances, it is imperative to change your self-concept. 

Change your I AM and you will change the world around you.

We can use our powerful imagination in order to drop the old conception of self and assume the desired self. Since the world is directly a reflection of your self-concept, we must be consciously aware of what concept of self we are currently assuming. Turn to your internal consciousness, your I AM, and dare to assume a new concept of self.

As soon as we succeed in transforming ourselves, the world will melt magically before our eyes and reshape itself in harmony with that which our transformation affirms. (The Search Neville Goddard)

✧˖° 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 ✧˖°

But now having assumed that I AM what formerly I desired to be, I cannot continue desiring what I AM conscious of being. So I do not discuss it. I talk to no one concerning what I AM. It is so obvious to me that I AM what I wanted to be that I walk as though I were. (Thinking Fourth Dimensionally Neville Goddard)

Changing your I AM is your power and your path to total freedom.

Incorporating new assumptions is imperative to changing and improving your self-concept. How do you assume? It’s simple. You decide that whatever you desire is true in your world. Then, what is an assumption? It is a belief you have, despite having no physical evidence of its truth. Therefore, you are believing before you are seeing. 

I suspend the limited reason of the natural man and walk in this bold assertion that I am what my senses deny. (Thinking Fourth Dimensionally Neville Goddard)

I want you to think of all the times you have assumed negatively with little to no evidence. That was easy, right? So why, when it’s beneficial to you, is it so hard, or even impossible for you to assume something positive about yourself or your life? 

If you cannot instantly believe it, keep trying. Keep pushing. Some people may need practice, yes, but once you have practiced enough, you will be easily able to cultivate new assumptions, especially if you work on your self-concept.

When I feel that I AM what I want to be I cannot suppress the joy that comes with that feeling. (Consciousness is the Only Reality Neville Goddard)

✧˖° 𝐓𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 ✧˖°

That this wonderful consciousness of yours is the ultimate reality, and you are free to choose the state into which you will go. (The Power of Awareness Neville Goddard)

What is a state? When I talk about states, I mean states of consciousness. They are mindsets that you can consciously access and manipulate by experiencing how you would feel if you already had all your desires manifested. 

Man is incapable of passing over from one state of consciousness into another unless he releases from consciousness that which he now entertains, for it anchors him where he is. (Assumptions Harden Into Fact Neville Goddard)

In order to fully embody a new state, you must leave behind the undesirable state. You must not bring any little piece of your previous state into your new desired state. It must be completely released in order to appropriate the new state. 

It is not a complicated idea because you are always occupying a state. That is, unless you are in the I AM state, which is when you detach from everything physical, everything changeable, and focus on the one truth about you, that you are. That you exist and you are conscious. That is the one true and unchangeable thing about your reality and your life. Therefore, you don’t have to try so hard to achieve your desired state. 

He can pass now from this present state into any desired state in the world, for no power can stop you from dwelling in imagination where you desire to dwell. So, placing yourself there, you begin to think from it, and not constantly starve yourself by thinking of it. So I will go and prepare it, and preparing it I will dwell in it, and begin to think from it. (The Power of Awareness Neville Goddard)

The state you desire to occupy is always within arm’s reach. Experience what you desire in imagination, feel the wish fulfilled, and persist in that state. Don’t constantly worry whether or not you achieved the state. If you felt the wish fulfilled and experienced your desire in imagination, then you are in the desired state. If you know that your desires are yours, then you are in the desired state. Don’t overcomplicate, simplify.

In my imagination, I go and prepare the state. I actually go into the state and fill that state with my own being, and view the world from that state. I don’t think of it; I think from it. When I think from it, I’m actually preparing that state. (Catch the Mood Neville Goddard) 

✧˖° 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐭 ✧˖°

For dwelling in the state long enough clothes the state in flesh. (The Power of Awareness Neville Goddard)

Persistence is one of the most important aspects of manifestation. You persist, meaning that you remain faithful, to your desires, so that they will manifest into your physical reality. You are consistently returning to the desired state, and feeling it real. 

Once you have felt the wish fulfilled, your desire is promised to you. It must come. It has no other choice but to manifest physically into your world. 

That is the secret: thinking from what I want, instead of thinking of what I want. (Catch the Mood Neville Goddard)

While you are persisting it is important that you stay consistent in thinking from your desire, rather than just thinking of it. What does it mean to think from your desire? It means that you are in the state of already having it and allowing yourself to think from that state of mind. So, instead of thinking of your desire (as something separate from you), you are thinking from your desire (from the perspective of someone who already has it).

By thinking from your desire, you are showing your inner man that you are fully embodying the state of someone who has what you desire. 

But now having assumed that I AM what formerly I desired to be, I cannot continue desiring what I AM conscious of being. So I do not discuss it. I talk to no one concerning what I AM. It is so obvious to me that I AM what I wanted to be that I walk as though I were. (Thinking Fourth Dimensionally Neville Goddard)

✧˖° 𝐍𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ✧˖°

Therefore that which you seek you already are, it can never be so far off as even to be near, for nearness implies separation. (No One to Change but Self Neville Goddard)

What does it mean when we say nearness implies separation? It means that you cannot think of your desire as separate from you in any capacity. This means that there is no such thing as a time crunch. Focusing on time and how long it will take implies you do not have your desire already, which is counterintuitive to the law. To successfully manifest with the law of assumption, you must assume that you already are fulfilled with your desire. Then, you persist in that state of fulfillment. That is all you need to do. Methods are not necessary. Nothing else is necessary but assuming and persisting in the state of the wish fulfilled. Therefore, if you are focused on it being separate from you (such as separated by time), then you are not in the state of the wish fulfilled. You are still in the state of desire. Fulfill your desire in imagination and you will never have to worry about time.

For to desire is to confess that you do not now possess what you desire, and because all things are yours, you rob yourself by living in the state of desire (Assumptions Harden Into Fact Neville Goddard)

✧˖° 𝐃𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 ✧˖°

You don’t accept one thing in the world as final unless it conforms to the ideal you want to realize in the world. (The Pruning Shears of Revision Neville Goddard)

Now, I know there are times when it feels like the physical world is still not changing the way you want it to be. In those instances, it may feel like the world is telling you “no.” Even in this case, you must persist. There is no failure. You can only fail if you are not faithful to your desire. 

There is no limit to the power of belief or to the possibilities of prayer, but you must be brazenly impudent and not take No for an answer. (Brazen Impudence Neville Goddard) 

You must never take no for an answer. You must remain stubbornly faithful to your desires. Never compromise when it comes to your desires. Never accept “half-manifestations.” 

Only allow yourself to be satisfied once everything you desired has materialized exactly the way you wanted it to. Only then can you move on.

The Sabbath is the day of stillness wherein there is no working. (Thinking Fourth Dimensionally Neville Goddard)

The sabbath is this time period in which you no longer feel the need to do anything else to achieve your desire. You do not want because you know that what you have once desired is now yours. This means that you have fully accepted the reality of your desire in imagination. You are satisfied with having it in the 4D, therefore you know that it is yours in the 3D, no matter what you see or experience in the physical world.

You must remain faithful to your desires no matter what. Only you can stand in your own way.

Do not compromise. Decide exactly what you want and assume you have it. If your world would change, determine what it would look like; then construct a scene which would imply you are there. (Brazen Impudence Neville Goddard) 

✧˖° 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 ✧˖°

Denying the evidence of the senses and appropriating the feeling of the wish fulfilled is the way to the realization of your desire.  (The Feeling is the Secret - Law and its Operation Neville Goddard)

Now, this entire document has been mainly focused on changing your internal reality and your self-concept, and that was deliberate. While I know manifestation’s entire purpose is to get things in the 3D and change your physical reality, I think it’s more important to focus on the internal change before anything. Once you introduce any kind of change into your internal reality, the external reality must express this change. After you realize that changing your internal reality is all you need to do in order to give yourself your dream life, you will have all the knowledge you need to manifest anything into your physical reality.

That state has its own unique way of becoming embodied in this world, of becoming flesh that the whole world may touch it. (Assumptions Harden Into Fact Neville Goddard)

Now I will briefly discuss physical manifestation. Here is how it works: Remaining in the state of your wish fulfilled internally with persistence will allow it to be manifested upon the physical reality. You never need to act as if in the physical. You can still remain faithful to your obligations and responsibilities in the 3D. That will not affect your manifestation. You can be working a 9-5 and still manifest being financially free. You can be living in difficult circumstances and still manifest your dream life. It’s not about ignoring the 3D, it’s about remaining faithful to the 4D. 

You cannot take thought as to the how, when you know that you are already. (Consciousness is the Only Reality Neville Goddard)

I also wish to remind you that you do not need to concern yourself with how your assumptions will be made manifest. If you’d prefer to detail how your dream life will manifest, then that is your choice. However, it is not necessary, since your infinite consciousness already knows exactly how to give it to you in the absolute best way possible. 

We say that you should not think about the how because it can get overwhelming. Sometimes there is a fear that it will not manifest the way you desire, or maybe the idea of it coming to fruition is the scary part. This is why you should remain in the end. Focus on the end result you desire and remain faithful to that and you will never need to concern yourself with the details.

Do not let anyone tell you that you must struggle and suffer. You need not struggle for the realization of your desire. (Remain Faithful To Your Idea Neville Goddard)

Finally, manifestation does not take effort or struggle. There is no struggle. You do not have to force anything to happen. No physical action is needed to manifest. All there is to do is change self. Once you take the necessary steps and do the only thing required of you, then everything else will be taken care of for you. 

You need not be concerned with the affairs of the inner man. Simply have faith and the rest will be done.

The condition which I desired and assumed that I had, becomes objectified within my world and bears witness to the power of my assumption. (Thinking Fourth Dimensionally Neville Goddard)

[cyanide-cafe]

Rio Crane [Urbanshade Personnel]

SHE/THEY/HE [in order of preference]

71 Y/O, 28 in physical and mental growth

TLDR: makes clones if she's cut in half, spends her time researching everything. Extremely curious, friendly, and gets along with the beasts of the blacksite. See below the cut for Way Too Much Information, and her entire document!

Codename: "Endless," was a researcher for Urbanshade whom willingly participated in the IUTEOAK [Immortal Under the Edge of a Knife] program, simply referred to as the IUK program for further reference. The IUK program was an experiment to allow immortality in certain high-hazard Urbanshade personnel, started by Crane themselves in an attempt to rid themselves of chronic and terminal illness.

Crane's experiments were successful, resulting in symbiosis between Human, White Spotted Bamboo Shark, Flatworm, Nudibranch, and Portuguese Man ' o ' War DNA. These experiments resulted in loss of certain organs which her body no longer needed for general life, including her liver, gallbladder, pancreas, thyroid, kidneys, and lungs. It is noted that despite her Flatworm DNA, she still has a cardiovascular system, unlike modern flatworms.

The resulted immortality has a strange catch, as Crane's body rapidly deteriorates over a span of 3 years, generally dying at the end of the 3rd: however, if Crane were to cut off her head or her legs from her torso: and said half of her body or head is healthy: another instance of Crane would be able to separate from the aged body, re-starting the 3 year biological timer. It seems that Crane's immortality has a few catches like this, as if her brain is destroyed, a clone will die, reducing to an amorphous gel-like consistency that is extremely toxic within several days.

However, her experiment was deemed to be non-replicable: not because it is impossible to replicate, but the cost, dangers, and work put into making a single immortal being is too high to create several of these instances. Not only is the experiment hard to replicate, the side effects are varying in usefulness or straight up danger, and Crane herself seems to have certain anomalous features that Urbanshade has been unable to reproduce, most notably, the fact that her memories and senses are able to be transmitted between clones at will. This being said, Crane is anomalous, and should be highly monitored to prevent classified information leaking to unauthorized personnel.

It is noted that Crane has an especially high pain tolerance, as she only feels 1/5th of the pain a normal individual would: likely due to the 5 given clones of her that exist at any time: a clone in the Blacksite, a clone at another Urbanshade site, a clone in an undisclosed location, a backup clone in the Blacksite, and finally, her conscious clone. It seems that her consciousness flickers between these clones, and clones that are not inhabited are in a hibernation-like state.

Crane is capable of deadly stings with her "hair" and "tail fibers", more officially her tentacles and cnidosacs: that cause extreme allergic reactions in some individuals, and circulatory shock [and death] in others. It is noted that these stings are ONLY felt if personnel touch the tips of her hair or cnidosacs, and as such, are avoidable.

Her diet consists of animals in the Cnidaria family, certain jellyfish, and a vegetable/fish high diet. It is noted that while she does enjoy meats, she seems to prefer them on the.. fresher side.

Crane is not a dangerous encounter, rather a normally quiet, almost EXR-P-like employee. She doesn't speak much to Expendables, preferring to speak with or research the various dangerous monsters inside of the Blacksite instead. Crane's presence often indicates that a monster is nearby, however, and it should be kept in mind that if you see her, it's likely there's a much more dangerous threat arounds.

ADDENDUM: Crane was not originally a Blacksite employee, rather originating from a separate site entirely that preformed experiments on cadavers and willing individuals only. As such, it seems that Crane is disgusted with the Blacksite entirely. It is under debate whether or not Crane should be demoted or not after the Crystal [Z-1] has been recovered, as she is capable of spreading classified information throughout Urbanshade, or even to the public.

ADDENDUM 2: It seems that Crane's presence may also indicate The Saboteur [z-13] as well, and she can even be found [rarely] alongside him with his shop, asking questions he refuses to answer.

[rosellacwrites]

Sweatpants Season

summary: Steven‘s been thirst trapping you. It wasn’t intentional.

pairings: Steven Grant x GN!Reader, implied Marc Spector x GN!Reader, implied Jake Lockley x GN!Reader

rating: T, maybe. Not smut itself but, like, gateway sexiness? I’d read it at work but I’m my own boss, so. Maybe don’t do that.

warnings: domestic fluff, established relationship, discussion of sexual attractiveness.

word count: just under 1K

author’s note: Written for the Moon Knight Spring Bingo @moonknight-events — this is entry #3 for the Sweater Weather square! (Thanks to the mods @juneknight and @spacecowboyhotch for kindly allowing me to stretch this prompt to sweatpants.)

dividers by @firefly-graphics

“A little healthy objectification is good for a relationship,” Steven pronounces, waving toward you from his side of the sofa. Wine makes him philosophical, and you’re both a few glasses into the evening by now. “Your partner ought to know how attractive you find them.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re only saying that because I caught you perving on me when I took my sweater off and my undershirt got stuck with it.”

“I don’t deny it,” he says with the cheekiest grin. “But you’re even worse, love. I saw the look you gave me the other night when I put my reading glasses on, and there was nothing family-friendly about it.”

“Can’t help it,” you mutter. “It’s unfair how hot you are in those.”

“I think you might be a bit biased there.” He laughs. “I don’t exactly wear them just to turn you on.”

“Sometimes, I think you do.” You stretch your legs out, swinging them over his lap and getting comfortable. “You’re a menace, ever since I told you I liked them. And these pants, my God — you really are just trying to drive me insane, aren’t you?”

“Sorry?” Steven’s brow furrows and he tilts his head at you.

“Really?” You gesture at his legs where they rest under yours, smirking. “You really have no idea what I’m talking about?”

He shakes his head, bewildered. “I really don’t.”

“Steven, you’re walking around here in the functional equivalent of lingerie. Grey sweatpants are hot.”

“Are you having me on?” His face has gone from confused to suspicious; in fairness, if you had been, it wouldn’t have been the first time. Steven is gullible in that way peculiar to the brilliant; anything can seem perfectly plausible, when your mind is already filled with an abundance of equally unlikely facts.

“I am not. This is a legitimate thing!” You’re trying not to laugh. You really are — you don’t want to make the poor man feel bad about himself, but it’s impossible not to let a few giggles slip out. “I bet you Marc or Jake knows about it.”

Steven frowns. “Shut it, you lot,” he says to the reflection in the TV, his face a dull red. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Absolutely no one thinks sweatpants are sexy.”

“Grey sweatpants,” you add helpfully. “The other ones aren’t nearly as good.”

Steven looks at you: your dancing eyes and your lips pressed together to contain your laughter and your shaking shoulders. “All three of you are taking the piss,” he grumbles. “What’ve I done to deserve this? Nothing, is what.”

You fish your phone out of your pocket and hand it to Steven, leaning close. “Google it. Grey sweatpants meme. I swear we’re not making this up.”

“Grey… sweatpants… meme,” he mutters under his breath as he pokes at the screen, and you crane your neck to see what he’s finding.

You watch a parade of emotions cross his face while he scrolls. “Ooh, click on that one!” you chirp, pointing at the link entitled Grey Sweat Pant Memes for Ladies who Buy Their Man Loungewear Every Fall.

He does, and his eyebrows are doing extremely athletic things as he’s confronted with the indisputable truth; you aren’t, in fact, making this up. He’s talking to himself, but you can’t hear most of it, and not for the first time you wish you could hear Marc and Jake’s side of the conversation too. “What is this world,” he laments clearly, once, and you’re gone.

“Oh God — I’m so sorry — it’s just — “ you wheeze, leaning against him. “How did you not know — the year of Our Lord 2023 and I know you can use the Internet — “

“All this time, I’ve been making you all hot and bothered and I didn’t know a thing about it.” He chuckles and shakes his head ruefully; the man is clearly having a minor existential crisis. “I really didn’t, yeah? I just thought… I need a pair, they’re on sale… I nearly got the blue pair, they were the same price — it’s just what I had my hand on…” His voice trails off but you can feel him twitch occasionally, aftershocks of his own laughter. “They were really soft!” he adds, and his tone is so piteous that the laughter explodes out of you again.

“Steven. My love.” You wipe your streaming eyes and grin at him. “You don’t have to justify the sweatpants.”

He wraps an arm around you and squeezes, resting his hot cheek against your head. “Every time I wear them now you’re going to look at me like that, and I’m going to know what you’re thinking, and…”

“Exactly the same things I was looking and thinking before,” you finish, still giggling. “The only difference is, now you know about it.”

Steven shakes his head. “A few things are beginning to make more sense now,” he admits, still flustered, and he starts to chuckle again. “I’ve caught you looking, a few times, but I had no idea what you were up to… suppose I should be grateful you find me so irresistible.”

“I really do,” you sigh, and lean in to kiss him. “Enough that I’m willing to overlook your abysmal knowledge of pop culture.”

“I don’t tease you when you get your pharaohs mixed up, do I?” he protests, wounded. “We’ve all got our things.”

“More of them in heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” you quote. “And if they’d had sweatpants back then, Shakespeare would have made dick jokes about them. I guarantee you.”

“You’re probably right,” he sighs. “Well, I won’t be quite so quick to doubt you, next time. You could tell me you like it when I forget to shave for a few days and I’ll just say ‘of course, darling.’”

You don’t say anything. The look on your face does it for you.

“Oh, come on. Really?”

Dedicated to my husband, with whom I had a very similar conversation recently. Poor man.

In case you’re wondering, this is the meme that made him say “what is this world?!”

[gyusrose]

➵ smarty -> c.s

⚠︎ fluff ? angst? little bit of both

✎ high-school au! academic rivals to lovers

summary: Soobin and you have been at each other’s throats since forever. being the two most smart students in the school brings out the competitive side within the two of you and maybe… hidden feelings?

soobin x fem. reader

wc: 3.9k

you bounced your leg nervously as the teacher passed out the exam you took last week. you’ve studied your ass off for it, so if you get anything less than an A, you’ll be fuming.

your heart started beating rapidly as she got closer to your seat.

“good job Soobin, the highest score in the class.” she said handing it to him.

the highest score?

that means…

“so close _______, almost a perfect score.” she said handing you the mediocre paper.

97%

you peaked to see Soobin’s score, reading 100%

“how’s that possible? that’s not how the grading scale goes.” you asked evidently confused.

“you forgot the date sweetheart.” she softly said, making you almost burst right on the spot.

you’ve missed the fucking date?

you wanted to slap her after she said those words.

‘can’t she just check the fucking calendar for fucks sake?’ you whispered silently to yourself.

you the heard a chuckle from in front of you.

the ‘Mr. perfect score’ turned to look at you teasingly.

“must suck _______, it’s always something isn’t it?”

“oh shut up, you’re not smarter since i didn’t get a question wrong so lower your damn ego.”

“sureeee…don’t be surprised when i’m the one that gets into Yale and not you.” he said before turning back into his seat.

that fucking asshole. it’s not fair, he probably doesn’t even work as hard as you, pulling all nighters before an exam, wether it’s worth 5% or 50%.

the bell finally rang and you were the first one up your seat on your way to lunch.

sitting down in the patio of the school under a tree, you took out your notebook and laptop.

every spare time was an academic advantage for you, you didn’t waste in friends, too focused on your grades , you never bothered making them, even less on a boyfriend.

you could care less what people thought of you, a bitch, stuck-up, a know-it-all, whatever.

you simply care about your future.

and no, you weren’t forced by your parents or anything, since you only had your mom ( since your dad was unknown to you) she never forced you into being a ‘star student’ she was pretty chilled back and was pleased as long as you weren’t failing.

you were just immensely smart, and competing with Soobin drew you in even more.

talking about Soobin…

a soccer ball threw down your hydro flask making you snap your head up, knowing exactly who it was.

“ayo, pass the ball!” Soobin said smirking.

to make it even worse, Soobin was the soccer team’s captain, of fucking course.

you ignored him and went back to your laptop, putting your headphones back on.

you could feel him coming your way. he tapped your head for which you annoyingly looked up at him.

“the ball.”

“get it yourself, you threw it.”

“still annoyed at that 97% ?” he chuckled.

you didn’t respond making Soobin unknowingly angry. the one thing he hated the most was being ignored, specially by you.

“you know , you should join a sport, universities like that.” he said knowing this would grab your attention.

“ew no, sports are gross so i don’t do them. i prefer killing myself doing every academically possible than that.”

Soobin chuckled in disbelief. god you’re impossible.

unlike you, Soobin was an extrovert to the maximum. he was extremely popular, threw parties all the time and had fun, yet he was somehow just as smart as you were.

he didn’t seem to put too much work into studying either, he just had a picturesque memory.

“do you realize that schools want a personality? you getting perfect grades in classes isn’t enough.”

“i do a hell of a lot of volunteering and got a internship these past two summers.”

“you know what’s cooler though? being captain of the soccer team.” he threw a laugh but you remained expressionless.

he loved to annoy you, he loved the fact that you wouldn’t pay attention to anyone else but him.

truth be told, he had the fattest crush on you. ever since freshman year when this whole competition started. you were easily the prettiest girl on campus. the only way to get your attention was to challenge you and drive you insane he guessed.

sure you knew you were pretty since you get asked out by multiple guys every year, by that didn’t get to you. who cares if you’re pretty if you fail your finals? (gilmore girls who?)

this may sound cheesy but there was truly no girl like you. you were independent and committed, and that was hard to find.

thankfully he left grabbing the ball and kicking it to his friends who were waiting for it.

you rolled your eyes going back to what you were doing.

meanwhile as Soobin went back to his friends..

“bro when are you going to finally tell her?” Taehyun asked the taller boy.

“never, she’ll never know.”

“but what if she also likes you back and you’re just overthinking it? you’re gonna let that opportunity go to waste?” another one of his friend, Yeonjun said.

“will you guys stop? i’m not going to embarrass myself like that.”

>>

“yes mom, i’ll be back by 5.” you said before heading outside to your car.

you just found this volunteering opportunity nearby, at a church. pretty much just helping around which is great for you because this will only add to the great amount of volunteer hours you already had.

you obviously didn’t only do it for the hours, you liked helping around, you’ve been at hospitals, food banks etc.

as you got there you introduced yourself to the employees and they gave you something to do immediately.

as you were helping picking the trash from outside, you heard that annoying deep voice that could only belong to one person and one person only.

“thank you, i’ll start right now” Soobin said grabbing one of the trash bags and heading outside.

he saw another figure which was already looking at his direction.

isn’t this fun?

Soobin didn’t mind it, at all. but he could tell you did.

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me, you?” she said in between her gritted teeth.

“aw c’mon it’s not that bad! i know you secretly enjoy.” he does, that’s for sure.

“you wish, i’d rather be alone.”

“let’s try to get along, for once?”

“or….you know what? you could just not talk to me. problem solved!” she said smiling at her own response.

“nah that’d be too boring, you’re fun to annoy.”

“just pick the damn trash up.”

Soobin, not wanting to start you up, for once obeyed and started picking up alongside of you.

suddenly a young woman came up to the both of you, asking you if you’re willing to look over the little kids in the daycare served inside the church for a couple of minutes.

“the two of us?” Soobin asked.

the lady nodded in desperation.

both Soobin and yourself looked at each other thinking if you’re going to be able to handle each other’s presence.

“sure we’ll do it.” you said without having confirmation from Soobin.

it’s only a couple of minutes right? besides it seems like an easy job.

oh how wrong you were…

when you thought kids, you didn’t think they would be acting like literal toddlers. they looked old enough to know what they’re doing, so why are they acting like two-year-olds?

they were running, screaming, fighting, throwing stuff. whoever does this job regularly doesn’t get paid enough.

Soobin and you were trying all you can to ‘calm them down’ as much as possible.

“Soobin they’re crying.”

“_______ they’re fighting.”

“Soobin they’re running.”

“_______ they’re hungry.”

the both of you almost forgot about the fact that y’all were at each other’s throats in the beginning.

the lady that initially told us it was only going to be a ‘couple of minutes’ has already been gone for half an hour.

“_______! i found the solution to this.” Soobin

you snapped your head at his direction, desperate to find one .

“Look.” he pointed at the small group of toddlers sitting in front of him while he held a book reading it. they seemed the calmest one could get.

how on earth did Choi Soobin find a solution faster than you?

you mama he to gather the rest of the kids towards the small group turning it into a whole group reading .

you started in awe, as Soobin softly read the book. his voice, was….calming? you never noticed til’ now.

for once you were admiring him.

“_______, you wanna read now?”

you thoughts snapped out of you and grabbed the book and read a few pages as well.

Soobin would never say this out loud but god how smitten you had him. he kept thinking about his friend’s remarks .

should he confess to you?

i mean y’all were seniors already, technically the last chance to do it.

but the thought of rejection blew it. he knew you were aggressively and bluntly honest, it scared him thinking about what your response could be.

“i’m back! sorry for the long wait, you guys can go now.” the lady that left you here with the mini monsters came back making you sigh in relief.

you didn’t even respond and headed out. although you initially wanted to stay the whole day, the kids sucked the energy out of you, now all you wanted to do was to go home.

“_______!” lord.

“why are you going in such a hurry, i’d thought you’d want to stay longer and help?” Soobin said catching up to you.

“well i’m not, i just want to go home, that’s it.”

before you could go he spoke once again.

“you want to catch some lunch? my treat.”

“please Soobin, just let me go home, my bed is waiting.”

Soobin watched as you walked away from him. sometimes it occurred to him that you were just cold-blooded or something.

>>

“HA! look at my perfect 100% compared to your lame 95%” you said almost shoving your paper down Soobin’s face.

he rolled you eyes at your words. “you just got lucky, i don’t care.”

he did.

this was very much intentional. he purposefully got a question wrong, hoping the fact that you got a higher grade than him would lighten your mood and drag you out of your sulkiness.

“aw, don’t get a grumpy Binnie, you’ll get there.” you said getting dangerously close to his face making Soobin panic.

you had no idea of your impact as you happily grabbed your backpack and exit the classroom.

Soobin let out the breath he’s been holding in as you walked out.

his heart rate was going crazy.

once he calmed down, he got up from his seat but was soon stopped by his teacher.

“Soobin’ may i have a word with you?”

shit. what did he do?

Soobin stood in front of him as he grabbed the test from his hands, showing him the problem he got ‘wrong’.

“you know i’m curious, how come you got this problem wrong when we learned it in the first unit and is by far the easiest one here? what’s weirder is that all your work is right and only the answer is wrong..”

caught. what does he respond to that?

“erm… i just forgot to find the final answer and guessed..”

“really? you’ve always aced this class, it surprised me, is it something to do with ________?”

HOW DID HE GET TO THAT CONCLUSION SO FAST? WAS HE THAT OBVIOUS?

“NO! i mean, no why would you think that?” he tried his best to deny it, although we all know..

“you’re always making her be second best in class and suddenly you get a question ‘wrong’ which you could do with you eyes closed and now she’s first.”

he should’ve just left the question blank.

“professor trust me, she’s the last reason regarding my performance.”

>>

meanwhile, you were in your monthly meeting with your college counselor.

you’ve already done your whole application for Yale done, you just had to check in to get your counselor’s blessing to send it.

“very very well _______, you took my corrections and applied them flawlessly, i truly believe you have a really big shot at this.” she told you making you squeal in excitement.

since you’re going for early decision, it urged you to send it right away.

“thank you so much! i spent most of my nights trying to perfect it, oh and by the way, do you know if Choi Soobin has already submitted his application?” you knew it was some sort of invasion of privacy but you were curious.

“i don’t believe so, many student do regular decision so you’re one of the first.”

“guess who just sent their application to Yale?” you said as you approached Soobin.

you would most definitely never do this but the anticipation to make him feel less than drew you in.

“you did?! someone’s eager i see.”

“when are you doing it?”

“my appointment with my counselor is tomorrow, so i guess that’s when.”

Soobin loved seeing you so ‘uplifted’ he tried as hard as he could to not stare at your stunning eyes, he could tell how much this meant to you.

“i might go to your room at night and delete your whole essay so you can’t apply haha.” she said before walking away.

‘shit’ he thought to himself, he shouldn’t feel this much affection towards you, knowing you probably don’t like him back, he’s trying to let his little crush go, but how can he when you’re everywhere, impossible to not think about.

>>

december came in a blink, and the early decisions are coming out tomorrow , although you were confident in yourself, a part of you was still in doubt. with Soobin applying as well, he could easily take your spot knowing how selective the university was.

you were walking to a meeting you had with a teacher while Soobin was preparing for the last game of the season.

running onto the field while the rest of the team trailed behind him. the audience was packed as usual. he looked around seeing if you were around.

and as always, no sight of you. he’s not surprised but he did want at least for you to come at the last game , but knowing you that’s asking for snow in a desert.

gosh why was he even worrying about it? you guys are barely even considering ‘friends’ why would you be here. he was thinking so much about it that he didn’t even notice the game starting as he saw the ball pass right through him, earning a scream from his coach.

Soobin was clearly bothered. he was playing differently than how he usually does and everyone on the field noticed it. he was aggressive for the first time in his life, shoving pushing and doing intentional fouls.

it went down when an opposing player took it very personal. Soobin caused him to trip and fall to his face, making the other player mad as hell and shoved him harshly earning a harder shove from Soobin, soon a big fight started on the field causing both Soobin and the other player get a red card.

Soobin was livid. as soon as he left the field he looking for the player and started throwing punches.

it wasn’t until the coaches came over and separated the two.

“SOOBIN ARE YOU INSANE WHATS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

Soobin didn’t respond, he just shook the coach’s hands off him and walked away from the scene.

he wasn’t looking at where he was going, all he wanted was to get away from everyone .

that was until…

“the hell is- SOOBIN?” of course it’s you.

Soobin tried to hide his bloody nose but failed miserably as you already saw it all.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK WHO DID THAT TO YOU?” you couldn’t believe it, Soobin? in a fight? he was a lot of things but violent wasn’t one of them.

“just leave me alone.”

“no! come one let me clean you up, those cuts could get infected!”

you grabbed his hand and led him to the nurse’s office, since it was after school, no one was there.

you quickly found a first aid kit as Soobin sat down with his head down, not wanting to look at you in the eyes.

“don’t put your head down, that’ll make more blood come out.” you said grabbing his chin, lifting his head up.

even in the state he was in right now, he still felt his heart almost explode at your touch.

“now can you tell me what happened ?”

“i guess i was just very overwhelmed and started to play dirty and got what i deserved.”

you frowned, wasn’t this his last game? how could he throw it away like that?

“what was making you act like that?”

Soobin hesitated, he couldn’t just say ‘you’ even though that was the clear answer.

“just school and college decisions i guess” you frowned once again, Soobin never was the one to ‘stress’ about school like that, he was smart, specially to the point where it affects his performance on the field.

he could feel you don’t believe him, but what else can he say?

you kept cleaning up his wounds and put a cute little bandaid over them.

“there, we’re done.”

you said putting away the first aid kit.

“thank you _______, i really appreciate it.” he said grabbing your wrists and turning you to him.

you two were now dangerously close.

and for the first time, you couldn’t speak. like words were caught in your throat at the closeness of his face.

you both stared at each other with out anyone saying a word. Soobin leaned closer and closer, to the point where you could feel his breath.

just as you were about to kiss, you snapped out of it. moving away completely.

“erm..i uh have to leave.” you quickly said before grabbing your bag and leaving.

Soobin sat there, frozen. what did he just do?

he fucked up.

>>

you laid in you bed, the scene replaying in your head. why did you actually want the kiss him? why did you secretly hope that he would’ve just smothered you into a kiss?

urghh, you were conflicted. you’ve never felt like this, literally.

no guy has made you speechless like he did. and you hated it, how could you fall for him?

no you didn’t, you’re not falling for him. it was just in the moment, yeah that’s it.

you knew it wasn’t. completely forgetting how your future’s revealed tomorrow.

>>

shitshitshitshit

one click and you’ll know. your heart is almost beating out of your chest. your confidence nowhere to be found.

‘relax, if i don’t get in, there’s still other options.’

you swallowed your breath and hit refresh.

you slowly opened your eyes and read the first sentence.

Dear ______,

Welcome to Yale University…

YOU GOT IN!!!!

“I GOT IN” you screamed in enthusiasm making the whole cafeteria look at you in confusion.

you ran out of there and into your counselors office.

“I GOT IN I GOT IN I GOT IN!!!!”

“congratulations sweetheart i knew you could do it!” she said engulfing you into a hug.

trying to catch your breath for a couple of minutes you sat in her office talking about it. you texted your mom earning another congratulations from her as well.

there was another person you wanted to tell, but you didn’t have the balls to.

wait? he didn’t get in or did he? they would accept the both of us, specially in early decision. but how? he’s literally the ‘it’ student.

“do you um.. know if Soobin got in by any chance? we’re the only two applying early…”

the counselor looked at you in confusion.

“i’m sorry, but i can’t display that type of information since it’s personal.”

shit now you have to ask him yourself.

you looked for hi everywhere, until finally founding him in a bench near the tree he once threw a ball at you.

you took a deep sigh and tapped his shoulders.

he looked up and widened his eyes.

he wasn’t expecting you to come up to him, not at all.

“hey um, have you checked the ivy decisions? how did it go?” this was the nicest you’ve ever been to him, stunning the both of you.

“well…i’m actually..i got a scholarship..to Princeton.” he calmly said making you eyes widened.

of course he did, if anyone did it would be him.

“holy shit that amazing! i got into Yale as well, so good for the both of us!” you couldn’t believe you’ve beat him.

in reality Soobin didn’t even apply to Yale, he knew how much of dream it was to go there and he realized that he was going to apply, your chances would’ve slimmed so he didn’t. it wasn’t like it was his dream school anyway, he only said it to have something to talk to you about, something in common.

“still beat you though.” you teased trying to forget whatever happened yesterday .

“i actually didn’t even apply to be honest.” your looked at him flabbergasted. he didn’t? isn’t that what we’ve been fighting for years?

“wait what ?why?”

“you dreamed of going to Yale and me applying would just add more competition, so i didn’t and now you’re going.”

you couldn’t believe it. he did that for you?

“thank you Soobin, for not taking my place.” you softly laughed as well as he.

you don’t know what came over you, but your emotions were all over the place and this just did enough of it.

you kissed him. yes, you kissed Soobin.

you grabbed his face connecting both of your lips.

Soobin was confused, very shocked, but easily gave in.

he’s been dreaming of this for years, it’s finally coming true. his whole mood changed in a split second.

soon you hands were now on his neck while his at you waist. forgetting the fact that y’all were in public, it kept going as he depend the kiss driving you harder.

soon to the cause of oxygen, you pulled away.

you looked at each other in pure bliss. you saw different now, before he was an annoying prick, menace to society and now he was a gorgeous man that made your legs weak.

“______, i know this could be too soon but fuck it, it’s my last chance, would you maybe want to be mine? like my girlfriend?” he nervously said, even though y’all just had a full make out session, he wanted to make sure you felt what he did too.

“are you kidding? of course Soobin, i’d love to be yours.” you said giving him a peck, showing his bunny smile making you melt.

“i see i’m going to be making many trips to Connecticut and you to New Jersey now.”

[syunkissisfaking]

This person is faking D.I.D, and more. and its time we actually talk about it. ( As someone with DIAGNOSED D.I.D. )

CW ; faking disorders, lying, swearing, antiship debates, harassment, mentions of serial killers (as example), mentions of abuse and trauma (unspecified),

DISCLAIMER ; I am aware this will cause a lot of attention if seen by a lot of people in the D.I.D community. a lot of fakers tend to have similar "aspects" to syunkiss, so I expect hate. as well as a lot of syunkiss fans who will run to their defence (for some reason) this is to spread awareness. This entire post is based on SCIENTIFIC FACTS and my OWN EVIDENCE. i am medically diagnosed and have been for 7 years now.

OTHER BLOGS OF NOTE ; @/idonoiyo @/duckduckgoose-exe @/rab1darachn1d (also faking)

syunkiss is a popular blog, being seen in many areas of the bungou stray dogs fandom. and for some reason, barely anybody seems to actually acknowledge the fact they've been faking D.I.D, or OSDD. whatever they "claim" to have. this is proof of them and their lies.

i don't know how this hasn't been brought up before. it is so obvious that they are faking it and yet everybody seems to nod and agree. the same goes for their circle of friends, by seeing how they have acted for a while. they would be faking too.

I am speaking as an actual system. I have a right to speak about this subject. it is bad for our community and it leaves a bad impression. they do not know the struggles we have to face. let's get into it.

AMNESIA

something common among people with types of D.I.D (using it as an umbrella label) is huge amounts of amnesia. most people are not aware that they may be switching or even know who they are.

it is almost physically impossible that you would know to sign off with a emoji every time you have switched alters. much less switch entire blogs, or even know who is speaking.

your alters are not you, some of them would not even remember you had a tumblr account to stay active on. let alone to add an emoji or any types of sign off in general. a lot of the time me and my alters dont even know where we are, let alone able to go on tumblr and answer asks constantly.

an example of this (not to villanise the concept of people with D.I.D) is that many serial killers have some type of D.I.D, some of them are not aware of the people they might have killed at all. because they have amnesia. this is how it works.

USERBOX

I had managed to save the userbox before they had deleted it.

this is just... what? that is now how fictives or any types of alter are formed. fictives/introjects/factives are valid, we have one in our system. however this is not how they are formed at all. D.I.D is caused by trauma, it is not something that can cause you to split into another alter by daydreaming.

D.I.D is developed (begins developing) at a very young age as a result of intense amounts of trauma, both physical and mental. (it is not from something as small as your parents grounding you or hitting you once. it has to be intense amounts of trauma.) and signs only typically show when you are in adulthood.

there is cases of it showing in younger people, but the trauma is usually extremely worse, and the chance of this happening is very low. there would have to be life threatening levels of abuse at the ages of 5 to 10. and still the youngest it can be confirmed is at 17. this is a scientific fact.

this userbox shows ignorance. if you are going to fake a disorder, do some research at least. or talk to people who actually have the disorder. it was so confidently said im in shock nobody picked up on it.

FICTIVES

this one is going to get me a lot of hate. I know that. however it has to be said.

they claim to be a fictive heavy system, but the chances of fictives being present in systems at all is a very unlikely chance. they usually form after some connection with trauma towards that franchise, related or indirectly related.

having so many fictives from bungou stray dogs is extremely unlikely. it is difficult to house 3 normal alters in one body, but this person is claiming to have so many and all of them are from bungou stray dogs somehow. this is a very obvious sign they are lying. this does not happen. it is even more unlikely they will have every single period of a single character as fictives too.

if they just wanted to roleplay they can. but faking D.I.D for this is damaging to my community.

I am mentioning littles here so I do not have to make a new category for it. it typically develop from dissociation caused by prolonged early childhood trauma. having a fictive who also happens to be a little is so unlikely. if it is age regression, then okay. but syunkiss described it as a little alter.

HEADSPACES

this is a little difficult to explain. but I will do my best.

headspaces do not exist. there is something similar, but that is just your subconscious. you cannot have your alters interact in your headspace like it is a minecraft world.

switching alters works like a timeskip, this is because of the memory gaps and amnesia. this is not fully targeted at syunkiss, but mostly at their friends.

you cannot see what is happening in the "headspace", that is just not possible. switching alters is like sleeping in minecraft, you just wake up whenever you switch back with no memory of what happened between the dates.

HARASSMENT

this is a short section, but it needs to be addressed. syunkiss claims to not go out and harass proshippers or people he disagrees with, and he just "blocks them"

that is their pinned post. that is what it says about them being an anti.

that is them going out of their way to harass somebody else in their inbox.

no, syunkiss it wasn't them who even sent the asks. it was one of my friends who also encouraged me to speak up and make this post. you are contradicting yourself.

I am not a proshipper, I am quite anti. but that does not make it okay.

tdlr ; syunkiss is lying about D.I.D, not even doing research before doing it and he is going against his own word and harassing people.

thank you for reading. my askbox is open if anyone wants any extra questions. i may add to this in the future if more shows up.

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Thin Men

CR 4

Chaotic Neutral Medium Fey

The Inner Sea Bestiary, pg. 52

These uncanny Fey stalk through the cane fields of the Island of Nuat off the coast of Rahadoum, so good at masking their own presence that they’re widely believed to be myths... up until a farmer goes missing with no explanation. Though capable of subsisting on a diet of root vegetables, insect grubs, and whatever vermin they can catch, Thin Men sometimes hunger for a grander fare, stalking and killing livestock, pets... and even whole humans for sustenance. Despite this horrid habit and their ghoulish appearance, though, they do not perform these acts with any malevolence, and in most cases avoid killing humans unless they’re starving. Many of the fatalities owed to them are because of an unfortunate fairy quirk: Thin Men, like many Fey who’ve grown alongside mankind, seem to have an irresistible compulsion to try and remain hidden and out of sight, though unlike kinder House Spirits and Brownies who simply abandon their homes if acknowledged too much, Thin Men respond to people looking at them for too long with startling hostility.

And, well, when the deed is already done, it’d be a waste to just leave this meat laying around, wouldn’t it?

For most citizens living alongside Thin Men, though, they do not have to worry about accidentally offending their homicidal neighbors. These fey are very, very good at staying hidden, spending hours of their days underground hunting for the bugs, roots, and vermin they normally subsist on, their intimidating claws actually for burrowing rather than attacking, and they can tunnel easily through 20ft of earth a round. They’re actually almost entirely boneless, their skeleton formed of sections of incredibly flexible cartilage and further aided by a surplus of joints throughout their body, allowing them to cram themselves into spaces that would normally only allow rabbits (which are likely rare and prized treats for them). They’re not dedicated subterranean hunters, though, lacking any senses which would allow them to track prey through the soil and instead relying on above-ground evidence of food and then digging downwards.

Even when not slithering underground Thin Men are hard to see. They have a +17 to Stealth and move stealthily at every opportunity, but in their natural habitat among the cane fields, they’re effectively impossible to spot as their Stealth shoots all the way up to +25, their instincts causing them to unconsciously sway their bodies with the cane as it moves and dart into the shadows cast by the plants. Even in cane farms this instinct carries them well, with many farmers unknowingly harboring entire colonies of Thin Men among their crops, never quite realizing why they feel watched every time they’re out and about. Since they were on the isle of Nuat first, most farmers can shrug off the feeling and learn to silently thank the fey for their work in keeping pests from nibbling at their crops, but ‘silently’ is the operative word here. Never acknowledge them, lest you draw their wrath.

An offended or starving Thin Man, or one who was caught out of their stealth, attacks swiftly and violently with a Claw-Claw-Bite. Their bite deals 1d6+4 damage, and their dirt-crusted claws 1d4+4, but those claws leave gaping wounds in their wake which deal 1d4 bleed damage a round every round until the victim receives some healing. Despite being Medium, a Thin Man’s extreme flexibility allows it a 10ft reach with its claw attacks, allowing them to control wider swaths of their home fields and attack viciously without harming the plants they hide among. Though the prospect of them appearing from seemingly nowhere to attack is scary enough, the idea of one simply lashing out with a claw in retribution before returning to hiding is just as bad; a victim might not even realize what they saw, thinking it some sharpened branch or similar which stuck them, stumbling helplessly through endless fields of cane as they slowly succumb to bloodloss, never knowing if they’re going to be found as the wind blows through the cane again and reveals a half-dozen stalks that don’t bend in any direction but towards their body as they slowly lose consciousness.

Spooky stuff! And it’s easy to make players paranoid of these creatures with one simple trick: Their ability to Vanish into thin air once per day. As a move action while benefiting from any level of concealment, a Thin Man can seemingly fade from sight by contorting its body into the blind spots of any creature looking towards them. This isn’t invisibility, it’s better, as the Thin Men gain a flat +20 to Stealth checks (for a total of +37 outside cane fields and +45 within them) and can hide in plain sight for up to seven rounds. Whereas normal invisibility can be thwarted by solutions magical and mundane, the Thin Man’s Vanish cannot be beaten by anything but an astronomical Perception check, the effect only breaking if the fey directly attacks another creature. Otherwise, the Thin Man is essentially gone, an effect which may trick players into believing the creatures can teleport as soon as they’re out of sight.

With their burrowing prowess, high Stealth, and ability to simply choose not to be seen once a day, the Thin Men are excellent tools for instilling paranoia on players venturing out into the wilderness to get rid of what they believe may be a simple quest objective. Though Thin Men go down easily once cornered (their sole immunity is to poison, and their AC and HP are merely okay), just killing one doesn’t mean their threat is over. There is, after all, a non-insignificant chance that the Thin Men presented here represent the least skilled and most reckless of their kind, while the rest sit invisibly in the old cane fields, impossible to ever see. There’s a very real possibility that the Thin Men of Nuat are the only ones that have been conclusively proven to exist, that there may be others adapted to different conditions and imitating different plants--reeds, wheat, corn, even the thin saplings in the forests around every settlement--that have gone undiscovered. 

There’s a chance that Thin Men might be everywhere.

You can read more about them here.

[stoplookingup]

Umbrella Academy S4 reaction (spoilers)

I'm a little surprised how negative the reaction to S4 has been. It's flawed and a bit too loose, sure, but I think there's a thematic arc, to do with the painful but redemptive potential of selfless love, that a lot of people didn't recognize, or didn't like, possibly because it's too sentimental, or too tragic, or both.

In particular, I have a really different take on That Relationship. You know the one I mean.

But before I get to that, I just want to address the issue of unexplained plot points, of which there are certainly many.

Short version: Just let it go.

Long version: Comic-book storytelling is all about the impossible premise, the unlikely twist, the overblown threat, the arbitrary race against the clock, the catastrophic non-ending. A big part of TUA's appeal is that it takes that formula to an absurd extreme, unwinding a plot so convoluted and horrifying as to be comedic, then offering a resolution that raises more questions than it answers, and that seems final -- but is it ever? There could always be more. Even now. Because reasons.

But scratch the surface, and it's really all about the over-the-top super(anti)heroes who are surprisingly endearing, nuanced and tragic, whom the audience roots for despite a million reasons not to. Would S4 have benefitted from a few more episodes? No doubt, mostly to give each character their due (Klaus, my Klaus, you deserve more!), and to let the story breathe a bit. The plot probably wouldn't have made any more sense anyway. But c'mon, did it ever, really? So, why a subway? Why a squid? Why a diner? Does it really matter?

On to That Relationship, the much-criticized story of Lila/Five (aka Live -- can I copyright this?). This comically trope-laden ship (forbidden love, montage love, love triangle, enemies-to-lovers, pocket universe, happily-ever-after, etc) fits right into TUA sensibility. Despite being a bit underbaked, it's moving. The actors play it well, and in dropping their characters' armor, you realize how much armor they're usually wearing, how hard they're always working to cover their feelings. Out of all the characters, seeing these two having real emotions is most devastating, especially with each other. It's because this pairing is wildly unlikely that it hits.

Lila and Five have similar histories as traumatized, sensitive souls turned cold, cruel killing machines. They're smarter, more cynical, and stronger-willed than everyone around them. And they are clearly starved of love and desperate for connection. (Everyone on this show pays a price, but I find Five's terrible loneliness the most heartbreaking of all.) So then fate throws them together in a way that makes it inevitable they'll form an attachment, only to then demand of them the ultimate sacrifice. Their surprisingly quiet, life-affirming, Guinevere-and-Lancelot love is redemptive, in contrast with the meddling, selfish, and/or destructive love of others: Reginald and Abigail, Ben and Jennifer, Gene and Jean. Live aren't an unnecessary digression, they're central to the thematic development of the story. Sacrifice saves the world, but without love, there is no sacrifice.

And yes, I absolutely think Lila loves Five to the end. And while I appreciate that some might find the age difference between the actors off-putting, I don't think there was anything inappropriate on a Doylist level, and it all makes perfect sense on a Watsonian level.

Also:

Aidan Gallagher and Ritu Arya are extraordinary;

the use of Baby Shark is genius;

Diego, Luther and Allison have been the least interesting characters from the start, and S4 does nothing to change that;

Viktor needs a sense of humor;

I love that alternate universes are all the rage these days (so many great tropes started with Trek), but tbh Loki does it better;

as visual representations of the space between realities, I love both the Loki automat and the UA subway, but at some point, using recent-past retro design to signal liminal space is going to get old, which, come to think of it, will be deliciously ironic.

[moodooivy]

So I have many theories of what happened between Vox and Alastor, but I have to decide on something. So, I will be going into as much detail as I can analyzing the possible theories of what happened. I'll try to be as unbiased as I can and not let my shipper brain get in the way. (I will be saying maybe and possibly a lot so get ready for that)

Theory 1: Alastor's deal;

In this theory people say that Alastor had to decline Vox's offer to join the Vees and leave him because of his deal. That he had no choice. Another idea to this is that Alastor was threatened to agree to the deal for Vox's protection or happiness. Another possibility is that Alastor had to disappear because of his contract and that left Vox bitter because he thought Alastor abandoned him. As much as my RadioStatic mind loves this idea, it is extremely unlikely. I mean the way Alastor treats Vox does not give "I had to betray you in the past when I didn't want to". It gives "I'm bitter and love to mess with you, fuck you". Though this outcome isn't impossible. A possible way I see is maybe Alastor's deal involved taking away his ability to show feelings? It could explain why Alastor is always smiling. But I don't think that's the case. As for the reasoning of Vox feeling abandoned, I don't think that's it either. I feel like there would've been a scene acknowledging that to be the case already. So I'm going with no, probably not this.

Theory 2: Love confession;

Ah yes. The classic love confession theory. In this theory, people say that Vox was in love with Alastor, but when he confessed to Alastor he was rejected. Either then Alastor left or they got into a fight and then Alastor left. Either way, Al left Vox bitter and rejected. As much as I love RadioStatic, I hate RadioSilence and am not a believer in this theory. Again, I feel like we would already know if this were the case. And Vox just doesn't give me bitter rejected vibes. I just feel like if it were the case, I don't know, Vox would make it more obvious? But that doesn't mean this is impossible. Plus, there's always a possibility something similar to Blitz and Fizz happened. One of them was about to confess but then their fallout happened. That honestly does sound likely. Or, maybe Alastor misunderstood Vox. Vox wasn't actually asking him to join his team, he was asking Al to join him. Alastor didn't understand this and rejected the offer, or he knew full well and thought Vox only saw it as a business thing or maybe even a sex thing, since Valentino was apparently in the picture at that point. There is a reason why I just said love confession and not Vox's love confession. I actually do believe it is possible Alastor had feelings as well. People forget that Alastor was never confirmed to be aromantic, and even if he was, AroAce people can still fall in love, so it's not impossible. In fact I feel like it is very possible there was some mutual pining between these two. Where they both liked each other but just didn't realize it. To all those who have read Daughter Of Discord, tell me you don't get the thought of Discord and Chrysalis's past in your head. This brings me to the next theory.

Theory 3: They were changing too much;

In this theory, it is thought that Vox was changing too much. Alastor and Vox used to be friends, but Alastor didn't like how his old pal was becoming modernized and different. Alastor seems to really dislike change, and that could either be because of the fallout or contributed to the fallout. Perhaps when Vox asked Alastor to join him that was the breaking point. He thought Vox would try to change him. Change his name, make him use modern technology, change who he is. I believe this is the most likely situation. Another possibly, and what I think is most possible, Vox was growing powerful way too quickly. Alastor loves power. He took immediate disliking to Lucifer and I am pretty sure it's because Lucifer is probably the only thing in Hell stronger than him... But at the same time. Alastor is smart. Like, really smart. I feel like the last thing he would think of doing to someone he thought was growing more powerful than him would be to cut ties with them and make enemies. Alastor messes with Lucifer because he knows if Lucifer hurt him he would destroy his relationship with Charlie so he can't do shit. Another possibility is that Alastor's strange moral code might've gotten in the way. Unlikely I know, but Alastor does have some moral to himself where he seems to not harm, in fact somewhat protects those that are weak and defenseless. Maybe his and Vox's morals didn't align and Alastor didn't like the immoral path Vox was taking.

Theory 4: Velvette and Valentino;

In this theory, it is thought that the idea of the Vees is what caused Vox and Alastor's fallout. Maybe Alastor thought working with three would be too much. Maybe he thought they would hold him back. That would fit into the timeline. In the series I think it is supposed to be hinted that Velvette wasn't around during the fallout, so I'll look at it from that perspective. Alastor didn't like Vox's company of Valentino (Honestly who doesn't) so when Vox offered for Alastor to join them, Al said no, they got into a fight, Alastor disappeared, and so Val and Vox recruited Vel instead.

So, what do you guys think happened. Let me know because I am very interested. I apologize if this is hard to understand, the way I speak can be like that, but hopefully everyone gets this.

[objecthusbandry]

keeping objects as pets #5: smartphones and kin!

hi there! in this series, i’ll be going over basic descriptions of commonly-kept object species (and some rare ones too!), facts about them, why you might want one as a pet, their basic needs and necessities provided you want to house one, and things you should NEVER do. for the fifth post in this series, we’ll be going over smartphones and their closely related family!

note that while i primarily use the term smartphone in this post, it also applies to devices such as tablets.

description

smartphones, as the name implies, are typically square or rectangular and have quite flat bodies. they have thin, segmented, insectoid limbs, sharp teeth for cracking through exoskeletons, and no fur anywhere on their bodies. their hands have three fingers each, one acting as a "thumb", and have two toes per foot. these fingers are quite dexterous and adept at grabbing and holding onto their main source of food: insects. their 'screens' are made of a compound similar yet distinct from glass that is soft when they're first born and gradually hardens over the first few weeks of their lives. while normally able to protect their delicate organs from the elements, these 'screens' are very prone to becoming cracked and even shattered over time.

the backlighting on their screens may seem to come from LED lights, but it's actually a very bright form of bioluminescence that stems from chemical reactions in their bodies. if damaged, the structures that produce these chemicals will not grow back.

facts about smartphones

smartphones are a very social object species that tend to be more common near human settlements. they communicate primarily via pheromones that are impossible to sense to humans, but also have a wide language of clicks, chirps and other sounds to "speak" with each other through. unlike most objects, smartphones tend to gather around groups of unrelated object species - it's rare to see a group of smartphones together that aren't a family. they separate quite young from their family groups, at only around four weeks, but it is absolutely crucial that these objects are properly socialized. this is usually the case in the wild, but it can be hard to tell in shelters.

despite both mimicking human telecommunication devices, these objects are not closely related to flip phone objects. this is a case of convergent evolution.

why as a pet?

smartphones are very intelligent; in fact, most specialists will tell you that they're smarter than dogs. while i believe this is true to an extent, they are still animals and you shouldn't expect them to be all-knowing. that said, smartphones are very easy to train, and they are very compatible with most every other object type. these little guys love attention* and will stay by your side almost all the time. they're friendly, cute, and have lots of personality! they tend to be playful, curious animals. however, due to their diet, you may do better with a non-insectivorous species if you have a fear of insects.

basic needs + do's and dont's

these objects are insectivores: they need a steady supply of insects, specifically mealworms, to stay healthy. feeding larger things such as crickets, roaches and hornworms is okay for treats. i highly recommend using supplements to make sure their dietary needs are met. as "digital" objects, you may expect these to need recharging; DO NOT ATTEMPT TO PLUG ANYTHING INTO THEM. these are PURELY BIOLOGICAL CREATURES.

*it's important to note that these objects, while being naturally social and friendly, are prone to overstimulation. they have a bodily response that causes them to faint from extreme stress and must be handled appropriately to avoid overstimulating them. DO NOT USE THIS AS AN EXCUSE TO NOT INTERACT WITH YOUR PET. THESE ARE SOCIAL ANIMALS AND REQUIRE AT LEAST THREE HOURS OF INTERACTION PER DAY.

housing

due to their fragile anatomy, these objects MUST be kept indoors at all times. you should make it a priority to avoid letting your smartphone climb as even a short fall can cause shattered screens, especially in younger ones. also, because of their body shape, they can be prone to getting stuck in cracks and crevices, so you should minimize the amount of spaces where this can happen. i recommend having a dedicated area for their living space and allowing them supervised free roam time every day.

that’s all! hopefully this helps educate anyone who is considering this species!

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 8/20/2024

a little light this week bc i had a fairly wretched week, medically speaking

listening

hozier's nobody's soldier would have been on every 8tracks mix for every character. THEEEEE blorbo song of all time to the point i am already annoyed at the thought of seeing it on every spotify mix. fuckin owns tho. very fun mod sixties heist taste to the horn arrangement

-

reading

thank you philip.

polished off the Marauders (2019-2022) comics. i liked the first volume way more than these three-- they didn't quite deliver the same quality of art or swashbuckles-per-minute. also this was probably not a great choice for someone who has forgotten what little she once knew about the xmen, even though they came at the beginning of a reboot.

why did i read these? mostly bc they were readily available or with short wait times at my library and my bestie is making me watch all the xmen movies. a girl gets curious about comic books sometimes

surprisingly, i came across this one from the Pocket integration on the firefox new tabs

McDonald likens the functions of Spotify to Google Maps. “Google Maps doesn’t do the exploration for me, but it’s helpful if I go somewhere,” he says. Rather than taking us on guided tours, it provides the tools for us to navigate somewhere new. Much as it shows us what’s nearby and how to get there, and flags notable landmarks others have visited, Spotify helps us access most music, lists global listening trends, and introduces us to artists similar to those we already know. But it’s communities that help us home in on a destination Spotify can help us explore.

part two of breaking down infamous academic paper mill Hindawi and why it was bought by Wiley anyway bc they did seemingly no due diligence, bc as a whole they do very little actual work in the publishing process.

i have included a very long quote bc it is one of only two things that made me genuinely laugh out loud this week (the other was phil unsticking a claw from the couch by backflipping herself out)

One issue of Wireless Communications and Mobile Computing from 2022, edited mostly by Hamurabi Gamboa Rosales, took an average of about 20 days to go from initial submission to revision submission. This is not unlikely, it’s impossible. The easiest way to explain this is with an analogy. Say there’s a pothole outside your house, and you call the council. You tell them ‘there’s a big hole in the road outside my house!’ The person at the other end, rather than tiredly telling you to fill out a form - which is what councils do all over the world, in my experience - instead yells ‘MOTHER OF GOD! WE’RE RIGHT ON IT!’ Twenty minutes later, a bitumen truck comes HURTLING around the corner of your street at full send, with the road workers hanging out the back of it, the driver leaning on the horn and yelling ‘GET OUT OF THE WAY! POTHOLE!’ They pull up outside your house, and you see the brakes go hot. But the guys don’t even wait for it to stop, they jump off while it’s slowing down, and they grab pry bars and a burner and a kettle of bitumen, and they start hammering out the edges, pour the bitumen and start slamming it with hammers almost at the same time. In about six minutes, the hole is filled and flattened, and they admire their work for about four hundred milliseconds and SCREAM off the way they came. No sooner has the truck disappeared, then your phone rings - and it’s the council worker from before. ‘POTHOLE! *pant* *pant* FIXED! Happy to be of service!’ *click* That’s how likely the entire editorial process taking 20 days is.

-

watching

i don't understand why the third xmen movie isn't named x cubed. it extremely is not their last stand there are like a dozen more movies to go. gun to my head i could not tell you what happened in this one. whatsherface did look good as hell though

and now for the movie i actually want to talk about, Monkey Man (2024, dir. Patel). imdb says:

An anonymous young man unleashes a campaign of vengeance against the corrupt leaders who murdered his mother and continue to systematically victimize the poor and powerless.

i am so so so lucky that my favorite kind of fight scene — fast, brutal, right spaces with improvised weapons-- is fashionable. pour it DIRECTLY into my open mouth

i think i generally agree with a broad sweep of reviewers here when i tell you that this movie is gorgeous and grossnasty at the same time, there are a lot of ideas that aren't all quite resolved, and i am much more interested in why it has a hell of a lot of ideas (part of why they don't all get resolved).

patel's first movie, it feels very much like a movie of someone who isn't sure they'll be able to do another one, so throw everything you've got in here. a sort of famously rocky production and shoestring budget, but you would not know it. the club scenes are especially dripping in glitz and, like many stage productions, have a lot of clever editing and strategic deployment of mirrors and repeats. there's a fight scene with hanging mirrors near the end where the mirrors can't have been more than fifty bucks each but it looks SO fucking sick.

i am much more willing to go to bat for this movie and ignore some of the rough edges bc it is so refreshingly earnest, and despite the style references, is very focused on being its own thing. at some points it's going to feel like The Matrix (1999, dir. the Wachowskis) bc every movie made in a post- The Matrix (1999, dir. the Wachowskis) world is going to feel a little bit like The Matrix (1999, dir. the Wachowskis). or like when the above gif happened in the movie it did not make me want to turn it off and go watch the first john wick.

people who live in india or are part of the diaspora are a little cranky about the political parties of the film, which had to be neutered for release. while i don't think i would have grasped all the nuances even if we did have the original cut, i think it's likely some of the characters would have resolved a little cleaner if that original intent was still there.

why did i watch this? i think patel is easily as hot as tumblr darling mifune. while drafting this post i got distracted sooooooo many times trying to pick the perfect gif. some of them are too hot!!!

-

playing

fallow week

-

making

just stayin alive! just livin the fuckin dream!!!

[lumi077]

Winters’ Servants; Chapter 1

Chapter 1; Grief encompasses.

Warnings; This story has very slight yandere (but not really) themes. Reader is in mourning, they/them pronouns, no y/n mentions. established relationships, but they’ll change. slow burn. Extreme envy on your part

When the world has already kicked you away and the gods have cast you aside, you had no one to turn to but her and she understood. You two understood each other like no one else. And now even she has been taken, and you are forced to watch as her funeral becomes a business meeting. But by the Tsaritsa herself, they may not tarnish her name.

When you were inducted, all those long years ago, you had presumed that you and your peers were the best of the best. That should diplomacy be impossible, a fight would surely and swiftly turn to their favor. That in all the nations of Teyvat, it was them and you who were the strongest. But now your beliefs have been shaken, extremely and uncomfortably so.

The fair lady, Signora. Or as you knew her, for all these years, Rosalyne. A dear friend, perhaps even the dearest. Although fate seems to find you most unpleasant and therefore decides anyone who comes in contact with you must find a fate fit to punish them for every laying eyes on you. She had died on a mission to Inazuma, where this nuisance of an anomaly had managed to beat her and have the Raiden Shogun finish the job for them. 

Your shoes made prominents clacking noises against the hard and cold pavement that led to the cathedral, that now is the eternal resting place of your dear Rosalyne. It was unfair, and made a flame of hatred that was long thought to be burned out sear into your heart and spread through your body with every weary beat. Just the thought of the Archons taking even more from you made your teeth grit in your mouth uncontrollably. 

Your hatred filled thoughts were unkindly interrupted when you walked into a soft melody from a voice you know all too well. The Damselette was by the coffin, arms laid on its great surface with her head resting upon them. The white coat hid her form well from your sight for the moment, your eyes adjusting slowly to see it clearly. Her eyes were just behind that mask she wore, and she lazily sung each note, despite them sounding like perfection.

It took you two painful moments to realize she was singing her song, one that you were so familiar with at this point even the few notes made you remember everything you swore to forget when you heard the noise.With a gruff attitude so unlike you, you called out.

“My Lady.” Was all you said, and the singing stopped almost immediately. Bringing her arms closer to her, she turned her head to look right at you with her closed eyes. A serene smile replaced her once displeased frown. How she can see you confused you to no end, but questions like that need not be dignified with words.

“My fair dove.” She cooed sweetly, her voice as melodic as it was when she was singing. 

You looked away even though there was no eye contact from your fellow harbinger. You also didn’t talk any further, just crossing your arms in your warm coat and frowning. 

Columbina was confused, you were normally much more for conversation than this. She didn’t understand, and so she went back to her original position and resumed her eerie singing.

Sooner than you would have rathered, the others had arrived, and the Rooster had started his…speech. To put it quite delicately.

“We are gathered here today,” His voice carried over Columbina’s singing, not that she looked to mind. His words were as cold as Snezhnaya, and uncaring of the loss you seemed to not be able to overlook. “To remember our dear comrade.”

You were envious, how could he not care? How did he master being so unfeeling in this moment, when you cannot bring yourself to act normal at all? Signora was not close with everyone, she even said only you could work your way into her destroyed and ravaged heart. Maybe that is why, they simply did not know her like you did. 

“In honor of her sacrifice, all work should halt for half a day as the nation mourns her passing.” He declared, and you froze.

This pause in your posture and voice gave ample time for the Regrater to give his opinion on the matter. A soft chuckle before he spoke made you turn to him in your shock, dead eyes staring at his closed in calmness “Merely half a day? People say the Northland bank’s true currencies are blood and tears. But Mayor, even speaking as a banker, that sounds a little unconscionable.” His voice was smooth and deep, pleasant to you normally but not now.

Steps, clacks of shoes much like your own consumed your confused and grief ridden brain, so you turned once more to the source of the sound.

Another dear friend, The Knave, seemed to have something to say as she narrowed her steely eyes at Pantalone. “Rosalyne died in a foreign land” Just the mention of her death panged your heart and made the burning in your veins much worse. “But you heartless businessmen and dignitaries always with the convenient excuse to remain in the comfort of your homeland. You couldn’t hope to understand.” Her voice had more bite and authority to it, glare unwavering.

“So why don’t you keep your mouths shut. You wouldn’t want to make the children cry.” She finished, her glare retreating as she closed her eyes.

Despite your grief, you spoke. “This is a funeral, not a place to squabble.” You hissed, taking on an air of authority you feel very much entitled to right now. “Now stop acting like children arguing over a toy and pay your respects to the woman who has done more than any of us to further the Tsaritsa’s will.” You narrowed your eyes, uncrossing your arms to rest them by your side.

The youngest of your organization laughed, quiet and light but yet grabbed the attention of you all. “I agree, this is no place for a fight.”

Your glare landed on him, not needing someone so young to back you. He raised his arms in mock surrender with a smile and an arched brow. It made your blood boil. You’re too worked up now and chose to remain silent. 

All the harbingers witnessed how you did not rise to the unspoken challenge the ginger had presented to you like normal, and all had mixed feelings about it.

“Utterly risible.” Sandrone laughed, shaking her head slightly from her seat on her large puppet-like machine. 

Even the Captain had to have his input. Why couldn’t they just let you mourn in peace without having to worry about defending your dearest Rosealyn’s honor. Truly she cannot even rest in the afterlife, but you hope she at least has found her husband after so many years of being apart. 

“Though her methods tarnished her honor, leoff alta’s sacrifice is a great pity.” He was gruff and uncaring, another strike of envy and anger washed over you. But you can’t blame them, they didn’t know her like that. “Her loss shall not hinder our progress.”

“Her honor remains intact. Let the dead rest.” You hissed, but with little venom or true bite. 

He ignored you, more focused on his question “But Dottore, what of Scaramouche and the gnosis from Inazuma?” He questioned the bluenette, turning his head to face him.

The Doctor himself was leaning on a pillar, swirling a liquid of origins unknown to you that was held in a hand sized tube. How he looked down at it and could see it, was again something you did not know and are not stupid enough to ask. 

“Conventional knowledge holds that divine knowledge can be rationally comprehended. After conquering the divine gaze, he will make his next move.” he spoke rationally, his voice was weirdly pleasant to you after all these years.

You knew of the plans with Scaramouche and actively detested them, despite both of them assuring you it would be fine. But it won’t be, and you know it. How, you don’t know. But that traveler is causing way too many problems for them not to be considered in this. They killed her, and you cannot shake the feeling they will kill more of you before they are stopped.

“It’s time to end tonight’s foolish theatrics.” Footsteps of iron against stone echoed dimly, accompanied by the weathered voice of the Jester. 

Theatrics? Was that what this is? A show to put on to amuse who? Her majesty? How cruel must she be to parade your sorrow as anything but genuine.

“Right now, you have no captive audience.” He declared as if it was simple, but it wasn’t. And it isn’t, and it never will be. You missed her, and you missed Scaramouche, and you miss how you felt before the news. That wasn’t simple, missing someone isn’t simple. So, you are envious once more, of how your comrades are so eager to fake this.

Dully, you were aware of everyone and you moving to circle the coffin that held the ashes of your dearest and closest friend. “Let every worthy sacrifice be carved in ice, and with this nation will endure for all time.”

Slowly you all bowed your head and in what you prayed was respect, even closing your weary eyes as you did so. 

“In the name of her majesty the Tsaritsa, we will seize control from the gods.” With that you turned, your coat billowing out behind you. You could feel the stares and would be eyes on your back.

“Well said Pierro, so if you don’t mind, I’ll go back to my preparations to head to Sumeru. Good evening.” you stated coldly and began to trek down the cold hall and out the door. The resounding noise of the large door opening and closing echoing loudly down to the rest of the harbingers.

Your name slipped dully from the banker’s lips, a frown and knitted brows accompanied his voice “Grief does unimaginable things to a person, poor darling.”

A scoff then a laugh “No, not my love.” Arlecchino eyed the exit from which you left. “They know what must be done and will do it.”

“The Fair Lady was always close to them.” Childe shrugged “I doubt they are taking her death as well as they put on.” 

The Mayor hummed quietly, a small and aged hand going to rest on his chin “We are the strongest forces of the fatui, perhaps it has shaken them that one such as us have fallen so gravely.” 

A deep guttural hum emitted from the inky black abyss that shrouded Capitano’s face “Dottore will keep an eye on them during their travels to the nation of knowledge.”

“Indeed, I shall.” The Doctor laughed darkly, shaking his head “They shall be fine under my care, rest assured.”

“They better be. I expect many reports from the two of you, and for yours to be truthful.” Pierro warned before he walked off, leaving the way he came.

With not much else to discuss, the rest of the harbingers took their leave as well. 

And there you stood on the snowy and windy mountain to say your true last goodbyes as the cathedral was surrounded in ice for the rest of eternity.

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