#“oh well we should take the high road and quit too

[hhaechansmoless]

LIGHTS OUT PT.2

pairing: f1driver!haechan x PRmanager!femreader

genre: fluff, angst, romance

description: Part of the Beyond The Grid series. Haechan, bold, aggressive and unrelenting, is back after a narrowly missed opportunity to become the world champion in 2024. This time, he's set his sight on making it all the way to the top. You, as his newly appointed PR representative, are assigned with the task of keeping up with a world of high stakes, unpredictable twists and well, him.

warnings: strong language, stressful situations, descriptions of car crashes and physical exhaustion, slowburn, honestly quite f1 heavy

w/c: part 1 - 17.8k part 2 - 15.8k glossary taglist a/n: the last part!! for any errors in descriptions of any of these places, reminder: i've never been there LOL. Writing Haechan in this threw him back into my bias list (very up high too) and it was so fun :)) this is the biggest fic i have ever written and i think that I'd like to be proud of it. I hope you all like it too! (If you do, i may or may not have a ferrari scoups fic in the working to make this into a series for all my caratzens 👀 so please be on the lookout for that as well!) This might have a few typos ngl...proofread this half late at night so excuse them 😔Please feel free to comment or send an ask about your thoughts on this. Feedback is always appreciated <3

COLOGNE, GERMANY

September 12th

You: Haechan you’ve been to Cologne before right? What was the name of that restaurant you said you really liked? In Alstadt. [12:47]

Lee Haechan (RB): Are you in Cologne rn? [12:47]

You: Yeah!!! My sister and I decided to go on a little girls trip since yk there’s a break. She has a college sem break now too so the timing was perfect haha Anyways, what's the name? [12:48]

Lee Haechan (RB): What the hell 😭 omg where are you exactly rn This is INSANE I’m ALSO here with my SISTER ??? [12:48}

You: NO WAY??? We’re walking back from the cathedral rn Old town’s like 2 mins away by walk where are YOU? [12:48]

Lee Haechan (RB): There’s this lock store thing nearby in old town My sister wanted to buy one for her and her boyfriend so we’re going to head there after lunch 🙄 We should eat togetherrrr ask your sister Mine’s fine with it. [12:48]

“Rina,” You call your sister to grab her attention. She hums as she turns one last time to take another photo of the cathedral looming in the distance, “Promise me you won’t freak out.”

She turns to look at you then, furrowing her brows, “Why?”

“So I asked the friend that I told you I’d be asking…” You grimace as she stares at you for a moment before it clicks.

“Ah! The guy you lowkey have a crush on but will not admit it. Yes, why?” She grins, looping her arm through yours as you begin to walk again.

“Shut up,” You roll your eyes, “Coincidentally, he’s here too and he’s wondering if we can catch lunch together. He’s with his sister too.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you can feel the excitement coursing through your sister, a small jump in her next step as her hand tightens around yours.

“Yes! Tell him we’ll come,” Rina giggles, “Oh, I can’t wait to meet this guy!”

You sigh again, regretting your decision already, “Please don’t embarrass me? And don’t say anything I wouldn’t want you to say, okay?”

She nods her head, lips stretching into a smile, “Go on, tell him!” 

You pull your phone out of your coat pocket.

You: We’ll come!! Are you sure your sister is fine w it? [12:50]

To your surprise, your phone buzzes in your hands, Haechan’s profile pic flashing on your screen.

You quickly swipe to answer, your voice coming out a little more breathless than you intended. “Hello?”

“Hey,” his voice is casual, but you can hear the underlying excitement. “I figured it’d be easier to call. Are you in Alstadt now? My sister is really excited, by the way.”

You take a moment to look around the old town. It’s a charming sight, cobbled roads with colourful, narrow buildings leaning against each other. The air carries a faint scent of fresh pastries from cozy cafes nestled between quaint shops selling handcrafted trinkets and souvenirs. There’s a relaxed and calm energy in the air from the soft murmur of laughter and conversation drifting out of the many breweries in the area. 

“Yep, where do we go?”

“Awesome. Okay, see the fountain in the middle of the square?” Haechan asks, his voice clear through the phone. “We’re at this brewery right behind it. It’s got these big wooden barrels outside and a green sign. You can’t miss it.”

You look up, spotting the fountain just ahead, surrounded by people taking photos and chatting. “Yeah, I see the fountain. We’re heading over now.”

“Cool,” Haechan replies, his voice light. “I’m standing outside so you can spot me.”

You can’t help but smile. “Alright, see you in a bit.”

“See ya,” he says, and the call stays connected, neither of you hanging up.

It’s strange how comfortable it feels, just having him on the other end of the line. You’re not sure if he’s waiting for you to hang up first or if he’s waiting to spot you. You don’t have the heart to hang up either.

Your sister, on the other hand, has no qualms about your situation. She pokes your shoulder, her voice loud enough for Haechan to probably hear. “Are we going or what?”

You snap out of your thoughts, feeling your face heat up. “Yeah, we’re going.” 

The sun shines bright over the square, but there’s still a chill in the air. It’s pleasant and frankly it’s exactly the weather you love. As you pass the fountain, the sunlight glinting off the water, you promise Rina that you can take photos on your way out. Just beyond it, you spot the brewery Haechan described, the wooden barrels outside and the green sign hanging above the door. And there he is, leaning casually against the wall. 

He’s wearing a slightly oversized beige knit sweater that looks warm and comfortable, the fabric soft and relaxed around his shoulders. It contrasts nicely against his black jeans. His hair falls messily over his forehead, tousled by the breeze, and he looks so put-together that it takes you a second to remember how to breathe.

I see you,” you say softly, your heart doing a little flip.

You see him perk up, his eyes searching the crowd before locking on you. A bright smile spreads across his face, and he waves.

You wave back, suddenly feeling shy before you cut the call.

“Is that him?” Rina whistles. Haechan stands a little awkwardly, hands tucked into his pockets as he waits for the two of you to come over. As you come closer though, Rina gasps.

“What the fuck? That’s Haechan.” She stops in her tracks, hand falling out from yours.

You nod sheepishly, scratching your neck, “Yeah…”

“You have a crush on Lee fucking Haechan, shut up.” Her mouth falls open. You grimace before pulling her along again. 

“Please behave yourself.” 

“Do you think I could ask for an autograph?” She pipes up, “I didn’t want to ask you till now cause I didn’t know if it would be appropriate but holy shit, you like him and by the looks of it, he does too so I think it would be fine.”

“Rina, stop.” You grit out, still smiling.

“Hey, you made it!” Haechan’s smile grows wider when you approach. Without thinking, he moves in closer, his arm slipping around your shoulders for a brief second, a quick, casual side hug as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s barely more than a brush, just enough for you to feel his warmth against your side, his fingers resting lightly on your shoulder before he pulls away just as quickly. 

Rina grins at you, making you narrow your eyes as you turn back to Haechan. 

“Haechan, meet Rina, my sister. Rina,” You point at him, “This is Haechan.”

He holds out his hand for her to shake, which she takes willingly.

“I don’t mean to make this awkward,” Rina begins, “And she’s probably going to kill me for saying it so soon, but I’m a big fan! You were really cool in Austria!”

Haechan laughs, eyes flitting over to you once, “Thank you. She’s really mean about it though, isn’t she? She never tells me that I do well.”

“I just don’t want to inflate your ego,” You roll your eyes defensively, “And hey! I do tell you sometimes.”

He nods, but you see the look he shoots your sister, making her giggle in agreement.

“Anyways, let’s go in, Dahyun’s already caught us a seat.”

—

The plates on the table are mostly empty, remnants of lunch scattered between glasses of half-full beer and water. The lively chatter coming from the other side of the table contrasts the comfortable silence between you and Haechan.

You lean back in your chair, eyes fixed on Rina, who’s explaining something to Dahyun, her hands moving wildly as she talks. Dahyun watches her with rapt attention, nodding along enthusiastically, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“They’ve really hit it off, huh?” Haechan’s voice is low and close, his shoulder just barely brushing yours as he leans in.

You smile, nodding. “Yeah. I didn’t expect them to get along so well.”

Haechan hums, “Dahyun’s usually shy around new people, so this is a nice surprise.”

You glance at him, taking in the soft, fond smile on his face, “She’s cute. I was honestly worried that Rina might be a bit too much. She’s—if it’s not obvious already—the extroverted one between the two of us.”

“You talk to a lot of new people, though,” Haechan turns to look at you, “Quite confidently, too.”

“It comes with the job,” You shrug.

“Speaking of, it’s nice to meet outside of work, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, you’re probably glad I’m not eating your ear off about saying the right things, no?” You joke, expecting him to laugh and retort. Instead, he looks slightly taken aback.

“No, I don’t mind it.” Haechan tells you, but when you shoot an unsure look, he continues, “I mean, at first it was a bit weird. You were all business, all the time. But then I got used to it... and now...” He trails off, his eyes flicking to yours before quickly looking away. “Now, I like having you around.”

Your pulse quickens, not expecting him to sound so serious. “Oh,” is all you manage to put out.

He seems to want to say something else when a burst of laughter from across the table catches your attention. Dahyun and Rina are completely lost in conversation, their heads bent close over Dahyun’s phone as they snicker at something.

“It’s kind of crazy how we’re both at the same place, if you think about it.” Haechan scoffs, smiling at them, “And crazy how they’re getting along. So random.”

“I’m pretty sure I overheard them exchanging numbers too.” You giggle, “Guess it was just meant to be.” You glance at him.

Haechan’s gaze is already on you, his eyes softening, “Yeah, maybe it was.”

You’re not sure who looks away first when the moment is broken by Dahyun.

“Oh! The love locks!” she exclaims, her eyes bright as she turns to Haechan. “We’re going after this, right?”

Haechan sighs, “Yeah, yeah.”

Dahyun beams, turning to Rina. “There’s this bridge nearby where couples put locks on the railings and throw the key into the river. It’s supposed to be, like, a forever thing. Isn’t that cute?”

Rina’s eyes widen with excitement. “That’s adorable! We should put one too,” She looks at you.

You laugh, “Hey, you can’t get rid of me. We’re already sisters forever, or whatever.”

“Still,” She insists.

“Oh my god,” Dahyun gasps, “We should all put one together! Like... as a memory of today!”

Her words hang in the air. All of you? Together? Your eyes flick to Haechan only to find him already looking at you. His expression is unreadable, his gaze lingering just a little too long before he looks away, a small smile playing on his lips.

Rina claps her hands excitedly. “That’s such a cute idea! And we can write the date on it too!” She turns to you, her eyes sparkling. “C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

You hesitate, feeling strangely shy. “I mean... yeah, I guess that could be cute.”

Haechan leans back in his chair, his arm resting casually on the back of yours. “You sure? Thought you’d think it's cheesy.”

You scoff but your lips curve up anyways.

It’s just a lock. It’s just a silly little tradition, you try convincing yourself.

But the thought won’t leave your mind. The image of writing on that lock, snapping it in place on the bridge... standing next to Haechan, side by side, surrounded by hundreds of other locks glinting in the sun. You can almost feel the warmth of his shoulder against yours, hear his soft laughter as you fumble with the key. It’s silly. Completely unrealistic. But the thought makes your chest flutter all the same.

“Okay!” Dahyun announces, breaking you out of your thoughts. “It’s settled then. We’re all getting one!”

She looks so excited that you can’t help but laugh. “Alright, alright. I’m in.”

“To be fair,” you turn to Haechan as you get up from your seat, slipping your arms into your coat, “This seems like the kind of thing you’d call cheesy too.”

He shrugs, helping you pull the sleeve as you struggle with your left arm, “Yeah, but it’s different if it’s with you.”

You freeze. His eyes are bright, reflecting the golden afternoon light. You don’t see the playful spark in them that’s present whenever he pulls pranks on his engineers and mechanics. Are you just imagining it, or does he look the most sincere you’ve ever seen him?

You tear your gaze away, clearing your throat, “What is that even supposed to mean?”

He laughs, clearly enjoying your flustered state. “C’mon, let’s catch up before they leave us behind.”

Without a second thought, he holds out his hand to you, palm open and waiting. You try not to stare, hesitating for a moment before slipping your hand into his. 

Haechan’s fingers curl around yours, slowly, maybe a little unsure now that he’s already done it. You lose your breath at the way it feels so right.

For the first time, as he leads the two of you out, you stop trying to convince yourself that it doesn’t mean anything. Right now, it’s starting to feel like everything.

SINGAPORE, MARINA BAY STREET CIRCUIT

Thursday, Media day October 2nd

Haechan walks out of the meeting room with a lot more on his shoulders than he had walking into it an hour ago. There's a sense of finality, excitement in him as he peeps into the corridor, wondering where you are. At the same time, it feels like the biggest burden ever. Six years he's prepared for this, fought for this and now that the weekend is already here, he is overwhelmed beyond words. Even though he's known that it's been coming this entire season, even though he came close to it last year, Haechan realizes that no matter how many times it happens, he might never get used to it.

He sees you walking towards him, turning into the corridor he's in. Your eyes are stuck on your tablet, strides long and in a rush.

He realizes you're the first one he's going to tell. It's electrifying.

You come to a stop in front of him, beginning to greet him when he stops you by putting both his hands on your shoulders. His hand shakes a little and you notice it.

“Are you alright? Do you feel si-”

“They said I could win the championship this weekend.” 

Haechan watches as you smile, like you already knew. Do you?

Your smile grows, “I know! I just got the news. The press will probably ask you about it.” 

He leans against the wall, hand coming up to his heart, “I can't believe it, honestly.”

“You can do this!” You grin, “I'm so happy for you, genuinely. Finishing the championship with like 6 more races left is crazy and you're so close to it.”

“You think I can do it?” Usually Haechan asks such questions when he's completely confident and digging for compliments, but today you know he really means it.

“I believe in you, come on.” You drag him, “You will be fine. Right now, there's a press conference to get to.”

“You're going in with Seungcheol, Doyoung and Jeonghan.” You inform him as you leave the hospitality and head towards the FIA building. “They will definitely ask you about the drivers championship and since Choi is also there, there'll be questions about the constructors too. There's no need to make digs at anyone right now, so be careful.”

“What do I tell them if they ask about the drivers championship? Fuck, I really don't know what to say.” He sighs, shaking his head, “It feels kind of unreal.”

“It's better to play it safe right now. I'm sure that this weekend decides if you're going to be champion, not Jaehyun, right? So even if you don't win here you don't have to be too worried. Don't freak out so much. You only have to tell them that you're focusing on the race here. There's no need to commit to anything beyond that.” You bite your lip, “Honestly Haechan, you'll be fine. Say what comes to your mind, just don't sound overconfident, alright?”

He nods. You give him an encouraging pat on the shoulder as the two of you enter the conference room. You'll be sitting behind the reporters, right there. He has nothing to be worried about.

The moderator begins to speak as Haechan sits down next to Seungcheol, “Good afternoon everyone. Welcome to the FIA driver's press conference ahead of the Singapore Grand Prix. Joining us today, on my right we have Doyoung from Mercedes, Jeonghan from Williams, Seungcheol from Ferrari and Haechan from Red Bull.”

The first few questions from the moderator are directed towards the other three, with Jeonghan answering questions about how it's getting more competitive in the midfield right now, to Doyoung talking about the problems he's been facing with the car as of late. The next question, though, goes to Seungcheol.

“Seungcheol, Ferrari are in contention against Red Bull for both the Driver's and the Constructors’ Championship, and it seems the team’s focus has shifted more towards Jaehyun’s title fight. How are you balancing supporting the team’s goals with pursuing your own results this weekend?” The moderator asks.

Haechan can tell it ticks off the man beside him.

“The team’s goal is to secure the best possible result in the Constructors’ Championship, and I’m fully committed to contributing to that. Jaehyun’s in the title fight, and it makes sense for Ferrari to back him. But that doesn’t mean I’m just here to play support. I’m still a competitor, and I’m racing for myself too. My focus is on maximizing my own performance, and if that helps the team, then that’s a win-win.” Seungcheol asserts before setting his mic down.

“Thank you, Seungcheol. Moving on to our championship contender. Haechan, you have a chance to secure the driver's championship this weekend. How are you managing the pressure of that possibility, especially at a track as challenging as Singapore?”

Haechan clears his throat, “Yeah, I mean I'd be lying if I said there was no pressure. But it's a part of the job. I've learned that the moment you start thinking too ahead, you lose focus of what's in front of you right now. So I'm trying to take this entire weekend one step at a time. Singapore is a tough track, nothing's guaranteed. I'm going to approach it like any other race. Try to give my best. If it happens, it does. Otherwise we keep pushing.”

The moderator nods, “Well, all the very best to you. We'll now open the floor to questions from the media.”

A journalist in the first row stands up, “My question is for Haechan.”

“Hello,” Haechan smiles, earning polite laughter from the journalists.

“Both Seungcheol and Doyoung have been in your position before. Have you sought any advice from them on handling the pressure of a title decider?”

“I mean,” Haechan laughs a little, “Not really? I've seen first hand how they've handled it and that in itself has been sort of a lesson. But at the end of the day, all drivers experience things differently and deal with things differently. But who knows, maybe I should ask them.” He turns to look at the two world champions sitting near him.

Seungcheol throws a small smile, “You'd have to ask nicely.”

Haechan rolls his eyes at this, playfully poking the inside of his mouth with his tongue in mock irritation.

Doyoung laughs along with the rest of the room before speaking, “Honestly, with the way he's been driving this season, I wouldn't say he needs our advice.”

The next journalist stands up with a question for Seungcheol.

“There have been rumors going around since Monza that you might be in the talks of leaving Ferrari. Do you have anything to comment on about that?”

“Rumors are just that—rumors. Nothing is confirmed till you hear it from me. Right now, I'm focused on the constructors. Anything beyond that, we will talk when the time comes.” He says with an air of finality, giving the hint that he will not entertain more questions about this.

—

Lee Haechan (RB): Can you wait for me? I'm almost out of debriefing We're going to the same place anyways, I'll drive you [20:29]

You: stalker much? I'm in front of the Ferrari hospitality. [20:34]

Lee Haechan (RB): More like I saw you leaving in the morning Where are youuuu [20:36]

“Hey,” Haechan greets as he walks up to you.

You take his arrival as an excuse to leave, bidding farewell to Jaehyun's PR manager.

“God, you came at the right time, really.” You groan as the two of you walk into the parking lot.

“Why? She's that bad?”

“Don't even get me started,” You let out, exasperated, “I pity Jaehyun, honestly.”

Haechan lets out an offended noise as he opens the door of his car for you. You slip inside, too preoccupied with your thoughts to notice the gesture. When he gets into the driver's seat, he sighs.

“You can't pity my competitors, come on. Unless it's because of what's coming for them.” He jokes.

You sigh, swatting his arm, “No that's not it. She's weirdly really open with whatever is going on at their team. I think if we’d stayed a few more minutes she would’ve straight up started talking about the contract situations in Ferrari.”

“My first PR manager was like that too. And I think because I was a lot younger, he thought he could just control me and boss me around.” Haechan exhales as he drives out of the gates. 

It makes you bristle. “I hate people like that, honestly. Like you’ve got one job, it’s really not that hard to stick to it while being a nice person too.”

Haechan hums, nodding his head. 

“You know, thinking back on it, she was like that in college too. Never knew how to keep things to herself. She had this grand nickname— The Leaky Faucet.”

It makes him laugh. You can’t help but stare at him while he drives. He looks like he feels better than he did in the morning, his shoulders are more relaxed and his head gently moves to the beat of the song playing on the radio. The soft, dim glow of the dashboard makes his features look softer and more innocent.

You look away before he can catch you gazing. “Is the hotel far from the track? I didn’t really have the time to notice it in the morning.”

“Nah,” Haechan glances at you for a moment before focusing on the road again, “We’ll be there in like five minutes. Come to think of it, this is the first time you’re sitting in a car that I’m driving.”

You gasp, “Wow, it is! I’d give you a 4.8 rating out of 5.”

“Where did the 0.2 go?” He scoffs.

You sigh, sinking back into the seat, gazing outside the window at the Marina Bay Sands hotel outside, forever illuminated. “Nowhere. I need to keep your ego in check.”

“You wound me,” He says, making you laugh at the way it sounds so monotone, “By the way, I called my parents up today and they were so excited, I’m pretty sure they already booked tickets to fly in for tomorrow.”

You coo at that, unable to stop your lips from smiling, “That’s great! It’s insane honestly. I mean, you’ve probably heard it from so many people already, but I’m truly very excited for you.”

He pulls into the hotel entrance, shaking his head towards the valet to let him know that he’ll park the car himself. Looking back at you, he smiles. “Thanks pretty.”

If his words didn’t make your breath hitch, you’d be rolling your eyes right now, fighting the urge to pull him by the ears. Too bad you actually fucking like the stupid guy.

“Dahyun’s coming too, I think,” Haechan mumbles as he backs into a parking spot. He does it with only one hand, the other resting casually on the center console. He does it with so much ease that you have to blink a few times to snap out of your thoughts. The effortless way he controls the car, barely glancing at the mirrors, makes you wonder how many times he’s done this before. There’s something undeniably attractive about how relaxed and composed he is. You remind yourself that he’s a driver, for god sake. It would be concerning if he didn’t know how to park well.

“I honestly think she’s more excited to see you than see me win.” Haechan speaks again as he turns the ignition off, turning his body sideways to look at you.

Although you scoff, your heart warms at the thought of his sister liking you, “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Believe what you will,” He shrugs, “I’m telling the truth, though.”

You can’t help the soft laugh that escapes you. For a second, you let yourself savour the idea of being more involved in his world.

“You’re exaggerating, Haechan. But do tell her I’ll be happy to see her as well.” You say, getting out of the car. He follows you, gently shutting the door before locking it behind him.

As the elevator doors close, Haechan speaks up again. “I'm glad you two like each other, honestly. Hope your sister doesn't mind me either.”

You're about to laugh it off and tell him that Rina would love him anyways when the first part of his sentence hits you. A part of you wants to ask him why, wants to put a name on this, wants everything cleared up. The other part wants to let everything die down before you address anything.

Tonight, you ask anyway, sure that you'll regret whatever answer you hear from him. Both your rooms are coincidentally on the 25th floor giving you plenty of time to talk if you must.

“Haechan,” You begin, carefully, “Really, what do you mean by that?”

He looks at you properly, turning his entire body towards you. 

Haechan thinks you feel the same way that he does. Although you're professional most of the time, he's noticed the way you blush or look away when he throws something flirty at you. He's noticed the way you've become much more comfortable with him, the way you don't seem to mind how close you've become. The lines between coworkers and friends had been erased a while ago, but the line between friends and a little something more lies there in the space between you two, stretching long and thick. He wants to bend over it, hold your hand and jump onto your side to erase that too. He's just not sure if tonight is the night. So he makes himself, and hopefully you, a promise.

“Sunday,” He finally says, sounding a little short of breath but determined nonetheless, “I promise we’ll talk about this on Sunday, after the race.”

You nod. In a way you are relieved, but now that you know you're going to hear something from him, it keeps you on your toes. 

When the two of you get off the elevator on the 25th floor, Haechan stops you by grabbing your hand. You glance at it for a second and it makes him take his hand off. You wish you could tell him that you would rather him not do that.

“I hope this doesn't make it awkward between us for the next few days.” Haechan admits, looking down as he shuffles from one foot onto the other.

“Of course not,” You furrow your eyebrows, “It won't, don't worry.”

Your rooms are on two different ends of the corridor, so he shyly bids you goodbye and promises to leave only after he sees you go inside. You can't help the butterflies that rise in your stomach as you turn on your heels to go back to your room. You don't dare to turn back. You don't know if you can control yourself if you do.

—

Saturday, qualifying October 4th

“Welcome back to a crucial qualifying session here under the bright lights of the Marina Bay Circuit! We’re in for a tense evening, and one of the biggest stories heading into this weekend is Lee Haechan’s grid penalty. After taking a fresh energy store, the Red Bull driver will drop ten places from wherever he qualifies today.” 

“Yeah, and that’s a big blow for him. He’s got the chance to walk away with the driver’s championship this weekend, and on a track like Singapore, which is notoriously difficult on the drivers, that’s going to be a tough hill to climb on race day.”

Usually, you don’t sit through qualifying. There are more important things to do back at the hospitality. Articles to overview, media obligations to manage, last-minute preparations for whatever chaos might unfold post-session. But tonight is different. The Red Bull garage is packed, not just with the engineers and strategists and mechanics but with most of the crew that usually don’t attend. It’s an important qualifying that leads to an important day for not just Haechan but the entire team. The last time Red Bull had a world champion on their hands was a long time ago. 

His family is here too, in one of the corners of the garage where there are normal televisions to watch the qualifying. You see Dahyun wave at you and smile in return. You can’t walk up to her right now, but you’d already met her earlier in the day when her mother and her had stopped by the hospitality to grab a coffee before heading down to the garage during FP3. 

You turn your attention back to the screen when you see Haechan roll out of the garage for his first run. The RB21 glows under the artificial lights as he leaves the pitlane. 

“Out lap now. Track conditions look stable. Let’s build into it.”

“Copy.” Haechan responds. 

He’s worried. 

This grid penalty just had to fall on the weekend that mattered the most and there’s nothing he can do to even protest against it because it’s the team’s decision, and because it was done to maximise his performance this weekend in the first place.

As Haechan begins his outlap, he pushes the penalty out of his mind. He needs to focus on getting pole. It’s the only way he can lessen the damage. 

On the bright side, the car feels good under him. He approaches the corners confidently and the car is well balanced, taking the high speed straights well. Maybe the new energy stores were a good decision after all.

You watch as the first times come in. Doyoung sets the benchmark, a 1:35.982. Jeno follows, then Seungcheol. The screen flickers as sector times update, and you feel the tension build as Haechan’s name lights up purple in Sector 1. 

He’s faster than Doyoung by a tenth in sector 1. As Haechan approaches Sector 2, you’re on edge. If he can stay ahead here, sector 3 won’t be too hard. The screen flickers, and there it is—another purple. Faster than Doyoung again.

"Yes!" someone mutters under their breath. You can’t help but feel a surge of pride, even though it’s far from over. 

He hits the final stretch, and you watch as the seconds increase. The timing screens update, but this time, it's Haechan’s name that dominates. A 1:34.926. Purple across the board.

The garage erupts. The engineers shout in excitement, high-fiving each other. The team principal gives a nod of approval, but his focus is already on what’s next. Haechan’s provisional pole doesn’t guarantee anything yet, but it’s a damn good start.

The team radio crackles on Haechan’s side, “Mega job, Haechan. Mega. You can head in if you’d like.”

Haechan doesn’t have room to be satisfied with his performance. He will not, until he has a clear lead over the others. He wants to push, see how much more than a second he can go. Plus, Singapore is a track where the grip increases with more rubber lay-down.

“I’ll stay out.”

After a slow, recharge lap, the team watches as he winds up for another flying lap. It’s a gamble, his tires will have lost some of their peak performance, but if he nails the lap, it won’t matter.

“Alright, you’re clear,” his race engineer says. “Push now.”

Haechan’s first sector is clean and precise. He shaves off time where he can and maneuvers through the corners perfectly. Then comes sector 2. The garage watches as he approaches Turn 14, braking even later than before. The car responds sharply. The rear wobbles, side pods almost grazing the wall, so close that for a moment, everyone in the garage holds their breath. It’s the kind of moment where, if he gets it wrong, that’s the lap over.

But Haechan doesn’t lift. Doesn’t hesitate.

“That’s a purple sector 2. Doing good, push harder if possible.”

“I’m trying, man,” Haechan grits out. He’s already wringing every bit of performance out of the car.

He storms through sector 3, showing insane speed on the straights. You think that the people back at the factory who are most definitely watching right now, deserve to be really proud of themselves.

When Haechan crosses the line again, the times update.

1:34:582.

“What’s the gap?”

A beat of silence, then his engineer’s voice,“P1 by 1.4 seconds. You can box, box.”

And that is pole position occupied for the rest of quali, you think, unable to help the grin on your face as you watch his family celebrate.

The pitlane is still buzzing as the final cars complete their laps, but no one comes close. Haechan’s time remains untouchable. One by one, the names shuffle on the board, but his stays on top.

When the session ends, confirmation comes through. “Session over, P1 confirmed,” his engineer tells him. “We’ll start P10 tomorrow. Lots of work to do but good job, you did your best.”

Haechan knows it too. He climbs out of the car, removes his helmet, and though his face is calm, you know him well enough to see the flicker of frustration behind his eyes. Pole position means nothing when you have to give it up.

He barely has a moment to breathe before his family surrounds him, his mother pulling him into a tight hug before he can even react. He stumbles back a step, but his hands come up instinctively, resting on her back as she murmurs something only he can hear. Whatever frustration was lingering in his posture melts just slightly, replaced by something softer. 

Dahyun grins beside them, waiting for their mother to let go before nudging Haechan in the ribs. “Fastest man on track,” she teases. “Shame you’re not starting there.”

Haechan rolls his eyes, but there’s the briefest twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he wants to be annoyed but can’t help himself. His father claps him on the shoulder, saying something about how he drove well regardless, and for a moment, the tension of the session is forgotten.

You hesitate a few steps away, watching the scene unfold. You don’t usually get involved in moments like these. They’re personal, belonging to the drivers and their families, not to you. You know when to blend into the background, to let them have their time. But you also know when to step in, because there’s still a job to do.

Still, approaching feels different this time.

Adjusting the collar of your team polo shirt, you take a breath before stepping forward.

“Haechan,” you say, voice level, “we need to head to the media pen soon.”

He turns at the sound of your voice, eyes flicking to you before he gestures for you to come closer. “Oh, right—Dad, Mom, this is my PR rep,” he says casually, “She makes sure I don’t say anything that’ll get me fined.”

His father chuckles, holding out his hand, “Well, that must be a full time job.”

You shake it firmly, offering a small smile, “Some weekends more than the others. But he’s fine.”

“We appreciate it,” his mother says warmly. “This one can be a handful.”

Haechan groans, throwing his head back as he sets his helmet on the table, “Come on, I’m really not that bad, she said it herself!”

He turns to you, “Can we please leave before they say something that would actually look like I’m a PR liability?”

You laugh at that, smiling and nodding at his family before you leave behind him.

The paddock is still alive and will be for a few more hours to come. Mechanics start packing up, Jeno’s side practices a pit-stop, engineers bent over their data. Haechan walks ahead, his pace unhurried. He doesn’t look particularly frustrated, but you can tell the result is still sitting with him.

“You’re quiet,” you say as you catch up.

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Just thinking.”

“You drove well.”

He hums, “Doesn’t matter, does it?”

“It could’ve been worse,” You point out, “You’ve done all that you could have.”

He sighs softly. “Yeah. Still feels shit, though.”

You don’t have anything to say to that.

The media pen is bright and waiting. You can see the other drivers and their representatives and trainers hanging around the area, probably waiting for their turn or coming out after finishing. The journalists wait, cameras and mics ready.

Haechan breathes in deeply, dragging a hand through his hair, fingers catching briefly before falling back to his side. Then, with barely a pause, he steps forward, and you follow.

—

The hotel is quieter than expected when you walk in. It’s a little late, but you did expect to see at least a few people from the team in the lobby. You step into the elevator, pressing your floor number before leaning back against the wall, already half distracted by your phone.

The doors are just about to close when a hand slides in between them.

Haechan.

He steps inside, the doors shutting behind him. You blink, caught off guard. It’s late. Too late for him to just be getting back.

“You’re back now?” you ask, brows furrowing.

He leans against the railing on the glass back-wall, hands stuffed into his hoodie’s pockets, eyes trained on the floor. “Meetings went on forever. The debrief was long and there’s a lot to do tomorrow.”

You nod to yourself. Of course there is.

“What about you though?” Haechan looks up, “Why were you down so late?”

“I went to dinner with a friend,” You shrug.

“How was it?” He hums before looking up at the floor that the elevator stops on. 16. Someone gets on and you step behind, closer to him.

“It was fine,” You reply, a little softer, “Did you eat?”

Haechan nods.

“In your dressing room like a lonely little kid?”

“I didn’t feel like sitting with anyone. Everyone’s just going to talk about strategy and I felt like I was going to lose my mind.”

The person gets off on floor 19.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask softly. He can feel your stare on him, but it doesn’t feel harsh or expecting.

“It’s been a while since I’ve mentally dreaded a race this much.” Haechan sighs, looking at his shoes again, “It’s going to be really hard. Singapore always is, but with this championship hanging on the line, it’s going to be worse.”

You shift, leaning against the railing beside him. “Yeah,” you say, because what else is there? He already knows what tomorrow is. He doesn’t need you to tell him he’ll be fine, or that he can do it. He just needs to say it out loud.

He exhales, pressing his lips together. “I just don’t want to fuck it up.”

“If it makes any difference, I don’t think you will.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “You sound confident.”

“Someone has to be.”

That pulls a quiet laugh out of him. His fingers rake through his hair, messing it up worse than it already was. “I’m supposed to sleep properly tonight, but I don’t think I’ll be able to.”

The elevator dings, doors sliding open. You step out first, Haechan falling into step beside you. When he doesn’t say anything else, you pause, looking back at him. He’s still stuck in his own head.

Before you can think too much about it, you step forward and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down slightly.

You feel him tense for a second, like he wasn’t expecting it. Then, slowly, he exhales, his shoulders dropping as he leans into you. His hands come up hesitantly, resting against your back before wrapping around your waist. 

He sighs when you gently rub your palms up and down his back and it sends a chill down your spine. Haechan is warm and soft and smells like fabric softener. His grip tightens, just slightly, like he doesn’t want to let go yet. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, and for a second, the weight he’s been carrying all weekend seems to melt away. His body molds easily against yours, the space between you completely gone, like this is exactly where he needed to be without realizing it.

“You’re good at this,” he mumbles, voice low and muffled against your shoulder.

You huff out a small laugh. “At what?”

He shifts, his chin grazing your shoulder. “Making things feel less bad.”

—

Sunday, Race Day October 5th

“Welcome to race day here in Singapore,” the commentary plays in the background. “Today, there’s more than just a race win at stake. For the first time in the track’s history, it may see a driver crowned world champion tonight. Red Bull’s Lee Haechan has a chance to clinch the 2025 World Championship at the Marina Bay Circuit.”

A slow pan across the grid shows the top ten, cars lined up in neat formation, waiting. 

“But it won’t be easy,” the commentator continues. “After taking a grid penalty for a new energy store, Haechan starts tenth, meaning he’ll need to fight his way through the field if he wants to leave here as champion.”

“There’s more,” His co-commentator picks up. “He needs to finish in the top two, and Jaehyun who is still mathematically in the fight, must finish P4 or lower. If that happens, the title is his.”

The team is gathered around his car, making final adjustments. His race engineer says something to him, but Haechan only half listens, nodding out of habit. He already knows what he needs to do.

“And let’s not forget—his teammate, Jeno, starts from P3,” the broadcast continues. “He’s not in the championship fight, but he could be a major factor today, whether that’s helping Red Bull control strategy or playing a defensive role later in the race.”

Haechan exhales slowly, rolling his shoulders back as the national anthem begins. He stands among the other drivers, hands clasped in front of him, eyes fixed straight ahead. He barely hears the music. His mind is already in the race.

There’s no point overthinking now. He’s already run through every scenario, every risk, every move he needs to make. All that’s left is to drive.

As the anthem ends, the grid stirs back to life. Mechanics move around him, engineers making last-minute checks. He reaches for his balaclava, adjusting his gloves, but just before he pulls it on, his eyes flick toward the front row.

Jaehyun’s had a bad qualifying, so Haechan thinks that at least he had a little luck on his side as he watches the former get into his Ferrari standing at P6.

Jeno’s car sits in P3, just ahead of the chaos Haechan will have to navigate.

Jeno is already getting ready, helmet on, listening to his engineer. He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t have to.

Haechan knows he’ll be there when it counts.

He exhales, pulling his helmet on. The engineer beside him pats his back.

"Let’s do this."

The grid clears. Engineers step back, mechanics rush off, the final checks are done. Haechan is in the car, helmet on, visor down. You put your earplugs back in as the roar of all twenty engines amplifies, getting ready for the formation lap.

You should be thinking about the media responsibilities that will come if he wins, if he loses, if something goes wrong. That’s your job. That’s what you always do.

But right now, none of that matters.

Right now, all you can think about is him.

Everything he’s worked for. The pressure he’s carried. The way he refuses to let himself enjoy the good moments because there’s always something more to chase. The way he overthinks, the way he drives like he’s got something to prove, the way he wants this more than anything.

Your fingers tighten, nails digging into your palm.

You want this for him. So badly it makes your chest ache. 

Dahyun stands next to you, palms pressed together beneath her chin. She doesn’t talk. For all the teasing and affection she shows for her brother, she understands this moment isn’t one for words.

You glance at her briefly, catching the way her eyes stay locked on the screen, unblinking. There’s no joke poised on the tip of her tongue, no playful jab about how dramatic all of this feels. Just quiet, unspoken hope.

The two of you stand there, side by side, a little away from her parents, watching as the cars snake through the final sector. The pit wall is alive with movement, engineers murmuring into headsets, strategists making their final calculations. But none of it feels real. Not the voices murmuring in the garage, not the bustling of the mechanics as they settle down, just the car marked with the number 66, rolling into position on the grid.

Dahyun lets out a breath, barely audible. You don’t realize you’ve been holding yours until you exhale, too.

Haechan pulls into his slot. The rest of the field follows.

The engines rev louder than before. The first light flickers on.

Haechan’s grip on his wheel tightens. His hands stay still, his breathing steady.

Two.

The tension in your chest coils tighter. The grid is motionless, waiting, but the air feels electric, charged with everything that’s about to happen.

Three.

Haechan’s foot hovers over the throttle. The start will make or break his race.

Four.

Your palms feel sweaty. It feels like everything is balancing on the edge of a knife.

Five.

Make it count, Haechan thinks.

The lights hold. For a second, and then another.

Then, they go out.

Haechan gets a start so good it almost doesn’t seem real.

The second the lights go out, he’s moving—reaction time faster than most of the midfield teams, his car shooting forward while others hesitate for a split second too long. Before they even reach Turn 1, he’s already ahead of one, then another, slipping into the gaps before they close.

“He’s off to a flying start, already gaining places down the straight!”

The onboard feed flickers, his hands steady, engine roaring as he picks off another car before the braking zone. The midfield is tight, but he’s making space where there shouldn’t be any.

“He’s up to eighth already!”

The next car ahead is slower, leaving the inside open just enough. Haechan takes it without hesitation, braking later and edging forward as they go side by side through the corner. For a second, it looks like the Alpine will hold him off, but Haechan keeps his car planted, forcing him wide on exit.

“Nicely done! That’s seventh!”

The camera shifts, showing the cars funneling through the first corners, the Red Bull slicing through cleanly.

The field begins to stretch out as the front row cars start pulling away, but the midfield is still clustered together, the gaps tight. Haechan is right in the middle of it, eyes fixed ahead, mind already calculating the next move.

“He’s closing in,” commentary picks up. “He’s looking for another place.”

His Red Bull is practically glued to the car in front, catching on the straights, losing slightly in the slower corners. He needs to be patient. The driver ahead knows he’s there. One wrong move could ruin everything.

Haechan waits. The dirty air makes the car slide slightly through the high-speed turn, but he corrects it instinctively. It doesn’t shake him. He’s done this a hundred times before.

And then it happens. A small mistake, a hesitation on the throttle, a loss of momentum. Haechan doesn’t wait.

“He’s making a move! Down the inside!”

You barely realize you’ve shifted forward, hands pressed together, breath held. The car ahead squeezes him, forcing him tighter to the inside line, but he holds firm, braking just late enough to slip ahead.

“He’s through! That’s P6 for Haechan!”

The cars behind him start to grow smaller in his mirrors.

Haechan doesn’t need confirmation. He can feel it in the clean air stretching ahead. The midfield is behind him now. No more defending. No more fighting for scraps.

Now, he hunts.

His race engineer’s voice crackles through the radio. “Gap to P5, 3.8 seconds. We’re in a good window. Start pushing.”

“Pace is strong,” the engineer comes back. “You’re faster than the cars ahead.”

Good.

The numbers on his wheel flicker, confirming what he already knows. The gap is shrinking.

Another lap. Another sector. Another second gone.

The laps start blending together.

From Haechan’s perspective, the race has settled for now. No fights, no wheel-to-wheel battles, just the steady determination of closing a gap.

“Gap to P5, 1.6 seconds,” his race engineer updates. “Keep doing what you’re doing.”

Jaehyun is right there.

Haechan doesn’t need an engineer telling him the gap. He can see the Ferrari ahead, steady, controlled, the same way it’s been all season. The same team that spent last year pushing him to the limit, waiting for him to crack.

But not this time.

Mathematically, Jaehyun is still in it. He’s over a hundred points behind, but as long as the title isn’t clinched today, he still has a chance. He’s holding on, dragging this battle out for as long as he can.

But Haechan isn’t interested in waiting.

His grip on the wheel tightens, the tension settling deep in his chest. The car is working under him, the balance just right. He doesn’t have to overthink it. He just has to keep closing.

"Gap to Jaehyun, 1.4 seconds," his race engineer says.

In the garage, your hands are pressed together, fingers locked tight, knuckles stiff. You’re not praying, but it feels close to it.

The energy around you is suffocating. No one is talking, no one is moving. The mechanics are barely breathing, eyes fixed on the monitors. You can’t take your eyes off the screen. The energy is different now. This isn’t just about moving up the order anymore. This is the championship fight, laid out in front of you, two cars, two drivers, one of them about to take everything. He’s the last obstacle, the only thing keeping this title fight alive.

If Haechan doesn’t get past him, it all drags on. Another race. Another chance for Jaehyun to claw his way back.

Jaehyun isn’t making this easy.

Haechan knew he wouldn’t. Even with the championship slipping out of reach, Jaehyun isn’t the type to roll over. He’s still fighting, still defending, still forcing Haechan to work for every inch of track.

"Gap to Jaehyun, 0.8," his engineer calls. "You’re in DRS range."

Finally.

The Ferrari stays planted through the high-speed corners, Jaehyun’s placing the car exactly where it needs to be. No mistakes. No wasted movement. Haechan is faster, but faster isn’t enough.

He closes in on the straight, opens the rear wing, gains a few meters, but Jaehyun moves first, covering the inside, forcing Haechan to think twice.

You hold your breath as the onboard flickers on the screen. He’s close, but not close enough. Not yet.

Haechan tucks in behind him, barely lifting through the next corner, tires screaming for grip.

He waits.

Another straight. Another chance.

This time, he moves first.

A sharp flick to the outside, forcing Jaehyun to react and he does. Just a small shift, a split second of hesitation, enough for Haechan to dive back inside.

Side by side.

You can hear the mechanics shout out in encouragement, elbows on their knees as they bend forward in anticipation, the tension hanging heavy in the air.

They brake late, almost too late, tires locking, fighting for control. Jaehyun holds the line, refusing to back down, squeezing Haechan toward the curb but he doesn’t flinch.

He keeps his foot in. Holds his nerve.

For a second, they’re wheel to wheel, neither giving an inch.

Dahyun reaches out for your hand, her grip tight and lips muttering, “Please, please, please don’t touch.”

Then just before the next turn, Haechan edges ahead.

"He’s through! Haechan takes P5 ahead of the Ferrari! It’s an uphill battle now, to make it to P2 and make sure Jaehyun stays behind him.”

Dahyun jumps a little next to you, letting out a cry of relief. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding too. But it isn’t over yet. Not until Haechan sets a solid gap between him and Jaehyun.

Jaehyun is still there, still in his mirrors, still waiting for a mistake. And for a second, Haechan almost expects him to fight back immediately, to dive into the next braking zone and throw everything at it.

But he doesn’t.

The Ferrari stays close, but not aggressive. Not reckless. He guesses that this is the biggest difference between Jaehyun and his teammate.

The radio crackles. "Nice work. Let’s pull away now. Next car, 3.4 seconds ahead. How are the tyres feeling?"

Haechan exhales slowly, adjusting his grip on the wheel.

“Starting to wear, but I can hang on for a few more laps. Tell me when the Mercs and Ferrari pit.”

"Copy. We’ll keep you updated," his engineer responds.

Haechan doesn’t say anything after that, eyes locked on the road ahead. The Ferrari and Mercedes up front are still running strong, but their tires are wearing just as fast as his. The undercut is coming. He just doesn’t know when.

He settles into his rhythm, stretching the gap behind him little by little. Jaehyun is fading in his mirrors now, not close enough to be a threat but still there, lingering just out of reach. 

The radio comes back a lap later. "Ferrari in the pits."

Haechan exhales sharply, eyes flicking toward the pit lane as Seungcheol peels off early. That’s aggressive. Too early for pure tire strategy.

"He’s playing the team game," his engineer confirms. "Seungcheol could be pitting now to put pressure on Jeno. Joshua might try to hold you up."

Not because Mercedes is helping Ferrari, but because Joshua is racing for himself.

Haechan tightens his grip on the wheel. That’s a problem.

Joshua isn’t just going to let him through. And if he stays out too long, Haechan will get stuck behind him, wasting his tires while Seungcheol gains time on fresh rubber. If Red Bull reacts too late, Haechan could come out of the pits behind both of them.

No. That’s not happening.

"Stay out. We’ll extend and cover the overcut," his engineer tells him. "Let’s push now."

Fine. He can push.

Joshua is just up the road, P3 still in his grasp, but the Mercedes is holding position, taking defensive lines. He knows Haechan is coming. And he’s not going to make it easy.

Haechan exhales slowly. So this is how it’s going to be?

Ahead, Jeno still holds P2 and Doyoung leads the race. The fight up front hasn’t started yet, but the midfield is already shifting. One mistimed stop, one second lost, and everything could flip.

The radio crackles again. "Seungcheol is on hards. Jaehyun’s pit right after him. Jeno and Doyoung are still out."

And every lap spent behind Joshua is a lap lost to Seungcheol.

"Gap to Seungcheol, 19.3 seconds," the engineer calls. "They’re warming up the hards, let’s get past Joshua now."

Yeah. He knows.

The next straight is coming up. He tucks in behind, inching closer, feeling the slipstream pull him forward. DRS open. The Mercedes shifts slightly left, not a full move, just enough to discourage a late lunge.

Haechan lifts. Backs off.

Not yet.

In the garage, you feel the frustration creeping in. He’s fast enough to take the position. But every attempt costs time, and the gap behind is closing.

"Seungcheol is matching our pace," the engineer updates.

You feel a little sick.

Haechan has to go now.

He knows it, too. The moment he brakes into the next corner, his mind is already on the next opportunity. Joshua is covering the inside. Fine.

Haechan sets up wide and gets a better exit. If Joshua wants to defend, he’ll have to do it twice.

The next straight comes up fast.

This time, he doesn’t wait.

A sharp flick to the right, making it look like he’s going for the outside. Joshua shifts, just slightly, just enough—

And Haechan dives left instead.

Inside line. No time to react.

They’re side by side.

Joshua holds his ground, braking as late as he dares, keeping the nose of the Mercedes alongside but Haechan is already there, already committed, tires squealing as he forces the car through the corner.

There’s barely any space, but it’s enough.

Joshua tries to hang on, but the exit is compromised. Haechan is already ahead before the next turn.

"He’s through! Haechan into P3!"

The mechanics start falling into position, wheeling out the tyres. 

"Box, box," the engineer calls immediately. "We cover the undercut now. Let’s go."

It takes Haechan a split second to process it, his hands already moving.

"Understood."

Haechan dives into the pit lane, the speed limiter kicking in as he barrels toward his box.

The Red Bull crew is already waiting. The stop is fast. Clean. The car drops, the mechanics move  and Haechan launches back out onto the track.

"Good stop. You’re rejoining P7, ahead of Jaehyun."

He exhales, gripping the wheel tighter. That was the first hurdle. But Jaehyun is still there, still a threat. If he gets caught behind traffic now, that gap could disappear in seconds.

Back in the garage, the tension is barely contained.

The screens flicker, cameras shifting between pit exits and live timing. You don’t blink, don’t move, don’t realize how shallow your breathing has become until your chest starts to ache.

By the time the pit cycle is completed, the cars ahead disappearing into the pits to get fresher tyres on, Haechan is back to P3. 

“Jeno is pitting ahead of you, that is P2. He’s been told to stay back, so he will not chase you.” His engineer informs him.

Haechan barely acknowledges the call. He sees the Red Bull peeling off to the right, diving into the pit lane just as he flies past, officially taking P2.

But he doesn’t feel any relief.

The heat is suffocating.

His race suit clings to his skin, drenched in sweat. His gloves feel heavier, his grip on the wheel tighter than it should be. His mouth is dry, but drinking won’t help—the liquid in his drink packet is already warm because of the heat of the engine. He presses the drink button anyways, cringing once the warm water hits his tongue. 

He blinks hard, forcing himself to focus.

"Jeno is rejoining now… P3, just ahead of Joshua."

Good. That’s good. Jeno held out just long enough to help, but not long enough to ruin his own race.

But Haechan can’t think about that right now.

His breathing is heavier, his body dragging against the weight of the car. His shoulders burn from holding the wheel steady through every turn and his entire body hurts. So much. The exhaustion from all the pushing he’s done until now hits him as he finally comes up to a safe position.

“Where is Jaehyun?” he asks, voice rough, eyes flicking to the lap board.

Lap 61.

Two more. Just two more and it’s done.

The radio crackles back. “P6. He’s not a threat.”

He exhales sharply, but it doesn’t feel like relief. Not yet.

In the garage, no one talks. No one moves. The only sound is the low hum of the monitors, the voices over the team radios, the distant roar of the cars.

Your nails dig into your palms, but you don’t even feel it anymore. Lap 61. Two more to go.

You glance sideways at Dahyun. Her hands are clasped so tightly together that her knuckles are white. She hasn’t spoken since the last pit stops, her usual excitement replaced with something quieter, more anxious.

She exhales sharply, almost a laugh, but it’s breathless. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

You don’t answer. Because so do you.

Over the course of the race, Haechan’s parents have come to stand near you two. His mother holds onto his dad. You think she’s praying.

The camera flickers to Haechan’s onboard. His hands are stiff on the wheel, no wasted movement, but you can see it now—the exhaustion. The way his shoulders don’t sit as steady. The way his breathing is heavier through the radio.

The commentators pick up on it, too.

"He’s done everything right today, but you can see the toll it’s taking now. The heat, the intensity, the pressure, it’s all hitting at once."

Dahyun shifts beside you, biting her lip. "Come on, Haechan," she mutters under her breath.

Lap 62. The last one

He’s almost there.

The moment the lap board flashes past, Haechan’s breathing quickens.

One more. Just one more.

Everything hurts. His arms feel leaden, his fingers ache from gripping the wheel too tightly, his head is pounding.

But the finish line is right there, only one lap away.

“Final lap, Haechan,” his engineer says, voice measured, but he knows they feel it too.

He barely acknowledges it, eyes locked on the road ahead. Doyoung is too far ahead to catch, and Jeno is holding P3. The positions won’t change. It’s just him and the track now.

The crowd is deafening, even through his helmet. He can see the lights flashing from the grandstands, the energy building as he weaves through the final corners.

In the garage, you can’t breathe.

He hasn’t crossed the line yet, but the mechanics are already getting up from their seats to run to the pitwall. There’s not much to go wrong here.

The numbers on the screens blur together, and everything else—the people around you, the cameras, the noise—fades into the background. It’s just him on the monitor, his car flying through the final sector, the realization slowly, finally sinking in.

Dahyun has stopped fidgeting, but her hands are still clasped so tightly together that it looks painful.

He’s almost there.

The final corners. The final turns.

You remember the moment you were told that you’d be his PR rep for this season. It wasn’t meant to be anything special. Just another job, another person to manage, another year of handling media schedules and press conferences. You weren’t supposed to care.

But then the season started.

And you watched him race. You watched the way he carried himself, the way he fought for every position like it was the only thing that mattered, the way he never let himself get too comfortable, the way he refused to believe it was his until the numbers made it undeniable.

You’ve seen him exhausted, frustrated, drowning under the pressure. You’ve heard him at his most bitter, his most doubtful, when he let the weight of it all slip through the cracks.

And you’ve watched him get back in the car every single time.

Now, he’s almost done it. World Champion.

You don’t even realize your fingers are trembling until the moment his car crosses the line.

“He’s done it! Haechan finishes second with Jaehyun at P5, and with that— Lee Haechan is the 2025 World Champion!” The commentator exclaims.

The garage erupts.

Mechanics leap into each other’s arms, engineers cheering into headsets, the pit wall exploding into celebration. Somewhere behind you, someone is yelling, but all you can do is stare at the monitor, at the car with number 66 rolling past the checkered flag.

Dahyun lets out something between a laugh and a sob, hands flying to her mouth before she hugs you tightly. You swallow hard as you hug her back, unable to hold back the grin on your face. It’s an overwhelming kind of relief, not sharp, not explosive, just deep, sinking into your bones, settling in the way you hadn’t let yourself feel until now.

The crowd outside is deafening.

The cheers flood through Haechan’s radio. His engineer’s voice cracks with emotion. Someone from the pit wall is already yelling his name.

But all Haechan does is exhale.

His hands are still locked on the wheel. His arms are trembling, his body aching in ways he doesn’t have the energy to acknowledge yet.

It’s over.

And all he can think about is how long it’s taken.

Every year, every setback, every time he thought he was close only to watch it slip away. Every grueling season where it felt like no matter how hard he tried, it was never enough.

But this time, it was.

His vision blurs—not from exhaustion, not from sweat—just pure, overwhelming relief.

He breathes in. Breathes out. 

Sees the World Champion board where there should’ve been a P2 in parc fermé. 

When he parks, he finally lets go of the steering wheel, slumping into his seat. 

Jeno is the first to walk over, patting his helmet, his voice muffled but warm. Haechan barely processes it, only catching fragments—"Proud of you, man." Doyoung bends down next, saying something he can’t quite comprehend. The words don’t matter. He knows what they mean.

He nods, hands shaking as he reaches up, pulling off his gloves, his helmet, his balaclava. The rush of cooler air hitting his face is almost dizzying.

The moment he’s free of it, his eyes lift toward the barrier.

His team is there. All of them.

The mechanics, the engineers, the people who have been with him through every season, every late-night debrief, every painful loss. His mother, standing close to his father, hands pressed together as if she can barely believe it. His sister, bouncing on her heels, already reaching over the barrier.

And you.

Haechan doesn’t think. Doesn’t stop.

He moves on instinct, throwing himself out of the cockpit, barely registering his own exhaustion as his legs hit the ground.

And then, he runs.

Straight to them.

The second he reaches the barrier, the arms are already there, grabbing, pulling, holding. Someone ruffles his hair, someone yells his name, but he barely registers who is who. He just knows that this is his team, his people, and they’re all here.

Dahyun is the first to properly reach him, throwing her arms around him, squeezing tight. His mother is next, her hand cradling the side of his face for half a second before she pulls him in. His father’s grip is firm when he hugs him, yelling into his ears that he is proud, so proud.

He barely has time to think before another set of arms wrap around him, yours.

His breath catches for just a second. He can feel how tightly you’re holding on, how solid you feel against him despite how hard everything is still hitting him.

He shuts his eyes for just a moment.

It’s real. It’s over.

And he’s really won.

—

Monday, Post Race October 6th

12:05 AM

The dressing room is quiet.

For the first time in hours, there’s no noise, no cameras, no voices in his ear. Just the hum of the overhead lights and the distant sound of his team still celebrating downstairs.

Haechan sits on the small bench, head tilted back against the lockers, eyes shut. His whole body aches, the exhaustion hitting now that the adrenaline has fully worn off. 

His damp hair sticks to his forehead and he can still smell the champagne on his race suit that he’s abandoned in a corner of the room. The shower did make him feel better, washing away the litres of champagne that he’d been doused in. His clothes, a normal t-shirt and sweats, feel so much lighter on him after hours of being in the sweat-soaked, heavy race suit. 

The door creaks open.

He knows it’s you before you say anything.

You step inside, letting the door click shut behind you. 

“You’re here,” he murmurs after a moment, voice rough with exhaustion.

“Your parents are waiting downstairs,” you say softly. “I told them I’d check on you first.”

His lips twitch slightly, but he doesn’t open his eyes. “Checking to see if I passed out in here?”

“Something like that.”

You cross the room without hesitating, sinking down beside him. He doesn’t move, but when you lift a hand and press it gently against his back, you feel him lean into your touch, his shoulders losing the last bit of tension he’d been holding onto.

For a moment, you just sit there, your hand tracing slow, absentminded circles between his shoulder blades. The weight of the day still lingers in the air, but this moment feels different. Quieter, softer, just the two of you.

You let out a small breath, glancing at him. “You did it.”

His eyes flutter open, meeting yours.

“I did,” he says, barely above a whisper, like he hasn’t fully let himself believe it yet.

A small smile tugs at your lips as your hand moves up to the nape of his neck, raking through his hair. He hasn’t cut it since the first day you met him.

“I’m proud of you, you know.”

He watches you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

“Sunday,” He finally answers. You hum, a little confused.

“I told you we’ll talk on Sunday.”

You still. It had been the last thing on your mind during the race, so you’re a tiny bit surprised when he brings it up. You breathe in deeply before meeting his eyes and letting out a small laugh.

“Well, World Champion, I don’t know if you know, but it’s Monday now.”

Haechan shakes his head, turning his body to face you. “No, I know. But—” He cuts off, throwing his head back before he reaches out for your hands, “Hold on, I’ve kind of rehearsed this, but I’ve never done this before so give me a moment.”

You blink, a laugh escaping you as he stumbles over his words. “Rehearsed it? Haechan, what are you—”

“I just…” He takes a breath, looking at you with a sort of quiet, soft determination. “Okay, here goes.” He squeezes your hands lightly, his fingers warm against yours. “I’m not good with words, you know that. But I’ve been thinking a lot about this, and I—I just need you to know…” He hesitates, and for a split second, his confidence falters.

You watch him, waiting. Despite knowing what’s coming, you can’t help the way your heart races. You feel breathless for a moment.

“I like you,” he says finally, his voice steady despite the nervousness in his eyes. “I like you more than I ever meant to. More than I’ve ever let myself admit.”

The simplicity of his confession knocks the breath out of you. He’s not asking for anything, not trying to pressure you, but it’s clear he’s laying everything out there, raw and open.

“I didn’t expect this. Didn’t think it would be this important, but it is. And I need you to know that,” he adds softly, his grip tightening just a little on your hands as though he’s grounding himself in the moment.

He waits for you to say something, but the words get stuck. Your mind races, and all you can do is stare at him.

Haechan’s brow furrows slightly, unsure of your silence. “You don’t have to—”

“No,” you interrupt, your voice soft but steady as you squeeze his hand. “I’m just… surprised. I mean- I’m not, because you’re not very subtle about it. I just didn’t expect you to say it today, you know, after all that’s happened. But I—” You swallow, the truth coming to your lips before you can think. “I like you too.”

You can see the relief flood his face, his shoulders relaxing as though he's been holding his breath. But then, a playful grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “Well, I think I knew too,” he jokes, the tension in his voice lifting with the teasing. “I mean, it wasn’t exactly hard to tell…”

You blink, surprised by the shift in his tone. “You’re a little full of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Just a little,” he grins back, his eyes lighting up with that familiar spark as he shifts closer to you. “You know back there, after I got out of the car, I thought you’d go all WAG mode and kiss me on my helmet or something.”

You roll your eyes, pulling your hands away from him, making him laugh, “Oh, so I’m a WAG now? You know I'm really professional. So I’d never do that. In public too? Forget it.”

“I mean, I’m not complaining ‘cause I wouldn’t mind,” Haechan shrugs, “You should do it sometimes.”

You give him an exaggerated look of disbelief, but the warmth spreading through you makes it harder to stay serious. “You really think I would?”

“I’m just saying, it’d be a really nice surprise,” he says, his voice lowering, the teasing fading into something more sincere.

You hesitate for a moment, the playfulness still hanging in the air. And then, before you even fully process it, you lean forward, your hand finding the back of his neck. Haechan’s eyes widen slightly, but before he can react, you close the gap between you, pressing your lips to his softly, with a tenderness that’s more than just a playful kiss.

You can feel the warmth of him, his body moving ever so slightly toward yours, his hand sliding to your waist, fingers gently curling around you, anchoring you to him. The world outside this little bubble of yours fades into the background. Haechan’s lips slot perfectly between yours. He still tastes like champagne. You’re not particularly fond of it, but for him, you think you could make an exception.

 His hand slides up to your cheek, fingers brushing against the soft skin there as he tilts his head just slightly, deepening the kiss. You feel his pulse against yours, a rhythm that matches the way your heart begins to race, each beat a little faster, a little louder. 

When you finally pull away, your lips still humming from the closeness, Haechan’s forehead rests against yours, his breath a little quicker than before, as though he’s still coming back to reality. You can’t help but smile softly, feeling something in you settle, like a weight being lifted.

“Was that surprising enough for you?” you murmur, your voice just above a whisper.

His smile stretches slowly, like he’s trying to still comprehend. “Definitely.”

The two of you stay silent for a moment, processing and acknowledging whatever just happened when Haechan speaks up again, “But… just for the surprise to hit harder you could do it again.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head, but before you can even think of a reply, he tugs you just a little closer, his lips brushing against yours again—lighter this time, but just as sure.

WINTER BREAK

December 21st

You hadn’t meant to spill the news to your mother this soon. It had just sort of… happened.

You had been on the phone with her one evening, catching up like you always did when you were both too busy to visit in person. She had been asking about work, about life, about whether you were eating properly, when she had casually slipped in, “So, are you seeing anyone?”

And because you hadn’t really been thinking, half-focused on something on your laptop, you had answered honestly.

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence. Then a distinct shift in her tone, lighter, curious. “Oh?”

Your stomach had flipped. There had been no taking it back now.

“Yeah,” you had said again, slower this time, as if easing yourself into the reality of this conversation.

“Since when?”

You had hesitated, glancing at the calendar on your desk. “A little while now.”

“And when were you planning on telling me?”

You had exhaled through your nose, already hearing the teasing smile in her voice. “Eventually?”

She laughed. “Eventually. Right.” A pause, then, “Well? Who is he?”

You had bitten your lip, then said, “Haechan.”

Silence.

Then, after a few seconds, a sharp inhale. “As in your Haechan?”

You had winced. “Yeah.”

“As in the same Haechan I see on TV? The same one you’ve been working with this season?”

“Yeah.”

She had let out an incredulous laugh, clearly caught off guard. “And when exactly did this happen?”

You had hesitated, because when had it happened, really? There had been no defining moment, no grand realization, just a steady shift, an unshakable pull toward something you had probably always known was there.

“It wasn’t all at once,” you had admitted. “It just… made sense.”

Your mom had hummed like she was turning that over in her mind. “Well,” she had said eventually, “if it’s serious enough for you to tell me, you should bring him home for dinner.”

Your breath had hitched. “What?”

She had repeated it like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Bring him home. If you care about him, we’d like to meet him properly.”

You had swallowed. You hadn’t thought this far ahead, hadn’t considered when or how you’d introduce him to your family. Not because you hadn’t been sure about him—you had, you really had—but because the idea of sitting at that table with him, of merging two parts of your life that had always been separate, had made everything feel so real.

But… wasn’t that the point?

You had let out a slow breath. “I’ll ask him.”

Your mom had chuckled knowingly. “Good. Let me know when.”

You don’t bring it up right away.

It’s not that you’re nervous about his reaction—you know he’ll say yes. But when you finally mention it, just a casual, “My mom wants you to come over for dinner,” he still pauses for half a second longer than usual.

Then he blinks. “Dinner? Like, ‘sit at the table, be on my best behavior, answer your dad’s questions’ dinner?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

Haechan leans back, tilting his head at you. “So, just to clarify, there’s no ‘pretend you don’t know me and let me sneak out the back’ option?”

“Nope.”

He exhales dramatically, rubbing his hands over his face. “Alright, then. What do I call them? Should I be formal? Or do I go straight to ‘Mom and Dad’ to establish dominance?”

You snort. “If you do that, my dad might actually kick you out.”

“Got it. Saving that for the second dinner.”

You shake your head, watching as he stretches his arms over his head before finally settling back against the cushions. For all his joking, you can tell he’s actually thinking about it. He’s always been quick to roll with things, but this feels like something he’s mentally preparing himself for.

After a beat, he glances at you again, quieter now. “You want me there?”

“Yeah,” you say, just as soft. “I do.”

He holds your gaze for a second before nodding, more certain now. “Alright.”

—

Dinner passes in a comfortable blur.

Haechan is nervous at first. You can tell by the way he sits up a little too straight, the way his fingers drum lightly against his thigh as if he’s reminding himself to stay composed. But as the meal goes on, the warmth of your home eases him in. Your mom fusses over his plate, your dad throws in the occasional dry joke, and Rina’s teasing keeps him engaged. By the time the table is cleared and your mom waves you both off with a “Go relax, I’ve got this,” Haechan follows you upstairs looking much more at ease.

Your childhood room is just as you left it. Familiar, unchanging, a space to return to whenever you visit. You can hear Rina’s Frank Sinatra album playing through the walls. You remember when Rina was still small enough to curl up beside you on lazy afternoons, insisting you play music for her. You remember the way she’d hum along, her voice soft and uncertain, trying to match the notes, how she’d giggle whenever she stumbled over the lyrics. It takes you back to being seventeen, to the quiet comfort of these walls, the long stretches of time where it felt like nothing would ever really change.

But then your eyes land on Haechan as he steps inside, and the memory settles into something different. Not quite distant, but no longer the world you live in.

Seventeen was a lifetime ago. Before flights and paddocks, before conferences and championship fights. Before Haechan.

And yet, here he is, standing in the middle of it all like he belongs. Like there’s room for him here, too.

Because there is, You think fondly.

You watch as his eyes scan the space, gaze moving from the overstuffed bookshelf to the small collection of stuffed animals still tucked into the corner of your bed. He lingers on the little trinkets lining your desk, a few old keychains, a white dreamcatcher from a school trip years ago, a cup of dried-out gel pens you never threw away. It’s a time capsule, a version of you he never got to know.

But it’s the photos on your wall that really draw him in.

He moves closer, his fingers hovering near them but never quite touching. There’s one of you at five, or six maybe, in a navy blue sweatshirt with your hands cupping your cheeks as you smile so wide your eyes disappear. 

Haechan lets out a quiet laugh, turning towards your figure, flopped on your bed. “Oh, this is ridiculous,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “You were actually the cutest kid alive.”

You grin. “It’s one of my favourite pictures of me too, honestly.”

He nods, but instead of moving on, he lifts his phone and takes a picture. You don’t notice, too lost in the comfort of your bed, the warmth of the moment.

Haechan doesn’t say anything either. Just tucks his phone away and keeps looking, his gaze flicking over another photo from a class trip, where you and your friends are grinning wildly, arms slung around each other. A few graduation photos, one with your parents standing proudly on either side of you, another with Rina making a face behind your shoulder.

You watch as Haechan’s gaze lingers on the framed family photo that sits on your desk, his fingers hovering over the glass like he’s memorizing every detail. There’s something unreadable in his expression, not quite wistful, not quite sad, but thoughtful in a way that makes you want to say something before he gets lost in it.

“That was taken after dinner at my grandma’s house,” you tell him, shifting so you can see it from where you’re sprawled on the bed. “We almost didn’t get a picture because Rina kept running off to play. My dad had to bribe her with extra dessert to get her to stay still.”

Haechan huffs out a quiet laugh at that, his lips quirking up slightly. “I should’ve guessed.”

You nod toward the frame. “It’s one of my favorites too.”

He tilts his head, still staring at it. “I get why.” Then, after a beat, he exhales and glances at you, hesitating for just a second before saying, “This might be a little forward, but… I kind of wish we knew each other before. Like, what if I could’ve been one of those people in your class photos, or—”

“You would have driven me insane,” you interrupt, glancing at him.

Haechan lets out a laugh, tilting his head. “Oh, really?”

You nod, leaning back against your bed. “Absolutely. You would’ve been the kid who never sat still, who found new ways to annoy me every day, who somehow convinced me to break all the rules.”

He smirks, nudging your knee with his. “Sounds like we would’ve had fun.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe.”

Haechan hums, studying your expression for a moment before murmuring, “Still wish I was there.”

The words settle between you, soft but heavy.

You’d never really thought about before. About how your life would have looked if he had been there earlier.

But now, as he sits beside you, fingers tracing the edge of an old photograph, you can’t help but picture it.

Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen years old. Would he have been the boy who stole your notes in class? The one who passed you secret messages during exams just to make you roll your eyes? The one who always found a way to drag you into trouble, just so he could laugh at how flustered you got?

You exhale, suddenly aware of how fast your heart is beating.

Would you have fallen for him faster?

You sit up properly now, meeting his gaze, searching for something in it that you already know is there.

“I think you would’ve fit right in,” you say quietly.

Haechan’s lips curve into a small, almost shy smile, and he nods once, like he’s tucking the thought away for later. He looks back at the photo as he sits next to you. You take his hand in yours, gently rubbing the back of his palm with your thumb.

“Maybe next time, I’ll get to be in one.”

You squeeze his hand, “You will be.”

The two of you settle into an almost comfortable silence when the music from Rina’s room catches your attention.

"There is nothing for me but to love you… and the way you look tonight."

Haechan’s head tilts slightly, a slow, knowing grin creeping onto his lips as he turns to you. “Well, that’s convenient.”

You groan, already feeling the warmth rising to your cheeks. “Oh, come on. Don’t.”

His grin widens. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were going to.”

He shrugs, leaning just a little closer. “I mean… if the music insists.”

You smack his arm, but he only laughs before resting his head on your shoulder. 

—

December 23rd

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Haechan pauses, one hand still adjusting a silver bauble on the tree. He turns to you with an incredulous look. “How can I possibly be doing it wrong?”

“You’re clustering all the ornaments in one spot,” you say, pointing at the lopsided section he’s been working on. “It’s all too heavy on that side.”

He scoffs. “Excuse me for trying to create a focal point.”

“It’s not a gallery wall, it’s a Christmas tree.”

“Same concept.”

You roll your eyes and get up from his couch, stumbling a little over all the boxes on the floor. He flinches, rushing forward to catch you. You don’t fall, but you end up in his arms anyway. You reach to move one of the ornaments, but he swats your hand away. “Nope, decoration rights revoked,” he declares. 

You stare at him in disbelief, eyes falling on the hand that swatted you away before moving to the one around your waist. “Hello? You can’t do that.”

“I absolutely can. My tree, my artistic vision.”

You give him a deadpan look. “I was the one who convinced you to get a tree in the first place. Otherwise, your house would just be sad and lifeless. I chose the tree too!” rolling your eyes, you continue, “Besides, your artistic vision looks like it got tired halfway through and took a nap.”

Haechan gasps, clutching his chest like you’ve personally offended him. “Okay, that was uncalled for.”

You bite back a grin as you place a red bauble exactly where he had just moved it from, making him groan in protest.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters. “I let you into my house, I let you touch my Christmas tree, and this is how you treat me?”

“You’re all bark, no bite,” You narrow your eyes at him, “Get your hands off me then!”

Haechan doesn’t even hesitate. “No.” He smirks, fingers curling a little tighter around your waist. “I won’t. What are you gonna do about it?”

You open your mouth, then close it, then sigh in defeat. “Nothing,” you mutter.

“That’s what I thought.” He grins, rocking you both slightly where you stand. The Christmas lights cast a warm glow over his face, and for a moment, neither of you move. He’s looking at you, not in the teasing, smug way he usually does, but in that softer, quieter way that always makes your chest feel too full.

Then you sigh, glancing at the half-decorated tree. “We’re decorating way too late.”

Haechan groans in agreement. “I know. If we started earlier, this wouldn’t be so stressful.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Well, whose fault is that?”

He blinks at you. “Not mine? I won both championships before December. It’s not my fault they don’t let us go until all the races are over. Blame the F1 calendar instead!”

You sigh, relenting. “Okay, fine. It’s the calendar’s fault.”

“Thank you.” He grins, rocking back on his heels. “Finally, some sense.”

You shake your head with a laugh, nudging his shoulder before turning back to the tree. “Still, if we started earlier, we wouldn’t be scrambling to finish before Christmas.”

Haechan hums in agreement, reaching for another ornament. “Guess we just have to get better at this whole off-season thing.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “We?”

Haechan nods, his gaze flickering to you for a moment before he looks back at the tree. “Yeah,” he says simply, looping an ornament onto a branch. “We. We are quite good during the season, don't you think?”

He hooks another ornament onto a branch, “Oh, by the way, there’s fruitcake on the kitchen counter.”

You pause, your hand holding an ornament in mid-air and turn to look at him. “Oh?”

He nods, adjusting a light on the tree. “Yeah.”

You frown slightly. “But… you don’t like fruitcake.”

Haechan shrugs like it’s nothing. “Yeah, but you do.”

You frown slightly, touched by the gesture, “How do you know that?”

Haechan glances at you, lips curving up. “You’re not as mysterious as you think you are.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Oh, please. When have I ever mentioned liking fruitcake?”

He hums, stepping back to take a look at the tree, “I think it was in Budapest. Jeno was talking about how he got sick from eating fruitcake off season.”

You laugh, pleasantly surprised that he remembered that.

“As much as I love fruitcake, it’s definitely not the best thing to have in any month other than December,” You admit, “Also, you really have to get the right ones. Some are loaded with too many spices, some are too greasy… I’d never complain about having too many nuts or fruit but I guess people wouldn’t like that either.”

His laughter is light as he lets his forehead rest against yours, his hands slipping to your waist. The tree lights flicker in the corner of your vision, a warm golden colour. They remind you of Haechan. 

“This is kind of the last thing I expected getting into this year,” he murmurs after a beat.

You blink, the playfulness between you both settling into something more serious and heartfelt. “What? Decorating a tree with me?”

His fingers drum lightly against your hip. “More like all of this. Us.”

You exhale, nudging your nose against his. “Yeah,” you admit. “Me too.”

Haechan hums, thoughtful. “I mean, if you told me at the start of the season that I’d win both championships and have you here at the end of it, I would’ve laughed in your face.”

You tilt your head. “Oh? What part was more unbelievable?”

“The championships, obviously.” He grins, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “You? I think at one point it just became obvious that you were inevitable.”

Your stomach flips, but before you can even think of a response, he reaches past you, placing the star in your hands.

“Go on, then.”

You eye him suspiciously. “No catch?”

He shakes his head. “Never.”

You glance at him again, making sure before standing on your tiptoes to place the star at the top. As you adjust it, Haechan’s hands settle at your waist again, steadying you without a word.

Once you step back, the tree finally completed, he lets out a satisfied hum. “Not bad.”

You turn around to look at him.

He looks back at you, tilting his head, a smile playing on his lips before he leans down

The first time you met Haechan, he barely spared you more than a glance, too caught up in the frustration of strategies and a season that hadn’t even begun. 

Now, Haechan kisses you like it’s second nature, like he’s done it a hundred times before and will do it a hundred times more.

His lips move against yours with a quiet sort of certainty, like he’s memorized exactly how to kiss you. Not rushed, not hesitant, just sure. His hands slide up, fingertips pressing into your back to bring you closer, and when you splay your fingers across the fabric of his sweater, you feel the way his heartbeat kicks up under your touch.

He exhales softly against your lips before kissing you again, deeper this time, slower. The world narrows down to the quiet press of his mouth, the steady warmth of his touch, the faint scent of pine and cinnamon lingering between you. You can feel it in the way he holds you that this isn't something that will slip away.

And then, just for a second, it’s like standing on the grid, the air electric, the whole world holding its breath.

Just before the countdown. Before lights out.

tagging: @yukisroom97 @awktwurtle

[3ight-3y3s]

S O M E T H I N G x S T U P I D

╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗

✦ Sevika x FemReader ✦

╚═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╝

//Fluff//Light Smut//

Summary: Modern Au, Mechanic Sevika finally warms up to the bosses daughter.

Note: I wrote two scenarios for this one,

✦ click this for the other one.

✦ · · · ·────────────────── · · · · ✦

You curse as you step outside of your stalled vehicle and kick the front tire. You pinched the bridge of your nose. Just perfect. Your father tried to tell you to bring it in but you insisted you knew your vehicle better than anyone and that she was fine. Turns out you were wrong and now going to miss your classes for the day.

You sighed out a onset of curses as you pulled out your phone and called your dad's shop. It rang for an annoyingly long time. The person who answered must have felt the same because they just answered with a frustrated "What?"

"Hi Sev, um... Do you think you could give me a tow to the shop?" You asked nervously. What you didn't see was her face instantly softening at the sound of your voice.

"Text me your location." She said without hesitation. She needed a second away from these bozos anyway. The shop full of men perfectly capable of answering the damn phone.

"Thank you Sev, I really appreciate it." You meant it too. Sevika was your favorite staff member. She didn't talk much but she was always so polite.

Not to mention extremely hot. You were pretty sure she was for the girls but she never talked about her personal life. Besides she was quite a bit older than you and would probably never think twice about it. Everytime you saw her you just cursed the universe for not letting you be born sooner.

She showed up a lot faster than you were expecting. "What did you speed the whole way here?" You teased. She cleared her throat in response.

"A lil bit." She admitted. She just hated the idea of you being stranded on the side of the road alone. You laughed a little bit before thanking her again. After hooking up your car she got out the truck to open the passenger door for you.

The gesture made you blush. "Sevika..." your voice was so unsure that you were almost positive she wouldn't hear you, but she did.

"Hm?" She responded still holding the door open.

"It's too high and you don't have any steps attached." You said embarrassed. She turned her head trying to hide the smile threatening her lips. You saw it clear as day. "I'm walking." You said turning around. You got a couple steps in before Sevika's large hands found your waist filling your stomach with a million butterflies.

Within like two seconds flat you were sat and she was closing the truck door behind you. Alternatively to your struggle she got in with ease which only further cemented your embarrassment. You doubled over covering your face with shame. She chuckled in response as she pulled out onto the road.

In juxtaposition to her race to you, she seemed to be taking the scenic route back to the shop. It gave you time to calm down and even though it was quiet it was nice getting to spend time alone with her. You cleared your throat which earned you her attention.

"Hm?" She responded. You weren't trying to earn her attention but now that you had it you kind of wanted to keep it.

"So um... do you have a girlfriend? O-Or boyfriend?" You asked. She grinned softly as she subtly gripped the steering wheel tigher.

"No, I don't have a girlfriend." She responded.

"Oh... Do you want one?" You asked hoping for further clarification. She scoffed in response.

"Are you offering?" She teased.

"N-No I meant- Well not no, I mean I wouldn't be opposed- but I just meant um... you're just going to let me keep floundering here aren't you?" You bit your lip to stop yourself from digging a deeper hole.

"Should we stop somewhere?" She offered.

"Huh?" You replied obliviously. She shook her head looking up for strength.

"Forget it." She said embarrassed. The two of you fell back into silence. "Wait there." She said as she pulled into the shop. She got out and made her way around to your side. This time instead of just handling you, she offered you her hand.

You accepted it and she helped you out of the truck before shutting the door after you. "Thank you again." You said fixing your skirt. She hummed in response with a soft nod of acknowledgement. You pouted slightly. She was back to her quiet self already. You completely dropped the ball.

You cursed as you headed to the back of the counter to work on your school work. Sevika took on your car personally. The longer it took the more stupid you felt for not bringing it in sooner. One by one the rest of the employees clocked out until it was just the two of you. You bit your lip as you watched her work. She was so finely crafted.

Just as you got up to tell her to maybe call it a night, she popped up with "There, good as new." She seemed startled by how close you were. She didn't hear you shuffle over.

"Ugh thank you! I'm so sorry you had to work on it for so long. I'll definitely bring it in more often." You said resting your hand on its hood grateful it lived to see another day. Sevika grinned. In reality it was an easy fix. At one point she was literally just taking a nap under the car. She was able to actually fix the problem in the last 15 minutes.

You looked around at the empty shop and bit your lip as you debated whether or not to say something stupid. "Is there any way I could repay you?" Your dad insisted that you never had to pay. It was rule everyone was well aware of. However Sevika spent such a long time on it...

She shook her head no. You reached out to grab hold of her hand which took her by surprise. "Are you sure, you spent such a long time on it and-" She knew what you were doing. That didn't make it any less shocking. You were bating her.

The way you were moving closer to her, you kept your lips parted and batted your eyelashes. Your eyes kept doing the triangle method. This wasn't what she had planned. She was just hoping for another opportunity to ask you out but you were begging so loudly without words. She leaned down to kiss you.

You kissed her back greedily as your hands found their way into her hair. She held your waist before slightly lifting you off the ground. She gently set you down on the hood of your car whilst maintaining the kiss. She slid her hand up your leg until she made it to your knees. She gently urged you to part them for her. You were hesitant but couldn't refuse her.

You slowly spread your legs for her as she trailed kisses down your body. She pushed up your skirt as she trailed kisses up your inner thighs. You were so dizzy with lust you were sure this was just some kind of wet dream. But it wasn't. Sevika was on damn her knees for you.

She laced her fingers under either side of your underwear before looking up at you for permission. You nodded breathlessly but she just raised a brow in response. "Please" was all she needed to hear before making you completely unravel and realize that despite her quiet nature, her mouth worked perfectly fine...

[hidden-poet]

Animal part 2

Synopsis: After visiting a bathhouse Logan meets you, and the animal within him starts clawing out.

Warnings: not canon, dark!, non-con, a little bit of romantisation of things that should not be romanticized, kidnapping, Dark!logan(jimmy? james?), dom/sub vibes, , female reader who is described quite a bit, rough sex, graphic sex, basically born with little plot, unedited and written in a couple of hours, dead dove to not eat.

Part 1 here

Part 2 (final)

AN: written and posted. Not looked over once.

You were silent the whole way from the plane to his truck. 

It worried him. You should be screaming. Hitting and kicking. But you weren’t. 

Was something wrong with you? 

He opens his old truck's door and you slide into the passenger seat willingly. 

Logan shakes his head as he closes the door. His resolve had softened if you ran now, he would have let you go. But instead, he places the bag into the bed of the truck. 

The car door squeaks as he opens it, and his seat makes a tired sound when he sits down. The car was old and often unused. 

He wondered if you liked motorcycles. He then wondered how often you would really be away from the house. 

“Alrighty then”, he comments, turning the engine over, “All ready?”. 

You don’t answer him, just turn your head to the window. 

The radio playing softly helped to fill the air with something other than the awkward tension.

He wondered why you weren’t crying. Why the begging had stopped. He would have loved to know what was going on inside of your head but you gave him no indication. 

Only when Logan began to drive from the city did you begin to twist your hands together in worry. He at least now knew you had a healthy dose of fear.  

“You hungry?” he asks, “we can stop and get something to eat”.

His offer is ignored. He glances over to see you still as a rock looking out the window.

Snow covered most of the landscape. All you saw was lumps of white and the odd car.

“Hey?”, he questions. He reaches out to place a hand on your knee to draw your attention, you knock your leg from under him, and he retreats his touch back to the steering wheel. 

“Maybe you just want to head home”, he talks to himself. 

“Home?”, you mock, “Where are we going?”

“Westchester county. We’re still about an hour or so from it. You’ll like it there. I’ve got an apartment just up from the school. Nobody will bother us there”. 

“You live near a school?” you ask. 

“Yeah, well I work there actually. It’s a special school. For mutant kids. We teach them how to control their abilities. Given em’ a chance no one else will give”. 

You are quiet for a second, taking the time to pull logans’ jacket tighter around you, trying to fight off the shivers encroaching your body. 

“I voted for mutant rights, you know”, you say. 

Logan reaches to the center console turning the heat as high as it would go. 

“Here , put your hands closer”, he orders. 

He reaches out to take your hands into his but you yank away from his touch. 

“I aint gonna hurt ya” he told you. 

“So long as I do what you want, right?” you quip. 

“No’ Logan protests, “No, no matter what.”

You turn back to the window. Your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. 

Logan leaves it, focusing on the road ahead. 

It’s an hour and a half of silence until he is finally travelling up the windy road to his home. 

The road is covered in snow, and thick forest covers the area. 

The large estate looked out of place in a mysterious and cold atmosphere. 

A warm, inviting glow invited passing buyers to stop. It looked full of life in isolation of the cold dead forest. 

Your eyes were glued to it as Logan drove past. You supposed it would have to be hidden, but you weren’t sure who benefited the most. There were some humans who would do harm to mutants, but there were some mutants who would do harm to humans too. 

“Pretty impressive isn’t it?” Logan asks with a hint of playfulness in his voice. 

“How many students are there?”, you ask, 

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe a hundred”, Logan guesses. 

“A hundred mutants in just one place”, you say out loud. 

“Kids”, he corrects. His tone carried his annoyance. “A hundred kids in one place”.

You dont say anything further, in fear of upsetting him. 

Logan’s house was high in the mountains. There was nothing but his house and trees.

There was no one around to help. He could do whatever he pleased. You wonder if he would drop the nice guy act. 

He doesn’t. He parks the car, and carries the bags from the back. 

You follow him to the door slowly, he never hurries you. Just occasionally looks back on the journey to the driveway to the front door. 

The house didn’t look large. 3 bedrooms at the most. While the main build was plaster, it had a lot of wooden features. 

The door was a good oak wood, a long wooden bench was pressed up against the entry wall, a dull, yellow light shined from inside a wooden light fixture. 

When Logan opened the door, wooden floor boards greeted you. They squeaked as you entered the home. 

Logan flicks on the lights and you see a wooden table and chairs, an old worn sofa, a beaten up white fridge and rubbish everywhere. 

The bags are dropped to the floor to free his hands to clean. 

He picks up as many empty beer cans he can hold, and throws an old flannel that was thrown across a bar stool over his shoulder. 

“Sorry about the mess” he apologies, “Ah, i wasn’t expecting, ah”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, going to the kitchen to throw the cans away. The kitchen was immediately to the left of the door, an open living concept meant that you never lost eye sight of him as he moved.

“Didn’t think you’d go through with it?” you finished for him. 

Logan sighs, leaning against the counter with his hands. 

“I am not sure what I  was thinking”, he admits. 

“How long do you plan to keep me here for?”, you ask.

Logan shuts his eyes, his hands balled into fists on the counter, “I don’t know, darl”. 

“Right, well” you say without fear, “would you mind if I had a shower? It’s been a long day”.

Logan unravels himself at your request, heading from the kitchen down to the hallway. 

“Follow me”, he orders.

You do and he leads you to the bathroom at the end. It was spacious enough to hold a toilet, bathtub and shower. The floor was white tile, matching the sink. It was kept in good condition. Apart from the toothpaste on the counter, everything was in its place. 

Directly across was a sliding, wooden cupboard that Logan took a brown towel from. 

“The hot water takes a second”, he advises pushing the towel into your hands, “If you need anything let me know. I’ll in the end room”. 

You nod, going to shut the door between you two. He continues to stand there until the door is completely shut in his face. 

The tears that pool in your eyes are finally released. You don’t make a sound but the tears roll down your cheeks as you start the water and begin to take off your clothes. 

You didn’t really know where you were. No one knew where you were. And you were here, trapped with a mutant that commands blades to come out from his hands. He’s strong too, a quick healer and who knows what else. 

How could you possibly fight back against him? 

There was nothing you could do other than obey. He said he was a good guy. You mostly believe him. Perhaps this would be a quick trip and you would be back home within the week. 

The shower helps sooth you. You wished you had all your lotions and shampoos. He had one bottle of the cheapest shampoo on the shelf, and a bar of unscented soap. You use them anyway. 

Your skin felt sticky after everything that you had gone through. 

You turn the shower off and wipe your face clean of your tears before drying off in the towel. 

Your old clothes lay on the floor. You think about putting them on again but you finally feel clean, and what was the point of hiding, he had seen everything before. 

With the towel wrapped around you, you patter down to the end room. Logan was changing the sheets on his queen bed. 

He looks up as he stretches across the bed to fit the sheet. Seeing you standing there in nothing but a towel froze him. 

“Hey”, he says, still unmoving. 

You look around the room rather than at him. 

Logan didn’t have much, and you had a feeling that was a choice. 

The bed had mis-matched sheets, the table on the right side of the bed only had a lamp. There was a set of wooden, built-in cupboards that stretched nearly across the whole wall, you bet there were only a few items in there. 

Logan forgets the bedsheet, crawling off the bed and over to you, dripping wet on his floor. 

His finger hooks under the front of your towel and with an eyebrow raised, he tugs the fabric from you. 

It falls in the heap at your feet. You feel your face turn red as Logan looks over you, saying nothing. 

His eyes flick up after a moment, and he takes a hold of the side of your face, bringing you in for a kiss. 

Your hair drips over him as assaults your lips. You mumble against him but your lips are captured again and again before you could make a full word. 

He steps forward wrapping his arms around you so he could lift your feet off the ground and carry you over to the bed. 

He drops you on the part of the sheet that covers the bed in its unfinished state. 

It doesn’t seem like he was looking at you, as he stands between your legs and unbuckles his belt. 

His eyes cast off just beside where you lay, and a scowl covers his face.

With his pants down, he still doesn’t look at you. He lays his body over yours, and buries his head in your neck. 

His hand grips your thigh over his hip, and his other posts on the bed to keep his weight off you. 

Your hands dig in his hair, taking a firm grip and bracing yourself for his entrance. 

He shoves his entire length in the first go and it knocks an ‘oft’ out of you. 

He never leaves you, quick, needly thrusts jackhammer into you.

You feel so completely full with him inside of you. His body cages you, you felt you could do nothing more than take it. 

Logan grunts fill your ears. You had no space to even move your head to quieten the sounds. 

In his rush, his white t-shirt stayed on, you could feel the faint outline of his dog tags as he pressed against you.

You began to get sensitive, the more stimulated you got. Your hips bucked away from the pressure, but Logan's strong grip made escape impossible. 

“Stay fucking still”, he comanded. 

You do. Letting him runt into you, until he finally came with a soft moan. 

Your hands drop from his hair onto the bed but he remains in the same position. His face buried into your neck and his cock buried into your cunt.  

“You alright?” he asks in a soft voice against your neck. 

“I need another shower”, you comment. 

Logan lets you have the bed to yourself. He makes a make-shift cot on the floor beside you.

The sheets smell nice, although they are old and worn. 

His packing of your bags was done hastily and in a clouded mindset. You have four pairs of jeans, six tops, a handful of handerwear, a pair of leggings that were stuffed in with the jeans, and a grey singlet. No toiletries and only the brah you wore.

He had promised to take you to the shops to collect what you need, but he didn’t say when. For now you wore your leggings and one of his clean flannel shirts.

He leaves the lamp on for you and puts an extra blanket on the end of the bed in case you got cold during the night. 

The night was quiet. No car, nor animal could be heard outside. You were completely alone here. 

You wondered if Logan was asleep. It had been at least an hour since he last spoke or tossed. 

You turn to look at him on the floor. He looked asleep. His eyes were closed and his hand rested on his chest. 

He was quite handsome. It was too bad he was a mutant. 

You had nothing against them before this. That could have been because you had never come across one. But who could say? He looked so normal. 

How many other men in the bathhouses were mutants? How many thought about doing what he has done because no one could stop them?

You turn back away from him, the salt of your tears running down to your lips.

How hopeless it all felt. The only reason you worked for the bathhouse in a strange city was in the search of freedom and independence. Now it has cost you exactly that.

Who knows if he would even let you live after this. If he was one of the good mutants, who fought for man-kind, could he risk having this slip up against his name?

You sob at the image of his sharp claws digging through your stomach. 

“Hey” you hear Logan call, but you couldn’t stop crying. He leaps up from the floor and nestles up behind you. 

“Hey, stop that. It’s alright”, his arms goes under your pillow and his hand brushes the hair back again and again while he speaks into your ear, “Sh, it’s alright. Just go to sleep”. 

With his petting, and long day, your eyes droop into a restless sleep. 

—------

Once you woke the next morning, Logan was still in the bed with you.

His arm slung over your waist and his other under your pillow. 

You rise without him. Going out to the living room where living alone meant anything could go anywhere. 

You think about making a run for it, but it is zero degrees outside and you had no idea where you were going. The closest thing was the school, and you know mutants protect their own kind. 

Instead, you begin to tidy up. You begin with the rubbish which makes a huge difference. 

The kitchen had a dishwasher and you begin a new cycle with the dirty dinnerware.  Most of them were empty cups. He seemed to like coffee and alcohol more than food. 

You take inventory of his food. Most of it was out of date. You had wanted toast but the bread was moldy and the butter was scrapped bare. 

You open a can of peaches and eat those instead. You hoped he would make good on his shopping promise. 

Three peach slices in, you hear his bare feet as they bound against the floor. 

He looks frazzled reaching the living room.  His hands grip the frame of the entry as he brings himself to a halt seeing you in the kitchen. Only in his boxes and white shirt, he gazes at you like you were the one who was crazy. 

“You’re still here”, he comments. 

You pop another peach slice in your mouth before answering, “yep”. 

“You should have left”, he accuses. 

“Would I have got far?” you ask. 

He straightens up as he thinks about it, his hand comes off the door as he makes his way towards you. 

“No”, he confirms. 

He looks around the room in its tidy state, “Christ” he complains, throwing up his hands, “You didn’t have to. I don’t expect you to do things like that for me”. 

“I know what you expect from me”, you bite. 

“Hm”, he hums, once again avoiding eye contact with you as he walks your way.  

When he reaches you, he places both hands on the counter either side of you, trapping you once more. 

“Whatch’a eating?”. 

You hold a peach slice on your fork to show him. He leans forward, taking the peach into his mouth. 

“You want eggs?”, he asks. 

You nod your head, and he pushes back against the counter away from you. 

He takes the egg carton out of the beaten fridge along with mushrooms that had seen fresher days. 

The fridge door is kicked closed and you realise why it is in such bad shape. The ingredients are dumped on the kitchen counter in front of you. 

He takes a large knife out of the draw and throws it to the bench before reaching behind you to take a wooden chopping board that you had used for display. 

“You do the eggs, I’ll chop the mushroom”, you offer. 

“You like mushrooms?” he questioned as he reached for a plastic bowl. 

You nod once more and begin your task of slicing the mushrooms. You cut off the bad parts which leave only a small amount of mushrooms left. 

Logan whisks the eggs with salt and pepper in the bowl. 

“Did you sleep okay last night?”, he disrupts the peaceful quietness of focusing on the tasks.

“As good as can be expected”, you answer. 

He clears his throat, looking at the eggs as he speaks, “I’ll take you shopping today, if you want. We can go into town”.

He reaches for the mushrooms. You don’t think, you only do and pick up the knife driving it into his lower stomach. 

He grunts as its lodges but he shows no other physical effects. 

Blood leaks from the wound, redding his white shirt. With an eye roll he yanks the knife from himself and throws it into the sink. 

“That’s incredible” you say. The large wound should bleed furiously but it looked like it had stopped already. You raise his shirt enough to see the wound had already healed. Not a scar in its place. 

“Look, bub, I don’t mind a bit of foreplay but how about a warning next time, huh?”, he snaps. 

‘Does it hurt?”

“Yes” he grunts, shoving your hand away from his shirt.  “But lucky, I am a fast healer”. 

“What else can you do?” you ask once more. 

Logan falls away exasperated, “Look, you want eggs or not?”

He forgets the mushrooms and pours the egg mixture onto a pan. 

“I am sorry”, although you weren’t sure why, “I didn’t think it would hurt you”. 

“You want an omelet?”, he avoids the topic. 

He scraps the egg around the plan, attempting to flip it but the egg rips apart and falls back into the man. 

“You want scrambled eggs?” he jokes. 

You huff, looking at the egg in the pan. 

“However the chef prepares it, is fine”, you tease. 

He smiles at you, the knife incident long forgotten. 

You both eat at the table. Neither one of you having anything to say. 

“So, ah, I have to go to the school for a bit. I've been M.I.A for a while now” Logan says. 

He used to hate the thought of responsibility, being tied down by something but now it gave him a sense of purpose. The kids needed him. The school gave him a home, and he wouldn’t disregard that.

You nod your head. You could care less what he did. 

“What do you teach?”, you ask. 

“History” he answers, “I also help train them. Teach em’ how to use their abilities for good”.

“You said you did bad things. That doesn’t sound bad”.

“Yeah well, some people don’t want to be taught”, he growls. 

“Ah” you acknowledge, “You’re a mutant killer. “

“I am something”, he mutters. His appetite is gone so he pushes his plate away from him and takes a sip of his coffee. 

“So whats your plan?”, you ask him, poking at your eggs. 

“I’ll only be gone a few hours, after that we can go to town”.

“No”, you interject, “I mean for me. After all this”. 

He wasn’t sure how to answer. How could he tell you there was no after this? That he would do anything to keep you. 

“Bub”, he states, “I’ll never hurt you. I can promise you that”.

You look at him, unbelieving but say nothing more. 

He gets up from his chair and holds out his hand for you. 

“I want to show you something”, he explains. 

Curious, you take his hand and lead you back to his bedroom closet where he digs through to find a thermal jacket and a beanie. 

He places the beanie on your head and wraps the jacket over you. You stand there drawing in the material while he digs further into his messy closet. 

He finds what he is looking for with a satisfied grunt and produces thermal pants.

“What are you doing?” you ask him as he helps you step into the pants. 

“I just want to show you something” he repeats. 

Now dressed he takes your hand and leads you to the front door, where he stops to take big heavy boots from a line of perfectly organized shoes. 

“Logan”, you question in a tense voice. 

He continues to place the shoes on your feet, tying the laces as tight as they would go. 

With a sigh, he rises, reaching for the door and swinging it wide open. 

The cold air blows in. Snow covered the landscape, but had stopped falling from the sky a while ago. Yet everything remained frozen. 

“Go”, he states. He peers at you softly, bringing the hood of the coat up. His touch is gentle, and it leaves you quickly.

“Go?” you question. 

Where would you go to? You decided against running this morning, why would you now take the chance?

“Go” he repeats, “Don’t worry, I’ll come after you. I just want to show you what’s going to happen if you decide to leave while I am gone”.

You decide maybe you should go. It would be a good opportunity to test his limits. See what he can really do. 

You slip past him, running out to the surrounding forest. 

He makes no move to follow you. When you look back, he is still there watching from the doorway. 

When you could see nothing but trees, you realise that this was stupid. 

You had no idea where you were. How could you get to safety? You didnt even know if you were heading in the right direction. You were heading down from the mountain but once you got to the bottom would you reach a clearing? Your best hope was that a passing car would come, but you didn’t see any on the way here, what would be the chances of crossing one when you really needed it. 

Still Logan was a strange man, you shouldn’t give up, just because the odds seem impossible. 

You pick up a large branch and smooth over the snow, easing your footprints. 

The journey was cold. The wind picked up adding to your misery. You wondered if he let you go so you could die in the woods. You heard nothing as the wind howled, saw nothing but white. 

He was either giving you a wide head start or he simply wasn’t following at all. You couldn’t decide what was worse. 

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted you felt as if you were being watched but couldn’t see anyone or anything. 

Your feet pick up pace, the branch brushes your footprints away with ferocity. 

It’s in your head, you told yourself. You would have seen or heard him if he was close. 

When you feel hands on your hips with such strength that it stops you from moving, you second guess yourself. 

“Gotcha”, his voice teased. He leans down to your ear and softly bites your helix 

With a push to your hips, you are thrown into snow beneath you. 

You turn to face him, crawling backwards with the branch in your hand. 

“How?” you ask him. 

He follows with an amused expression on his face. He was dressed in only his jeans, a grey singlet and an overlay of a flannel. Yet he showed no signs of being cold. 

“Bub, there’s not a single place on this earth that you can go that I wont find you”. 

He raises his foot and presses it down on the branch you clung to. 

You stop crawling. 

“I believe you” you state, looking up at him. 

“Get up”, he tells you.

You don’t move, despite the snow melting into your protective gear and frozen hands. 

He drops to his knees in front of you. You preferred the distance when he stood but when you began to crawl back, he grabbed your ankles and slid you back over the snow. 

Once you were close enough, he leaned his body over you trappin you between him and the snow.

With his hands in the snow on either side of your head, he leans down to the side of your head and whispers in your ear. 

“You want it in the snow?” he coos. 

You push back against his shoulders when he reaches for the waistband of your pants. It doesn’t deter him so you raise your hand to slap him across the face. 

You don’t think he even registered it but you cry out in pain as the ripple effect shoots down your arm. 

“Careful” he tuts.

He wraps his arms around your shoulders and pulls you up into a sitting position. You clutch your sore hand to your chest, and crouches in front of you, swiping his thumb across your lips. 

He gets up fully, reaching for the button of his jeans, his pubic hair springing out with no underpants on. 

“We’ll make it quick” he promises you.

You think about fighting but remember your sore hand, and past half an hour alone in the snow. 

Instead, you kneel into position. He seems surprised at your compliance as he positions himself in front of you. He lowers his jeans just enough to free his member, and you take it into mouth. 

He grunts as you behind to suck, throwing his head back. His hands dig into your hair to keep you there as you work your mouth around him. 

“You feel so good”, he sighs, almost reluctantly. 

Your tongue pads around him, you feel his cock twitch. 

The quiet atmosphere is broken by the sound of your wet mouth working him. 

The more worked up he got, the harsher the hold on your hair hurt to the point of pain. 

You try to pry the hold off. You thought he would know he was hurting you, but with his head turned to the sky, you weren’t even sure that he could feel your hands yanking at his finger. 

You stop, opening your mouth but unable to move your head. 

His next groan was angry, and he flings his gaze down at you. If his cock wasnt still in your mouth, you would have explained yourself.

He didn’t give you the opportunity, using the hold on your head, he drags you over to the nearest tree. You dont have enough time to get your bearing before your head is knocked into the tree as stopping point and he thrusts his hips into your mouth. 

Sitting on your bottom against the tree, rather then on your knees, you lose a lot of leverage. His pull on your hair keeps you from slumping as he drives his length into you. 

You begin to suck again, hoping to get him off so he would get off you. 

This wasn’t logan, this was the wolverine. An animal driven only by his needs. 

Your sucking calmed him a bit. His thrusts slowed and he rests his forehead against the tree with his eyes closed shut. 

He comes without a sound. No great groan that lets you know his salty cum was coming. 

He steps back, gathering himself. While he zips his jeans, you lay against the tree with his taste in your mouth. 

“Come on” he says softly. He picks you up and stands you on your feet. 

With a hold on your arm, he leads you back to the house. 

The thirty minute journey was walked in silence.

You wondered if he really wanted to show you his strength or if he just wanted an excuse.

He seemed eager to get back. It felt as if he was pulling you behind.

Once you reach the doorway, you are out of breath from his pace. 

He is fine, however, his breath even but his eyes clouded and angry.

The door was left unlocked, not giving you a second of reprieve as he pushes past it. 

As soon as you are through the threshold, he turns and pushes it close behind you before striping you of your layers.

“More?” you question as his needy hands push you towards the couch. 

“Baby, I am just getting started”, he answers. 

The arm of the couch takes out your knees as you are pushed over it. Logan climbs on top, going straight to your neck.

“What about the school?” you breathe. 

“Fuck the school”, he says, nestling himself between your legs. 

He rises only to take off his shirts, and reach for yours. 

Your bare chest is attacked with his lips while his hands reach for your pants. 

His hips buck into your soaked panties, the heat almost driving you insane. 

Did he have some mutant power to make you react this way? It confused you which upset you. You shouldn't be confused. You shouldn’t want him. 

You didn’t realise your pussy was bare until he enters you. 

You claw at his back as he thrusts into you. It seemed to encourage him.

“You’re so beautiful”, he says, “feel so good around me”. 

His brutal thrusts could not be slowed. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders trying to ease the force from his thrusts. 

Your head was no longer on the cushion of the couch but dug into his neck, completely wrapping yourself around his body. 

All too soon, you unravel around him but his cock continues to drive into you. 

Your moan couldnt be stopped. Your position meant it went directly into his ear. 

His chuckle tickles the shell of your ear. He thrusts now too harshly into your sensitive pussy. 

His hand wraps its way into the back of your head and he yanks you back down into the couch. 

With you there, the hand travels down to your clint and he begins rubbing while he thrust his cock in and out of you. 

You whine in pain from the over stimulation. Being pushished  for coming too quickly. 

You push against his hand with your own, begging him to stop. 

He does stop only to grab your hand and brings it down into your own wetness. 

“You do it” he demands. 

You cry out again, unable to form words as his cock spears into you. 

His grip is too tight to pull back although you try. 

“Do it” he commands again. 

You do as he asks, using your pointer to swirl around clint as he pounds you. 

With a free hand, he massages your breast, pinching at the nipple and rolling the flesh in his hand. 

“Don’t stop”, he orders as your hand stills, ‘keep going, thats a good girl”. 

Your tears pool. It was a bittersweet type of torture but torture all the same. 

Through your blurry eyes you could see him focusing on not hurting you. Fighting with himself to keep the animal in check enough to not hurt you. 

With a handful of your breast, he explodes inside of you and his thrusts stop, giving your sore pussy a break. 

He leans over you once more this time out of breath. You put your hand up on his chest, your finger slick with your wetness. 

You pant with him, your tears slowly choking you.

“You alright, darl’n?” Logan was back. The animal going to sleep after his victory. 

A sob croaks out of your throat. 

His eyes meet yours as his thumb wipes away your falling tears. 

“It’s alright, sh, it’s alright.”. 

He kisses your cheek softly before helping you up off the couch. 

“Lets get you cleaned up. Alright”, he says, gently leading you to the bathroom. 

You already were undressed so he turns on the shower. Cold water comes out at first and he holds you close while it turns hot. 

Your head rests on his chest and he wraps both arms around your shoulders. He keeps the position as he enters the stream. You sob quietly against him as you both stand under the water.

When you finally stop, Logan uses one hand to cup the water to wash your face. 

You look up at his hazel eyes, somewhere beneath them, the beast looks back. 

Freshly showered, you are dressed in another pair of your leggings and short shirt and placed back into bed. 

Logan lays next to you, back in jeans and a white singlet, not saying anything. 

A hard knock on the door breaks the stillness and you sit up in bed, surprised there was someone, anyone, out here. 

‘I’ll get it. Stay here”, he directs. 

He could smell the scent of the school lingering as he neared the door. He wondered which teacher was sent to lecture him or if Alexander took the time to do it himself.

The sight of three school kids was a surprise. 

He knew them well. Barely 16 but thought they knew the world. 

‘What are you doing here?”, he growls at them.

“When are you coming back to school?” Nortan asked. He was a funny looking kids with glasses too big, and a long torso that towered him over his classmates. He could break his particles apart and disappear into the air. 

“When I feel like it”, Logan quips. 

“You were supposed to be back today”, Lucy demanded, “We organised a class party”. 

She had the longest black hair Logan had ever seen. Smart as a whip but a massive stick in the mud. Her parents were accountants, and avoided talking about Lucy’s ability to turn her body into mental on command. 

“I am sure you all had a great time without me” Logan answers, going to shut the door on the children. 

Lucy’s mental hand wedged itself between the door and the frame, preventing it from shutting. Logan sighs. Children were a pain in the ass. Due to his mutation he could never breed, and now he feels grateful for it. 

“Is there something you want kids? What do I gotta do to get you off my doorstep?”he scolds.

“We want you to come back”, Lucy demands. 

The third boy, big and impossibly strong, now with a driver licence nodded his head in agreement. He said very little but heard everything that went on around him. 

“I’ll be back on monday. I promise. Now get back to school before I get called to go look for you”, he sho’s the children away. 

“If you are not back on Monday, we’ll bring the whole class to you”, Lucy threatens as the door closes in her face. 

“Yeah, yeah”, Logan dismisses. 

With that dealt with he goes to the kitchen and turns the jug on. He finds his prettiest cup and puts a tea bag in it while he waits for the water to boil. 

Your scream jolts his heart. He runs to you, claws out and at the ready. 

You stood in the middle of the bedroom with your hands covering your mouth, staring at the young boy in front of you. 

Norton stands there frozen. Mouth half a gap, shocked to see you.

“Get out of here!” Logan screams. 

Norton disappears into particles again, going out the same way he came in. 

Logan puts away his claws, rushing over to take you into his arms as you cry from the surprise. 

With one hand on the back of your head, and the other wrapped securely around your shoulders, he holds you close, speaking gently. 

“It’s alright. It’s alright. It was just a kid. You're safe”. 

“I hate mutants”, you sob, “all of you”. 

“Yeah” logan sighs, “I know”. 

—--------------

“Hey Bub” logan calls as he heads to the door, “I am going out for a smoke”. 

He lights the cigar as soon as his feet land on the porch. The past four years he has lived here, he has always smoked inside. The fresh air felt nice as he puffed away. 

He liked having you here. It brought him a sense of peace that he had long abandoned. 

A few seconds later, the door opens again and you appear wearing his winter coat. You stand awkwardly against the wall without a word. 

He is cautious of the smoke that blows over to you, and takes a few steps away, hiding the cigar down below his leg to stop its contamination. 

You scoff at him. 

“Really? worried about second hand smoke”, you taunt. 

“I heal, you don’t” he reminds you. 

“Who’s to say? Maybe smoking is your weakness and you die from good old cancer, just like the rest of us”. 

Logan takes another puff of his cigar, blowing the smoke back out. 

“Been smoking these for 60 odd years, haven’t killed me yet”.

“What?” you say astonished, “ 60 years?”.

“Nothing, forget it”, Logan dismissed. He felt embarrassed to admit his age. He was a dirty old man that didn’t deserve to touch the skin of you. 

“You going to tell me you can fly next” you muse. 

Logan laughs, taking another puff before answering, “I’ve been thrown from enough heights to know I definitely don’t fly”. 

The cold air has turned your nose pink, and a strong wind blew cold air down your jacket.

You sniffle as you pull it tighter around yourself. Logan, who is adaptable to the weather, stands unshaken. 

“It’s cold, why don’t you head back inside”, he says, pointing his cigar to the door. 

“Why don’t you stop telling me what to do? You have these intense mood swings. I never know who I am going to get Mr nice guy or Mr shut up and take it”, you bite. 

Logan sucks on his cigar, puffing away his frustrations. 

“I don’t know what you do to me, but I am not like that”, he argues. 

“Oh so it’s my fault?”, you mock 

“Christ, I didn’t say that” he waves the cigar in the air, losing interest as it burns, “You say you never know who you’re going to get, while neither do I. I’m-” Logan takes another drag of his cigar before finishing his sentence, you wait patiently for him, “I’m not myself around you. I am something entirely different. A thing I thought I left behind years ago”. 

“An animal” you deduct. 

“Yeah” Logan says in a hard voice, having another puff. 

“The wolverine”, you continue. 

Logan reaches up to take his dog tags in his hand. He couldn’t remember how he got the name, but he was stamped with it for life. 

“Go back inside”, he demanded. 

This time you do. 

—----------------------

Logan takes you to the shop first thing the next morning, letting you fill the shopping trolley with anything you like. 

He pushes the trolley behind you as you scan the aisle. He waits for a scream, a worried look given to a fellow shopper but  you remain calm and your eyes train on a bottle of shampoo as you read the label. 

He wondered what he would do if you did decide to show resistance. He tells himself he wouldn’t fight to keep you. Mutants already had a bad wrap, he didn’t need to make it worse. 

Although, he doubted he could do it. Just the image of someone standing between you and him had the pain in his hands shooting out. 

“Logan?” his name falls on deaf ears, so you try again, “logan?”

“Huh? What?” He answers, finally looking at you.

“Do you have a preference on body wash?”, you repeat, 

“Ah, no, whatever”. 

You throw the bottle into the cart and move down the aisle. 

“Look whats wrong with you?”, he asks in an accusatory tone. 

An elderly women makes her way down past them and Logan quietens his voice so no one can hear. 

“Why haven’t you tried to get away? You should do something”, he demands. 

“Ah, i’ve got Logan today”, you announce moving further down. 

“You’ve got Logan every day”. He follows you slowly, wheeling the trolley in front of him. 

“Bub, you should try”, he pesters. 

You stop in your tracks entirely, staring at him. Without a word, you approach him, coming up to his side and running your finger across his knuckles in answer. 

“I wouldn’t”, he breathes. 

Again you are silent. Just looking at the puzzle of a man in front of you. 

“Stay then”, you tell him. 

You break away from Logan, walking forward from him. 

He stands still, doing as he is told. He watches you as you walk away in no particular hurry. 

You get to the end of the aisle before his feet involuntarily move after you. 

You laugh at him as he catches up, but he feels the heat of embarrassment and shame. 

Like a stray dog, he chases after you. With matted fur and baring teeth.

—---------------------------

You help Logan inside with the groceries. Your addition to his life brought twice the stuff. 

The empty pantry was now full again, the bathroom racks had more than one type of shampoo and your toothbrush sat proudly next to his. 

It was a life Logan had long forgotten about. This place had felt like solitary confinement, a punishment for being a dangerous dog, but now it was a home. A place he could return to once the killing was done. 

He shows his appreciation by backing you into the corner of the kitchen counter by your hips and kissing you deeply. 

He doesn’t know why he did it, but he bit down on your lower lip, drawing blood. 

You made a startling sound, the pain of your lip almost instant. 

He pulls back shocked that he did such a thing. You look up at him, tears in your eyes and a quivering lip. 

“Shit”, he expressed, “Bub, I am sorry”.

He rushes to go get some paper towel to stop the bleeding. 

“Let me have a look”. 

You dont allow him. Pulling your head back. He takes your chin in his hand and pulls your head back to him. 

“I am sorry. I don’t know why I did that’, he apologized as he pressed the white paper towel to your lower lip. 

You don’t accept it, crying loudly. 

“Please, I am sorry”, he begs, “it wont happen again”. 

 You take the paper towel and press it to your lip yourself. Unable to form words. 

Logan takes a step closer, wrapping his arms around your waist and giving the side of your head a gentle kiss. 

“Shit, Logan”, you scold. 

He can feel you trying to push away but he won't allow you to. Why did he have to ruin everything he touched? 

“I am sorry”, he says again. 

He pulls back to take your chin between his fingers to examine the bite. It has split your lower lip, leaving a nasty red line through the pink flesh. 

“Bub-I-”, he stumbles, “I am so sorry. I’ll never hurt you again”.

“Move”, you told him in a stern voice. 

He does at once, and push past him to the bedroom. 

He gives you space for the rest of the night. Going out to the porch to smoke cigar after cigar. 

It gave you freedom to potter in the kitchen to make your dinner. 

He felt so guilty as you slammed draws shut. He was still unsure what possessed him to bite down. Until you reacted, he hadn’t realised his teeth were sinking into your lip. 

What else would he do carelessly? How long before he did something fatal? 

He should have let you disappear at the store. If he was a better man, he would have got in his car and left. But as time proved again, and again, he was not a good man. He was underversing of all good things, so why wouldn’t he keep a tight grip on you?

He would just have to learn to be more cautious. To watch what he is doing at all times. The animal within him would be put on a leash. No one, not even him, would hurt you again. 

Logan rubs out his lit cigar on the wood of the porch, throwing the end into his ashtray and going back inside. 

You don’t pay him any attention, continuing to stir a sauce in a pan with no acknowledgement. 

It was the silence that he hated. He could take abuse. But to treat him as if he didn’t exist was cruel. 

Even as he came closer, you pretended not to notice him. 

When he picks you up and places you on the counter, it does earn your attention. You stare at him in surprise as he edges his way between your legs. 

“I am sorry”, he repeats again. He kisses you this time gently, showing you he can control himself. 

“I am sorry”, once more, as he tugs you into him with a pull of your thighs.

“I only ever want to make you feel good”, he promises, his lips moving to your neck. 

To his surprise, you pull him closer, your fingers wrap themselves into his hair, and your legs entrap him where he stood. 

He takes it as permission to move his hands to the button of your jeans. 

You make no comment as he pulls them off, disregarding them on the floor. 

His own jeans prove harder to undo with the small space allowed, but he manages, and he closes the cold gap between your bodies. 

His lips continue their way around your body, kissing every inch he could find. Your breaths become ragged, and your fingers become stiff in his hair.

“You want it?” he asks, before he inserts himself. His tip slides through your thickness, shooting electricity through your body. 

“Logan”, you whine, pressing your head back into the kitchen cabinets. 

“I asked you a question”, he snapped. He needed to hear it. That you didn’t think he was a completely unworthy, unloved, animal. That the initial attraction at the bath house was all in his head. He needed to hear you wanted him, even one tenth as much as he wanted you. 

“Yes, please”, you beg, “please”. 

He groans as he sinks himself into you. He keeps his pace, even and gentle, watching your face for any discomfort. 

He found none. You kept your eyes closed and your fingers tugged at his hair almost in encouragement. 

The sauce makes an awful sound as it boils over, your eyes shoot open, watching as it spills over the sides. 

“Logan” you complain. 

He blindly reaches for the handle, not stopping his pace, and shoves it off the heat. 

You bear it no more mind, moving your fingers from his hair to his arms. 

This time you kiss him. He tastes the blood as your lip reopens causing him to pull back away from you.  

Shame fills him once more, and he is forced to bury his head into your collar bone to hide his face. 

“Oh princess”, he complains. His hands ball at your shirt, keeping a statue form so he remained in control at all times. 

“Logan”, you moan as an orgasm approaches. 

 He reaches up to place both hands on the side of your neck, feeling your pulse beneath his finger tips. 

It quickens as you come. Your sweet sounds fill his ears. For a second he continues, but he feels your hips begin to pull away. 

He forces himself to pull out. You hated the overstimulation, he knew that but driven by instinct he often continued until he got his fill. Not today. Today, Logan would remain in control. 

He looks distressed as he yanks himself away from you. His eyes narrow at the floor and his breaths are deep and angry. 

You could see him fighting with himself as he reaches for his pants. He didn’t finish. His need still clear on his face. 

“Hey”, you call. His eyes flicker up to you, and you beckon him to come closer. 

You take him back into your arms. Wrapping one around his shoulders while your hand reached for his cock. 

He shudders as you  stroke him. His hands grip the countertop, scared to touch you in his current state. 

It was so unexpected. Happened so fast he couldn’t wrap his head around it. He rested his forehead against your shoulder. Your scent attacked his nose, driving him into a frenzy. 

Your hand worked its way around his cock. It was still wet with your own cum, making a sloppy sound as you jerked him off. 

He came with a loud groan, the kitchen counter crumbled under the power of his hands, and the wall behind you was punctured by the tip of his claws. 

You yelp as they make impact into the drywood. 

“Sorry, sorry, it’s okay”, he puffs. 

You rest your head back into the cabinet behind you, regaining your breath while Logan tugs away his claws and cock. 

“Clean this up”, you command of him, “I’ll finish dinner”. 

Later that night, Logan draws you a bath, and washes your hair. Wanting you to experience the peace you brought him. 

“Weird to be on the other end”, you comment as his fingers massage the shampoo into your scalp. 

“You just relax, baby’’, he tells you. 

You do, leaning into his soapy touch as he worked the knots out of your neck and shoulders, 

“You know”, you say after a moment, “You said you were going to tell me”. 

“Tell you what?” Logan asks. 

“Everything”, you answer, “I found a box in your cupboard. It was filled with war medals, and old photos”. 

“Jesus, didn’t anyone ever tell you not to touch other people's shit”, he quips. 

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you?”. Your comment silenced him. His hands move off you and onto the rag, wringing out all the water. 

“Alright, what do you want to know?”, he relents. 

“How many wars have you been a part of?”, you question him. 

“Too many”.

“That’s not an answer”, you complain. 

“Best one  I’ve got. Here lean back”, he washes the shampoo from your hair gently. Taking his time to do so, to avoid any more questions. 

But as you rise once more into a sitting position, you target him again. 

“How did you become what you are?”, you ask him shyly. 

“I was born this way. At least I think so. There’s a large crucial part I don’t remember. Some story about a general making me into a weapon, but I am not too sure I believe it. I think I’ve always been like this: violent”. 

“You are not violent, Logan”, you protest, turning to look him in the eye, “I am not sure what you are. A stray loyal dog, a man so frightened and lonely. The wolverine”, You lean closer to him, handing over the tub in bare form. 

“All of the above. But not violent”, you reach out with your wet hand to his flannel sleeves, “A violent man could never be as gentle as you can be”.

“I’ve done bad things”, he whispers, “hurt people. Hurt you. I am so sorry, bub”. 

“You are not an animal, Logan”, you state. 

You look at the man in front of you. His big, brown eyes speaking of his hurt. The wolverine was nowhere in sight. Logan knelt before you fully man. A man who had been through so much pain and suffering. The wolverine protected all he loved, but left him with a feeling of being unworthy of it all. 

The men who wanted to use him branded him as an animal. Something they could own and control. But his nature fought back. He wasn’t a weapon, he was a soldier who fought to protect.

He gets up suddenly, stepping into the bath still clothed in jeans and singlet and his flannel. His lips met yours in need which you return and he lays himself across you in the tub. 

You claw at his clothes, helping them off his body. 

The water sloshes around, over the side of the tub, toppling onto the floor. 

You clutch his dog tags in your hands. Your thumb glazes over the indents of his name, while Logans attacks your neck in gentle kisses. 

You flip the metal, feeling the letters on the other side w-o-l-v-e-r-i-n-e. 

—-----------------

The next morning you watch as Logan gets ready to go to work. 

You could tell he was excited, if not nervous to leave you for the day. 

He straightens out his jacket, looking around for anything he might need for the day. 

“I’ll ah leave the keys to the truck here” he states, placing them down on the table, “in case you want to go anywhere”.

In haste, he goes to the door, picking up his motorcycle keys and reaching for the handle. 

“See you, baby”, he says. 

“Hey, Logan”, you call out after him. 

He pauses in the doorway, turning his head to you but leaving his body in flight. 

You walk up to him, still dressed in his t-shirt from bed, and take his face into your hands bringing him in for a kiss. 

“Have a good day”, you tell him. 

“You too”, he grins back, “I’ll be home soon. Wait for me?”.

You nod your head, and with another quick kiss he is on his way. 

You close the door after him to keep the cold out. But you hear the roar of his old motorcycle speed down the driveway. 

—------

Logan tries to keep his mind off you all day. 

He wonders when he returned if you would still be there. He decided it was enough to be loved even for a short time. He couldn’t chase after you. But he would remember you for the rest of his horrible mutant life. 

Still he remembers how his heart pounded, and his feet shifted by themselves at the grocery store. Even with his best intentions, would he be able to stop himself?

He avoids Xavier all day. With his defences so weak he wasn’t sure he could keep the old man out of his head. 

The kids help to distract him. At least while he was focused on helping them, he wasn’t thinking about the potential heartbreak of going home. He was loved here, he knew that. But they loved the wolverine. 

The protector, the leader, the mentor. The animal. The weapon that would keep them all safe.

He smiles through the class party thrown for him, welcoming him back. 

Why couldn’t this be enough? To be a part of a safe haven for kids? He had lived without love for so long, why now did he yearn for it?

The quiet sound of Xaviers chair rolls up next to him. Cornering Logan at his own party. 

“You have been avoiding me”, he states. 

“I’ve been busy”, Logan returns.  

“So I have heard”, Xavier quipped. 

Logan's blood ran cold. How did Xavier know? He was sure to kick Logan out of the x-men. He would be pushed away from the only family he knew, and he deserved every bit of it. 

“Listen”, Logan begins but Xavier interrupts him before he can self incriminate. 

“You should know the children hold you in too high regard to tattle on you. I was worried about you, old friend. So when I heard Norton thinking your name, I couldn’t help myself”, he explained. 

“Professor, I-”, how would he explain this in a light that doesn’t leave him the bad guy. 

“It’s quite alright, Logan. She doesn’t want to leave”, Xavier finally looks at Logan, “I followed you to the grocery store”.

He wheels his chair back, looking to make an exit. “I’ll be checking in from time to time, the second she decides otherwise, I’ll be there, and yes, I am working on your request. How were you going to break that one to me, old boy”. 

Xavier moves on to other guests, but Logan is forced to take a seat.

—----------

Logan lets his last class of the day go early. He himself was eager to get back home. 

He could smell you inside as he put his motorcycle away. The smell of you eases his mind. It was true you didn’t want to leave. Even after everything he had done. 

His hand reaches for the door, but his fingers fail to grasp it. Instead he retreats to the fence of the porch, gazing out to the snow. 

For the longest time, he had no idea who he was. His dog tags the only link to his past life. The professor has helped fill in a few dots. But mostly only brought nightmares of the animal he once was. 

He thought that's all he could be. All he was. 

The wolverine was a part of him, yes, but so was Logan. For the first time, he would discover who he was, not what he could do.

He hears the door open behind him, and your bare feet against the wood. 

“Hey, are you coming in?” you ask him. 

He turns back over his shoulder to look at you. Dressed snuggly in his jacket with his flannel poking out underneath. 

“Come here”, he requests, opening his arms. 

You fall into them easily, and he hugs you tightly against him. 

Kuekuatsu, the word enters his brain. He is unable to shake it. He wonders what it means and where it came from. 

He doesn’t dwell on it too long, as you are pulling him inside, and he follows like a dog on a leash. 

[studiogrimm810]

Stoned and Nostalgic

pairings/characters: (best friend/pining) sam x gn!you, dean is barely there

summary: when sam confides in you that he got accepted to stanford, you make him promise to go and never look back, but when you see him years later and back on the road with dean, you demand an explaination as to why he gave that up

warnings: getting high, angst, talk of jess and her death,

word count: 2,301

A/N: this was a request!! tysm for reaching out :):) also, if anyone wants to be tagged in my future works feel free to ask ^.^

———————

The night sky above was clear, shimmering stars from light years away tease your meaningless existence and you rest on the hood of your fathers car. A long drag of a loosely rolled joint fills your lungs with a biting smoke and you exhale, watching as the puff dissolves just above your eyes. A hand slacks into your peripheral and you pass the joint over to Sam.

You had known Sam for years. Ever since your dad and John teamed up on a hunt back in ‘92, it was often you got to share moments like this with the younger Winchester. He also always had the best weed.

Tonight, the dads and Dean were out on a hunt and you didn’t expect to see them for a few more hours. Not that they cared much about your ‘extracurricular activities’. Getting high with Sam was something you often found yourself looking forward to. You never felt safer than when you were with Sam, not just physically but emotionally too.

As summer nears an end, the cool night air rings with cicadas. You looked forward to the autumn months, the changing leaves with a more interesting landscape to get high too observe. Plus, this was the first year you didn’t have to go back to school. You and Sam were graduated adults now but right now, stoned and bodies pressed close, you still felt like dumb teenagers playing hooky.

“I missed you, been too long,” you say, taking back the joint as he passes it to you. Something is different with him though. He’s been quieter, more tense and quite eager to get to smoking.

“Yeah,” he says bluntly with a hint of sadness.

“Maybe with both of us outta school, we’ll get dragged on more hunts,” you pull in a fresh drag. “Wonder why we didn’t get involved with this one.” Sam just hums in response.

Even if his mind is full of thought, the air between you two stays light and dizzy. The joint doing its job.

Sam sits up, resting his forearms on his knees and running a hand down his face.

“I um-,” he clears his throat. You sit up with him and tilt your head, flicking some ash off the tip. “I gotta tell you something,” he looks straight ahead, working his jaw.

“What’s up?” You ask, taking another drag, the smoke dropping a haze over the seriousness of his demeanor. He’s quiet, amping himself up to say what he needs to.

“I got some pretty good news,” he says, but his face isn’t holding the excitement it should.

“Well, spill,” you nudge his shoulder.

“A few months back I applied to some colleges for the hell of it,” he starts, “I got accepted to a few,” the haze starts to thin, “I got a full ride for two. I chose the better of the two- Stanford.”

You’re shocked, the thought of college never even crossed your mind. It was out of the cards for you, not even an option to entertain with an SAT score.

“You’re kidding,” you exhale. Of course if anyone could swing a full ride to a school like that, it would be Sam. “That’s amazing!” You scoff, wrapping your arms around him and holding the joint away so it doesn’t get in the way. “Oh my god, when do you start? What did Dean say?”

Sam chuckles softly, shaking his head, “I haven’t told anyone else yet.” You feel honored. “I have to be there for orientation on Sunday.” Five days from now. Reality hits. Sam is leaving for good.

“Oh!” You try to remain excited for him but you can already feel the ache of his absence. “What are you gonna tell him? Or your dad?”

“I have no fucking clue,” he looks up at the sky, plucking the joint from your fingers. “They are gonna be pissed.” You want to argue that they’ll be ecstatic because who wouldn’t be? But you know John and the kind of father he is.

Silence washes over you two and you let the news settle.

“You’re gonna do great things, Sam,” you finally speak up. “You’re gonna change the world. You’re so damn smart and they’re lucky to have a student like you,” you list off your exact beliefs. “You’re gonna get out,” you breathe out.

Sam looks over to you as you stare above, envy buried under pride for your best friend. A small smile perks your lips and your chest swells with emptying exaultation. You can feel his empathetic eyes bore into your temple. He feels bad, you know he does.

“You deserve this,” you turn to him with glossy eyes. “You just have to promise me one thing.”

His jaw tenses with held back words and he sighs but nods.

“Don’t come back,” you shake your head, ignoring how his expression turns a bit confused and maybe even hurt. But you don’t care if it hurts him now. “You deserve more than this,” you gesture out to the desolate motel parking lot, “you deserve an education, a regular job, a spouse, a good house in a good neighborhood, maybe even a few kids if they're in your cards. You deserve a normal life. You can’t come back to this. Don’t let Dean or John or anybody stop you from doing what is best for you, okay?” Your words are stern and he takes the bite behind them. Your passion for his future fueling his desire to go out to California and never look back.

“I promise.”

———

After working a case in Colorado, you decided to take a few days off and relax at a motel in the beautiful state. You chose a motel within walking distance to a bar and wasted no time trekking up the sidewalk and to the establishment. It was a Thursday night so it wasn’t too busy and you took a stool in the middle of the bar, ordering your preferred drink and some house chips to snack on while you watched the muted talk show on a TV behind the bar.

You had a few drinks, grazed on some appetizers and flirted with the bartender who was looking for a good tip for sure. But you didn’t mind. A few strangers come up to talk to you but you turn them away, committing to yourself for the night.

As the night goes on, the bar gets a bit more crowded and you pay your bill, leaving a generous tip and throwing back the rest of your drink. As you push out of the stool and swing your jacket over your shoulders, your eyes lock with a familiar set and you smile.

Dean Winchester was occupying a high top in the middle of the dining room. His face lights up when he sees you and you make your way over to him.

“Hey!” You greet, and he gets up to meet you for a hug. “What brings you up here?” You ask, pulling away and fixing your jacket.

“Just driving, looking for a case,” Dean shrugs with a kind smile. It had been years since you last saw Dean. You had helped him and John with a nest of vamps back in ‘04.

“It’s so good to see you,” you look over to see an empty chair with a coat slung on the back and a fresh beer in front of the placement. “John in the bathroom?” You ask casually, but Dean’s face grims as he looks down at his glass.

“Actually, um, we’re looking for him,” Dean explains with a heavy inhale, looking up at you.

“We?”

You hear your name and your heart stops as you turn to see a matured and sturdy version of the beanpole you called your best friend all those years ago. A rush of emotions wrack over your body- joy, grief, confusion, anger. What was Sam doing here? It’s the middle of February, shouldn’t he be in school? It should be his senior year.

“Sam?” You ask, astonished to see the man before you. He smiles at you but the lack of your own causes his to melt away in confusion. “Why are you here?”

“What?” He asks, with a small shake of his head as if he didn’t hear you right.

“You should be in California, what- what happened?” You repeat. The promise he made is still fresh in your mind.

“It’s complicated,” he rolls his eyes at the complication and not in annoyance with you.

“No, it’s- Sam,” you scoff lightly. Ready to give him a piece of your mind.

“C’mon, let’s talk outside,” he grabs his coat and gestures for you to follow him. You head towards the door, ignoring Dean's eyes. You push open the door, stepping into the nostalgic night air, looking up at the crystal clear sky with speckled glitter for stars.

“Are you hunting?” You ask, not looking away from the sky.

“Yes,” he admits like an unfaithful spouse. He rubs the back of his neck and sighs. “It’s-.”

“You promised,” you interrupt, looking over at him with glossy eyes. The image is like déjà vu for him- but this time your eyes are damp with betrayed ache and not hopeful pain.

“Dad went missing and Dean needed help,” Sam reasons.

“Then he should’ve called me,” You combat, you hoped that Dean knew could trust you.

“My girlfriend was killed,” he upped the ante and it shuts you right up. Wiping away your anger like a switch. “The same thing that killed my mom- what my dad has been searching for- it got to her.”

Fuck. You feel awful.

“I couldn’t just ignore that- pretend like it isn’t my fault for thinking I could’ve had a shot at a life with her-,” his voice breaks and he turns away to pace a few feet.

“Sam-.”

“I gave it one hell of a shot though. Even was going for a chance at grad school,” he scoffed at how naïve he was- how stupid to think he could escape. He saw the whole experience as some sort of joke, especially since he only ended up getting the woman he loved killed.

“I’m sorry,” is all you can say. He turns to face you, his eyes shedding a few spare tears. You can’t get over how much he’s grown. He somehow got taller and is still more limb than noticeable muscle, but his face has sharpened and his eyes have aged a lifetime.

“I wanted to call you, so damn bad, but I didn’t want to see how disappointed you’d be,” he admits, looking down at the ground.

Damn, that hurts.

“No, I’m so sorry. I’m not disappointed, I just- I wanted so much more for you. I wanted you to be happy,” you explain, taking a few steps closer.

“I was,” his voice breaks as he looks back up at you. You can’t hold yourself back. You reach out to pull him close, rising on your tiptoes to reach him. His arms wrap around your body and he hangs on tight. He holds his sobs back but you can feel his body tremor.

“I missed you like crazy,” you mumble into his shoulder.

“Me too,” his words bite out quickly, he hisses back a sob, his fingers clenched into your coat.

You two stay like that for a while, allowing him time to steel himself before even thinking of pulling away. He’s in so much pain- grieving the life he almost had and the love of it too.

Conveniently, Sam and Dean have picked a room at the same motel as you and when Sam finally pulls away, you offer to call it a night and head back. You tell Dean for him, knowing Sam wouldn’t want his brother seeing him like this, and walk back hand in hand. You and Sam were always close like this, you were even each other's first kisses, so when you two got back to the motel, taking him to the room you previously booked with a single king wasn’t a second thought.

You two got comfortable on the bed and he retrieved a joint from an Altoid tin in his pocket. You listen as he tells you all about his time at Stanford- his major for Law and Criminal Justice, his friends and their lives, parties and particularly annoying professors. Then, when the drug works its haze, he’s able to talk about her.

Jessica Moore, you learn, was a kind, fiery, confident, funny young woman who had her own past that she and Sam bonded over. You rested against the headboard as Sam’s head lay in your lap and he continued to talk about anything and everything Jess. She had a mole between her brows that she was insecure of but Sam found stunning. Her wavy blonde hair would get frizzy in the rain and whenever she got too drunk, he had to talk her out of getting a Papa Smurf tattoo on her thigh.

You can tell just by the way his face ignites that he truly loved her- and still does. You don’t ever think this is the type of love he’ll be able to forget and you don’t blame him.

Hours pass and the high is fading. Sam fell asleep in your lap a little while ago but you continue to play with his shaggy locks, missing the mindless intimacy shared between you two. As much as you wished he would have stayed at Stanford, you know that he would’ve been miserable with guilt. At least on the road, he can do something. He can save other people’s Jess’. He can make a difference even if it isn’t as a lawyer.

He can avenge the death of Jess and Mary and you vowed to help him.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @blossomingorchids

[urm0o0m]

"baby i'm yours"

Synopsis: You had just broken up with your boyfriend of 3 years. You decide to go to the bar and grab a drink. You decide for a split moment, that you’d find someone to hook up with someone before deciding that you shouldn't, when you run into your old crushes from high school (Gojo and Geto)

Content Warning: Praise, degradation, pet names, spitting, dacryphilia, friends to lovers, DP

You sit quietly at the bar, a glass of straight tequila on ice in front of you. You didn’t even drink like this. But hell, you fucking deserved it. You had just broken up with your ex boyfriend who was too controlling for your liking. You weren’t allowed to go out with your friends, you weren’t allowed to drink. You weren’t even allowed to wear the color red. You took a sip of the alcohol, the liquor burning as it goes down your throat. The music blaring in the bar, people shouting, singing and dancing.

You didn’t care for the atmosphere too much but just as you were about to leave, you felt someone tap your shoulder. “I’m not interested” You say, taking another sip of the drink. “Come on y/n~ Don’t be like that. We haven’t seen you since highschool” You turn around, looking at the men who had both grown taller than you last remembered. Suguru hits Satoru in the back of his head. “Sorry about him. We just wanted to catch up but if you want us to go, we totally can” You shake your head. “No, I'm sorry! I thought you were a random guy trying to hit on me”

Geto laughs. “Does this mean we can stay?” You nod, relaxing a little bit. You and both men begin talking and you reveal how you had just gotten out of a relationship. They both look at each other before Gojo speaks up. “Would you like us to go home with you?” Your face flushes, thankful that they couldn’t tell due to how dark it was in the club. “Straight to the point huh? I will say, Satoru was never one to beat around the bush” Suguru laughs. “Is that a yes?” You nod, paying for your drink and grabbing your purse. 

You walk out of the club, the cold air brushing against your skin and you curse at yourself for not bringing a sweater. Geto notices and takes his jacket off, slipping it over your shoulders. “T-thank you. You didn’t have to do that” Suguru leans close to your ear. “Well if all goes as planned, I should end up inside of you tonight. This is the least I can do” Your face flushes and you swallow. You had taken a cab to the club but the men had driven there and offered you a ride to your place. You give Geto your address and you and Gojo sit in the back seat.

Satoru pulls you into his lap, having you straddle him as his hands rest firm on your waist. You look down at him, your breathing shallow. He pulls you in for a kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth. Gojo breaks the kiss, licking his lips before saying “Suguru you have got to taste her lip gloss” You giggle. “You’ve kissed it all off of my lips” Geto groans. “I can’t have anything huh?” “I have some more in my bag” You say, pulling the small plastic vial, re-applying some more. You poke your head into the front of the car, making sure there are no cars and pulling Geto’s jaw and kissing him, allowing your hand to squeeze his crotch. The car swerves a bit and you break the kiss, returning to the backseat, planting your ass on the white haired male. 

“Fuck Doll. What if we would have crashed?” Geto says. “I don’t think like that. I’m quite the optimist” Suguru shakes his head and laughs. “You’ve grown in the boldness department since the last time I’ve seen you. I remember graduation. You were still just as time and shy as you were when we met in freshman year. Now here you are, practically begging for me to pull the car over and fuck you senseless on the side of the road” Your face heats up and you begin fidgeting a little. “Oh don’t get all shy now, pretty girl. What happened to that daring personality?” Satoru asks, his hands snaking up your shirt and squeezing your chest through your bra. You let out a soft moan, and gripped the sleeve of his black button down. 

“Come on pretty girl, use your big girl words and answer my question~” You swallow, opening your mouth when his right hand slips into the waistband of your skirt and panties while his left hand slips two fingers inside of your mouth. You begin to eagerly suck on Satoru’s fingers, rocking your hips back and forth against his nimble fingers. You let out a soft groan as you keep eye contact for a minute with Geto through the rearview mirror. The car speeds up and you find your eyes rolling back briefly. Your ex hadn’t touched you for months before you two broke up so you were hungry for another person’s touch. You throw your head back, resting on his shoulder, your breathing growing heavy.

“Toru~” You whine out, drool running down your chin. “There's that sweet nickname! Oh how I missed that sound of it falling from your lips” Gojo says, his fingers beginning to move in a circle around your swollen clit. Suguru watched this taboo scene unfold in the backseat as he drove. He tried to keep his focus on the road but your soft moans kept begging for his attention. Geto groans, his dick practically bursting at the seams from how badly he wanted you. You began to hump Satoru’s hand, his middle and ring fingers begging to slip inside your wet cunt and the palm of his hand pressed into your clit. 

You let out a loud moan, feeling that beloved orgasm building up in your gut. “Already?” Suguru asks, as he pulls up to your apartment building. “M gonna cum!” You say, eyes watering. “Go ahead. Cum on his fingers pretty girl” You whimper, your hips rocking back and forth as the knot in your stomach grows tighter. You moan, back arching off of Gojo’s chest. Your body begins convulsing and your hand grips Satoru’s arm, your fingernails leaving small crescent shapes in his forearm. You scream out in pleasure, your orgasm hitting you hard. You close your mouth around Gojo’s fingers, trying to keep quiet but God knows it’s hardly working.

Satoru keeps working his fingers in and out of you, helping you ride out your orgasm. Your body writhes in pleasure before going limp, breathing heavily against Gojo’s fingers that were still inside of your mouth. Suguru chuckles before saying “You look so fucking pretty when you cum, Love” You giggle softly, and Geto gets out of the drivers seat before picking you up out of Satoru’s lap. You fish your keys out of your purse as the three of you make your way to the top floor of the penthouse. You hand Gojo your keys and he opens the front door. You begin to place wet and sloppy kisses along Geto’s jaw and you can feel it tighten as he quickly makes his way into your bedroom.

Suguru places you on the bed. “Clothes. Off” You do as he says, his demanding voice sends even more arousal straight to your pussy. You decide to take your time, teasing both men that stood at the foot of your bed, both of their cocks begging to be released from their pants. “If I were you, I’d hurry up. Suguru isn’t the most-” You let out a soft yelp as Geto reaches for you and rips your shirt and skirt off. “...patient man,” Satoru finishes. Suguru peels your panties off of your sex, revealing your wet cunt for both men to see. Geto groans before saying “You’ve matured a lot n/n” He lets out another groan before placing hungry kisses against your clit.

You let out a soft moan, still sensitive from your earlier orgasm in the car. “Sugu~” You whine before allowing your dominant hand to wander into his long, dark hair, tugging on it softly and pulling him closer to your clit. Gojo chuckles before stepping closer to you, his erection apparent and almost begging for attention. “Open” He demands you. You gladly open your mouth and Satoru slaps his tip on your tongue. You wrap your lips around the head of Satoru’s cock and he lets out a soft groan. “Just like that pretty girl” The white haired male says, his hand laying on the back of your head, helping you take him further into your mouth.

Geto huffs, pulling your legs over his shoulders before his pointer and middle finger slipping inside of your cunt. You let out a moan around Gojo’s cock, back arching slightly. You continue to let your tongue work the bottom of his cock as Suguru works your clit and g-spot. Your eyes begin to water as the tip of Gojo’s cock slips down your throat. You hold yourself in that position, nose just barely brushing his trimmed pubic hair before pulling yourself off of him. “Sugu… ’m gonna cum again!” You whine, trying to pull his face just a bit closer to your soaked core.

Your back arches fully, showing off your bare chest in the moonlight that seeped in from the open curtains. “You look fucking beautiful” Satoru says, taking out his phone and snapping a couple of pictures of the scene. The knot in your stomach had begun to unravel and your legs had started to shake. You throw your head back, allowing your orgasm to fully wash over you. Your cunt squeezes around his fingers and you squirt all over his tongue and fingers, drool slipping from your mouth. Your body relaxes for a moment, slightly convulsing as Geto continues to slowly curl his fingers inside your pussy.

Suguru crawls onto the bed and on top of you before pulling you in for a kiss. “You taste so fucking sweet, Doll” You smile against the kiss, your hands trailing up his body. “God you are fucking insatiable” Geto says. “Come on. You two can’t have all the fun now” Satoru says. Suguru climbs off of you before Gojo picks you up, and lays you on top of him. “You ready to take both of us, Pretty girl?” Your eyes widen before saying “W-wait at the same time?!” Geto chuckles “Yes at the same time lovely. I mean, you’re wet enough to take it with little to no difficulty because of how soaked you are”

You shudder when you feel both men’s tips poking at your entrance. They both begin pushing themselves inside of your cunt, stretching you wide enough to take them both. “Agh~ F-fuck you two are gonna tear me in half!” You shout, clearly a bit nervous. “You need to relax and let us inside or we might tear something down there” Suguru says as Satoru plants soft but sloppy kisses behind your ear and your jaw. You find yourself relaxing as the kisses become sloppier and they continue to push inside of you. You whimper, the feeling of you being filled with two cocks at the same time causes you to tighten up again.

Gojo groans, pulling you onto their cocks completely. Your body begins to shake, the pleasure ripping through your body. They both start with a slow pace, trying their hardest to keep themselves under control, but the heat of your bodies and your symphony of moans bouncing off of the walls, they couldn’t keep that pace for much longer. Your breath gets caught in your throat, your hands finding Geto’s back. The harder they pounded your cunt, the more you felt like you were in heaven. Suguru drank the sight of drool running down your chin and neck, eyes rolled back and arched back in as if he would die of thirst if he hadn’t.

Satoru’s dominant hand reached down and began to rub your clit, causing you to clench around them again, his other hand snaking itself around your throat, squeezing just enough to deprive you of enough oxygen. You let out a choked moan, tears beginning to fall down your face. Once Geto sees this, it’s like something within him snapped. He began to pick up his pace, wanting to see more of your tears and gojo followed suit, nearing his own release. Your body begins to shake and your nails begin scratching down Suguru’s back, ensuring to leave marks for the next couple of days.

“‘M gonna cum again” You manage to gasp out in the break Satoru had decided to give you. “Then do it. Cum all over our cocks like the slut we both know you are” You body begins convulsing, and you let out a loud scream and squirt all over the two of them as your orgasm washes over you. Gojo groans before saying “I’m gonna fill you all the way up and claim you as ours” You body continued to shake as both men relentlessly fucked into you, chasing their own highs. Both men groan and begins to pump you full of cum. “Such a good girl. Take it all Darling” Suguru says as you continue to claw down his back again, this time breaking skin.

Then for a moment, it’s quiet and everyone is basking in the afterglow of their orgasms, your body still shaking a bit from both your previous orgasms and the overstimulation. Geto groans, and they both pull out of you, a soft whimper leaving your lips. Suguru stretches before saying “Damn. You did a number on my back pretty girl” You half whine, half chuckle before saying “‘m sorry” Satoru laughs. “Let’s run you a bath and clean up this bed so you can get some rest. You’ve got to be worn out at this point” 

For the rest of the night, both men took care of you, being sure to shower you with praises and kisses.

[piratefishmama]

Fake it till you Make it | Part 20

So now, he was sat in a car, with a rich older man.

To some little queer boys, this would be a dream come true, especially since the older man wasn’t half bad in terms of looks, that all American square jaw, strong nose, the works. Plus… rich.

But this wasn’t a rich older man whisking him away, no, this was Steve Harrington’s regularly absent father taking him grocery shopping.

It’d been a wild day.

“So…” Eddie didn’t do well with silence. Silence never sat right with him. Had to fill it somehow, be it with silly noises, random singing, or conversation with any person in his vicinity. “They uhm, they do that often?”

“It’s a family thing, I think we’re all as bad as each other.” At least he was self-aware, the eldest Harrington still watching the road as they drove through the small town, he knew where he was going though, each turn done as if he’d driven the route enough to do it blindfolded. “Lynda’s a lawyer so, that should explain that” loved being right, it was her job to be right, even if she was actually wrong, she had to make out like she was right and she did it well. “I’m a middle child” explained both everything and nothing at all, “and Steven… I think he got a little bit of both of us. I’d have thought you’d be used to that though, since you’re dating him.”

“Ah-haha, I mean… don’t get me wrong, I’ve always known about Steve’s uhm… how to phrase this… mean girl streak?” John snorted a little laugh, emboldened, Eddie continued, “he’s like everyone’s disappointed mother, always with the little—” Eddie shifted in his seat, just about managing to put his hands on his hips and cock them weirdly in place “pose that he does when he’s oh so very disappointed in you. I used to thrive on it back in high school, whenever he’d catch Tommy H or the other basketball goons bullying the kids, he’d just stand there like he’d caught his kids with their hands in the cookie jar, an they’d actually just… cower, like he could actually do anything to them. It was the funniest shit I’d ever seen.”

It'd actually been quite the surprise when that’d happened the first time, it didn’t happen often, Steve had been a douchebag, not the ‘shove your head in a toilet’ kind of douchebag, or the ‘shove Gareth in a locker’ kind of douchebag.

No, he was the mega bitch douchebag who could flash a smile and drop every set of panties in his immediate vicinity, he was the douchebag who KNEW he could do that. Who carried himself high with the knowledge, lording it over everyone without… ever actually lording it, it was a presence kind of thing. An attitude.

And maybe, occasionally, he’d have been the douchebag who didn’t really see anyone unless he wanted to see them, didnt really pay any attention to those not on his radar, those not in his friend group, which led to many an accidental shoulder check, which had in turn led to Eddie’s own personal little vendetta because he’d lost one of his prized mini figs to the underside of the Hawkins High trophy case when Steve had walked by a little too close and shoved him just hard enough to send Eddie’s shit flying.

Had just kept walking as if he hadn’t even seen him. Asshole.

It was only when he’d first been seen hanging around Wheeler that his personality had shifted toward something reasonably human. Thanks Wheeler, the sacrifice of your time and patience hath created a god among men.

“So he was never… bad then?”

“Nah” no sense bad mouthing the boyfriend, that wouldn’t get him anywhere. “Real Prince Charming in a perfectly pressed polo shirt. He’s amazing, sir… you have nothing to worry about with Steve, he’s… one in a million.” Now anyway.

“Good. Good.” And then he fell silent, the quiet stretch lasting nearly five minutes with only the faint music playing on low volume from the radio to fill that silence, until the eldest Harrington pulled the car into a quiet carpark, and parked. “Here we are!” Oh thank Christ.

“We can't keep doing this.” Steve was the first one to speak up during their mutual living room silent treatment, finally looking at this mother after nearly an hour of watching a gentle snowfall that’d started outside. He hoped it wouldn't get heavier before Eddie got back.

“I have no idea what you—”

“Mom.” Steve cut her off, his eyes sharp and tone firm. “We can’t keep doing this. This bickering, this who’s right who’s wrong shit, we’ve gotta stop, at least here.” If not for their own sanity, but for the image he was giving Eddie of his family life.

Of what he might possibly maybe be getting himself into if Steve could actually swing a real relationship by the end of the week. The chances of him saying yes were already pretty farfetched, but if Steve’s parents were their worst selves…

Why would Eddie want to subject himself to that long term?

She paused, expression unreadable, something she’d mastered years ago for the court room, then she sighed. “I know, Steven.” She sighed heavily “Sometimes I forget that you’re a grown up now, that you can argue right back and actually stand your ground.” It only felt like yesterday when he was tugging uncomfortably at the little bowtie they used to make him wear for special occasions, all dressed up looking up at them with those big hazel eyes of his. His childhood only felt like yesterday. “I miss when you were cute and just did as you were told” she sniffled. Back when his parents had been there regularly before their duties had pulled them away. Before distance had strained them and they missed everything. Steve rolled his eyes but said nothing as his mother continued “Anyway, i agree. I think I’d prefer it if Eddie didn’t go away from this trip thinking John to be the most mature of us.”

“God, could you imagine?” Steve shook his head to free himself of the truly harrowing thought, allowing the subject to change. “I really like him, Mom... I didn’t expect to at first, not enough to want something long term with him anyway...” He’d thought it’d be easy to just pretend with him at first, but Eddie just had this... thing about him, Steve didn’t really know how to explain it, he just felt like home. Maybe it should have been alarming as to how fast that’d happened but... Steve had always rushed into things, funnily enough he didn’t think Eddie minded. “So I’d really like it if he liked all of us by the end of this, an if he only likes Dad cause of our bullshit, I think I might just disown the both of you.” The last part said in jest but... god he’d never let it go.

He’d lockjaw it until the end of time, would take it out on special occasions and shake it in their faces like look what you did. Look at what you cost me.

“Honestly, sweetheart I think I’d disown myself.” Lynda laughed, the air finally lightening up a little between them. “Here, how about we go see if the maintenance men pilfered the wine cellar? I’m positive Mags was hiding a damn good red down there among the cabernet that I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t want to go to waste...”

“Well... we probably should check it... just in case, y’know? For security reasons.” Not that he actually doubted the integrity of the maintenance crew, they’d been employees for years, they’d known his grandparents, had worked for them in their later years when time had started to catch up to them, and a steady gig passing through generations wasn’t something to scoff at.

“Security, absolutely.” But then, the contents of the wine cellar alone was probably worth more than the actual house, so… better double check.

For security reasons.

Part 22

[thebelugawhalefriend]

Yan!Teacher x Reader - Class Pet

CW: NSFW, Fem reader, Male Yandere, Drugging, Kidnapping, Dubcon

Note: Thanks to @yanderenightmare , I was inspired to write a little piece! Please welcome Mr. Florence! This yandere isn't as intense as others but I'll be sure to keep what we love most within him ^^

Your teacher always had the softest spot for you. Not just your alluring physique or striking gaze, but that bubbly piece of sunshine that was just so excited to come in every day. Unlike highschool, this private class was all about teaching adults the arts. At first you weren't too excited, but the teacher was fun and hey! The class was pretty small and most people were too mature to be caring about high school level drama.

"Oh, not like that, sweetheart!" He quickly picked up the misused tool. Today was a special day, one on one with Mr. Florence. He would usually invite you to these private sessions to help you along with projects, "I know I say art can be done how you want, but usually we don't paint wet clay WITH paint..."

"Oh-" Your cheeks fluster with embarrassment, "I didn't even see the paint on it... Sorry, Mr. Florence..."

He could have sworn his pants grew a little tighter just seeing that sorry face of yours. If your eyes could only meet his, maybe you'd see that desire to ruin you.

"(Y/N), it's quite alright. You didn't know..." He takes a look at your rather stunning art piece, "You're already doing so wonderful, sweets. Look at that! Most people can't sculpt like that right off the bat."

"Really?" The way you perk up at his approval only drives him further into his heated lust. Is it just him or did the room get hotter?

"Yes really. You're a stunning artist, and I'm honored to have you participating in my classes." You couldn't help but notice the sweat that glistened under the florescent lighting. Pale white light isn't too flattering, but paired with that toned dark skin and deep brown eyes? Mr. Florence could honestly quit this hustle and work as a model. Paired with those long dreads pulled back to reveal that well shaped face... It's a wonder how he isn't even married.

"I... Wow, uh, thank you! But I wouldn't have gotten this far without an amazing teacher like you!" Your hand reaches to hold his, some instinct in his mind taking a second look over you. Compared to him, you were easy for the taking. Hopelessly trusting him. "Miss (Y/N), would you like to stop by my place this evening?"

You blink out of surprise, "Like a... Hangout?"

"Yeah. Just the two of us."

-----------

It was well past dark when you finally made it to his home. An isolated, rural home down a gravel road. Damn, he can afford this kind of land as a private art teacher? Absolutely no way, he has to have some kind of main income bigger than that! Either that or this is inherited land, but even so... The tax on this would be crazy. Stepping out of the taxi, you wave goodbye and take the walk to his front door. And yet, it was already slightly ajar.

"Mr. Florence?" You give the door a soft knock anyways, only for the man himself to open it all the way. "Ah! There's that sweetheart! Please, when we're not in class, call me Kade."

Unlike his sharp and dapper appearance he usually held in class, he wore a well fitting band tee and baggy grey sweats. You couldn't really tell what band he was wearing considering you've never seen the album before, but it made you relieved that he dressed just as casually as you had.

"Come on in, sweetheart. Would you like anything to drink?"

"I'm okay-"

"Aw come on, I can treat you to something! When you're in my house, it should feel like home..."

"Well... Okay, maybe I'll have..." With your choice made known to him, Kade smiles wide and continues to make what you both want. The scent in the room was just about your favorite kind. Odd, considering you've never even told him what that would be. The music playing softly from his speaker in the living room was your favorite album- and is that pillow on his couch a texture you like? Usually people have all kinds of furnishings you don't really like touching... But you were quick to sit right on the couch and cuddle this wonderful feeling pillow. If you knew better, you'd think he was trying to keep you here...

"Loving the pillows? I made the pattern myself with the help of my brother." He beams, placing both of your drinks on the coffee table in front of you both. "Then I should be careful with it- I didn't mean to-" "Hey, it's alright! Accidents can happen... Besides, he'd love to know that his art is being appreciated. We can always make another pillow." His words always had a way of soothing you. Since his serving of your drink is small enough, you finish with barely any time taken.

"Want another, sweets?" He tilts his head, but you shake yours. "I already had my dinner before coming." A bold faced lie, but Kade seems to take it well. Even when your belly rumbles, he doesn't even seem to notice. Past that little smirk he gets when hearing it.

It isn't until a little while later that you grow tired. "I think I have to go, I'm getting a little..." Kade wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his chest. "It's not a good idea to leave in the dark tired, especially if you took a taxi here. We've been having a problem with violence towards women in those things..." You look up with a little fear in your eyes, "Really? Then you think I should call my family...?"

"No!" He stops himself in his tracks to correct his tone, "You don't have to. I'll let you stay here until you're all rested up."

Your smile returns once more as your eyes flutter close. Your last breaths of freedom drawn into long and soft whispers as you rest.

--------------

Morning light peers through dark curtains, alerting your body to wake up. Yet, you found yourself unable to stretch. Behind you, your hands are bound by tight, rough string. Your neck adorns a little yellow collar, attached to the head of the bed by a loose orange rope. At the end stands your teacher, dreadlocks now let down to shadow his face.

"Mr. Florian...?"

"I told you last night, you can call me Kade..."

Oh, you get it now! This is a wet dream! Wet... Nightmare? Well, if this is the case, maybe you could break your chains with your mind! You turn your head to stare intensely at the loose rope holding the collar, but nothing budges. This does, however, draw a laugh from Kade. His eyes are gazing at you with pure adoration.

"You are just adorable, little pet. Do you honestly think staring at the rope will convince me to let you go?"

Kade approaches the foot of the bed, crawling onto it to approach your figure. It's only now you notice that you're reduced to a loose band tee and panties. In a desperate attempt, you try to twist your hands out of your bounds. Shit, this IS real!

"Now don't worry that pretty little head of yours..." The strapping young man shifts to get in between your legs, his hardened tent brushing against the thin fabric of your underwear. "I'll take care of you. My little class pet..."

One of his hands reaches to caress your face, to which you try your hardest to kick him off. "I-I never asked for this! I just wanted to..." He stops you with a soft kiss to your lips, adjusting to have you sitting on his lap. "Sweetheart," He pulls away to look into your eyes, "I know you wanted this. All along you have. How you look at me for all the praise I give you... How you doodle in my class little hearts and stars... Don't go back now that it's happening. Let me care for you."

Before you could utter a word, his lips met yours once again. Gentle yet giant hands work under your shirt to play at your braless breasts. So soft under his touch... No matter your size, he still manages to get his entire hand over your breast for both. Using his thumb to play at your nipples to elicit those sweet sounds from your throat. Your ever relaxing body tells him just how willing you'd be to please him.

"Good girl~" He coos into your ear after pulling away, moving his hips to tease your entrance with his bulge. The mixture of nipple play and grinding has you like putty in his hands. Half lidded eyes once full of fear now laced with lust for him. "K-kade..." You whimper. "What is it, sweetheart? You want to stop?"

That feverish head shaking tells him just what he knows. You want more. He's more than keen to please you, but teasing is just more fun. "Tell me what you want, little pet. I promise I can make it happen~"

"I... Please..."

"Use your big girl words. I know you're a grown woman."

"I-I want you..." You try to make it obvious with as few words as possible, the red of your face making it obvious how much this flusters you.

"Want me to... What?"

"I want you to... To fill me up...!"

"There we go! Was that so hard, sweets?" His teasing smile tells you just how much he enjoys embarrassing you, now slipping your panties to the side while lowering his sweats just enough to reveal his length. His cock throbbed hard with want for you, your eyes looking down with want and fear.

"Wait- Is that... Is that going to fit?"

"I'll take care of you well enough. You'll have to relax for me if you don't want to get hurt..." Kade knows well that it shouldn't do damage. It just boosted his pride to have you worried about it. He lifts you up by the waist and holds you over his size. "Just breathe for me. In and out. I don't want my favorite pet getting hurt now~"

Despite you being over him, Kade still clearly has the power. His grip on your waist kept you sliding onto his size. Halfway through, you whimper as tears prick your eyes. "Come on, sweetheart, I know you can take it all! You're a tough girl, aren't you?" His words try to inspire comfort, but it's clear this was stretching you to your limit. Even with your tears now spilling, Kade still pushes you on. Getting you to his hilt as you pant heavily.

"Aww, you're so cute... I knew you could do it." He pats your head and immediately starts thrusting into your tight hole. It was almost too tight for Kade, but he only found that to be wonderful. He could mould you into his perfect creation. Break your walls and mend them into his perfect cocksleeve. You're going to be his canvas, and he's the painter that won't leave a single spot unpainted.

As for you, your whimpers turned into cries. Not just of pain, but of pleasure. His length ensured every spot is cared for, while one of his fingers reached to find that elusive clit. When he did find it, his middle finger stayed careful to not roughly overstimulate it. Even so, your first orgasm came way before his just by this little affection.

His brown eyes glint with amusement, "Already done? How about another one for me, sweets?" Small cries turned louder as he kept this assault going on your poor pussy. It aches and trembles for him to stop, and yet he simply keeps going. His cool demeanor couldn't tell you if he was even close or just getting started.

Time and time again, you came and came for him. Three orgasms in, he was finally approaching his own. "Fuck-" He curses under his breath, now wrapping both arms around you to pump into you. "Stay like that for me- yeah, like that! You're such a good fucking girl~"

He closes his eyes tight and presses his lips into the skin of your neck, thrusts getting shorter and faster in-between each one. You try your hardest to mutter any words about him cumming inside, but it all falls out as senseless. With one last thrust, bursts of semen rope out of his cock and into your sweet womb. Coating all along the inside and dripping from your hole. A few little thrusts come right after, if only to ensure that all of his white batter successfully made it into your pussy.

"Ahh!~ Aww, fuck, yeah... Such a sweet girl... So tight and good for me... Little pet..." He leans up to kiss your forehead, looking into those eyes of yours. "This was way too good... I think I'll keep you here. Don't worry, you'll be the greatest pet~"

[brandyllyn]

Silk from their soul (13)

The Ghoul / Cooper Howard x f!reader [no use of y/n]

Rated: T Words: 1.7k Summary: Daisy, Daisy

Series Masterlist My Masterlist

Sunlight wakes you up.

Your Cowboy isn’t nearby and he definitely didn’t wake you up for your watch. You stretch, noting the bandage wrapped around your arm. You can’t even imagine how tired you must have been to sleep through him removing the needle.

Then again, yesterday had been quite the day.

There’s a bottle next to you, filled with distinctive red and yellow pills. You swallow one down, figuring the lingering effects of the Rad-Away will stack well enough with the Rad-X. No sense in not being careful, and their presence is signal enough that your Cowboy has his mind on some things.

Good, so did you.

The fire is out and you slowly sit up, digging in your pack for breakfast. You’re halfway through a ration bar when he strides back in, all confidence and cocksure grin.

“Looks like we might make the foothills today if we hustle.”

You nod, swinging the pack on and climbing to your feet, mouth half full of dry oats. The sudden movement makes you wince and you try to shift your weight as inconspicuously as possible.

He notices, of course.

“You hurt?”

“Sore,” you mumble, trying not to meet his eye.

“Sore? From wha-?” He seems to suddenly realize and that cocksure grin of his gets even wider, if that’s possible. “Well now, can’t say there’s much I can do about that.”

“Well, I’m going to need some recovery time,” you tell him primly, trying to hide your smile when he laughs.

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he catches your hand and presses a kiss to your fingers, slipping one into his mouth briefly before letting you slide away, “plenty of other trouble we can get up to.”

Was it hot in here? You were suddenly sweating.

Thankfully - for your journey more than your sanity - he sets off for the day after that exchange, pace steady and sure. The ground is mostly dirt and you walk side by side down what’s left of an old road.

“Can I ask you a question?”

He glances your way from under the brim of his hat. “S’pose that depends on the question.”

“What do you do?” He blinks at you and you rephrase, “I mean, you’re obviously pretty good with a gun, you’re… what you are. I’m just wondering - what do you do? To earn caps? To pass the time.”

“Oh,” he turns from you to scan the horizon, drawing the word out, “bit of this, bit of that.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Never said I would.”

You huff, picking your way around some rubble. “Gigolo?”

It gives you a little too much satisfaction to see him stumble, head turned back to look incredulously at you. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’d be good at it,” you say blandly as you pass him. You don’t get far, his hand catching on the back of your skirt and pulling you back into his chest.

“They do say if you’re good at something, never do it for free.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any caps on me,” you sigh theatrically, reaching back to slink a hand behind his neck, “do you take any other forms of payment?”

He bites you in retaliation, his tongue quickly soothing the flesh. You should be more concerned, you know that. He’s necrotic and by all accounts has been for a long time. The chance he’s eaten a person were pretty high - although you can hope they weren’t alive at the time and deserved it a little.

“I think we can make some arrangements,” he drawls into your ear and you giggle, twisting away from him. There’s a group of abandoned buildings ahead of you and you dart towards them, listening for his footfalls behind you. He’s quick to follow, a gruff laugh escaping him as he gives chase.

You turn to skip backwards, grinning at him. “C’mon, you can do better than that.”

He bares his teeth at you and starts to say something when his eyes dart over your shoulder and suddenly he’s next to you, pushing you behind him.

“Well howdy fellas, something we can do for you?”

You turn and see them - four men, each with guns, standing in the road ahead. There’s another on top of a building nearby.

“We’re after the girl.”

“Well I’m thinking you might have to find one of your own, this one here is mine.” He’s keeping himself between you and them and you have no problem letting him. He’ll heal up a heck of a lot quicker than you anyway.

“We ain’t lookin for trouble, ghoul. I imagine we’re all after the same thing.”

He cuts his eyes to you before turning back to them. “I thought you might say something stupid like that.”

The first gunshot takes you by surprise, his pistol jumping into his hand so quickly it looks like magic. One man goes down instantly as his compatriots scatter. Your Cowboy goes for the next but you lay a restraining hand on his arm, pulling him behind a wall.

“I thought we agreed on not shooting first and asking questions later?”

“I don’t intend to ask them questions, darlin’,” he responds, unholstering his rifle and casually taking aim around the corner. The shot makes you cover your ears but you still hear someone scream in the distance. The wall next to his head explodes and he jerks back, a piece of stone embedded just beneath his eye.

“You’re hurt!” you cry out, pulling his face towards yours. He shrugs you off, touching the area before refocusing. 

“It’ll be fine.”

You pull at everything in you and force him to look at you. “Let me talk to them.”

He curses but doesn’t shoot again, glaring at you all the while. You wait a moment before calling out in your sweetest voice, “It seems we got off on the wrong foot.”

“That bastard killed Darryl!”

You glare at your Cowboy who looks entirely unrepentant. “Well, you were holding guns on us, it’s a dangerous place out here.” 

A breeze caresses your face and you take a chance, stepping around the wall over your Cowboy’s spluttered protests. Your skirt whips around your knees and against the back of your neck as you hold your hands up. “I’m sure we can come to an amicable agreement!”

A head pops up, the scarred face staring back at you slack jawed. “Well hell you look just like her, Daisy Mae in the flesh.”

Groaning softly you try to keep your expression chipper. “Ain’t that something! May I ask what you’re here for?”

“You know what we’re here for.”

Well shit, you did. It was too much to hope that that asshole hadn’t sent people after you. But you really didn’t want them talking about that. “Well, then I think you also know that I’m not really interested in acquiescing.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“She ain’t going with you, numbnuts.”

You try not to roll your eyes at your Cowboy’s words. He gives you a look of wide-eyed innocence. “Want me to rephrase that as a question?”

There’s the sound of a shot, and suddenly pain blooms along your side. You clutch at it automatically, gasping softly, and then he’s there. Your Cowboy. One arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you out of the line of fire.

Distantly you hear yelling, hear the men arguing with each other. But all you can see is the burned face of the man above you. 

“Ah shit,” he grunts, pressing a cloth to the wound, “you ain’t got enough blood to be losing this much.”

“Sorry,” you mumble in return, trying to give him a halfhearted smile, “I’d rather it be on the inside too.”

He gives you a quick smile, pressing your hands to the cloth. “Am I allowed to do some hurting now?”

You wave a hand weakly, “Have at it.”

It’s efficient, whatever it is. Seven shots over the course of less than a minute. All of them from him as far as you can tell. None of them sound far enough away to be anyone else. You poke at the wound as he does it, grimacing at the ragged edges. Hopefully it wasn’t organic - you could probably heal up from a bit of metal if you were careful - but organic stuff had a tendency to fester.

Boots crunch on rock and you barely glance up as your Cowboy drops into a crouch next to you. He’s got a pack in his hand, a bandage in the other. You try to wave him off but he bats your hands away. 

“It ain’t much, but it’ll set you up til we can find somewhere safe.”

“I’m fine,” you try to tell him even as he presses the somewhat clean gauze to your wound. “I don’t need-”

He cuts you off with a hand around your wrist, pulling you to your feet and throwing your arm over his shoulder. You cry out in pain and he freezes for a moment before wrapping an arm around your waist. 

“You’ve been shot, so unless you and I got a fair bit more in common than you’ve been letting on, we need to get it treated.”

You nod, biting your lip. It hurts like a son of a bitch and you do your best to keep quiet as he leads you off in a different direction, towards what looks like a decently preserved building. Inside there are bedrolls and the remains of a fire - even a cot in one corner which he leads you near before leaning you against a wall. A moment later he reappears with a blanket from your pack, throwing it over the stained mattress and guiding you to lay down.

“Wait here, don’t move. I’m going to go roll the bodies, see if they have anything on them.”

“Roger that,” you say weakly, trying to give him a halfhearted salute. He snorts a laugh before heading out.

You close your eyes, just for a moment. Just to keep your head from spinning.

☢ ☢ ☢

For updates follow and turn on notifications for @brandyllyn-writes

[the-east-art]

Hadestown High School production thoughts:

Overall great! Awesome costuming and great work and acting and set!

There’s still several songs I prefer from the earlier albums

I don’t like the line ‘why build wall make people walk in straight lines’ I think it casts the viewer farther away from understanding Hades

Hades couldn’t get deep enough but he had great character acting! Was good at getting in real close when he was angry, looking like he was above everyone else. And then in the later sections did a great job at looking uncertain

At wait for me ii Hades gives Persephone her suitcase. Nice touch

Oh also when Persephone and Hades hug the first time they do like a collapsible prop that that a flower springs up between them and it’s just so good.

The Wind and the Elements (like the trees and the birds) were interpretive dance which actually looked really good and was done really well.

Persephone did a great job at making it clear that when she’s up she plays to them and when she’s below she plays them as well. During Our Lady she kinda just shoves around the bar patrons around, which is great contrast to Orpheus later who actually helps people up.

The ‘road to hell’ (wait for me i, ii, and doubt comes in) was largely made by planks of wood the ensemble would move. They used it to make floating stairs and obstacles for Orpheus to climb across and through. It looks really cool.

Orpheus was fantastic. Voice of an angel.

Sadly, Persephone and Hades couldn’t quite pull of How Long. Persephone had a habit of stealing time a lot, which works in her solos, but less in How Long, and Hades agains struggles to actually get into the deep register.

There was no overture, the play just starts with Hermes asking if you’re ready. Intermission ends without house lights going off and Persephone just starts while they dim.

They did the bows after Road To Hell reprise, and then did We Raise Our Cups which was fun

The energy of the intros in the first song are INFECTIOUS. Absolutely loved it.

Hades wore a green tie, a snake pin, and snakeskin shoes. Very nice. And he has the rattle for the rattlesnake part.

They used the aisles A LOT but I loved it.

In Doubt Comes In Orpheus walks around the aisles around the contorted bodies of the ensemble which was a little weird but did a good job at making it feel like they’re navigating a cave or something, and I personally thought gave the vibe of them having to navigate around dead bodies.

Road To Hell reprise has them reset the blocking and the characters do the same stuff they did for their intros - very fun

Brownie said they should have had a new person for Orpheus and Eurydice in that song to show how the cycle continues with new people and she’s so right (although I totally get that it would have thrown off the audience too much)

The fates actually played their instruments, had cool tattoos, and fiddled with their string the whole time

I’ve never realized how much the dates are the ones pushing everyone to the dated outcome until this.

I also never realized that Chant ii ending is Hades tlaking to Eurydice

Oh when Eurydice speaks up Hades eyes her up and down before taking Persephone on the train

They had a whole scaffolding for Hell which was great.

Oh oh! In the Orpheus and Eurydice duets they have them on a wheeled tables that goes in circles. And they brought down ‘stars’ as strung up lights (which looked way better than just a light projection tbh)

[gummydummy19]

Movie night

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x male reader

Summary: The boys catch their girl getting an early start on movie night and it makes the night take an interesting turn.

Content Warnings: Threesome, smut, dom/sub dynamics, watching porn, squirting, P/V sex, mentions of anal

A/N: I'm genuinely ashamed at how long this took me to write... thank you @hauntedkittenfun for the request and the incredible patience lol

Word Count: 2800+

You were out with Steve, walking around the grocery store looking for snacks. Tonight was movie night. It was a tradition Steve and Natasha had for years and when you joined the Avengers, it didn't take long before they invited you to join. The three of you were basically inseparable. Always goofing around together, flirting and teasing.

'Found it! Steve chirped, dropping two big bags of popcorn in the shopping cart you were pushing.

'Great, I think that's about it' you said, scanning the cart to make sure you had everything.

The both of you loaded your shopping bags in the car and drove back to the compound.

You glanced over at Steve who was sitting in the passenger seat, looking all pretty.

'Hey, eyes on the road,' he joked

'Aye aye, captain,' you grinned back

When you arrived home, you expected Nat to come out and help you put the groceries away, but she was nowhere to be found.

You had agreed to watch the movie in the living room since that room had the biggest TV. So that's where you decided to look first.

'Do you...do you hear something?' Steve mumbled halfway down the hall.

'No...what do you hear?' you asked Steve, knowing his super hearing never let him down.

'I...uhm...' there was an undeniable blush creeping up Steve's cheeks, and quite frankly...it was adorable.

You raised your brow, curious at what he was hearing, so you walked closer to his door.

As you got closer to the living room, you started hearing it too. Soft moans combined with high-pitched ones.

It couldn't be? Right?

Well, only one way to find out. Your hand moved faster than your brain as you threw open the door, catching Nat in the middle of the couch with her hand between her legs, watching a very...interesting piece of film.

"That's not the movie we agreed on missy," you grinned.

Steve stood behind you red as a tomato and very quiet.

“I thought I had more time before you guys came home...” Nat pouted. She didn't look embarrassed at all. It was almost like she wanted to get caught...

'Is that so?' you teased, 'Well, don't let us spoil your fun...'

'Want me to keep going?' she asked innocently

'Hmm...' you dared.

'Only if you guys join me...'

You raised your brow again, only a tiny bit surprised at her request.

'What do you think, Stevie?' you asked, looking slightly over your shoulder.

He was a mess already. His cock had been straining against his pants since he heard the sounds from the hallway.

You backed up a bit into him, letting your ass rub slightly against his bulge as you tangled your fingers in his hair.

'Should we join her?'

You slowly guided Steve to the couch with you. You could tell he was having trouble deciding where to look; you, Nat, or the girl wantonly pounding her own pussy with a considerably large sex toy on the television.

The decision was made quite rapidly when said girl suddenly let out a particularly loud moan. The three of you simultaneously turned your heads toward the screen, just in time to catch the girl squirt all over her bed.

'Christ...' Steve nervously mumbled, 'there's no way that's real...'

It was Natasha's turn to raise her brow, as she gave Steve a curious look.

'Sure it is, Stevie...why wouldn't it be real?'

'It's just...it's so...I just don't buy.' He stated

'Steve, I'm telling you it's real, I swear. It's called squirting.' she explained

'Oh yeah? Well...prove it then.' He dared, clearly gaining a bit more confidence as his brain turned to full on horny-mode

'Yeah? Want me to show you?' she drawled

'Hmm...'

Natasha wasted no time in turning off the TV and placing herself down in the middle of the coffee table.

You and Steve plopped down on the couch, watching Natasha as she started teasing her fingers up and down her folds before sliding two of them inside her pussy in one swift motion.

She had been playing with herself for quite some time before she got caught and it had left her wetter than ever.

The sight of her with her legs spread and her head thrown back is better than any porn video you'd ever seen. You couldn't help but slide your hand down to your crotch, squeezing your bulge.

'You can't do it, Nat.' Steve taunted, trying to keep his voice steady.

fucking brat, you thought.

'O-oh no?...' she moaned, speeding up her movements.

Barely a couple seconds later she let wailed out as she started squirting so hard you felt your dick twitch, making you groan.

You looked over to Steve and noticed his face was a little wet...

'That's what you get for calling me a liar...' Nat mumbled cheekily, making you chuckle.

'Look at that, Stevie, Nat's not the only one who is wet anymore...' you laughed, pressing a kiss against his cheek to sneak a taste.

'I wanna see that again...' was all that Steve said before getting on his knees in front of Nat.

'Hey, don't get greedy...sharing is caring, Stevie,' you pouted, taking a seat next to him as he gave you a warm smile.

'You're right...' he mumbled, pulling you closer, 'C'mere...'

Steve pressed a needy kiss to your lips as you felt his big hands rub all over your crotch, making you groan in his mouth.

'Can you...?' he questioned, glancing over to Natasha's glistening pussy. 'You're better at this...show me how to do it...'

God. How could anyone ever say no to him?

Your eyes moved from Steve's pleading gaze to Nat's desperate one.

'Can I?' you checked, although you were pretty sure what the answer was gonna be.

'Please...' she whined, wiggling her hips a little.

'Open up,' you told Steve before gently putting two of your fingers into his greedy mouth. He sucked on them eagerly, making your cock twitch again.

'Take my cock out,' you commanded, 'but keep your eyes on her pussy, you don't wanna miss anything now do you, Stevie?'

'No, Sir' he whispered after he released your fingers, moving quickly to do as he was told.

You rubbed your spit-covered fingers over Nat’s clit first, making her shudder.

'See that, that's a very important spot when you wanna make her cum,' you explained as Steve took out your throbbing cock.

'But we don't wanna wear her out too soon, do we?' you taunted, letting your finger slide down a bit before stopping at her dripping hole.

'No, we wanna get her a little desperate first...' your finger teased around her entrance.

You looked at Steve to see his eyes glued on Natasha's pussy just like you told him to, all while he kept stroking your cock perfectly.

'Good boy, Stevie...' you praised lowly, 'now this next part is very important...'

You slowly pushed both fingers inside of her, immediately curling them up against that sensitive, spongy spot, making her whine and buck her hips a bit.

'Theeerree we go...' you chuckled, moving your fingers a little.

'This spot right here, Stevie....that's a very important one when you wanna make her squirt...'

Natasha moaned louder as you kept pumping your fingers inside of her. You slowly picked up the pace, hitting her spot a bit rougher each time.

'Feel that pressure build, baby?' you looked at Nat.

'Yeah...fuck...oh...' she whined, throwing her head back again.

Your free hand reached down to stop Steve's movements. You brought his hand up to your mouth and sucked his fingers

'Still watching, Stevie? The next part is gonna be really fun...' you groaned as you felt his grip tighten on your cock.

All he could do was nod furiously as he watched you move even quicker. Natasha let out another loud moan and before you knew it she was squirting again.

'That's a good fucking girl,' you groaned.

Steve had halted his movements. Too mesmerized to focus on jerking you off.

When Nat blinked her eyes back open she noticed both you and Steve and a couple drops on your shirts and faces.

She let out a tired giggle, hiding her face in embarrassing as she let herself lay back on the coffee table.

‘Oh my god…’ she mumbles with her hands still covering her face. ‘I wanna apologize but technically it’s really not my fault…’

'Hmm...don't be embarrassed, baby' you chuckle, hungrily licking your fingers clean. 'Tastes even sweeter than the popcorn...'

"I wanna try..." Steve mumbled, pushing your hand away to make room for his own.

Nat immediately moans at the touch, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as Steve stuffs his large fingers in her pussy.

'M'sensitive, Stevie...' she whines.

'Yeah? What if I find that special spot, huh? Is it sensitive there?' he taunted, his demeanor switching from subby to dominant in an instant as he wiggled his fingers a bit, immediately hitting the spot he was talking about.

Natasha keened in response, arching her back off the table as she squirted again.

'Fuccckkk!!' she whined as Steve moved his other hand to press on her lower belly, stretching out his thumb to rub circles over her swollen clit.

'SHIT I'M CUMMING! DADDY!' she screamed out, squirting even harder than before.

Steve fingered her through her orgasm with the smuggest of smiles before pulling his fingers out of her.

He was going to lick them clean, but you grabbed his hand and put his fingers in your own mouth instead, moaning as you tastes Nat's wetness.

'Don't forget who's in charge here, baby.' you teased before pulling him in for a dirty kiss.

'Lay down.' You commanded him and he happily obliged, wiggling off his jeans in the process.

You turned to Nat, who was just starting to come back to her senses before you kissed her breathless again.

'Get on top of him.'

'Yes sir...' she said with a smile, eagerly obliging just like Steve.

The second Natasha sinks down on his dick, Steve enters his dominant mode again, grinning at her as she struggled to take his cock.

'There you go...take all of me.' Steve groaned, guiding Nat down on his cock with his hands on her hips.

Nat huffed out a breath as she adjusted to his size, planting her palms against Steve's broad chest as she slowly started to bounce up and down on his cock.

Steve allowed her to have her fun.

For a minute...

'My turn now, sweetheart.' he smirked as he grabbed her shoulders, pulling her down on his cock as he started pounding into her.

Hard.

It didn't take long for her to squirt again all over his cock and stomach, making her moan out as she did so.

'Look at that, Stevie. You're turning our girl into a damn water fountain,' you joked as you watched him pound into her, stroking your cock as you observed.

Hearing you call her 'your girl' made Natasha's stomach flip. If it wasn't for Steve holding her up, she would have toppled over as another orgasm coursed through her body.

Steve really put his super soldier stamina to good use, pounding into her with no signs of stopping.

'Shit, shit, S-Steveee....' Nat whined, trying to push her hands against his stomach to get him to slow down.

'P-please, please stop, please...' she begged until he finally let up with a big grin plastered on his face.

'Too much?' he chuckled as she dropped her head to his neck, trying to catch her breath.

'Hmm...' she mumbled, unable to speak, making him chuckle again before he pressed a kiss in her hair.

'You okay?' you asked, sitting closer to the two of them as you gently rubbed up and down her back.

'Yeah...more than okay,' Nat smiled shyly.

God, she was so fucking gorgeous.

'Okay enough for another round?' you smirked

Her grin told you all you needed to know and you wasted no time in helping her off Steve's lap.

'Holy fuck...' Steve chuckled, finally admiring all the wetness that covered his body. 'how do you even squirt that much?'

'Well, I don't know...just kinda happens when you have a huge cock ramming into your g-spot over and over again...' she joked, making Steve throw you a smug look.

'Yeah yeah, keep smiling like that, Stevie. I bet you I can make her squirt harder.' you teased, crawling on top of Nat as she laid back on the floor.

'You're just talking shit, dude.' Steve shot back

'Oh yeah? Let's see who can make her squirt the most then.'

'Deal.'

You started pounding into Nat again almost immediately. The three of you went at it for hours. Leaving not only Natasha but the entire living room a mess.

'There we go....give me another one...' you groaned, making Nat squirt for the 6th time, 'good fucking girl...'

A few messy kisses later, Steve was pumping into her from behind, making her drip all over the carpet, groaning all kinds of filthy stuff in her ears.

It was kinda hot seeing him get all dominant with her, knowing he got all subby for you in the blink of an eye.

'What was that now, huh? Number 10? Number 11?' Steve taunted.

Nat was a blubbering mess. Mascara streaked down her cheeks as she giggled through the tears, all blissed out.

'I...I don't...just...uh...I-' she tried to string a sentence together but to no avail.

'My turn again.' You grinned, flipper her over so you were lying on top of her as you slid your throbbing cock into her abused hole.

You leaned down to kiss her, slow and passionate as you picked up the pace a little, making her whine.

'Need to cum...gonna let me cum in that fucked out pussy of yours?' you groaned, grinning when she nodded a bit too fast.

'Please...fill me, Daddy...need it so bad."

After basically edging yourself for yours, it didn't take long before you blew your load into Nat's pussy, letting your head drop against her shoulder, relishing in the way she ran her nails over your scalp.

'fuck....that was...jesus christ...' you huffed out, trying to catch your breath.

'Hmmm...' she smiled sweetly

'I think I lost track tho...Stevie, do you remember how many times that was?'

'M'not sure....maybe we should start over' he grinned, causing Natasha to throw the nearest pillow to his face.

'Next time we can check to see who out of the two of you can cum the most…I wonder if you will still laugh as much then'

'Okay okay...m'sorry...' you chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead before pulling out.

As you moved to lay down next to Nat, Steve got a full view of Natasha's open legs. Watching as your cum leaked out of her made his eyes twinkle.

'See something you like?' Nat giggled, seeing how Steve licked his lips as he stared at her cunt like it was his favorite snack on the planet.

'Hmm...lay back, princess....just let me have one more taste...' he mumbled before attaching his lips to her stuffed hole.

'Fuck...Steve....' She moaned while he ate her out with vigor.

Nat was too caught up to notice, but you didn't miss Steve bucking his hips into the pillow you threw at him earling as he whined at your taste leaking out of Nat's pussy.

Soon he stuffed two of his think fingers inside her, pressing that sensitive spot one more time.

'Just give me a last one...just one more...' he moaned, attaching his lips to her pussy as he fingered her.

Nat trembled as she came hard, squirting right into Steve's mouth while he groaned loudly, bucking his hips into the pillow fervently, covering it in his cum.

'fuck,' Steve groaned out, the blush on his cheeks increasing by the second.

'U okay there, Stevie?' you teased, making him hide his face in embarrassment.

'Shit...that was not how that was supposed to go down...' he explained, 'It was just so hot, and it tasted so fucking good....'

You laughed at Steve's adorable embarrassed face, pulling them both close to you on the large couch.

'Are you guys okay?' you asked earnestly as they snuggled up to you

'Hmm...' It sounded from both sides before silence took over for a minute.

'I definitely won, tho' you stated smugly, anticipating Steve's reaction.

'The hell you did!' he shot up, making you laugh

'Maybe we need a rematch sometime…' Natasha weighed in, making you both turn to her with a hopeful look

'You wanna do this with us again?' You asked

Your heart lit up a little when she gave you an adorable nod, snuggling close to you again.

'That was the best sex of my life...and besides...I've had a crush on you guys for months...' she admitted.

'Y-You...You have?' Steve studdered.

'Yeah....I was hoping you would walk in on me earlier...'

'I'm glad we did.' You promised, relishing in the feeling of your two favorite people snuggled up to you, warm and satisfied.

Taglist;

@metalbuckaroo @princessayveke @montsepliego @scxrletrecsmarvel @hopelesslyrogers @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @tfandtws @vicmc624 @ahahafudge @enchantedbarnes @wickedravyn @pono-pura-vida @amayaraestyles @matchat3a @fictional-hooman @sebastianexplicit @peaches1958 @avengersfan25 @jamneuromain @tryingtoliveonmywishes @mrsevans90 @daybreak96 @tiredqueen73 @fallingforunrealisticromance @identity2212 @randomweirdoss @ragamuffin285 @juliaorpll78 @geralts-yenn @imjusthereforliam @bangtanstoeart @squeezyvalkyrie @enchantedbytomandhenry @superduckmilkshake @kingliam2019 @bascmve01 @missgaygurl @foxyjwls007 @mollymal

[frozenjokes]

A Little Question About Love (It’s Not Little At All, Though Scar Is A Bit Frustrated It’s Not As Simple As It Is On TV)

“Hey, thanks again for driving me to the zoo all week, G, I really appreciate it. Still can’t believe how stiff my arm is, I mean, yeah, I expected it to hurt for a while, but I’m so sore!”

Grian chuckled in the driver’s seat, but kept his eyes on the road as he turned onto the street where the employee parking lot was located. Given how massive Scar’s zoo was, it took quite a while to navigate the surrounding area, so he needed to maintain some focus. “So sore you can’t bring your other one up to the wheel either? That sounds pretty bad, Scar, maybe I should turn this car back around and take you home. You might even need to go back to the hospital!”

“No! No no, that won’t be necessary. I just can’t drive, Grian, see, the seatbelt pushes real hard on my arm and shoulder and when I lift it like that it’s so much worse! Blame the seatbelt, blame the seatbelt.”

“And your other arm?”

“Have you heard of phantom pain?”

“Pretty sure we already discussed that’s not how phantom pain works, but sure Scar, go on.”

“Agony, Grian, agony. Can’t lift my arms,” Scar caught Grian’s eye, throwing him a wink, “Only in the car though. A very specific problem, nothing any doctor could address without wasting hours of our time.”

“Our time?”

“Well, duh, you’re my driver!” Scar laughed, and Grian joined him, unable to help himself. Scar could never accept an injury as it was and let himself rest when he needed it. Always moving, always working; that was the Scar way. An idle Scar was a miserable one; it didn’t matter what he was doing as long as he was moving, though he always did prefer to have someone to talk to. It’s why he hated to be at home for too long, or worse, the hospital he frequented as a result of his recklessness. Grian had a theory it’s why he hated driving as well. Sure, it wasn’t quite idle, but sitting still and focusing was not Scar’s forte. Of course, Grian didn’t mind.

He was content with the small silence as he pulled into the parking lot, but Scar would never let that stand.

“I’ve been thinking about something you said recently. I'm just curious, I guess.”

Grian tensed, glancing in Scar’s direction. He looked thoughtful, but in an impossibly neutral way, difficult to read. “Scar, that could mean anything, buddy. Gonna need you to be a lot more specific.”

“Oh!” Scar looked surprised, as if he hadn’t just said something deeply terrifying, “Sorry! Just thinking. It was with Mumbo, after he got upset and bit me, y’know. When I wanted to go after him, I mean. You were really worried and it kinda made me think and stuff.”

Grian deflated, his shoulders sinking a little closer to his chest, “Scar, I really don’t want to talk about that. You know it makes me upset.”

“No- it’s not about you getting upset, I know why you were and I really am sorry. That’s another thing that’s been in my mind but not the thing,” Scar began to ramble and Grian let himself fall back against the seat, resigned to the fact that this was happening. He didn’t want to have this conversation again. He just didn’t want Scar to get himself killed; a high order apparently.

Scar continued regardless, “It was more about.. I dunno, I mean, I’d say we’re pretty close. We’re close, right?” Scar didn’t give Grian any time to answer, “And you said that I mean a lot to you, and you mean a lot to me too, but I don’t know what that means to me, and then you said that I’ve got a lot of people who love me, but it kinda sounded like you were saying you loved me, and that’s great, I also have feelings that are like that, but I also also don’t know what that means really, to love someone. And I was just thinking about it. I love you, of course I do, but what does that mean? Does it mean anything? When you told me you loved me, what did that mean to you?”

Grian gaped. What the fuck else could he do. What the fuck was even happening here???

“Scar. Are you. What are you asking here. What are you saying.”

“I love you.”

“Okay.” Grian gripped the wheel so hard he was sure his nails would leave indents. He didn’t even bother trying to park; halfway between the lines of two spots would have to do. “You love me. What does that mean.”

“I don’t know. That’s why I asked you.” Scar was infuriatingly relaxed, like this was just a normal conversation with zero implications at all.

“I can’t tell you how you feel, Scar!”

“Well you said you loved me first, so I was asking you what that meant.”

“I didn’t- I said people love you, Scar, like your friends and family! That people would be very upset if you died doing something dumb- it- it wasn’t meant to be some kind of confession?”

“Oh, I didn’t think so!” Scar threw up his hands in defense, like that was at all obvious.

“Then what did you think?”

“I thought that you loved me.”

“Of course I love you- obviously I love you. What is happening here? Why are you so stuck on this?”

“I just don’t know what it means. I don’t know how to tell the difference and I thought that if you loved me you might be able to tell me. I feel like I love everyone the same, and that’s all sorts of confusing. I mean, maybe besides family love, but that’s more complicated, there’s like- layers.”

Grian had to fight to keep himself from gaping. This was not the conversation he thought he’d be having today. “Well,” he forced his voice back into a more even tone, something a little nicer, “For me, yeah, kinda. There’s a lot that goes into love, layers, like you said. There’s the kinda unconditional respect I have for most everyone, and it builds from there? Friendship of course, elements of physical attraction can further things sometimes. Attraction in general makes a big difference, and not just physical, it’s an emotional thing too. Personality. Mannerisms. It’s a slow thing for me most of the time. That’s not always the case though, some people fall fast. For me it’s like.. a slow infatuation with the wholeness of someone. Not necessarily loving every trait, but kinda respecting it, y’know?”

“Like friends.”

“Like- no, not like friends, like being in love. Romantically.”

“That’s friends though.”

“It’s not- Scar how many of your friends do you feel all those ways about- how many of your friends are you physically attracted to?”

“A few. Close friends, Grian, obviously. And come on, like all of our shared friends are hot, physical attraction can not be the deciding factor here, that does not make any sense.”

Grian shrugged. “We do have many hot friends.”

“I know! I think you’re attractive.”

If Grian had been drinking anything he would have spit it all over the dashboard, “You- Scar!” Scar didn’t seem to notice his words had any effect though, rambling on.

“I mean, seriously, what the hell is supposed to be the difference here! Platonic, romantic, I’m half convinced everyone has just been lying to me. I keep waiting for all these rainbows and sparkles to light up in my brain and go yup! There it is! That’s romance, that’s love, and it’s like- yeah love as in my friends who I love dearly, who I’d happily spend the rest of my life with if I got the chance-“

“-Scar-“

“-Yeah, I mean obviously when I tell you I love you I mean very explicitly every single one of those things you mentioned. Every! One! I don’t hand out ‘I love yous’ for free, I mean it. That’s not the same for everyone though, and that doesn’t bother me or anything, but doesn’t it feel a little confusing sometimes? So that wasn’t what you meant when you said that, right?” Scar looked at him so genuinely, so innocently, like that was the easiest question to answer in the world.

“Uhm. Yeah, I. Love. I love you, Scar.”

“Great!” Scar preened, apparently fully, completely, entirely satisfied with what just happened here, “This is great. Glad we’re on the same page.” And then he gathered his things and just left. Opened the car door, personal items in hand, and walked away with a goddamn smile on his face before Grian could even hope to yell out the window, WE ARE NOT ON THE SAME PAGE.

Instead, he buried his head in his hands, screamed a little, punched the passenger seat, let his face hit the car horn, then drove home, feeling overall very normal about that little conversation.

read the rest of the fic here

[soemthingsparkly]

HCC RANCHERS SNIPPET (if you feel no inclined)

YESSIR O7

---

Tango's Apartment

Sometime in the future.

By the time Tango wakes up that morning, he's already got a stack of texts from Jimmy waiting in his notifications. 

He smiles into his pillow, giving himself one more long moment of enjoying the glee that surges in his stomach at the thought of him. 

It's been roughly two months since their first kiss - the one that allowed them to shift what they had to what they have now. 

There's something still so very new and exciting for Tango to think of Jimmy as his boyfriend. It seems silly, even.

Especially, considering hardly anything has changed between them. Sure, there's a little bit more flirting now and it's exciting to know his affections are returned, but really?

Jimmy is still just his rancher. 

...

His Rancher. 

Tango smooshes his face into his pillow again and lets himself calm down, before finally checking his texts. 

Jimmy and Tango 

Sometime in the Future. 

8:41am 

Jimmy: Mornin' rancher :) 

Jimmy: Oh, i bet you're not awake yet actually 

Jimmy: hopefully you've got your phone on do not disturb or something 

Jimmy: if not then whoops 

Jimmy: alright I tried to refrain from texting you but I actually just can't help it 

Jimmy: I've just got a coffee and some brekkie and I'm about to head into the forest for a cosplay shoot I'm doing 

Jimmy: like that someone's hired me for I mean

Jimmy: I'm not in the cosplay obviously 

Jimmy: not that there's anything wrong with cosplay of course!

Jimmy: just that I'm not the one dressing up today 

Jimmy: or any other time actually 

Jimmy: not that I wouldn't but just that I haven't 

Jimmy: jeez Louise I'm chatting up a storm ma coffees gonna get cold blimey 

Jimmy: alright I'm gonna drink this and then hit the road and maybe by the time I get there I'll have learned not to be a total idiot :PP

Jimmy: hopes are not high

Jimmy: just arrived at the forest and I listened to that band that Skizz recc'd me on the way over 

Jimmy: man likes some weird stuff but after like the first 15 minutes I could kinda dig it actually 

Jimmy: hope you're sleeping well rancher

Jimmy: can't wait for you to wake up <3

Jimmy: right so elves can go to hell I've decided 

Tango: morning rancher heh 

Tango: quite the adventure this morning for you huh? 

Jimmy: Hey T! :) yeaaaaahhh

Jimmy: How'd you sleep? 

Tango: pretty well 

Tango: dreamt of you 

Jimmy: omg no I'm blushinggggg

Jimmy: wait did you actually?? 

Tango: mhm 

Tango: I dreamt that you decided to start your own hot dog stand outside the hermit 

Tango: you served hot dog water like coffee and I kept having to tell people we couldn't let them drink your hot dog water inside the hermit 

Jimmy: what??!?! dude that's so rude!! 

Jimmy: I thought you loved me :(( 

Jimmy: why wouldnt you support my business ventures T?? :(( 

Tango: hehe sorry it was X's fault 

Jimmy: sighhh 

Jimmy: I'll have to have a word with him next time I'm over 

Jimmy: let him know that big man Jim and his customers won't be denied comfortable seating like that, eh!!! 

Tango: oh he'll be trembling for sure 

Jimmy: I should hope so 

Jimmy: tell him his days are numbered 

Jimmy: cause I'll be there again in (hang on lemme check) 

Jimmy: 52 days!!! 

Tango: sigh 

Tango: too long :( 

Jimmy: I know :( 

Jimmy: I miss you rancher 

Tango: I really miss you Jim 

Jimmy: I miss you so much T 

Tango: Hey I have to get up and take a shower before work, but do you want to call on my way in? 

Jimmy: I'd love that yeah :) 

Tango: And you can tell me about the elves and their eternal damnation :P

Jimmy: omg yes 

Jimmy: I have never been so blooming mad at a man with a pair of pointy ear Tang! 

Tango: hehe 

Tango: can't wait to hear about it

Jimmy: can't wait to tell you!! 

Jimmy: go on then stinker 

Jimmy: talk to you again after :) <3

Tango: heh

Tango: talk after <3

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s3 episode 8 "oubliette" thoughts

i’m conflicted. i didn’t like this episode, and i don’t know if my reasoning is valid or not. but i guess at the end of the day it’s all subjective, right? it’s MY BLOG and i decide which episodes are good vs bad in the juni-verse.

(do not be offended if this is your favorite episode and i am slandering it. it’s not personal, pinky promise, but i explain my reasoning at the end, so let’s jump in)

((also i hear geese right now. not relevant but highkey distracting))

oooo today’s episode title looks french… i thought at first that it would mean (feminine) someone who forgets something, but it actually means “a type of dungeon with a single escape route”. the more you know!

i’m excited to watch this episode. it sounds interesting. it also sounds like it could be really really dark. so let’s see! (verdict: DARK!)

we open on high school picture day. a girl named amy is getting her pictures taken. these girls are in very cute outfits. a guy from the photography company is staring at amy though… OH! and stroking her picture in a darkroom. HELLO??? jail jail jail. 

(we later learn his name is carl. he will be referred to as “the creepy man” and “carl” alternatively throughout this post)

he cut out her picture and put it next to a picture of himself??? is he making a collage? GROWN MAN! GROWN MAN DOING ALL THIS BTW!!! in what looks like a trapdoor darkroom beneath his house. is this the aforementioned oubliette….?

amy is sleeping and. SOMEONE IS COMING IN HER WINDOW. NO MA’AM. it’s carl, who says that “nobody is going to spoil us”. a little girl sees this happen!!!! noooo… but maybe she can give a clue?? i mean a witness to a kidnapping seems like it’ll help solve the case, right?

now we are at a burger place, someone is taking a while to fill up some drinks- her name tag says “lucy”. and then there is BLOOD all over her from her nose. the boss looks majorly freaked. and she FAINTS! mumbling that nobody is going to spoil us. OH… so lucy and the girl must have some sort of connection. boy, that seems it'd be disruptive to the work day…

bum bum bum bum!!!! spooky noises. spooky imagery. you know it, you love it: the intro.

mulder and a very large coat are here to investigate the kidnapping. he is looking about at various rooms and walls. 

noooo, he is in a child’s bedroom :( and he finds a very sad mrs. jacobs looking out the window. he says they will do everything they can to help but she is like “how could you really know how i feel?"

well actually he is quite well versed in kidnappings!!! so please be mindful of your words. she walks away and he looks very sad. way to dig some stuff up for the guy. she didn’t mean it, i know, but still, it was a very purposeful dialogue choice.

(mulder is staring intently at dark red spots on the carpet) “it’s blood”, says a guy we have never seen before. excellent work detective. could have had me fooled. i was thinking it was jam /s

this guy thinks it was someone that knew her, mulder does not think this is the case because it was so bold. fight fight fight!

oh, he actually came on this case to talk to lucy from the burger place!!! and not for the kidnapping. we should have known that was far too conventional for our friend.

(door opens) (deep sigh) (scully’s voice from off screen) "mulder…" <- yeah this had me giggling. not even really sure why. they are reunited after a flight apart. it must have been harrowing. 

so, he explains: the girl, amy, is 15 years old, and was kidnapped. and twenty miles across town, lucy was repeating the same words the kidnapper said as she passed out! “well that’s spooky”, scully notes, and mulder replies “that’s my name, isn’t it?” <- LMAO

OH GET THIS: Lucy was kidnapped when she was 8 for FIVE YEARS!!!! until she was found by the side of the road. HUH??? THE PLOT IS THICKENING. same guy…? scully seems very deep in thought

first thing lucy says upon their entrance: “i’d like a cigarette” in the hospital. queen i think there are laws against this but idk 💔 

they explain that amy said those same words about spoiling it for us at the same time she did, and lucy has a thoughtful look on her face then says no, i know nothing about it. NOT BUYING IT!

paused on scully’s face to take notes and she really is just so beautiful huh. 

lucy asks when she can leave and they say um probs when the doctor says you can. and she’s like, no they said it was up to you. so they’re like uh yeah you can go. this is very exciting and she doesn’t even change before she leaves. 

CREEPY MAN ALERT. he’s on the side of the road with a busted tire and a tow guy offers to change it for him for $10. a screaming deal! until this fellow picks up a crowbar looking thing and screams LEAVE ME ALONE and chases him away!!! deeply suspicious behaviors. tow guy calls him a freak as he drives away. a very rare deserved case of calling someone a freak as you drive by them.

back at the station, the lead agent or whatever his title is tells mulder that lucy and her boyfriend have a criminal record, but mulder doesn’t think she’s involved. i’d have to agree, but maybe i’m easily fooled. 

“mulder, i got something- something weird” scully strides in the room and announces. and i’m thinking, YEAHHHH BABY, WE LOVE THAT AROUND THESE PARTS!!!

so, here is the weird stuff: lucy had two types of blood on her shirt that night… so scully is gonna test and see if there was a match to amy’s. but mulder doesn’t want lucy treated as a suspect, so he says to try and keep that quiet.

now we’re at a halfway house. a guy is going up some stairs whilst lucy shivers in bed. she has scratches all over her face and complains about being unable to see. and it looks like she has the same scratches as the girl in the creepy guy carl’s hole!!!

mulder rolling up to the halfway house. he asks to take lucy to dinner, as the paramedics say she is probably better now after her episode. 

she is going to town on some soup and insisting that she is clean, and you can even ask henry about this. she is very insistent that she CANNOT help amy, but he is trying to gently be like. well... maybe you CAN. and she says: NO.

back in the hole, amy is having pictures taken of her. and screaming

at the station. mulder is watching a video of lucy from 1978 where she is crying on the ground and also screaming. her eyes were hypersensitive to the light when she finally escaped from her kidnapping all those years ago. it’s honestly very upsetting to watch.

oh!! scully has a break in the case: all the school photos were sent out EXCEPT amy’s. and the assistant was fired THAT DAY AFTER THE SHOOT. his name is CARL. and he spent the last 15 years institutionalized “for a bipolar condition”. well would that make him not a suspect for whoever took lucy…? i can’t do math. but if she got back in ‘78 then it would be possible, right? because idk when s3 takes place. anyway, mulder’s gonna show the photo to lucy and see if she knows him.

(i groan when a story makes a villain bipolar or have any other mental health issue to enhance their ~scariness~. it’s cliche, it’s perpetuating harmful stereotypes, and it’s bad writing. i was mentally throwing tomatoes at the screen)

carl is leaving and he left amy in the basement. is this her chance to break free? or is it a trick. she finds a hole in the wall sealed with some wood and starts to rip it up 

back to lucy cam. mulder is trying to get her to stop running away and he grabs her shoulder and she says “DON’T TOUCH ME. i don’t like to be touched” this is understandable and he apologizes.

anyway, he shows her carl’s photo, and she starts to run away again, indicating that she does, in fact, know who it is.

back to amy cam. she’s trying to break free, but he is coming back in his car! he hears her trying to get out and sees her running out the window. she is running!!! into the woods!!! run run run run!!!

lucy is also running. 

but no!!! they both fall!!! mulder picks lucy up. nooooo, amy failed her escape attempt :(

but upon seeing the photo, lucy confirms that it IS the same guy that took her way back when. she says she feels like she’s going through it all over again. 

however, scully and the cops are at the door! lucy is suspicious. reveal: THE BLOOD ON THE UNIFORM WAS AMY’S!!! mulder is saying she didn’t do it, but scully says it’s concrete evidence. unless you believe in the migration of blood. 

carl is explaining to amy that she shouldn’t have run. she asks for some water. is she gonna make another break for it? no. she does not. but she does ask for her mom and also for her to please not die here. it’s very sad.

mulder throws out a theory: maybe lucy bled out amy’s blood. it’s a stretch. “i hate to say this mulder, but i think you just ran out of credibility” <- girl i think that was a while ago.

i jest, but it appears scully does not. yowch. okay, yeah, bleeding someone else’s blood is a little rough in terms of an idea, but some thoughts we try and keep inside our heads in terms of our pals having wild theories.

OHHHH... scully insinuating that he is seeing his sister in lucy, and that is why he cannot see her as the perpetrator when all the evidence points to it…. oh i felt chills... or some sort of adjacent negative experience. bad feelings washed upon me.

he says that not every single thing he does or says is traced back to his sister but… i’m actually not gonna agree with him on that one. anyway, he’s mad at her. and i would be too tbh!

someone is coming in to the station who saw carl. it’s the tow guy!! and he was spotted heading near the place lucy was found years ago!!! 

carl witnesses the cops racing off to his place. but the agents go to the photo store to see if he has an account. not a bad idea on behalf of mulder.

although, we don’t even know if they go in because next they are ambushing carl’s property. and they see the trap door!!! is she in there??? and she is!!!

WAIT NO. IT’S LUCY?? everyone is confused. 

okay, so they DID go to the photo store, because they have the photos of amy that were taken in the basement… i see now. i am listening and learning.

the cop guy wants to take lucy into custody because she can’t say why she is at the crime scene, but mulder is like “no i’ll take her” and scully tells the cop dude it’s alright. so now she must see what he was saying. he’s walking lucy out. and she’s saying that carl hasn’t touched amy, and then she starts shivering and coughing, saying she is cold and wet. and mulder’s touching her….

he says lucy is trying to tell them amy’s in a river, so they try to go there. and then when carl dunks amy underwater, lucy starts spitting up water!!! and then drowning in the car on land. 

agents are running in the woods.

they find carl, and mulder shoots him. then he runs off holding amy. so he starts doing mouth to mouth and she’s doing chest compressions and lucy is coming back to life?? maybe?? no.

scully is trying to tell him to stop because she’s dead, but he won’t, and they actually come to blows about it. he’s sitting there all soggy and wet and crying. but then she finally starts coughing!!! 

mulder learns that lucy was also dying, and he gets all freaked out and runs back to her. and lucy is, in fact, dead. he’s touching her face as water pours out of her and she’s crying. mulder is full on kneeling at her dead body and sobbing. and damn, if this moment didn't get me right in the chest.

scully shows up to the halfway house, where mulder is sitting on lucy’s bed with a bunch of pictures of her. scully says amy had NO INJURIES and she can’t explain it, but nobody wants to talk about it because everyone is relieved to have her back. and it turns out lucy drowned. despite being on land.

“mulder, whatever there was between them, you were part of that connection, did you think about that?” <- AUGH (girl who is in pain as scully tries to put into words how important he is to not just her, but the whole world)

but he says that dying was pretty much all amy could do to escape from her past. and i'm thinking, well, if this whole episode has been a way to comment on your past... what exactly are you saying? because i'm hearing things i don't like. what about the power of healing and friendship? have we tried this?

i’m not sure how i feel about this episode, so i want to hear your thoughts even more than usual. actually, i am pretty sure that i didn't like it. i love a good character-centric episode, and this was definitely a mulder episode, but i felt that scully was really sidelined. like REALLY sidelined. to the extent she felt almost mean, with the losing credibility comment and trying to get him to stop doing CPR and bringing his sister up into it. on the other hand, though, she did seem to accurately describe the situation as himself projecting his past onto these people. it was pretty clear that was the case no matter how much denial he had going on.

luckily, in long form content like this, when something is written that feels out of character, i have an ease of just ignoring it i feel is usually denied in tighter season or movies. like yeah, everyone has an episode or two where their favorite character acts weird as hell. i could already point to a couple episodes on mulder’s behalf- cough cough genderbender cough cough 3- so maybe this will even out the tally of agents doing stuff that feels wrong. and like those episodes, i can ignore them. i am the rememberer and when i need to i am also the forgetter.

(now, you may present an argument to me that these actions WERE in character for scully. and i will not deny you the chance to present that argument my way. i shall hear out cases with a fair and impartial nature. but my opinions have been voiced)

characterization aside. this was another dark episode with almost no lightheartedness. there were a few things i giggled early on, like the way she just announced his name when they’re reunited, but other than that… childhood kidnapping? a real bummer. also, their psychic connection wasn’t even explained. it didn’t seem to follow any sort of logic at all. she would just… snap into it sometimes and then out of it. but you couldn’t really tell why she’d snap into it beyond it seemed moments where amy was in danger. but like. when you’re kidnapped you’re basically in danger 24/7. so: ??? 

and the transmutation of physical injury. they said that amy had no injuries, but we could see she had the same face cuts and scrapes as lucy. so are they ignoring that or are we thinking that lucy dying absorbed all that damage…?

mulder also ends the episode saying that he thinks death was the only way lucy could escape her suffering, which has troubling implications for his own character and those who love him.

hmm. idk, i just don’t think i liked this one. i’m learning that i find children being hurt less campy and fun than aliens and bigfoot. a good scary episode can be that, both good and scary, but i didn’t feel scared because it still was fantastic in nature. when there was a real scary episode- i’m thinking of irresistible in s2- the reason that felt so scary was because it WAS an entirely human, no supernatural elements at all, spooky episode. and that was the whole point; that episode was used to explore scully’s greatest fears, her struggle with being unable to control every aspect of life, trying to grasp who she can and cannot trust, and the depths to which the human soul can descend. so we had something similar going on here, except that lucy was taking amy’s damage, and you can see how that sort of transmigration makes for a harder sell on the commentary of the evil things humans can accomplish, no?

hmm. again, please let me know. i actually might look this one up, because ever since i learned that there are wikipedia episodes for every single episode, i have mostly neglected that fact to avoid audience ratings sullying my own hot takes on the subject. but this one has me curious. 

[oflights]

Bloodweave Inn New Year's Prompts Day 1: Distraction: Gale’s Boots

written for @bloodweaveinn's New Year's Prompt Challenge! I rolled a 4, which means my prompt was Distraction: Gale's Boots. I haven't actually seen the High Rollers ep this is a reference to, so I just shoved it in the context of some fun Act 1 flirting.

This is ~1200 words, written in the span of a few sprints on the server; there is mention of canon-typical injury and violence. Enjoy! And join us at that link if you want to play!

“What are those?”

Gale jumps and narrowly avoids tripping on a tree root. Astarion is no help as he stumbles, simply gaping down at Gale’s feet with a rather discomfiting laser focus. It takes another moment for Gale to get said feet under him, and yet another for him to figure out what Astarion is precisely staring at.

“Oh! Do you mean my boots?”

Astarion now stares at Gale like he thinks he’s an idiot. Normally, Gale does not appreciate this—it’s not a look he’s ever gotten often in his life, nor an opinion he thinks many people have dared to have of him, he should hope. But as is becoming typical on this odd, tadpole-driven journey, Astarion is an exception—Gale finds himself flushing under his gaze, a bit flustered.

“Yes,” Astarion says, drawing it out very slowly. “I do mean the brand-new boots you happen to be sporting. Well done.”

Gale of Waterdeep, formerly a Chosen of Mystra, doesn’t like his tone. Gale with a bloody worm in his brain just flushes a bit harder. Maybe that’s a side effect, a warning of ceremorphosis he should note down somewhere once they make their next camp. They’re tromping through the forest to get back to the Risen Road, which will hopefully get them to the Mountain Pass unimpeded.

“Well, they’re boots,” Gale says, raising a foot and wriggling it a bit. He and Astarion are bringing up the rear of their little trek, with Wyll and Karlach leading the way while Halsin walks between Shadowheart and Lae’zel like a giant, gentle guard…bear. “We found them in that Zhentarim hideout. Karlach thought they might be magical so she gave them to me to, erm, consume, but no—they’re just a fine pair of boots.”

Fine is exactly correct—the boots are good quality brown leather, sturdier than the ones Gale replaced, with some nice golden trim and well-polished, matching buckles. Gale has worn nicer, more fanciful boots back home, but for being out on the road with rather slim pickings, he thinks these suit him quite well. He’d only like them better if they were purple, but he’ll take the tradeoff because they’re quite comfortable, too.

Astarion has gone back to peering at them as they walk. Gale prepares to warn him as another root comes up right in Astarion’s path, but before he can get a word out, Astarion just picks his own foot up—without taking his eyes off Gale’s boots—and steps over it blindly.

Showoff, Gale grumps mentally. Oh, to be as spry and nimble as an elf.

“They are a fine pair of boots,” Astarion says, gaze unwavering.

Up ahead, Gale vaguely registers some murmurs from Wyll and Karlach, a tension that starts to drift back through the line of their group. Scratch whines a bit, tilting his head curiously at Shadowheart’s side.

But before Gale can focus in on that, Astarion frowns and asks, “Do they fit you?”

Gale looks back down at the boots, kicking a heel into the forest floor. “Yes, quite well.”

“Are you certain?”

“What sort of question is that? Of course I’m certain.” Gale wiggles his toes in the boots, demonstrating the fit if only to himself. “They’re very comfortable.”

“Well, if you ever change your mind—if they ever start to become burdensome—I wouldn’t mind taking them off your hands,” Astarion says, trying so hard to sound casual that Gale can actually notice.

He notices Astarion looking away from the boots now, rather forcibly so, and recognizes that for what it likely is: a show, pretend, a diversion from how he really feels. Gale isn’t always the best at picking up cues and not taking people at their word—it’s something he tries to work on, really—but he finds Astarion remarkably easy to read, like he’s following a script Gale recognizes all too well, one that’s rather similar in spirit to the script Gale uses to keep up his own appearances.

This does not help with getting flushed and flustered, unfortunately. If anything, it makes it worse.

“You’ll have to take them off my feet, actually,” Gale says with a knowing chuckle. Astarion wants his boots.

Astarion scowls, though the corners of his mouth twitch, too. Gale tries not to fully beam at him—such a tiny reaction feels hard-won, a small triumph.

“You’re not half as funny as you think you are, wizard.”

“And you’re not half as subtle as you think you are. I’m enjoying these boots.” Gale gives a pointed stomp on a leaf pile to punctuate this sentiment. “They’re excellent boots.”

Astarion’s scowl remains, deepening. Up ahead, there’s more chatter and tension flowing through their companions, and Gale should probably tune in to what they’re saying, but—

“They’re all right,” Astarion says. “Nothing to make a fuss over.”

“Actually, that seems to be exactly what you’re making right now.”

“You’re entirely mistaken. I’m merely—”

“Gnolls!” Lae’zel shouts ahead of them, drawing her sword. “Take cover, both of you, or suffer the consequences of your distraction!”

Gale thinks it’s impressive how quickly they do manage to jump into fighting stances and register that they’re under attack—though, by the sounds of exertion and fear from Wyll and Karlach, perhaps they are a bit behind. Nevertheless, Gale brandishes his staff, Astarion draws his daggers, and they stand back-to-back, alert and focused as they move through the trees.

And then Gale trips on another tree root. He falls back into Astarion, instinctively grabbing for him, just as an arrow comes whistling through the air at them, lodging itself in the space where Astarion’s neck just was—the same space now occupied by Gale’s shoulder.

Gale goes down with a grunt and a gasp, gritting out, “Oh, Mystra save me, that hurts.” Astarion crouches over him with a snarl, sheathing his daggers and drawing his own bow to return fire at range.

“No Mystra here, I’m afraid; just little old me,” Astarion says. His tone is not dissimilar to the tone he’d taken about Gale’s boots, something akin to clear jealousy, a distinct covetousness, which is an interesting fact Gale would love to turn over in his mind, were he not utterly consumed by pain.

He is briefly distracted by Astarion putting an arrow in the throat of an approaching gnoll, and baring his fangs dangerously at another. It’s not an unwanted distraction.

Gale’s last view, before he loses consciousness from pain and blood loss, is Astarion settled over him—namely, straddling his hips—as he flings arrows all around them. His last thought is that he hopes he’s lost enough blood already that Astarion won’t be able to tell, in the compromising position he’s in, that Gale is a bit turned on.

When next he wakes, Gale’s first sight is once again of Astarion, still crouched over him but now poking him gently in the face. They’re at camp, which makes Gale groan because it means someone had to carry him again—how embarrassing, unless it was Halsin; being carried by Halsin is rather nice.

Astarion retracts his finger and says, “Oh, good. You’re alive.” He stands as Gale blinks his eyes open, clearing his vision, trying to make sense of things—and then sits bolt upright as he realizes his feet are bare.

“Astarion!” Gale calls, as Astarion traipses out of the tent in very familiar, very fine boots. “Astarion, my boots!”

His only answer is a distinctly Astarion cackle—another sound that unfortunately makes him flush.

[kastlenetwork]

Hi! So I'm pretty new to the kastle fandom and wanted to know if there are any like- classic fics or interviews or memorable moments in panels and cons (with the actors) that I should know about? I know about the interviews that are on the kastle wikifandom page but only because I've read them.

helloooo! welcome to the family! it's been quite quiet lately, but frank and karen are always in our hearts lolol and every now and then there's a little resurgence, so that's nice. umm first up interviews. there's a lot of little quotes here and there that were a big deal. we didn't get many interviews of the two of them together, if i remember correctly. i think two comic cons were pretty exciting.

here are some interviews from comic con 2017 yup

this is a cute clip from last year, where deborah talked about how jon's intense but really uplifted her. and that they want to work together again.

(i'm looking at kastle's wikifandom and, really, the big interview quotes all seem to be there.)

“ … just in terms of whether this is Jon’s story to tell or my story to tell, you just want to kind of be respectful of everybody’s contributions. Jon and I have certainly felt that there is room for a romantic story in there. And there were certainly scenes where we took it farther in some takes than we did in other takes. We’ll have to sort of wait and see what the editors chose, and how far they decided to push it. But we as actors allowed for that possibility.” -deb cinemablend

deborah and jon were both supporters, but deborah was always including frank into karen's romantic potentials:

“But all of the romance I’ve gotten to play, with any of the characters in the series, whether that’s Frank or Matt, they all come from a need. From a lonely person, a person who doubts whether she is deserving of love.” -deb collider

**

“I like that Karen can say, ‘How far down this road of violence of revenge do you go before you’re ripped apart?’ and he can look at her and go, ‘I’m already ripped apart. And you are, too.‘” -deb 92.1 bobfm

**

“When professor [Jeph] Loeb [Marvel TV head] told me we were gonna do a series on The Punisher,” Bernthal continued, “first thing i asked him is would I have the pleasure and the honor to work again with one of the most honest, the most kind, and the most talented actors I’ve ever had the privilege to work with.” --jon ew

oh! karen page being announced for the punisher. very cute.

"i just want to say, you guys don't love him as much as i do" was very exciting when it happened lmaoooo. the hope for kastle was high.

*****

i'll be honest up front and say, i tend to forget a lot of stuff? so, basically, i can read a fic and then read it again months later and it's like a brand new experience. which is both a blessing and a curse. so, i basically just zoomed through my bookmarks to try and find some things?? 😩😩

(i'm scanning my bookmarks and.............a lot of them are basically just smutfdjklgsdfjglkdfjglkdfjg)

ballads for a dead man ❤❤ [three parts, unfinished] Safe up in the mountains with Frank following a bloody showdown in Hell's Kitchen, Karen wonders just how much more complicated things between them can get. She's about to find out.

these heavy words, your open heart 😘😘 (this was a kastlechristmas gift to me from @carry-the-sky 😊❤) “You told me once that I was honest. That I don’t lie to you. But the hospital—you asked me to start over, and I said I didn’t want that.” Karen sucks in a breath. Frank’s eyes are still on her, wide and bright. It’s the most vulnerable she’s ever seen him look. “I lied,” he says.

The Reporter  [kinda iconic ❤👀] Force Recon missions keep Marines isolated, entrenched for long periods in covert locations. They rarely received visitors, and in Frank’s long experience, the visitors were almost never civilians, let alone gorgeous blondes with mile long legs and sky blue eyes. Frank was trying not to stare. They all were. Well, everyone except Bill, who’s face had just split into a shit-eating grin.

The Flower Cam [oh god, the flower cam! i just remembered!! ❤] It had been a long time since there had actually been any flowers in the window. She must have trashed the white roses after his latest bullshit at the hospital with Madani and the kid. Good. Good for her. She should forget about him. But still… Frank couldn’t help but check every once in a while.

actually just, everything in their ao3. i have all this bookmarked.

(..................god, my bookmarks are really all smut. this says a lot about me.)

Castle’s Auto Shop ❤❤ yes. yep. Karen Page is in need of a car mechanic. Castle’s Auto Body Shop seems a reasonable choice. There’s just one problem: This little auto shop has become a well-known spot where less than honorable people to go get their car fixed…only to have justice find them at the next stop light. Having her brother’s truck fixed there means Karen will have to own up to a few secrets in her past.

Blood and Bone ❤❤❤! this is the fic that has seared itself into my brain. i've never once forgotten this. iconic. Frank Castle is a boxer at the top of his game. Laconic and anti-social, he has a reputation for being an incredibly-tough interview. Karen Page is a sports reporter trying to prove herself in a male-dominated field. She's done playing games--trying to be the "Cool Girl" who caters to the male fantasy--and now she's on a mission to take no shit. "For a while, the fact that an interview with Castle lasting longer than 5 minutes even existed was big news. Splashed all over the message boards—circulated among boxing and Castle fans alike. The very concept that someone actually got the man to sit down for more than a breath of time and give multiple-sentence answers to a question—it was huge. Massive. It was the only thing Castle fans could talk about. Until three months later, when Frank Castle disappeared. Then that was the news. It was the only news."

this is hard lmaoo how ludicrious. i have about seven collections from some of our events, as well. there's loads of good stuff in there:

kastlesmutweek 2018

kastlesmutweek 2019

kastlechristmas 2018

kastlechristmas 2019

kastlechristmas 2020

kastlechristmas 2021

kastlechristmas parent collection

[theofficersacademy]

Everybody converges, and built into the mountains you see the monastery that you had been forced to abandon just earlier this month. Where once it was swarming with unknown enemies, dastardly forces occupying it and protecting it from anybody being able to enter it, now it is a much more quiet scene.

The enemy you've been told so much about and might have even come across directly, Melanthios, remains there. He has the high ground, but he has few forces to protect the prize he possesses. What's more, an enervating shockwave ripples toward the monastery walls, bending the knees of all his remaining men - while not the devastating power Aeschylus had hoped for, he has made good on his promise to aid you. A fortress can only remain impregnable for as long as there are people to maintain that wall, and with the withdrawal of the Council's support, all he rules are empty halls.

"That fool never knows when to quit," the newly freed Projectionist tuts derisively, though there is also a melancholy bitterness there that speaks to a history you can only guess. "Melanthios is desperate to keep the monastery. He just can't stand losing it when he's spent so long to steal it, even though the Council's left him for the dogs. He's even gone so far as to bind his life force to the very ground of Garreg Mach in a bid to draw power from its land and make himself even more insurmountable. But... well, that's just opening himself to a way to weaken him too. Shall we take advantage of that, hm?

"Astarot," she calls. The two-headed beast that serves her slinks up onto her shoulder, the size of a normal housecat. "Two can play at that game. Now is the time we've been waiting for. Shall we send him to the gallows?"

"With pleasure, my mistress," the once-god purrs, all twelve eyes saccharine on her. It's an overtly garish display of affection, but perhaps within that hides something only genuine enough for the master to see. Then Astarot looks forward again, and his jaws open in a wide, lazy yawn; his forelegs stretch luxuriously, long claws flexing. "How I've longed for this day. A good tussle… mmm… then a long rest. Where should we vacation after, … hm."

He pauses, a pseudo-contemplative frown coming over both faces. "Looks like I've forgotten my favorite nickname for you, too. … Then I guess this really is the end."

"Let's get this show on the road then before we forget everything. It wouldn't do to go completely blank before we get to even relish it!" She huffs, but you get the impression Astarot may be the last being she has any true fondness for. She pets both of his heads as Astarot's body begins to glow, and then he leaps from his master's side, melding into the very earth below you. At the same time, the Projectionist looks towards the skies. "Time to make good on my promise too now. I shall take care of Melanthios. You all, meanwhile, have your own mission to ensure it all goes as it should."

And she takes to those very skies she was eyeing, sending herself to meet Melanthios above the crumbled bridge to the cathedral. Though Astarot has no form, you hear his voice call your attention, briefing you on your objective.

"Let's not disappoint my mistress. She's given up oh so much for this. So here's what you need to do. I know you're always eager to get your claws into those enemies of yours, but what you need to focus on is gaining ground. Got it? Every bit of land you and your pretty legs stand on is power for my mistress. And every bit of land Melanthios' smelly arse sits on is power for him. We don't want that, so don't get too caught up in the bloodletting, if you can manage it. Remember: land first, then whatever lovely vengeance your heart desires."

Divided into your smaller teams, you spread yourselves in a bid to follow these instructions, ready to tackle the lands of Garreg Mach themselves. For the sake of taking back the monastery and ridding it of the menace that rules over it, plaguing this continent, you are united.

Your full-on assault begins now.

What’s Going On?

It's time to win back that which was taken from you. There is nothing left but to give it your all and humble the Lord on a Broken Throne.

Though this bears many similarities to the Prologue, please read the Playbook over carefully. In particular, note the new rules under the "Move" action and the new section on the Projectionist vs. Melanthios.

The Epilogue, and Epiphany as a whole, will conclude at midnight EST on January 31st. Stay tuned!

- The House Leaders