#all he wanted was to make the world better???

[gingerhastoomanyobsessions]

I referred to them as a jury because even though they don’t vote they seem to expect to have some sway over the proceedings and serve as a bit of a peanut gallery, but yeah— the judge is trying to pass as fully hearing, quasi’s given up on passing entirely, and the conversation devolves into nonsense because the judge won’t just swallow his pride and try some other means of communication (if he did, maybe quasi could have told him “hey, my dad Archdeacon Frollo told me to do it and he said it was completely legit, so” and the whole plot could have been avoided!)

I wanted to keep phoebus’s rancidness a surprise but you’re so right. And he SHOWS UP TO THE EXECUTION. AND PEOPLE SEE HIM. LIKE.

“a little while ago we lost our beloved Captain, Phoebus”

“QUIT TELLING EVERYONE I’M DEAD”

“sometimes we can still hear his voice”

book!phoebus SUCKS and we all HATE HIS HOLE. Esmeralda deserves better than being led on by a man who’s already engaged!

Things that actually happen in hunchback of notre dame, in no particular order

The book mostly is told from the POV of Pierre, a self-insert who is failed author and, I cannot stress this enough, utterly pathetic 

Quasimodo damaged his hearing as a teenager from years of bell ringing and now uses sign language whenever he can

There is a scene where Quasimodo and a fellow deaf guy have to have a conversation without using sign language because they’re in a courtroom and the jury doesn’t know sign. It goes about as well as you’d expect 

Frollo has a little brother, Jehan, who he raised after their parents died. Jehan is now a frat bro in college whose hobbies consist of getting drunk and being mean to Quasimodo. In his first scene Jehan complains about college DEI because an Italian guy got a scholarship he wanted. 

Esmeralda is accused of witchcraft because she taught her pet goat Djali how to do math

Djali may or may not be sapient. He can and does imitate human mannerisms to make fun of people on purpose. He does this while on trial. 

Yes. They tried the goat for witchcraft, too. 

Pierre writes a whole play riding on the pun of dolphin/Dauphin. Nobody likes it. 

Frollo is an alchemist and has a secret mad science lab where he writes on the walls

Jehan literally pulls a “buy my silence” and frollo gives him money to make him shut up

There’s a trio of catty girls who bully Esmeralda like it’s Mean Girls

Quasimodo and Frollo literally have Cryptid Status— Parisians circulate rumors that Quasimodo is either a familiar, a homunculus, or the result of demonic mpreg, and that Frollo is a wizard with wizard powers and/or a ghost

There is a little old woman who lives in a hole and shouts slurs at people. She has a tragic backstory. 

There is a homicidal con man/king of thieves named Clopin Troillefou (surname translation: The Fool of Fear) who deserves tumblr sexymanhood.

Pierre learns how to carry chairs with his teeth 

There’s an entire chapter dedicated to the layout of the streets of Paris in painstaking detail

There’s another chapter that is a rant about interior design 

Esmeralda and Pierre get platonically married due to Clopin’s murderous shenanigans. Pierre tries to make a move in her but ends up being more emotionally attached to Djali the goat than to her. I think that should be grounds for divorce

There is a scene where Pierre has to choose between helping Esmeralda escape or helping Djali. He picks Djali. 

Frollo hides from his own brother by laying face down in mud and playing dead. Somehow this works 

There is a Plot Significant Tiny Shoe. A Tiny Shoe Chekhov’s Gun. And Victor Hugo will not stop telling you just how Tiny this shoe is. 

There’s a soap opera style plot twist that involves a false accusation of cannibalism and the woman in the hole who shouts slurs

Quasimodo makes up a stupid little song that doesn’t even rhyme to confess his love to Esmeralda, who remains oblivious

He then attempts to demonstrate his affection via convoluted metaphors that involve props. She doesn’t get it. Boy please say what you mean

Frollo pulls the classic discord groomer tactic of threatening self-harm if Esmeralda doesn’t give in. 

Jehan rolls up to a party/rescue mission scheming session in Clopin’s secret hideout in full plate armor (how did he get that???), drunk off his ass, and acts like he owns the place. Everyone finds this so ridiculous that they just let him

Hugo goes on and on about how innocent and naive Esmeralda is but then casually reveals that Esmeralda carries a dagger on her person at all times to fend off assault. When Frollo attacks her and Quasi intervenes, she takes Quasi’s knife and almost kills Frollo (fair!) but he flees. She contains multitudes?

Frollo has a psychotic breakdown in the middle of a field surrounded by chickens and hallucinates skeletons everywhere 

For the first half of the book Esmeralda is like 70% sure Frollo is a ghost, not helped by his aforementioned Cryptid Status

Jehan eats a moldy piece of cheese off the ground 

Frollo tries to send Pierre on a suicide mission in drag. Pierre objects to the suicide part but not the drag part  

Clopin’s preferred weapon is a scythe, he’s very good at using it, and he sings when he fights. Again: sexyman potential. 

Victor Hugo has a foot fetish. I initially dismissed it as Frollo having a foot fetish until Victor Hugo included a foot fetish torture scene without any Frollo in it. So I can only conclude that the foot fetish is authorial in nature. Unfortunately the foot scenes are important to the plot. 

Frollo is canonically 36, he just aged like shit and is bald. The narrator will not stop telling you just how bald he is.

Despite being in full plate armor, Jehan gets splatted like a bug

Almost every named character dies. Djali the goat lives. 

[lowrisemiller]

bed breaks when joel and reader are.. yknow

ꜱᴛᴜʀᴅʏ

joel miller x fem!reader

had sm fun writing this tyyy

you and joel just moved in together and are in need of a bed frame all is good until you give it the real test

masterlist | 1.9k words | teasing, smoochin, fingering, unprotected piv sex, DOGGY😛

You wake up to a Joel-shaped furnace beside you, his arm thrown over your waist like he’s got some claim to the bed you technically found first in the housing lottery. But he moved in two weeks ago, and now everything in the little blue house smells like cedar, coffee, and leather.

Home.

“Mornin’,” he rasps, lips brushing your neck as you stretch.

“There’s a community garage sale today,” you mumble. “We need a bed frame.”

Joel groans like you just suggested he skin a clicker with his bare hands. “The floor works just fine.”

“Joel,” you say, rolling onto your side to face him. “We’re not savages. You threw your back out last week tying your boot. You really wanna keep sleeping on a mattress like a college sophomore?”

That earns a low chuckle. “Fine. But if I end up haulin’ somethin’ heavy, you better make it worth my while.”

You press a kiss to his jaw. “Deal.”

The Jackson town square is buzzing. Booths are arranged in crooked rows, tables overflowing with mismatched dishes, fishing gear, hand-knit sweaters, and the occasional hodgepodge of someone’s pre-outbreak DVDs. A little boy walks by dragging a garden gnome by the hat.

You and Joel circle the perimeter until you spot it: an iron bed frame leaning against a tent, spray-painted with the word “$10 OR TRADE”. It’s rusted around the edges, but it’s got this vintage flair—like it belonged in some early 2000s Airbnb before the world went to shit.

“Sturdy?” Joel asks the booth owner, a woman in her sixties with a braid down to her waist.

“Stood the test of time,” she says. “Belonged to my sister. She and her husband were…active. Frame held up just fine.”

Joel grunts and crosses his arms. “That supposed to reassure me?”

You hide your laugh in your sleeve.

Eventually, you trade two jars of homemade pickles and a box of ammo for it. Joel loads the pieces onto a borrowed handcart, muttering under his breath the whole way home.

It’s not a bad bed. Once cleaned, the black iron headboard gleams in the sunlight pouring through the window. Joel grumbles over the screws, but you can tell he’s secretly enjoying the project. There’s something boyish in the way he crouches beside the frame, a screwdriver in hand, hair falling into his eyes.

You hand him bolts, trying not to stare at the curve of his forearms. “You know,” you say, leaning against the wall, “this could be a new thing for us. Domestic life. Fixing furniture. Hosting dinner parties. Maybe raising a goat.”

Joel snorts. “I ain’t raisin’ no goddamn goat.”

“Not even if I name her after you?”

He looks up, one brow raised. “You wanna name a goat Joel?”

“Joel-ine,” you say sweetly.

He points the screwdriver at you. “I’m takin’ back that screw if you keep talkin’.”

Later That Night

The frame holds.

You test it with gentle movement. Then a bounce. Joel watches with an amused shake of his head, arms crossed over his chest as you kneel on the mattress and try to rattle it.

“So,” you say. “Wanna christen it?”

He doesn’t answer. Just walks toward you slowly and sure, like you’re prey and he’s already halfway full but greedy for more.

His hands go to your hips. “You just want me to break it in.”

“I want you to break me in.”

He kisses you like he’s starved. Not just hungry for you, but for this—home, warmth, normalcy. His hands are on your waist, pulling you close, his mouth hot against yours. When you tug at his belt, he groans into your neck.

“Slow down,” he mutters, fingers slipping under your shirt to map the curve of your back. “Ain’t even admired you yet.”

You sit back on your heels atop the mattress, letting him look. The moonlight streaks in through the blinds, catching the soft sheen of sweat already blooming on your collarbones. Joel’s eyes darken as he takes you in—shirtless, flushed, breathing hard.

“You’re trouble,” he says.

You smirk. “And you like it.”

He lunges forward and kisses you hard, all tongue and teeth, like he’s trying to prove something. You pull him down on top of you, gasping as his weight presses you deep into the mattress. His thigh parts your legs. You roll your hips up against him, and the low, strangled sound he makes sends heat coiling through your belly.

“Been thinkin’ about this all goddamn day,” he growls, sliding a hand down your stomach, slipping inside your waistband. “You wearin’ these little shorts… bendin’ over that booth…”

“Joel,” you gasp, clutching his arm.

He slides his fingers between your legs and finds you soaked. His touch is slow, deliberate, maddening. He rubs tight circles, watching your face the whole time. “Fuck. This all for me?”

You nod, too breathless to speak.

Joel dips his head, kissing your jaw, your throat, your chest. He takes one nipple into his mouth, hot and insistent, while his fingers keep working you. You arch under him, mouth falling open in a moan that’s half his name.

“Turn around,” he whispers. “Wanna see you like that.”

You shift, spine arching as you flip onto your stomach. Joel growls his approval as you lift your hips, bracing your hands against the pillows. He kneels behind you and drags your shorts down slowly, reverently, baring you inch by inch. The cool air hits your slick heat, and you shiver.

“Jesus,” he mutters, running his hands over your ass, spreading you open. “Look at you.”

You feel the blunt head of his cock tease at your entrance, thick and hot and so ready.

“Joel,” you beg, unable to take the teasing anymore. “Please.”

He slides in slow, inch by inch, watching you clench around him. The stretch is almost too much—but god, you crave it. You want to be full of him. Marked by him. Taken apart and put back together again.

“Fuck,” he hisses, bottoming out. “You feel so fuckin’ good, baby.”

He starts to move. Deep, languid thrusts that make the bed creak with every snap of his hips. You fist the sheets, crying out as he hits that spot over and over, your thighs trembling.

“Been wantin’ this,” he groans, picking up the pace. “Every night. Every fuckin’ minute.”

You push back to meet his rhythm, skin slapping against skin, breath hitching. It’s primal and messy—desperate—and the bedframe is not handling it well.

You can feel it wobbling.

“Don’t stop,” you pant. “I don’t care, just—don’t stop—”

Joel grabs your hips and fucks into you harder, faster. The sound of your bodies moving in rhythm fills the room, and you’re so close, it’s maddening. His fingers find your clit again, rubbing frantically, and you fall over the edge with a strangled moan, shaking beneath him.

He follows with a growl, slamming into you once, twice—then the frame snaps. A deafening crack. The mattress tips sideways and Joel shouts, losing his balance as you both tumble onto the floor in a sweaty, tangled heap.

Silence.

You’re breathless, stunned, still trying to come down from the high as Joel groans, “Goddamn it.”

“Yup,” you wheeze. “You broke our sex bed.”

Joel shifts off you and sits up, bare and exasperated. “They said it was sturdy.”

“Maybe just not Joel-fucking-me-into-next-week sturdy.”

He scrubs a hand over his face. Then laughs.

You’re still giggling when he reaches down and pulls you into his lap, one hand cupping the back of your neck. “Guess I owe you a better bed.”

You thread your fingers into his messy curls and lean your forehead against his. “Guess you do.”

He kisses you again, slower this time. Like you’ve got nowhere to be. No clickers. No broken frame under your asses.

Just a mattress on the floor, the man you love, and the moonlight painting soft shapes on the wall.

The Next Morning

You wake up sore and boneless, Joel snoring beside you.

There’s a knock at the front door.

You throw on a shirt and answer it to find Tommy standing there with a coffee mug and a smirk.

“Y’all break your new bed already?” he asks.

You blink. “How’d you—”

“Ellie heard the crash from two houses over.”

You groan and shut the door in his face.

Joel mumbles from the bedroom, “We’re buildin’ the next one ourselves.”

You call back, “With what? Vibration-proof steel?”

He grins into his pillow. “Damn straight.”

divider by @cursed-carmine 🏷️ @zevrra @xodilfluvr @littlemillersbaby @millersdoll @grayandthyme

[fic-girlie]

Can you write a fic about Joel making reader squirt for the first time? And he's obsessed with it

Floodgates

Pairing: jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader Summary: During a slow, intimate night in Jackson, Joel makes you squirt for the first time—and becomes utterly obsessed with the way your body gives in to him. Warnings: established relationship, explicit sexual content (+18), dirty talk, fingering, squirting

It always started like this—quietly, naturally, like the wind shifting outside your cabin window. Joel’s touch wasn’t always urgent. More often than not, it was reverent. Measured. Heavy with all the things he didn’t say aloud. That night was no different. You were stretched out beside him in the low amber glow of the bedside lamp, the sheets pushed down to your hips, your thigh brushing his as you shifted onto your side to face him. His palm was already warm against your stomach, the calluses familiar now, grounding. He was watching you in that way that made your skin heat from the inside out—like you were something he didn’t quite understand yet but was dead set on studying until he did.

“You look at me like you ain’t ever gonna stop,” you whispered, a teasing smile playing at the corners of your mouth.

Joel didn’t smile back. Not exactly. His eyes flicked over your face, then down your body like he was drinking it in, slow and thorough. “That’s ‘cause I ain’t,” he muttered, voice low and rough from the hour, from whatever thick emotion had coiled in his chest. “Don’t wanna miss a single fuckin’ thing about you.”

Then his hand slid lower.

You’d thought you knew his touch. After all the nights tangled together in that bed, the lazy mornings and the needy evenings, you thought you understood how Joel moved, how he kissed, how he claimed. But this—this was different. He wasn’t in a hurry. There was no urgency, no grinding desperation like the first few months when you both couldn’t get enough. This was slower. Darker. Hungrier in a way that didn’t need to rush.

“You trust me, baby?” he asked, his lips at your throat, his voice so close it melted right into your skin.

You nodded before the question even finished leaving his mouth, your body already arching toward his like instinct. And that was all he needed. His hand slipped between your legs, spreading you open like it was second nature. And it was, now. He knew your body better than anyone. Better than you did, sometimes. But tonight, he was focused. Intent. Not just giving you pleasure but searching for something—like he knew it was there, buried under the layers of control you didn’t know you had, and he was hell-bent on dragging it out of you.

His fingers were slick with your arousal in seconds. He groaned when he felt it, dragging the sound out like it physically hurt to hold it in. “Christ. You’re already soaked for me. You been thinkin’ about this all day?”

You whimpered—barely a sound, more like an exhale caught between his fingers and the way your hips rolled into his hand. “Always thinkin’ about you,” you whispered, because it was true. In Jackson, where the world had softened just enough to let you breathe, Joel had filled every space. Every thought. Every ache.

And maybe he felt it too, because his mouth found yours in that moment, hot and slow, full of teeth and breath and hunger. He kissed you like he had to, like if he didn’t he might lose his mind, and all the while his fingers moved with unrelenting precision—circling, pressing, teasing that spot just inside you until your thighs began to tremble.

But he didn’t stop. Didn’t let you squirm away or catch your breath. If anything, he doubled down.

“You feel that?” he murmured against your lips, dragging the pad of his thumb up to circle your clit while two fingers curled inside you. “Right there. That little flutter?” He punctuated it with another slow press, curling just so. “You’re close. Real close. But I want more than that from you tonight, sweetheart.”

You clutched at his shoulders, gasping as your body twisted under the weight of sensation. “Joel—fuck—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled, gripping your thigh and spreading you wider. “You will. Gonna get you there, baby. Gonna make you fall apart for me in a way you never have before.”

Your body was clenching around his fingers now, wet sounds filling the room with every pump of his hand. It was too much. Not enough. A pleasure so sharp it started to scare you—but Joel was there, anchoring you, talking you through it in that low, gravelly drawl like he’d been waiting for this.

“You feel like you’re gonna lose control?” he rasped, his voice like gravel and smoke. “That’s it, baby. That’s what I want. Let it happen. Let go. Don’t hold back from me—don’t ever hold back.”

Your back arched and your hips jerked, and you felt it snap. Something inside you broke open, a dam giving way, and then—

It was everywhere.

You cried out—loud, shocked, almost tearful—as your body spasmed, liquid gushing out of you, soaking his hand, the sheets, everything. You tried to close your legs, tried to pull away in the aftermath, but Joel wouldn’t let you. He held you there, eyes wide with awe, lips parted like he couldn’t fucking believe what he’d just seen.

“God damn, baby,” he breathed, his voice caught somewhere between reverence and raw lust. “You fuckin’ squirted for me.”

You turned your face into the pillow, mortified and overwhelmed, but he didn’t give you a second to spiral.

“Hey,” he said, gripping your jaw gently, tilting your face back toward his. His pupils were blown wide, hair sticking to his forehead. “Don’t you dare be embarrassed. That was the hottest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen. You hear me?”

You nodded, blinking through the daze, your heart pounding like it might leap out of your chest.

Joel grinned, dark and wolfish and downright feral. “You’ve been holdin’ that in all this time? No one’s ever made you come like that?”

You shook your head.

His expression twisted into something possessive, something primal. “Good. I want it to be me. Only me. No one else gets to see you like this.”

He dragged his soaked fingers up your thigh, up your belly, smearing slick against your skin before bringing them to his lips and sucking them clean with a groan that made your core pulse all over again.

“Jesus, baby,” he said, voice rough. “You taste so fuckin’ sweet when you come like that. You’ve got no idea what you do to me.”

You whimpered as he leaned over you again, pressing his thick length against your still-throbbing core.

“Think you can give me one more?” he whispered, already lining himself up, already kissing the sweat from your collarbone like he’d never get enough. “Wanna see it again. Wanna feel you soak me while I’m buried deep inside.”

And you knew, right then, that Joel wasn’t going to stop until he wrung every last drop from you. Until you couldn’t remember your name. Until the sheets were ruined, and you were wrecked, and he was satisfied that no one could ever come close to what he gave you.

And you wouldn’t want it any other way.

[verstappenverse]

Waiting Game

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: You’ve been in love with Max for years, silently watching him date the wrong girl, until walking away makes him finally realise you were the one all along. (Requested)

3.9k words / Masterlist

The first time you met Max Verstappen you knew you were doomed.

Not in a he’s-going-to-ruin-my-life kind of way. No, it was quieter than that. Deeper. It was the kind of knowing that settled into your bones and never left. The kind that whispered, I will love him for the rest of my existence, even if he never loves me back.

And you had. Hopelessly. Silently. Faithfully.

You’ve never known a world without Max.

From sandbox castles to celebratory podium hugs, you’ve always been there. When you think of home, it’s not really a place, it’s him. The way he throws popcorn at you during movie nights, the way he remembers how you take your tea, the way he always texts “landed” the moment the wheels hit the tarmac.

You were inseparable. The kind of closeness that made people tilt their heads and ask, Are you sure you’re just friends? You brushed it off with a laugh, a shrug, a carefully rehearsed, Yeah, just friends. But you knew better. You felt it every time your hand brushed his and he didn’t pull away. Every time he called you at 2 a.m. because something was heavy on his mind and you were the only person he trusted enough to hold it with him.

There was never a clear moment when friendship turned into something more for you, it was just a slow unraveling. A shift in the way you watched him. The way your heart stuttered when his name lit up your phone. The way everything softened when he looked at you, even if he didn’t know what it meant. The time he flew across three countries just to bring you soup when you had the flu. You’d laughed, voice hoarse, swaddled in blankets and tissues.

“You’re insane,” you said, but your heart was already halfway gone.

You memorised him like a religion. The furrow between his brows when he was focused. The way his voice softened when he talked about things that scared him, the future, family, not doing enough. You traveled the world with him, race weekends blurred into hotel rooms and midnight drives and laughter spilling out of overpriced restaurants.

And at night, when you’re apart, FaceTime is your safety net. You fall asleep more times than you can count, with his voice crackling through your phone, tucked on your pillow. Sometimes it’s quiet, just the sound of his breath syncing with yours. Sometimes it’s laughter, or whispers about things he’d never say out loud during the day.

Still, you said nothing, because Max was Max. He had dreams to chase and tracks to conquer and a world to carry on his shoulders. And you? You were his best friend. The keeper of secrets. The one he called when everything else fell apart.

It’s always him.

Always.

And that was enough you thought.

That’s probably why it hurts so badly when he chose her.

It was one night, when you were sitting on the couch with him, legs folded, laughing about something dumb. And then, just as the moment quitened, he said it.

“I’ve been seeing someone by the way.”

So casual and unbothered, and you smiled like it didn’t split you open.

“Oh,” you said. “That’s nice, I’m happy for you.”

She wasn’t outright awful.

Not in a way you could call out directly. Not in a way that gave you permission to hate her.

She was sleek and polished and knew exactly how to pose for the cameras. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, but it looked good on magazine covers. She knew how to charm a crowd, how to toss her hair just right, how to smile for the cameras and nod politely at press events.

She never reacted to his frustrations, because she didn’t care enough to be affected by it. She didn’t ask about his bad days. Didn’t know the way his fingers twitched when he was nervous or the sound he made in his sleep when he was too exhausted to dream.

You wanted to believe she loved him for his sake. But it felt like she loved the image more, the icon, the podiums, the press, the power. Not the boy who forgot to eat when he was stressed. Not the man who kept every letter from his mother in a shoebox under his bed.

You watched from the sidelines, clapping the loudest, smiling the widest, standing just close enough. Pretending that your heart didn’t fracture a little more each time she showed up wearing his jacket. Each time he kissed her forehead. Each time he introduced you as his best friend, like that word wasn’t slowly bleeding you dry.

You didn’t ask for more. You never had. Because loving Max wasn’t a choice, it was an inevitability. And you knew, deep down, he was never really yours to lose.

But God, it still felt like he was.

The longer she stuck around, the more cracks you began to see. Not gaping ones, just tiny fractures only someone who truly knew Max could notice. Subtle, quiet things that dug under your skin until they bruised.

It was in the way she watched his races, when she even bothered to show up. Sometimes she’d arrive midway through, sunglasses still on indoors, distractedly scrolling through her phone while his car kissed the barriers. She never flinched. Never held her breath when he went wheel-to-wheel.

That was the thing, her indifference wasn’t malicious. It wasn’t loud. It was just careless. Passive. It came out in the small things, the way she dismissed his nerves before qualifying with a flat, “You’ll be fine, babe.” The way she laughed when fans screamed his name, muttering, “They’re obsessed with you. It’s creepy.”

Max didn’t see it.

Or maybe he did. Maybe he caught glimpses of her disinterest and shoved them deep enough that they wouldn’t threaten the stability he’d convinced himself he needed. Maybe he stayed because it was easier to be with someone who never demanded the truth.

And you?

You smiled through it.

You were polite. Friendly, even. Because Max was your best friend, and the last thing you wanted was to be the reason for a wedge between him and someone he cared about. So you bit your tongue when she interrupted him. You offered her a drink when she showed up late to the paddock. You complimented her shoes. Let her lean on your shoulder for a group photo you didn’t want to be in.

You did it for him.

And still, people noticed.

The fans weren’t blind. If anything, they saw it more clearly than he did.

@maxarmy33: I don’t care what anyone says, Max’s gf is just NOT it. It’s actually wild how Max can’t see that Y/N has always been the one. She’s been by his side through everything. That kind of loyalty isn’t fake.

@redbullfan1: Max doesn’t just smile around Y/N LOOK at how he lights up around her.. You can’t fake that kind of connection. They’re meant to be, and everyone sees it but him.

@dutchlion26: The fact that Max still isn’t dating Y/N despite their perfect chemistry is a crime.

@maxy4stappen Y/N has been in Max’s corner since day one. She knows him better than anyone, and he’s out here dating someone who barely even watches his races?? Be serious.

You knew they weren’t kind comments. Fans never know the full story, they only saw what was on the surface. Still… you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel a little vindicating.

You thought maybe, maybe, one day he’d see what everyone else did.

But he didn’t. He chose her.

Things changed slowly after that.

He called less. You didn’t always answer. You made excuses when he asked to hang out, not because you didn’t want to, but because every mention of her name was like pressing on a bruise that wouldn’t heal.

You watched him wrap his arm around her waist at events, post pictures with captions you assumed she wrote. You watched him smile at her like she might be everything.

You told yourself it was fine. That it was enough to love him quietly, from the background. That your place, constant and steady, just a little to the left of center, was still better than not being in his orbit at all.

But deep down, you hoped. Hoped that the weight of your love, quiet and unconditional, would finally register. That maybe one day he’d turn around and realise you’d been there all along.

The intervention happened after Monaco.

You’d watched from your usual place, tucked into the Red Bull hospitality suite, just close enough to feel like part of the chaos, just far enough to know you never really would be. The routine was muscle memory by now. Headphones looped around your neck, heart thrumming in sync with every lap. You could trace the corners of the circuit with your eyes closed, every turn etched into your bloodstream from years of watching him fly through them.

Max had been brilliant. Fierce and unrelenting. He’d carved through the streets of Monte Carlo like the track had been built for him, like it was always meant to be his. You felt every gear shift like a jolt in your ribs, every overtake like a breath you couldn’t quite finish.

His girlfriend had sat two chairs down from you, legs crossed, thumb lazily scrolling through her phone. She hadn’t flinched once. Hadn’t looked up when the entire suite held its breath. You’d barely heard her speak.

You stood in the paddock afterwards, soaked in golden light and champagne mist, your ears ringing with celebration. Cameras flashed. People screamed his name. He threw his arms around his team, his smile wide and breathless. She kissed his cheek and he didn’t even glance your way.

You should’ve felt proud. Happy. Triumphant, even. But instead, you just felt… hollow. Like you were watching the best moment of his life from behind glass.

That was when your friends stepped in.

You didn’t even notice them closing in until you felt a firm hand wrap gently around your wrist.

“You need to stop.”

“Stop what?” you asked, forcing your voice to sound casual, light. The kind of tone that might fool someone who didn’t know better.

“This.” She gestured vaguely, helplessly. “Hanging around like this… waiting for Max to finally wake up and realise you’re the love of his life.”

“I’m not—” you started, but your voice cracked and gave you away.

“You are,” she said quietly, cutting you off. “You have been. For years. And it’s killing you.”

You opened your mouth, closed it again.

She stepped closer. “You think we don’t see it? The way you look at him? The way you never say no when he needs something? You would rip yourself in half to make his life easier.”

Your throat ached. Your chest felt too tight to breathe in.

“I just want him to be happy,” you whispered, and it was the closest thing to the truth you could say out loud without completely breaking.

“Yeah?” Her eyes softened, but her voice stayed firm. “And what about your happiness? When’s the last time you even thought about that?”

You didn’t answer.

Because you didn’t know.

It started small. Innocent. A slow, gentle push toward something else, something that wasn’t him. Saying yes when someone asked for your number. Letting a date buy you coffee. Letting someone else ask you questions and actually listen to the answers.

The first date was forgettable. The second, slightly better. You started saying yes more often.

And suddenly, Max was paying attention. Longer glances. A missed text here, a delayed reply there and he started asking more questions, Where were you last night? Who were you with? when you posted a photo of a drink across from you at a candlelit restaurant. Did you not fly out this weekend? when he didn’t spot you in the paddock.

His voice stayed easy, but there was something sharp beneath it. Something unsettled.

One night your phone buzzed with a message from him.

Max: Who’s the guy in your story?

You stared at the screen, pulse skipping. Your photo had only shown two hands over dinner, one of them yours.

You: Just a guy I met. Does it matter?

It took him five minutes to respond.

Max: No. Just curious.

You didn’t reply.

For the first time in a long time, Max is the one feeling left behind.

He calls on a Thursday night.

You’re halfway through applying mascara when the screen lights up with his name.

“Hey,” you answer, brushing your lashes carefully.

He sounds tired. “You free to talk tonight? Facetime like always? I can’t sleep.”

You hesitate.

There’s a silence you’ve never had with him before.

“I have a date,” you say softly.

“Oh.” He sounds surprised. “You didn’t tell me.”

“Did I have to?” you replied, and instantly felt bad about it.

Max is quiet. Then, “Right. I guess not. Sorry.”

You hesitate. Then add, “Maybe this is something your girlfriend should be doing anyway.”

He doesn’t say anything.

You don’t say goodbye. Just end the call gently, then stare at your reflection in the mirror until the ache in your chest settles into something bitter and familiar.

Max doesn’t sleep that night.

Not because of the race, not because of jet lag, but because your voice won’t leave his head.

Maybe this is something your girlfriend should be doing.

You’d sounded tired. Guarded. Like you were hiding yourself from him.

And for the first time in his life, Max realises he has no idea what’s going on in your head.

It’s terrifying.

He calls the next morning.

You ignore it.

He opens his camera roll without thinking. Starts scrolling through old photos. Ones he’s probably passed a hundred times before without thinking. You in hotel lobbies, laughing at something he said. You wrapped in scarves on cold race weekends, clutching a takeaway hot chocolate. You curled up on his couch at 1 a.m. after some terrible horror movie, half-asleep, legs tangled in his.

And suddenly, it hits him how constant you’ve been.

Not loud. Not demanding. Just there. Always.

You never asked for anything. Never made him choose. You just showed up. When he was exhausted, when his dad said something that cut too deep, when the media turned cruel or the pressure felt suffocating, whether he won or lost, you were there. Not trying to fix it. Just holding space for him in a way no one else ever had.

How had he not seen it?

How his apartment feels colder without your socks drying on the radiator. How he still buys your favourite cereal without thinking, even though you haven’t been over in two weeks. How he used to FaceTime you after races if you couldn’t be there, win or lose, just to hear your voice while he fell asleep. He never does that with his girlfriend.

It’s never been the same.

He thinks about the last thing you said.

Maybe this is something your girlfriend should be doing.

And it lands like a punch to the gut.

Because she’s not the one he wants to call at night.

You are.

You were trying. Trying to mean it when you smiled at someone else. Trying to accept that Max had chosen someone who wasn’t you.

Which is why you brought Jake to the next race.

He wasn’t serious. Just kind. Simple. He asked about your day, laughed at your dumb jokes, and held your hand like he meant it. He didn’t know much about racing, but he tried.

You entered the paddock with his fingers laced in yours and felt the storm hit before you even made it to hospitality.

Max was standing by the Red Bull garage mid-conversation, but he went still the second he saw you. His eyes locked on Jake’s hand in yours like it was a threat. Like it didn’t belong there. His jaw clenched. Shoulders squared. A barely visible storm gathering behind his eyes.

You smiled like you didn’t notice, but your pulse fluttered in your throat all the same.

After the race, another podium, another photo-op, he found you.

Cornered you, really.

It was quieter outside the motorhome, the hum of the paddock fading behind you, tension heavy in the air.

“What’s going on with you?” he asked. His voice wasn’t soft, it was guarded. Accusing.

You turned to face him slowly. “What do you mean?”

“This.” He gestured in the general direction Jake had gone. “You and what’s his name? James? Jason?”

You blinked. “Jake.”

He scoffed under his breath. “Right. Jake.”

You folded your arms. “I don’t see why it matters.”

Max’s eyes narrowed. “Of course it matters.”

“Why?” you asked, harsher than you meant to. “Because you don’t like him? Or because you don’t like the idea of me moving on?”

He flinched, actually flinched. That small, involuntary pull of guilt across his features.

“That’s not—” he started, but you cut him off.

The words came spilling out before you could stop them. “Don’t you dare say that this isn’t fair. You don’t get to tell me what’s fair. I spent years waiting for you, Max.” Your voice shook, the truth finally cracking through the surface. “I waited while you ran to me for everything and still gave your heart to someone else.”

You took a breath. Swallowed the lump rising in your throat.

“I was your best friend. Your person. And I thought… maybe one day you’d finally see me.”

Max opened his mouth, barely, but nothing came out. His expression twisted, like your words physically hurt. Like they were the truth he’d buried too deep to admit.

“But you never did,” you whispered.

He looked lost. Like he didn’t know how to hold onto anything without holding onto you.

“I’m done waiting,” you said, voice steadier now. Stronger. “I deserve someone who actually chooses me. Who doesn’t need to lose me to realise I was there all along.”

He swallowed hard. The kind of swallow that hurts going down. His jaw clenched. His fists curled like he didn’t know what else to do with his hands.

And for once, he had nothing to say.

You come home the next day to flowers on your doorstep, express delivery.

White tulips your favourite. No note. But you know who they’re from.

You stare at them for a moment too long, heart thudding unevenly, before finally unlocking your phone.

Thanks for the flowers, you text, hitting send before you can overthink it.

His reply is instant. Like he’s been waiting.

Can I see you?

You hesitate, thumb hovering, nerves buzzing just beneath your skin.

Okay.

He comes straight to your place. Baseball cap pulled low, hoodie drawn up, not to hide from paparazzi, you suspect, but to hide from you. Or maybe from whatever truth he’s only just beginning to face.

There’s a hesitation when you open the door, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to be here anymore.

Once he’s inside he finally speaks. “I didn’t know,” he says, voice hoarse.

You frown. “Didn’t know what?”

Max exhales, slow and heavy, like dragging the truth to the surface is painful. “I didn’t know it was you.”

Your brows draw together, confused, lips parting, but he keeps going.

“I’ve been chasing all these things, titles, wins, people, and I didn’t realise I already had the most important one right in front of me.”

You blink, caught between disbelief and the ache of wanting to believe it.

He steps closer, carefully. “You’re the one I want to talk to at 2 a.m. You’re the one I want next to me when I fall asleep. You always have been. I just didn’t see it. Not until I thought I’d lost you.”

Your chest tightens, breath catching. “Max…”

“I think…” he cuts in, voice raw, “I think I’ve been in love with you this whole time.”

You freeze.

“What?” you ask, stunned. The word barely escapes.

“I didn’t know what it was,” he says, his hands shaking slightly as he rakes them through his hair. “I know I’ve been an idiot, but you have to know I never meant to do anything to hurt you, I was just blind. I thought… fuck, I thought it was just how we are. I thought everyone had a best friend like you. I didn’t realise it until I saw you with someone else, and it felt like the air got ripped out of my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t stand it.”

You step back on instinct, the pain too fresh, too tangled with old wounds. “Max… don’t do this. Not because you’re jealous.”

“I’m not,” he says quickly. “I mean, I am, obviously, but that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I can’t keep pretending I’m not in love with you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, so longed for, so impossible, and yet, somehow, not enough to steady the storm inside you

His voice breaks on the next part. “I ended things. I don’t love her. I don’t think I ever did. She was easy and safe. But she’s not you. No one is.”

And God, the way that splits you open. The way it taps into something buried but still bleeding.

He watches you, eyes wide and full of fear. “I know I’ve hurt you. I know I don’t deserve a second chance. But tell me…”

He swallows hard.

“Tell me it’s not too late.”

You stare at him.

Really stare.

You see it. The boy who once held your hand under a table because you were nervous. The one who stayed on FaceTime with you for hours after a race just to hear your voice. The boy who didn’t know how to love you the right way until he almost lost the chance to try.

And there’s a part of you, raw and wounded, that wants to say no. That wants to tell him it’s too little, too late. That it’s not fair it took you walking away, took someone else’s hands on your waist, for him to finally look up and see what had been in front of him all along.

But the love runs too deep. Deeper than pride. Deeper than reason.

“I love you,” you whisper, before you can think about stopping yourself.

Max goes completely still.

“I have for a long time,” you add, voice trembling. “I just didn’t think you’d ever feel it back.”

For a beat, he’s stunned. And then he laughs, a quiet, breathy sound, and crosses the space between you, pulling you into his arms like he never wants to let go.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into your hair. “I love you.”

You smile, eyes burning, burying your face in the soft cotton of his hoodie, heart pounding loud enough to echo in your ribs. When he pulls back, his hands linger at your jaw, brushing your cheek with a kind of reverence. And then, finally, finally, he kisses you.

It’s soft at first. Careful. As if he’s still not sure he deserves it. But when you sigh into it, arms tightening around his neck, he deepens the kiss with a low, shaky breath.

When he eventually pulls away, he’s grinning, eyes soft and voice rough.

“No more falling asleep on FaceTime okay?”

You tilt your head, confused. “Why not?”

Max squeezes your hand.

“Because I want you next to me for real.”

Taglist: @shigarika @bunnisplayground @thecoolpotatohologram @ymrereads @alexxavicry @gigglepre @esw1012 @satorinnie @percysaidnever @osclerc @sainzluvrr @autumn242 @shadowreader07 @joyfulpandamiracle @inmynotes63 @athanasia-day @embonbon @waterdeeply @shadowsoundeffects13 @fastandcurious16 @odegaardlia @skzvibes-blog @iambored24601 @e10owmaks @painfromblues @brokenvines-wiltingflowers @leo-twins-3107 @rxx-eegh @treatallwithkindness @lewishamiltonismybf @mara1999 @armystay89

[serapharua]

୨୧ 一 ENHA WITH A DISTANT IN PUBLIC & AFFECTIONATE IN PRIVATE PARTNER . . !

enhypen 0T7 — GENRE : imagines headcanon fluff comfort — PAIRING : gn.reader — WARNING : none — REQUESTED : by 🖤anon! ☆ — enha masterlist

HEESEUNG :

Heeseung notices it, of course.

The way you go still when someone glances over. How your hand pulls just slightly out of his when a group walks by. How your voice shifts, measured, careful, whenever eyes are on you. He doesn’t take it personally. He knows the difference between discomfort and disinterest.

And honestly? He gets it.

Heeseung has always been good at reading rooms, slipping in and out of presence when needed. He understands how the world can feel too sharp sometimes. How affection can turn into performance under the weight of other people’s attention.

So, he doesn’t push.

He doesn’t reach for you when you don’t want to be reached for. Doesn’t pout or ask why you won’t kiss him on crowded streets or lean on him in front of the members. He just… waits.

Because he knows what happens when the door clicks shut and the world finally stops watching.

You move first, always. Shedding the stiffness like a coat. You walk over, drop your phone somewhere without caring where it lands, and climb into his space like gravity only pulls toward him. No fanfare. Just a quiet kind of closeness that never needs to be asked for.

Tonight is the same.

He’s sitting on the couch, legs stretched out, scrolling aimlessly. You curl beside him, tucking your knees under your chest, chin resting on his shoulder.

“Hey,” you say, voice softer now.

He glances at you, already smiling. “Hey yourself.”

You don’t explain. You don’t need to.

Heeseung shifts, lets his arm fall around you, pulling you in with the kind of ease that only comes with knowing someone deeply. You fit there like a thought he’s been having all day.

“I know I’m weird about it,” you say eventually, not quite apologizing.

He shakes his head. “You’re not weird. You just don’t do public affection. That’s not a flaw.”

You go quiet. Then: “You never act like it bothers you.”

“Because it doesn’t,” he says simply. “Not when I have this.”

You glance up. He’s not being dramatic. Just honest.

“I’d rather have the real you when no one’s watching,” he adds. “Than a version of you shaped for everyone else.”

Your fingers slip into his, slow and easy.

He doesn’t need a crowd to feel wanted. He doesn’t need a hand held in public to know it means something. This, your quiet leaning, the way you talk more when it’s just him, the way you seek him out like instinct, this is what he sees.

And it’s enough.

More than.

JAY :

Jay’s never minded quiet love.

He’s always noticed the little things, the way you pull back when people are around, how your fingers twitch like they want to reach for his but think better of it. The way your voice stays level and your eyes unreadable when someone jokes, “Do you even like your boyfriend?” He just smiles at those moments, calm and unfazed. Because he already knows the answer. He doesn’t need you to show it for the world to see; he feels it where it matters.

Tonight is no different, another quiet reminder.

You’re standing in his kitchen, sleeves hanging over your hands, hair tousled from the hoodie you stole. Jay leans against the counter, watching you prepare two mugs of tea with a kind of silent focus that makes him smile. And then, without a word, you bring one over, set it gently in front of him, and tug lightly at the hem of his shirt like it’s something you’ve done a thousand times before.

He raises a brow, playful. “Want something?”

You shrug, trying not to smile. “Just you.”

Jay laughs under his breath, eyes softening. You’re always like this behind closed doors, quiet but full of affection in ways only he gets to see. There’s no show, no need for grand displays. Just small gestures that say more than words ever could.

He reaches for your hand, weaving his fingers through yours. “You’re kinda cute when you pretend not to be attached to me in public.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t pull away. “I’m not pretending.”

“Sure,” he teases, a smile tugging at his lips. “You just accidentally end up next to me every single time we sit somewhere.”

You nudge him with your shoulder, but the smile you wear now is genuine, relaxed, easy.

Jay squeezes your hand gently. “I don’t mind, you know.”

Your expression shifts slightly, a flicker of uncertainty behind your eyes. “That I’m… distant?”

“That you’re you,” he says simply. “I don’t need you to hold my hand in front of everyone to know how you feel. You make me tea. You steal my clothes. You always fall asleep on my side of the bed.”

You snort, and he can feel your body relax against his. “That’s just because your side’s warmer.”

“Exactly,” Jay grins. “You love me for my body heat.”

You lean your head against his arm and settle there, quiet. Content.

“I just like keeping it to ourselves,” you murmur.

Jay nods, brushing his thumb over your knuckles with a tenderness that doesn’t need words. “Then that’s enough for me.”

No pressure. No performance. Just two mugs, shared warmth, and the kind of love that exists not to be seen, but simply to be felt.

And with you, it always is.

JAKE :

Jake doesn’t need the spotlight. Not when it comes to love.

But sometimes, when you brush off his hand in public or dodge his playful attempts to get you to laugh around the others, there’s a quiet sting. Not quite hurt, just that subtle ache that comes from wanting to share something sweet with you and knowing… not yet. Not here.

Still, he never pushes.

He knows you well by now. Knows how to read between the silences, how to catch the affection in your smallest habits. Just because you don’t show your feelings in front of others doesn’t mean they’re not there. He feels them. Always.

Like tonight.

You’re sprawled across his couch, legs tangled with his, wearing one of his oversized t-shirts and poking lazily at the bowl of popcorn he made for movie night. The lights are dim, the TV plays something soft and forgettable, but neither of you are really paying attention.

Jake’s arm is slung loosely around your shoulders, his fingertips tracing the hem of your sleeve. You shift closer, settling against his chest with a long, quiet sigh.

“You okay?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You nod slowly. Then, softer, “I saw the way you looked at me earlier.”

Jake blinks. “What way?”

“When I didn’t hold your hand at dinner.”

He pauses, just for a moment. “I guess… yeah. I noticed.”

There’s a beat of silence, then your voice, smaller now. “Does it bother you?”

He smiles, tender and sure. “Not really. I mean, I love holding your hand. I love being close to you. But I love you more than I love people knowing it.”

You shift to look at him, eyes searching his. “Even if I don’t show it the way you do?”

Jake cups your cheek with one hand, thumb brushing gently across your skin. “You show it. Just not where everyone else can see. You always save the last dumpling for me. You send those random texts like ‘drink water’ or ‘wear a jacket.’ And you fall asleep on me every time we watch a movie.”

You blink. “That last one’s not intentional.”

He grins. “Still counts.”

You huff a quiet laugh, but your smile lingers, soft and warm at the corners. “I do love you, you know.”

“I know,” he says, and there’s no doubt in it.

He pulls you back into his arms, his voice low now, as if the moment is too full to speak above a whisper. “I don’t need the world to see it. Just need you to feel it.”

And you do.

So you stay there, wrapped in the hush of the room, in the warmth of him, letting his presence anchor you. Because with Jake, love is patient. Quiet. Golden.

SUNGHOON :

Sunghoon notices everything.

The way you always stand just far enough apart when the cameras are out. The polite smile you offer when someone mentions his name, even though you don’t meet his eyes. The way your arms stay folded when others might link theirs, your voice light but distant, like you’re somewhere else entirely.

To anyone else, it might seem like you don’t care. But Sunghoon knows better.

You always wait for him when the schedule ends. You remember how he takes his coffee. You send him songs you think he’ll like, even if you never follow up to ask what he thought. And that’s enough for him, because it’s real. Quiet, but real.

He never asks for more. Never reaches for your hand in public or expects a label you’re not ready to wear. That’s not how this works, not with you. But he still watches. Still understands.

He notices the way you shrink slightly when someone teases you about your lack of affection. The way your shoulders go stiff when love becomes something to display. So he never pushes. Just stays beside you, steady, patient, until the day ends and the door clicks closed behind you both.

Like now.

You drop your keys on the counter and turn without hesitation, walking straight into his arms like it’s second nature. Like this is what you’ve been waiting for all day. His hands settle at your back, grounding and familiar.

“You were quiet today,” you murmur into his hoodie.

“So were you,” he replies, voice even.

You pull back slightly, eyes searching his. “Was it okay? The way I… sort of ignored you?”

He shrugs, gentle. “You didn’t ignore me. You were just being you.”

You watch him for a moment, trying to find the catch, but there isn’t one. He’s not waiting for you to explain. He’s not asking for more than what you already give. He just wants you to be here.

“I know I’m not affectionate in front of other people,” you admit, voice a little uncertain.

Sunghoon reaches up to brush your hair from your face, fingers lingering with quiet care. “You don’t owe them anything.”

“But you do deserve someone who—”

“I want you,” he says, cutting you off, but not unkindly. Just certain. “Not a version of you that performs for everyone else.”

Your breath catches, then releases, slow and soft. His thumb traces your jaw once, then again, a soothing rhythm against your skin.

“And besides,” he adds, a faint smile pulling at his lips, “you’re affectionate here.”

You blink. “I am?”

He nods. “You always hug me before bed. You talk more when it’s just us. You do that thing where you sit next to me just close enough that our shoulders touch, even when there’s space.”

Your eyes drop, a quiet warmth rising to your cheeks. “That obvious?”

“To me, yeah,” he says simply.

Then Sunghoon leans in, his forehead resting gently against yours, the world narrowing to just this, the hush between you, the way his voice softens to match it.

“I don’t need everyone to see how you feel about me. I just need you to keep feeling it.”

You don’t answer. Not with words. Instead, you reach for his hand, your fingers lacing with his like they were always meant to.

And that’s all he needs.

Because with Sunghoon, love doesn’t need to be loud. It’s quiet, deliberate. It shows up in the spaces no one else notices, in the pauses, the gestures, the silence. And there, it speaks louder than anything else ever could.

SUNOO :

Sunoo can feel the difference.

Not just when you flinch away from casual touch in front of the others, or when you change the subject the second someone teases him about you. It’s subtler than that, etched into the way your laugh tightens when there’s company, how your eyes scan the room before brushing his hand away. A hesitation, not of love, but of fear. Of being seen too closely.

At first, it stung.

Not in a loud or dramatic way. Just a quiet ache, tucked into the corners of his chest like an unanswered question: Do you feel the same? Do I make you uncomfortable?

But then he started to notice the other things.

The way you always drift back near him, even if your hands stay to yourself. How you never forget which side of the booth he likes, or how he takes his iced coffee. The way your texts always come first, even on your busiest days, Are you home safe? Did you eat?, when anyone else would have expected to be asked instead.

And when it’s just the two of you?

You’re someone else entirely. Not hidden, not guarded, just soft in a way only he gets to see.

Like tonight.

You step through the apartment door, toss your bag aside without a word, and cross the room in a straight line to where he’s curled up on the couch. The lamplight casts a soft halo around him, and your hand finds his before you even sit down.

You don’t say anything. Just curl into his side, fingers slipping between his, your body easing into the shape of his like it’s the only place that fits.

Sunoo lets you take his hand, lets you find comfort in the silence.

Then, with a small nudge to your shoulder, he breaks it. “So…” His voice is light, playful. “Still pretending you don’t like me in public, huh?”

You groan, face burrowing into his shoulder. “It’s not like that.”

“I know,” he says, grinning. “But I had to get my dramatic line in before we get all serious.”

You laugh, muffled, genuine, and then, more quietly, “It’s just easier to not show it when people are watching. I don’t like feeling on display.”

Sunoo hums, resting his cheek lightly against your head. “You don’t need to explain. I mean it.”

You shift to look at him, cautious. “Really?”

“I mean, would I love it if you held my hand in front of everyone?” He lifts your intertwined fingers with a soft swing. “Sure. I’d be lying if I said no.”

There’s a flicker of guilt in your eyes, a faltering of your expression, but he squeezes your hand before you can spiral.

“But I like this more,” he says, firm and kind. “I like knowing this is real, even if no one else gets to see it.”

You let out a breath, then squeeze his hand back, an unguarded gesture that says everything you haven’t been able to.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like I didn’t care,” you murmur.

Sunoo shakes his head before you even finish. “You didn’t. And you don’t have to say sorry for protecting your heart.”

He leans in, presses a kiss to your cheek, light and smiling, nothing urgent about it. Just reassurance, wrapped in affection.

“You’re mine either way,” he whispers, words feathering against your skin. “I don’t need an audience for that.”

And in the quiet that follows, you tuck yourself under his chin, limbs tangled, and he wraps you up like he’s done it a thousand times before.

Because with Sunoo, you never have to perform. Not for the crowd. Not for him.

He never wanted a show.

He just wanted you.

JUNGWON :

Jungwon doesn’t chase your affection, not in public, not where the world can see.

He notices things, of course. He notices the way you shift a step to the side when someone nudges you toward him with a knowing smile. The way your hand instinctively pulls back when it brushes his in a crowded hallway. The way your voice lifts just a little too brightly, takes on a practiced ease, whenever too many eyes are on the two of you at once.

But he never takes it personally.

Because there’s a quiet kind of language that only he seems to hear.

Like how you always wait until he’s done speaking before leaving the room. Or how your gaze lingers on him when no one’s looking, a softness there you wouldn’t let anyone else catch. Or the way you hesitate at the doorway before going, as if some part of you doesn’t really want to go at all.

Those are the things he holds on to.

And in the stillness of your shared moments, when the doors are closed and the lights are low, that’s when you’re most yourself. Most his.

Like tonight.

The front door shuts with a soft click, and for a moment, you just stand there, keys still in hand, your shoulders drawn tight beneath your jacket. The evening was long, filled with conversations you couldn’t quite find your way into, laughter you couldn’t fully share. And now, you’re quiet. Worn thin. The kind of tired that’s more about people than it is about time.

Jungwon doesn’t call out. He doesn’t move toward you. He just waits.

He’s leaning against the counter, arms folded loosely across his chest, watching you with that gentle patience he’s always had. The kind that never asks more of you than you’re ready to give.

You don’t speak, not at first. But your eyes meet his, and whatever tension was left in your posture seems to ebb, slowly, like a tide drawing back. You cross the room in a few quiet steps, and without a word, you fold yourself into his arms.

It’s not dramatic. It’s not performative.

It’s just you. Here. Finally unguarded.

Your face presses into the crook of his neck, breath soft against his skin. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. He doesn’t need to.

“I hate how I freeze up,” you murmur, voice muffled. “It’s like… I want to be better at this. At being with you. But when people are watching, I can’t.”

His hands settle at your waist, warm and steady, tracing slow circles through the fabric of your shirt. “You don’t have to be anything more than you are,” he says. His voice is quiet but certain, like truth wrapped in calm. “Not for them. Not even for me.”

You breathe out slowly. It catches in your chest at first, but then it loosens, unraveling with the quiet comfort of being understood.

“I just don’t want you to think I’m ashamed,” you whisper. “Or that I don’t care.”

At that, Jungwon leans back, not to let go, but just enough to tilt your chin up and meet your gaze. His eyes are soft, serious, unwavering.

“I’ve never thought that,” he says. “Not once.”

You search his face, like you’re still waiting for something, some sign that it’s okay to believe him.

And he smiles. Not wide. Not showy. Just real.

“I don’t need the world to see it to know it’s real,” he says. “I feel it. Every time you look at me like this. Every time you stay, even when it’s hard. I don’t need more than that.”

Your eyes sting, just a little. Not from sadness, just the ache of finally being seen without having to explain yourself. You nod, then curl closer again, burying yourself in his warmth, fingers clutching lightly at the fabric of his shirt.

“I love you,” you whisper, like a promise you were finally ready to say out loud.

Jungwon presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand steady at your back.

“I know,” he murmurs into your hair. “I love you too. Just like this.”

And that’s enough.

Not perfect. Not polished. Not loud.

Just you, and him, in the quiet that always tells the truth.

NIKI :

Niki’s never needed a lot of attention, not from crowds, not from strangers, not even from you when you’re out together. Big gestures were never really his thing.

So he doesn’t mind the way you keep your distance when the others are around. How you walk beside him but never quite close enough to touch. How you laugh at the group’s jokes but go quiet when they turn toward teasing, especially when it’s about you and him.

He sees it. He just doesn’t take it personally.

Because there’s a difference between what you show the world and what you save for him, and Niki? He’s always liked having the secret version.

Still, the teasing comes.

“Does your partner even like you?” Jungwon jokes one afternoon, raising an eyebrow after you brush past without so much as a glance. There’s laughter, playful jabs from the rest of the group.

Niki just shrugs. Grins.

“Yeah,” he says. “They do.”

He doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t try to explain how he knows.

Because later, after the noise fades, after the world stops looking, you come home.

And that’s when everything changes.

You kick off your shoes without ceremony, drop your bag where it falls, and spot him instantly, sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, scrolling lazily through his phone. You don’t say anything, just cross the room in a few quiet steps and fold yourself down beside him like gravity brought you there.

His arm slips around your shoulders without thinking, already shifting to make space as you tuck into his side, forehead pressed to the warmth of his hoodie.

“Took you long enough,” he mutters, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips, soft, unmistakable.

You grin into his chest. “You missed me.”

“I always miss you,” he says easily, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You pull back just enough to peek up at him, your voice a little lighter. “Even when I act like I don’t know you in public?”

There’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he reaches up, brushing your hair gently back from your face. “You don’t act like that. You just… don’t like being watched. I get it.”

You hesitate, searching his expression. “But it doesn’t bother you?”

He shakes his head, not even for a second. “Not even a little. Honestly?” His lips quirk into a smirk. “I kinda like it.”

You blink, confused. “Like what?”

Niki leans in, forehead brushing yours. “That no one else gets to see you like this,” he says. “It’s like I’ve got this whole version of you that’s just mine.”

You bury your face in his hoodie again, groaning quietly. “You’re the worst.”

“You’re obsessed with me,” he says, completely unbothered.

You don’t answer, but your hand finds his, fingers slipping between his like it’s second nature. And that says more than enough.

A beat later, he hands you the game controller without asking, already queuing up your favorite show. You huff a laugh, still curled into him.

Niki presses a kiss to the top of your head, easy and familiar. Like he does it all the time. Like it doesn’t matter that no one else ever sees.

Because the truth is, he doesn’t need the world to recognize what you have.

He just needs this.

The quiet way you return to him. The weight of your body leaning in. The warmth you don’t share with anyone else.

You don’t have to shout it to prove it. You don’t even have to say a word.

Because in this quiet, in this closeness, he already knows.

[patchwork-crow-writes]

Ralsei has known what's been going on with Kris the ENTIRE time, and once you realise that, EVERYTHING he says and does around them makes a thousand times more sense. And you realise that, far from dismissing Kris's "true" self in favour of a copy, he has been working tirelessly to prop them up, to validate their most basic and fundamental choices, to keep them from the brink of despair, and perhaps even death.

We always thought it was strange, how Ralsei seems to baby Kris at times - how he offers heaps of praise upon them for performing the simplest of tasks, how he lets them express themself through violence while chastising Susie for the same thing, how at every turn he puts so much emphasis on Kris's choices, their talents, their intrinsic personhood, almost above the very prophecy he serves. We thought him mollycoddling and completely out-of-touch at best, and downright malicious at worst. We presumed he was encouraging the player to keep playing, and was in fact speaking over Kris's head directly at us. We presumed that the prophecy was all he cared about, and him encouraging Kris was simply a means to that end.

And we were wrong about all of it. Because we didn't know what Kris was truly going through until now. We thought that our possession was the worst thing that was happening to them, and that he was complicit in their suffering by trying to downplay it.

But Ralsei knew. Because Ralsei knows Kris better than anyone else - better than Susie, better than Noelle, and certainly far better than us.

Kris is hopelessly trapped, at all times. There is no hope for them, they cannot see a way to escape their bonds... not alive, in any case. Their suffering is so great, the pressures upon them so immense, that they have been hollowed out into a catatonic shell of their former self - unable to move except through great effort, unable to speak except through stilted phrases. They don't sleep or eat well at all. They don't try at school. They cannot tell anyone about what's happening, and they cannot make friends because of it. For all intents and purposes, they have given up.

But it's worse than that, because they KNOW that what they're being made to do is wrong. They don't want to do any of it, and yet they feel they cannot refuse. That knowledge eats away at them, to the point where they feel like they are inherently Bad, because only Bad people do Bad things, and they're doing Bad things all the time. They don't feel like they deserve the good things in their life because of it. They feel like they're living a lie. And no-one else knows - no-one else can possibly know.

But Ralsei knows.

Why does Ralsei go to the trouble of arranging a tutorial battle for Kris, when they've already demonstrated their capabilities fighting against Lancer? Because Kris doesn't know what they're doing during that fight. They're issuing commands, fighting alongside Susie, and they don't know how or why. They're scared, they don't know where they are, and the one other person they knew from school just ditched them. Through the tutorial, Ralsei breaks down each combat function step-by-step, walking Kris through each one with patience and restraint. And he lets them go off-piste up to a point - he'll let them attack his mannequin and say it's alright if they want to hit him too, he'll let them hug him several times throughout the tutorial, and he will show remarkable restraint throughout the entire endeavour, despite his obvious frustration at their uncooperativeness.

Seen this way, the Tutorial becomes less about the GAME teaching the PLAYER how to battle, and more about RALSEI providing to KRIS some semblance of structure and context to a new and frightening world. Both of them are literally starting at Zero, and have to establish the basics before anything further can happen.

This in turn establishes the framework for their relationship - not an annoying tutorial fairy lecturing an experienced player on things they already know, but a kindly tutor gently guiding a broken teen, one tiny step at a time. Not lashing out at mistakes, not admonishing when they try to assert themself against the established framework - he will let them fight, and let them command him to fight as well, because his desire to help Kris find themself again means he has to provide leeway for if they "misbehave". There have to be bounds, but they must feel like the choices they make matter - even if they actually don't.

When you're drowning in a world that has seemingly conspired to take your agency from you, and break you down into nothing more than a pawn that does what it's told and nothing else... even the illusion of choice is a life-preserver that you'll cling onto for dear life. The support Ralsei provides Kris in this capacity is what gives them the drive to protect Susie from King's attack - to make a choice to protect their friend, even if it wouldn't have meaningfully changed anything.

It explains his secret conversations with Kris too - while we are busy watching Susie, Ralsei is free to let Kris know that despite being literally controlled, the one controlling them is on their side, and that we will help them break free from the more insidious influence of the Knight. He has to tell them to trust in us, trust that we will do right by them to the best of our abilities. And indeed, by Chapter 2, they have become more willing to express themself through their tone of voice, through how they choose to interpret the instructions given to us, either to play pranks or to show their appreciation for the people who, despite everything, still care for them.

And even Ralsei's apparent dismissive attitude to Spamton NEO's effect on Kris can be explained through this prism. Kris is very very slowly starting to recover from the trauma of their situation, and literally EVERYTHING about Spamton is a huge trigger for them. It's not farfetched to say that Kris sees in Spamton a cautionary tale of how they will end up - used up, cast aside, wretched and desperate and bitter and broken. All of Ralsei's work building Kris back up could be undone in an instant, and so he has to tread extremely carefully - downplay its significance, offer nonthreatening proximity (he will hug Kris, but only if they hugged him on the boat ride prior to this), distract them from the immediate trauma with very basic "nice" thinks like cake, and warm/soft things. It seems dismissive at the time because we don't yet know what Spamton truly represents to Kris - not just the fear of being controlled against your will, but of being used up and broken down, and then tossed away like an unloved toy. It's only when we have that additional context that all of Ralsei's actions towards them start to make sense - not only make sense, but also show a level of care and tact that we did not previously assume him capable of.

And I suppose the last question is: why does Ralsei do any of this in the first place? Why go to this trouble when he knows he'll just be left behind, when he knows that if he succeeds, Kris will go back to the light world and live a full life without him? Well... look at the colour of his horns. If Ralsei is the horned headband, and Kris wore him for months, he would have borne witness to Kris's deepest, darkest fears about themself. It's possible that he might have seen the inciting incident that led Kris down this unfortunate path. Either way, he would have been so close to them that he'd almost be like an extension of them.

So, again - why does he do this? Because his purpose was always to guide them back to themself - first as a pair of horns to better fit in with their family, and then as a physical manifestation of those same horns to help them overcome the terrible harm that has been wrought upon them.

But more than this, I think it's because he loves them - the same way that they would have loved him when they wore him all those years ago. And isn't that what you do for the people you love - help them when they're struggling, comfort them when they're sad, gently challenge them to expand their window of tolerance, give them the tools they need to return to the light, to heal and grow back into themselves?

Ralsei knows Kris better than anyone else. And maybe we should start listening to him.

[therainscene]

I didn't start shipping Byler because I picked up on a few moments of chemistry and decided they'd make a cute couple -- I started off by absolutely refusing to entertain said moments as reciprocally queer until I ran into the ridiculous homophobia on the ST subreddit and decided to review Mike's character arc out of sheer gay spite.

Let me clarify: Spite isn't what made me change my mind about Mike. Spite just made me read a few Byler analyses and rewatch the show with an open mind because I didn't want to be like those pricks who would insult and censor queer fans for... [checks notes]... thinking something gay might happen in a TV show with gay people in it. I truly wasn't expecting a queer interpretation to fit Mike's arc anywhere near as well as the default interpretation -- but by the time I'd finished my rewatch, I was reeling from how much better it fit.

Cause that's the thing: Mike's queerness is pretty obvious once you look for it. The difficulty is in giving yourself permission to look.

-------------------

A question Bylers are often asked is "why would the show spend four seasons building up Milevn just to tear it down at the last minute for some unrealistic woke ship? Mike literally said he loves El!" And yeah, Mike's grand love confession at the end of S4 certainly seems like a triumphant pay-off to all that build-up... but I have a few questions of my own.

Firstly: why establish in no uncertain terms that feeling loved is the key to unlocking El's fullest potential against Vecna--

--only to undermine the power of Mike's longed-for confession by having it only be good enough to delay Vecna instead of defeat him? Yes, it's the penultimate season -- so why did Milevn's pay-off happen here instead of S5 where it could properly shine?

Secondly: why couldn't Milevn fix their relationship by themselves? Even if you believe that El commissioned the painting (she didn't) and that the feelings Will describes are truly hers (they aren't), it was still Will who had to perform this romantic gesture on her behalf, and it broke his heart to do so. Why hand this important work off to a third party? Why weave queer tragedy into the build-up towards a heterosexual pay-off that's supposed to feel triumphantly romantic?

Speaking of which: why undermine the intimacy of this scene by having Will hover behind Mike's shoulder the whole time? Couldn't they have asked Noah to take a few steps to the left for the sake of a better shot? Couldn't they have waited until after Milevn's big romantic moment to remind us for the millionth fucking time how sad Will is about it?

In my opinion, this scene and its four seasons of build-up make much more sense if you read them as three entwined character arcs about the trials of growing up in a suffocatingly heteronormative era: the gay kid who doesn't think he's entitled to a happy ending; the abused girl who thinks shallow romance with the first boy who's nice to her will make her feel normal; and the confused hero who hasn't figured out the solution yet.

For all the insistence that this show has to stick to "realistic" depictions of 80s queerness... it's hardly a realistic depiction of 80s straightness for Mike to score an awesome magical girlfriend, either. That's just nerdy wish-fulfillment, and common only as a trope in fiction.

So it's not unreasonable to suppose that Mike's true role in the Subverting 80s Tropes Show might be to represent the actually very realistic 80s experience of getting swept up in compulsory heterosexuality.

Think about it: Will's vulnerability to the horrors functions as a metaphor for being visibly gay in a world that despises gay people--

--whereas Mike's girlfriend quite literally has the power to protect him from monsters and homophobic bullies alike.

This doesn't mean Mike is callously using El, though. He learned the hard way in S1 that treating an innocent girl like a means to an end would only end up destroying her, and the guilt and fear of hurting her again has been weighing heavy on him ever since.

Comphet isn't about taking advantage of other people's feelings so you can pretend to be straight -- it's about deluding yourself into believing you're straight because queerness isn't an option you're allowed to consider.

Mike genuinely does love El and he genuinely does want to be an important part of her life -- so surely that means he wants to be her boyfriend, right? Twelve is perhaps a little young to know that yet... but surely there's gotta be something here that sets his feelings apart from how a friend or brother would feel?

Surely the reason he later finds himself struggling to say to her face that he loves her is because he's just an immature loser who needs to try harder to grow up and be the man this girl he adores deserves to have...?

...and certainly not because the guilt and fear of losing her just keeps piling up as the romantic instincts he thinks he's been waiting to grow into turn out to be developing at exactly the pace they're supposed to -- in the wrong direction.

That would be ridiculous. Will's his best friend. Yes, he loves him and can't bear to be without him, but that doesn't mean anything. Why can't a guy display a little unhinged devotion to his special friend without it having to mean something romantic?

Why can't he, indeed.

At his core, Mike is someone who desperately wants to be as special as the straight heroes in the nerdy media he loves. But there isn't anything inherently heroic about being some lame middle-class white nerd who's bad with girls, so he believes that the best he can do is to be a dutiful sidekick who would sacrifice himself in a heartbeat for people he perceives as more special than himself.

For all the "build-up" Mike's romance with El has enjoyed across four seasons, it's done absolutely nothing to help him grow as a character and overcome this self-worth problem.

So is it really any surprise that even after realizing El would be fine and still want to be friends with him if he told her the truth, and even after realizing just how good Will is at understanding his insecurities and reassuring him of his inherent worth--

--Mike would still sacrifice his chance at happiness for the sake of the greater good?

El was literally dying in his arms. How could queer desire possibly be as important as this girl who needed him to be a man and do his damn job so she could do hers?

I'm interpreting Mike as gay here, but I think it's important to note that this principle applies even if he's bi or straight -- Mike can be attracted to girls and still be forcing himself to stay in a relationship with a girl he's not a good romantic match for because that's just what he thinks he's supposed to do.

His sister had a similar problem: Nancy was legitimately attracted to Steve, but her infatuation with him was more about doing what cool teen girls are supposed do than about authentic connection. And because this is a horror story as much a coming-of-age story, Wheeler's conformity had horrendous consequences -- her critical-of-comphet bestie was killed by the horrors.

Which sounds familiar, doesn't it?

(Sure, Max technically didn't die -- but she still died enough for Vecna's plan to come to fruition. Which just brings us back to my first question: why couldn't the Power of Heterosexual Love prevent this? In the same season that said "forced conforming is what's killing the kids", no less?)

Will describes Vecna as an inevitability that won't stop until he's taken everyone -- which in my opinion is the same defeatist attitude demanded by comphet.

It's not that Mr. Refuses-To-Participate-In-Society's-Silly-Play symbolizes comphet itself, per se; rather, he represents the despair of feeling like you can't truly escape it. But either way, this means that the solution to defeating Vecna is the same solution to defeating comphet:

Giving yourself permission to look and see that your true self is far more valuable than whatever you think you're supposed to be.

[whatsverstappeningnow]

better together

lando norris x oscar piastri x reader

You wanted them both. At once. You weren’t sure they’d say yes. Turns out, they’ve been waiting for you to ask.

-> cw: smut, DP, slightly subby Oscar, no reference to birth control but its there (wrap before you tap people), 18+ content (you are incharge of your own content consumption, not me)

“Feels so good, love,” Oscar whispers into the crook of your neck, voice hoarse and whinny against your skin. “So good.”

“You hear that, baby? You’re taking him so well he can barely speak,” Lando says from behind you, a lilt of mocking in his voice overshadowed by the soft touch of his hands over your bare waist.

You’re held up between the two of them, Lando behind and Oscar in front holding you up with a strong grip on your thighs—already settled deep inside you. Your arms are wrapped around Oscar‘s neck, head leaning back against Lando’s shoulder. All clothes have been discarded long ago.

The older boy laughs lightly at the glazed-over look in your eyes, mind dazed already simply from having Oscar deep inside you and both of them so close.

“You want to tell him how good he feels too?” Lando whispers to you before he dips down to press soft kisses to your neck. 

“’S Good. So deep, Osc,” is all you can manage to get out. Though Oscar can only moan in response, so you suppose you win. 

“You still wanna try, baby? Think you can take us both?” Lando asks, thumbs rubbing calming circles on your hips. "You want us to make you feel good together?”

You’ve already talked about it at length. The awkwardness you felt when summoning the courage to ask them to try taking both of them at once was quickly forgotten when you saw the dark look in their eyes at the request.

Oscar, terrified of hurting you, had been slightly hesitant. But he was reassured by the both of you: you’d go slow, you could always stop. There was no pressure.

A hand on the inside of his thigh and a soft don’t you want me? from you was enough to convince him completely. 

They wanted it. You wanted it. 

“Yes,” you mumbled softly, melting into their brace and feeling soft kisses against your neck and collarbone from the both of them.

“What was that, sweetheart?” Lando said again, pretending not to hear.

“Please. Yes, please.” 

It's Oscar who breaks first, one of his hands slipping from your thigh to grab Lando’s bicep, “Please Lan, no more teasing. Need you both.”

Somehow, impossible, the two press closer into you, the pressure between you three keeping you up in the air while Lando lines up at your entrance. You tense slightly, feeling him, a sudden unexpected pit of nerves settling in your stomach.

Lando is quick to calm you. “Breathe, love. You’ve got us. We’re right here.”

“Tell us if it’s too much. We’ll stop. Just say the word. Yeah?” Oscar adds, his voice soft and careful, but his touch hot against your skin. You can barely feel where you end and he begins. Your three bodies feel so connected and in tune, thatit’s hard to disguise one from the other. 

Then slowly, so, so slowly, Lando pushes in. Your whole world turns erupts in pleasure. Their words swirl around you, lost to the feeling of complete fullness. Complete pleasure.

“You’re being so good for us, love.”

“Look at you. So fucking pretty like this, stuffed full and still asking for more.”

“That’s it, let us hear you. Wanna hear how we make you feel. Every little sound you make…”

“You’re shaking, love. Is it too much? Or just that good?” Lando says it right into your ear, unmistakable as he finally fully settles inside of you. 

“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop. I need you. Both of you.”

“You have us,” Oscar replies, kissing your shoulder once and shifting slightly inside you, causing you to moan low and long.

You stay like that for a while, holding each other, breathing deeply, whispering sweet things. Until eventually…

“Move,” you beg. And they do. 

It's all too much, and just right all at once. Quickly, they settle into a pace, a rhythm. The smell of sweat and love fills the air, hanging over the room. Hands roam and hold you tightly, gripping your waist, your thighs, your ass, your hands, pushing back your hair and caressing your jawline. 

Each time you think it's too much, their sweet words pull you back to yourself. Each touch feels perfect.

"Harder," you beg, lost to the feeling of them both spliting you open. It's better than you could have ever imagined.

Their speed picks up, ramming into you in unison and causing your breath to get stuck in your throat. You swear you can see stars. You're body twitches and squirms with each thrust, sentive to every little sensation.

“You're clenching so hard," Oscar groans out, his rhythm stuttering slightly, "I'm not, god, I'm not gonna last."

"Fuck, same," Lando admits, some of his earlier cockiness slipping away from him as you whine again at the feeling of both of their cocks bottoming out inside you at once.

"I can take it. Want to. Want both of you." You reassure them with breathy words, grabbing onto any part of them you can until.

"Fuck."

Their climax hits so suddenly that their groans are the only thing you can hear. The whole world seems to come to a stop as they hold you tightly, breathing deeply through their high. Time feels stuck in this moment. It's perfect.

"You still with us, love?" Lando asks, voice hoarse and tired. All you can do is hum lightly and lean into Oscar's touch as he cradles your cheek with his hand.

"Gonna pull out? Ok?" And once you nod slightly, you feel the emptiness fill you up soon after. You groan at the sudden loss.

Soon, you're moving. Strong arms cradle and place you softly down on the bed. One of them, Lando, you think, settles behind you, resting up against the headboard. He pulls you back till your back hits his chest. Hands glide across your body, tracking down your neck and chest and landing on the inside of your thighs, pushing them apart slightly. 

"You haven't come yet darling, can we help with that?" he whispers to you as Oscar settles in front of you, eyes shining and lips glossy with spit. You can only nod. 

After a sweet kiss to your lips, gentle and kind, Oscar goes down. 

You're still so sensitive from having both of them inside of you, it barely takes any time for your climax to hit. Your legs shake with pleasure, your muscles tighten and then suddenly, all at once, relax completely. You let out a breath of peace. 

Oscar collapses on top of you, his head on your chest and his hand interlocking with yours. The pressure feels like safety. You all lie there for a moment, breathing and tracing each other's skin with gentle hands. Soft kisses are pressed to your temple, and you can't help but smile at the feeling.

"I think I could stay right here forever," Oscar whispers, lips ticklish against your neck. 

“You okay? You with us?” Lando asks again, a hand running through Oscar's hair and then intertwining with your free hand.

“I don’t think I can walk," you joke, voice coming back to you as you feel the tiredness settle in you."

Oscar answers before Lando can. "We’ll carry you. Wherever you need.”

You laugh lightly at the words. You should have a bath, clean up, but you can't find it in you to care. Your limbs are too tired and your mind is completely at ease.

You let your eyes slip closed, your hand still wrapped in Oscar’s, your back pressed to Lando’s chest. They’re so close, so constant. It feels like they’re holding you together even as you start to drift off.

Sleep takes you slowly. It comes easily, wrapped in warmth, steady breaths, and the quiet thrum of being wanted completely, without question, without end. 

please be kind, this is my first ever attempt at smut! - ree

[crazy-1201]

PREACH!

I fully endorse this. I have no intention of pretending Canon is come kind of bible when it’s also written by people who are flawed and can make crazy choices. Just because they thought of a concept doesn’t mean they can execute it well or understand the emotional/moral themes that can tie in.

Any fictional work can be interpreted differently by audiences, or portrayed differently by someone else. Sometimes there are people who have lived through something a character is going through that the author may not have, and would understand the subject better.

It’s not just ‘well this is how it is.’ It’s “that’s how it is from ‘THAT’ persons perspective, but ‘I, think logically they should be have this way-“

And I get it, sometimes there’s a character or series that’s pretty solid and you don’t want to mess with it, that’s fine. Superman is who he is because of his qualities- but even characters like Superman have had different writers and inconsistent portrayals. So I approach things from a comic point of view.

Which is along the lines of what Stan Lee said regarding people trying to power scale- which is whoever wins in a fight is pointless because whoever he wants to win, wins. They’re just throwing out comics and canon is all over the place depending on what you’re picking and choosing half the time. You do what you want with it.

Fiction is all about justification. If you can write your way around something it doesn’t matter worth a damn what someone else thinks would happen. And that includes the author. Yes, we know the original source material may be a particular way, no one’s gonna debate a series of events happened (~usually,) but that doesn’t mean the reasons,or methods, or emotions behind them, or the reality of the audience, or even the rationality of the writer aren’t questionable. And if I want to imagine a world where a character does something differently or something else happened to skew their path, then I’m going to do it.

I have seen a massive chunk of fanon works and thoughts that are just outright better than the source material, and honestly we should celebrate that fact and allow people to enjoy it to the fullest potential. Because we aren’t limited by budget, or time constraints, and we have a lot of resources to study and a lot of people to collaborate with to come up with ideas, and we are trying to make the series new and enjoyable in a way we and others might like or want to explore. And that’s a good thing.

The second you publish something it’s not yours anymore, it’s an idea anyone can interpret.

[hatethysinner]

papa remmick headcanons pleaseee 🥸🥺

ᴘᴀᴘᴀ!ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ ʜᴀɴᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

ᴀ/ɴ: these have been floating around in my head since i saw the movie so it'd be an understatement to say just how excited i am to share them! for simplicity's sake i only wrote about one daughter but let's be real remmick would have like 4. i genuinely have so many more ideas than this so if i get a lot of traction i'm def doing like 5 parts. tried to go in a chronological-ish order! if imagining hot fictional characters as fathers is my favorite pasttime does that make me crazy? i don't do taglists personally, so just follow me if you want to be updated when i post c:

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: none, enjoy the cutest vampire mass murderer as the most devoted father in the world! i even made the setting and time period very vague because i absolutely refuse to terrorize this adorable family.

first and foremost, ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ could only be a girl dad. it is physically, spiritually, and cosmically impossible for this man to have sons. don't argue with me, argue with the universe.

from the start, ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ was incredibly attentive. if his baby girl so much as shifted lightly in her crib, he was already standing over her before you could even stir.

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ insisted on skin-to-skin contact at every opportunity. didn't care if he had to stay still for HOURS. and he would too.

“she’s settlin’ her heart,” he'd whisper, “and mine’s the drum she’s gonna know first.”

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ took her babbling dead seriously. would fold his arms, listen with furrowed brows, and nod as if absorbing the meaning of life.

talked to her constantly. about everything. you'd catch ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ engaging in full-on conversations with an infant.

“this right here’s nutmeg. we don’t touch that, ‘cause it’s strong. like your mama. now this is thyme. it teaches ya patience.” (he was very proud of that joke)

best believe ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ is singing to her if she won't go to sleep. real songs, not lullabies. low and soft. a little off key. a little too slow. and always with her name in the chorus.

if she trips over air, ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ's already crouched beside her like a medic on a battlefield.

“where’s it hurt, baby? show me. papa’s got you.”

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ let her paint his nails. once. now it’s every saturday. sits there dead serious with one hand outstretched and the other holding a towel so she doesn’t drip.

says “gentle, baby” every time she pets a flower, every time she touches your face, every time she hugs his neck. because that’s how ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ taught her. love is gentle.

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ never hid his vampiric features at home. she adores them. pokes at his fangs, tugs at his claws, stares into his eyes with not even a hint of fear. because there's no need to.

if she calls for ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ in the night, even once, he’s at her side with a glass of water, a fresh blanket, and at least four “ya okay, sugar?” before he even sits down.

when she gets sick, ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ holds her all night with one hand pressed to her forehead and the other on her back like he can make her feel better just by staying still enough.

do not ever ask ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ to discipline his daughter. ten minutes later, you'll find the two of them on the porch swing sharing a pint of ice cream and laughing like nothing happened.

“i talked to her,” he’d say, mouth full of rocky road (🤭). “we came to an understandin’.” they did not.

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ is a constant bragger. constant. mentions her name in every single conversation, so avoid casually talking to him at all costs.

“my baby just got straight a’s. first grade, top of her class. can ya believe that?”

does not play when it comes to styling her hair. to learn, ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ sat on a little wooden stool for an entire afternoon under the careful eye of mama, focused like it was life of death. now he does them every sunday morning, and always ends with three sweet kisses.

“prettiest girl in the world. prettiest head of curls, too.”

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ felt left out of not having a bonnet (literally made this :( face) so he wears one too. unironically loves it.

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ always needs a picture of his family. first day of school, new dress, vacation, playing in the yard, doesn't matter. wallet’s full of folded photos and his side of the bedroom’s a shrine. framed memories everywhere. his girls, always.

y'all ain't never met a man who throws down in the kitchen more than ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ does. bakes, grills, fries, sautés, and seasons like nobody's business. he's been alive for over a millennium, so half the meals he makes have long been forgotten by the world. and of course he's teaching his baby girl all his skills.

girl ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ runs the pta like it's the navy. absolutely zero tolerance for slackers. despite his authoritarian, almost hivemindlike (🤭) style, every event and fundraiser ends up being a major success

he's never and will never miss a single recital, play, spelling bee, science fair, honor roll ceremony, or any other event involving his baby. ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ will fight his way to the front row if he has to, and records the whole thing with his favorite video camera. every tape is labeled, dated, and stored with care. if the house is too quiet, he'll be watching reruns.

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ ends every night the same. “ya know who loves ya?” he asks, real low.

and she says, every time, “you do, papa.”

and he answers, “damn right i do.” with his hand over his heart.

[rootbeerrex]

in a. I don't wanna say better because let's be clear this would suck. but in a different world nightwing brothers in blood ended with the three of them forming the world's most toxic superhero team of nightwings for exactly four days before dick finds out about jason and cheyenne sleeping together and accuses jason of only doing it to piss him off. jason proceeds to talk mad shit about all of dick's former relationships. dick says he wishes bruce's aim was better. cheyenne wants to know what the hell dick meant by "don't worry, I'm not mad at you, it wasn't your fault." the three of them have an all out brawl the likes of which we haven't seen since dick's mob era. jason stabs dick. dick breaks three of jason's ribs. cheyenne electrocutes both of them so hard they pass out. she goes home and starts a toxic lesbian situationship with her assistant. dick and jason wake up and silently agree to go their separate ways and not tell bruce about this. dick goes back to gotham. jason already told bruce about it because he wanted to start drama. bruce makes a comment about picking his teams better because he's worried about dick's safety and dick hears "you are bad at what you do and you need better teams to back you up because you don't know what you're doing. by the way I hate the titans" and dick is like the FUCK did your just say about my friends and then they have a screaming match that escalates into a physical fight the likes of which we haven't seen since that time in fugitive where dick roundhouse kicked bruce in the jaw and punched out the glass of the good soldier case. this happens in the span of three issues maximum.

[kxsagi]

hi pretty !! <3

i was wondering if u could possibly do a nagi scenario with a gf that has bigger thighs and chest ? theyre my biggest personal insecurities and i feel like nagi likes ppl with a softer body type if u get me !! 😭

obv if u dont feel comfortable or if uve done something similar pls dont feel pressured to do this ! i js recently found ur blog and i love the way that u write for nagi :((

thank u so much and have a great day / night !

“𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭”

a/n: hiii! thank you and yes, i absolutely can write this and hope you enjoy!

ur so beautiful, i don't need to see you to know that, and i hope you love your body and move with confidence every day because you absolutely deserve to! 💗

have a great day/night as well!

you never meant for him to see you like this. 

curled up at the edge of his bed, hoodie bunched over your thighs, legs pulled close to your chest like they’re something to be hidden. his hoodie, actually – comically oversized, but somehow not big enough when the intrusive thoughts creep in, whispering cruel things about softness and skin and space you take up. 

nagi watches you from the doorway. he was just brushing his teeth. just stepped out for a second. just went to grab the snacks you asked for, and yet somehow, in that short window, your smile dimmed and your arms wrapped around your knees like armor. 

he doesn’t say anything right away. just walks over slowly, barefoot, the fabric of his joggers brushing softly with every lazy step. the silence stretches, but not in an awkward way, more like the hush before a soft rain. 

“you okay?” he asks, voice quiet. not sleepy. concerned. 

you hesitate, trying to pass it off with a smile. “yeah. just tired.” 

but nagi isn’t stupid. he’s just chill. observant in a way people never give him credit for. 

his fingers lightly tug at the hem of your hoodie. “you’re doing the thing again.” 

“what thing?” 

“where you shrink,” he says, expression unchanging, but eyes more serious than usual. “like you’re trying to disappear.” 

you go quiet, and that’s all he needs. 

nagi doesn’t press you. just climbs into bed with a sigh like gravity’s pulling him into you, like he belongs next to you. without hesitation, he tugs you gently into his arms, long limbs wrapping around your frame, burying his face against your neck. 

“don’t do that,” he mumbles, lips brushing your skin. “don’t hide from me.” 

your heart aches at how gentle he is. how careful he is with you. like you’re something fragile, but not in a bad way, just something worth handling with intention. 

“i don’t like how my body looks,” you whisper. “especially next to yours.” 

he lifts his head, messy hair flopping lazily over his eyes. “huh? what does that mean?” 

you can’t look at him. “i just… i’m not small, sei. my thighs are big. my chest is too much sometimes. i feel like i take up too much space.” 

for a moment, you expect silence. maybe a shrug. something vague. 

but then nagi blinks once, twice, and his face twists into the most confused expression, like you just told him the moon is made of cheese. 

“you’re literally perfect,” he says plainly. “i like that you take up space.” 

you blink, startled. 

“you’re soft,” he continues, dragging his hand down the curve of your thigh like it’s his favorite pillow. “and warm. and comfy. when i’m with you, i feel like… like the world’s not so harsh.” 

he shifts closer, tugging your leg over his own so you’re half on top of him now. there’s no shame in his touch. no hesitation. just this grounding weight of i want you here, like this. 

“your thighs?” he mumbles, nuzzling into the crook of your neck again. “my favorite place to nap.” 

his hand moves higher, tracing over your waist. “your chest?” he adds with a slightly sleepy smirk. “heaven. ten outta ten. would rest my face there forever.” 

you let out a soft laugh, heat creeping up your cheeks. 

“’s not a joke,” he grumbles. “you feel real. better than real. like… dream texture. if that makes sense.” 

“dream texture?” you snort. 

“mhm.” his lips brush against your collarbone. “like clouds. but better. ‘cause you’re mine.” 

you fall silent again, not out of shame this time, but because you don’t know what to say. his words feel like balm over old wounds. warm. slow. true. 

nagi pulls the blanket up over you both and holds you tighter. 

“don’t hide from me,” he says again, quieter now. “i love all the parts you’re scared of.” 

and just like that, the sharpness in your chest softens. your grip loosens. you lean into him, letting your body rest fully against his. 

and for the first time in a long time, you don’t shrink. 

you let yourself take up space in his arms, just like he wants. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[writingsbytee]

Rivalry & Romance

Enemies to Lovers workplace romance

*Remember you are in charge of your own consumption. 18+ up audiences only; minors please don’t interact!* THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION 

*Please do not plagiarize, repost, or steal my work. This doesn’t count for re-blogs!*

*the book excerpt above is from ‘The Cruel Prince’  by Holly Black

SUMMARY: I think I’m obsessed with the early 2000s. But this is set in the era of MapQuest and Motorola Razrs. You and Terry have been at each other’s throats for months. Putting the term “Workplace rivalry” to shame. 

PAIRINGS: Terry x Tatum (black, fem, reader)

WARNINGS: Terry being an asshole

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is going to be a slow burn, So there won’t be any smut in this fic. Just simple character building.

TAGLIST

@nayaesworld @keehendrixx @theereinawrites @theereina @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @megamindsecretlair @episodes-ff @blackgurlnhermoods @dxddykenn @pinkkycherrish @pinkkycherrishh @uzumaki-rebellion @urfavblackbimbo @kianaleani @shallipii @mymindisneverhere @onherereading @skyesthebomb @gg-trini @blyffe @melalsworld @mogul93 @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @sweettea-and-honeybutter @notapradagurl7 @miyuhpapayuh @simplyzeeka @playgurlxoxo @yassbishimvintage @dbaileyblog @jimmybutlrr @versaceslutz @ruewritesoccasionally @kaylalb @noir-lullaby @jadatingz @madamedantes @charmedthoughts @daughterofapollo-7 @cardi-bre91 @thabiddie23 @mama200195-blog @venusincleo @slvt4her @skvrpion @constanthavok @dutifulliythoughtfulenthusiast @massivenightdreamer @astasteofmir @callingallbaddies @nubiawrites @nubiagurllll @theglamclosetsl @alicewonderringland @kumkaniudaku @zunibugsiren @secrettawolfpanda @fakxmbj @zunibugsiren

If I missed anybody, please comment and let me know!

“I told you to make a left three miles back!” you exclaimed, crossing your arms in frustration. 

“I swear to god if you say that one more time, I’ll pull this car over. I’m literally an ex-marine, I know my way around a map,” Terry said, his voice taking on a rumbling growl. You roll your eyes, huffing as you turn away from him to look out the window. Your cybersecurity company planned a business retreat for you and your coworkers as a way to celebrate the huge account they just obtained and boost morale. Pairing you with your ‘least compatible match’, your boss thought it’d be a great way for you and Terry to try and get along.

FLASHBACK

“Nora please! Pair me with anyone but him,” you begged your boss. You knew it was a strong possibility that she’d pair you with Terry, that doesn’t mean that you weren’t going to fight it.

“Tatum, try and look at it from my perspective. I’ve got two team leads who don’t get along, which is making it really hard for me to conduct meetings. You two can’t be in the same room for more than 5 minutes without world war three happening.”Nora says, closing her laptop. 

“Look at it like this, if my top two performers of my team are constantly butting heads, what kind of example do you think that’s going to set for your subordinates? You and Terry either find a way to deal with each other or both of you will have to think of a change in departments.” She finishes, her tone signifying that there’s no room for discussion. 

With a sigh you say, “Fine, I’ll do my best. Just make sure you tell that meathead the same thing.”

END FLASHBACK

With a huff you say, “I can’t believe Nora actually though pairing us together would work. We still have 3 hours left on the road.”

“It’ll go by quicker if you shut up,”Terry grumbles, reaching forward to turn his playlist up. 

“Ugh! And do we have to listen to classic rock the whole way? Nobody wants their eardrums to bleed  24/7 like you do” You add, positioning your body to stare Terry down. Despite hating his guts, Terry was fucking hot, and boy did he know it too. 

“Well, it’s better than listening to your voice all day, or at all for that matter,” Terry glances over at you, a teasing half smirk on his face. He reaches  for the volume switch on his steering wheel, turning the volume up yet again. 

He wasn't exactly sure how your rivalry started but Terry knew that he couldn’t stand you. How you were always so warm and glowy. Flashing your grossly attractive smile around the office like those knuckleheads deserved to be graced by the sun each morning. Walking around in your stupid clothes that seemed to cling to every curve, his eyes would always be drawn to your annoyingly plump ass. Terry hated your guts, but he could appreciate a fine woman. 

You roll your eyes at Terry’s comments, not wanting to further this verbal sparring session. Sliding your eye mask over your eyes, “Just wake me up when we get there,” you said, reclining your chair back.  

Terry lets out a defensive snort, clearly unimpressed with your dismissive attitude. “Fine, princess. Don’t let me disturb your beauty sleep.”

You roll your eyes, sitting in silence at Terry’s harsh words. “You’re insufferable,”you mumble under your breath. 

Terry just smirks, he laughs,a deep mocking sound that echoes throughout the car. “Insufferable? That’s rich coming from you Tatum. At least I’m honest about who I am and what I want.”

You snatched the eye mask off your face, a gentle rage brewing under the surface. “Don’t pretend that you know anything about me, Terry.”

Another chuckle leaves his mouth, a cold and mirthless sound. “Oh, I know plenty about you, Tatum. More than you like probably. After all, it's not hard to figure out what makes you tick when you’re so transparent.” He reaches forward, turning down the volume slightly, “You’re a puzzle, sure, but not a particularly complex one. Jealous, insecure, and secretly craving validation from those you despise.”

You scoff, meeting his eyes, “Please remind me when I asked for your lackluster input. You know nothing about me Terry.”

He raises both hands in mock surrender, a teasing smirk adorning his infuriatingly handsome face,”You didn’t have to ask, it’s written all over you. I figured since we’re stuck on this drive together, I might as well entertain myself by analyzing your pathetic attempts at independence.”

“Why are you like this?” you ask with a shake of your head. 

Terry pins you with his piercing green eyes, “We don’t have enough time to go through all of that, princess.”

“Well whether we like it or not we’re stuck together for the weekend. Obviously it seems like we’re not going to make any progress so how about we don’t speak to one another unless it’s absolutely necessary,”you say your hands wringing together. All of this hostility was triggering you, and you didn’t want to have a full fledged episode in front of Terry. 

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “If that’s what you want, then so be it.” He adjusts his hands on the steering wheel focusing on the road. Terry looked seemingly lost in thought, but the set of his jaw and the rigid line of his shoulders betrayed his true state. You got under his skin, and he couldn't put his finger on why. Terry just knew he had to get you out of his system one way or another. 

You however, were fuming inside. How dare Terry pretend to even know a thing about you. It pissed you off even more to know that he was right. 

“You’ve been avoiding me around the office,” you start. “Whenever we need to come up with a proposal together, you send someone else in your place. You always leave the room when I enter it. What did I do to you to make you dislike me so much?”, you ask, your eyes burning holes in the side of his head. 

Terry sighs, “Avoiding you implies that I care more than I should. That is not the case.” His words are dismissive, but the way he keeps glancing at you could indicate otherwise. 

You huff in frustration, you’re not getting through to him, “So if you’re not avoiding me, what would you call it?”you press, tilting your head to the side slightly. “Because it feels like you’ve been going out of your way to avoid me these past few weeks.”

Terry flicks on the blinker before exiting the highway, within the next six minutes you’re parked at a ‘Buc-ee’s’. You watch as Terry takes a deep breath, seemingly composing himself before saying, “I’m focused on my work, performing well and efficiently. I don’t understand why you can’t get that through your thick fucking skull.”

The deflection pisses you off, “So why me then? You’re perfectly pleasant with everyone else in the office, but when I’m involved it’s different.” 

Terry’s eyes drift over you, a mask of indifference painting his face. “Is this conversation going anywhere? Or are you going to keep whining about not being liked?” 

You sigh with defeat, turning to face forward you decide to keep your mouth shut, this conversation doing more harm than good. 

“I’m just going to fill up and grab something to eat, do you want anything from inside?” Terry asks, grabbing his keys and wallet. You shake your head, ready for a few minutes alone to screw your head on straight. 

“Suit yourself, just don’t bother me if you’re hungry in an hour,” and with that, Terry gets out of the car. Halfway into the store, Terry turns back and spots you wiping your eyes. Something in his chest tightens at the fact that he made you cry. Your verbal sparring sessions would always be the highlight of his day, you always had a witty comeback, giving him a run for his money. He’s so lost in his thoughts about you, he doesn’t even realize that he’s next up in line. Terry places his order, getting something additional for you, then heads out. 

Back in the car, you call your mom, needing a pep talk from her. “Baby, sometimes two people just don’t get along. Just keep being you, that’s all you can do. I’m sure he’ll come around, what’s not to like?”

You sigh, “But mama, you don’t get it! He’s so frustrating, nobody’s ever gotten under my skin like this. It’s like he knows where and how to press my buttons. It’s getting tiring, Nora said we need to get along or she’ll transfer both of us.”

Your mother stays silent on her side of the phone. She knows her daughter, and her daughter just might have a crush on her work rival. “Are you sure there’s no other reason why you two don’t get along?”

Her statement stuns you, your train of thought coming to a complete halt. “Mama be serious, he’s told me time and time  again that I’m not his cup of tea,”you say, wrapping your cardigan tighter around midsection. Looking up you see Terry come out of the Buc-ee’s, bags in hand, making his way to the car.

“Look mama, I have to go but I’ll call you once we get settled in. I love you , bye” you say ending your call. Terry watches as you hang up the phone and pull down the sun visor to wipe away any moisture gathered under your eyes. Guilt heavy like a rock sat uncomfortably in his gut. He never wanted to make you cry, or feel bad about yourself. The truth is, he admires you, how you never seem to let the pressures of the day get to you. How you had a smile for everyone in the office, including Greg, who obviously wanted to fuck you. Always smiling your perfect smile at these people who didn’t deserve it, him included. 

Walking to the passenger side window, Terry taps twice to grab your attention. With a start, you meet Terry’s gaze through the tempered glass. Rolling your window down, you look at Terry over your librarian-esque glasses, something he finds oddly cute. 

Passing the bags of food through the open window. “I wasn’t sure what you liked so I got chicken, beef and tofu in case that’s your thing,” Terry said, his eyes refusing to meet yours. This was uncharted territory for him, he wasn’t the ‘thinking about others feelings’ type.  He liked to avoid attachments, they slow him down. Terry didn’t need another person he cared about being ripped from his life, he couldn’t take that pain again. 

“Terry? Are you good?” you ask when you notice Terry’s eyes went unfocused and he was lost inside his head.

Terry nods his head, handing you the food, “Yeah sweet girl, hold these for me. I’m going to fill up so we can hit the road.” You barely have time to respond before Terry’s on the other side of the car filling up. 

Where the fuck did that come from? You thought. Reaching into the back you pull out a chicken sandwich. Reaching for your drink, you notice Terry bought your favorite. His thoughtfulness sends a shiver down your spine. Terry might not think you’re a puzzle, but he definitely is, infuriating and alluring in equal measure. 

Once the tank is full, Terry slides back into the driver’s seat. You can feel the energy shift as he settled in. You glance over at him and you’re startled to find he’s already looking at you. 

“Look, I don’t want to spend the rest of this retreat biting each other’s heads off. Believe it or not Tatum, I don’t want to fight with you. It’s clear we both are passionate and have strong viewpoints.  For the sake of our jobs, and a cohesive work environment, I think we should just pretend to get along for the duration of the trip.” Terry looks over at you apprehensively, hoping what he just said didn’t piss you off. 

You sighed before turning your body to face Terry, “I don’t want to argue with you either, but pretending isn’t going to help anything when we have to go back to the office next week. I’ll do my best to not piss you off, all I ask is that you do the same.” You state, finally meeting Terry’s eyes. He’s looking at you with apprehension, sizing you up. 

“You’ve got a deal,” he says, outstretching his hand. You place your hand in his, the familiar spark shooting up your arm. Terry quickly slides his hand out of yours, starting the vehicle, you both head back out on the road. 

3 HOURS LATER 

“Well, look who finally decided to show up!” Nora exclaims, as Terry rolls both your suitcases into the hotel lobby. Despite being a complete asshole at least Terry was raised as a gentleman.

“Ha Ha, very funny Nora. Those directions you sent sucked,” Terry grumbled, taking his room key from Nora’s outstretched hand, not noticing the devious smirk her face held. You follow behind Terry outstretching your hand as well.  

Nora’s face pinches with nervousness, “So, umm, little mix-up with the rooms.” Terry stops abruptly. You watch his head hang, shoulders sag, and you hear a deep sigh come from him. 

“Does this mean what I think it does?” Terry asks, turning to face Nora. 

“Well somewhere during the registration process, the amount of rooms needed got mixed up. And since you two were the last to make it in, you guys have to room together. And before you ask, the hotel is fully booked for some medical conference.” Nora finished. This was obviously an uncomfortable conversation for her to have. Her face was red as hell. 

The last thing you wanted right now is to be rooming with Terry. But, being the people pleaser you are, you give Nora a small smile. “It’s only a few days Nora, I’m sure we won’t burn the hotel down.”

You hear Terry scoff behind you, “Speak for yourself.” You roll your eyes at his comment before patting Nora on the shoulder. With the deepest sigh you can muster, you head toward the elevator. 

“Tatum, wait,” Terry says. You turn and Terry takes in your exhausted expression. “I don’t think anyone should be subjected to my snoring. That’s all I meant,” Terry said, with a shrug of his shoulders. A sheepish smile forms on his lips.

Another heavy sigh leaves  your lips, “This isn’t ideal for me either, Terry. Do you think I want to be trapped in a room with someone who would rather be anywhere else?” Your enthusiasm meter had finally reached E. All you wanted was a hot shower, a face mask, and a glass or three of wine. Now you’d be spending your evening undoubtably bickering with Terry over what to watch. 

Terry’s smile fades, replaced by a grimace of discomfort. “Look, Tatum, I didn’t ask for this anymore than you did.” He rakes his hand down his face, the action oddly attractive to you. 

“But let’s get something straight: this isn’t personal. It’s complicated.” Your gaze flickers away from him, unable to hold his stare for long. “We can figure out a way to coexist, can’t we?” he asked, the smirk returning. 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s about fifty other things I’d rather be doing.” Terry turns, clearly dismissing you. 

An unamused chuckle leaves your lips as you stride past Terry toward the elevators. You may or may not have called him an asshole along the way. Terry scoffed, following behind you. A dark smirk rose on his face as he watched your ass move in the leggings you wore. Not that you needed it, but Terry could really see the difference the pilates classes were making. 

You two ride up the elevator in tense, annoyed silence. Terry insists on carrying both your luggage all the way to the room. “You can have the shower first, I’ll run out and grab us something to eat. So you can have privacy. Just text me when you’re decent.” Terry says, placing our luggage in a corner then heading to the bathroom. 

“Terry?” you ask, nervousness creeping its way up your spine. To your left there was one king bed. The indication is clear that you’d either be sharing a bed with Terry, or sleeping on a very unappealing loveseat.

A small sigh leaves Terry’s lips. He needed to put some distance between you two if he was going to keep his head in straight for the rest of this trip. “Yeah, Tatum?” he asks, you can hear the tiredness seep through the edges of his voice. 

With a deep breath you say, “I know this arrangement isn’t ideal for either of us. But, I appreciate you being a gentleman about everything. I think we’re both adult enough to manage sleeping next to each other for a few days. And don’t try to be coy about it, you can’t sleep on the floor for 3 nights. I won’t let you.” 

Terry opens his mouth to argue with you, but he sees the determination settled into your features and concedes. Usually, with anyone else he’d put up a fight,” Fine, fine, I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”

A triumphant smile blooms on your face, and Terry looks away. Your brows crease in confusion, until you see the tips of his ears begin to turn red. 

“Well, I’ll just go take a shower now. You don’t have to wait, I should be done in like an hour and a half.” You say, bending over to open your suitcase. You smirk deviously when you hear Terry’s sharp intake of breath behind you. 

“Right. I’ll see you in an hour and a half.” Terry says, and then he’s out the door. Before you have time to dwell on Terry’s abrupt exit, your phone rings. A small smile erupts when you see your sister’s contact appear on the tiny screen. Flipping open your phone, you press the green button, and put the phone up to your ear.

“Taryn, you always call when I’m about to do something,” you teased. You can practically hear your sister’s eyes roll through the phone.

“My timing is perfect then. I’m with mama we’re calling to check in on you,” your sister replies. 

You smile and shake your head, “We just got in. Apparently there was a mix-up with the reservation so Terry and I are going to be sharing a room for the next three days.” You say, pulling out everything you need for your shower routine. On the other side of the line your mom and sister are staring at each other, mouths hanging open. 

“Wait, you're going to share a room with someone you once called ‘green goblin’. And I don’t think you meant it in a nice way,” your sister said.

You sighed and rolled your eyes, “When is calling someone a goblin ever a term of endearment? Terry and I came to an agreement while we’re here, we’ll do our best to try and get along. Or we’ll fake it.” You finish with a shrug. 

“Riiight, an agreement. That hotel is going to burn down,” your sister finished with a cackle. 

You rolled your eyes, a dry chuckle leaving your lips. You’re sitting on the bathroom sink yapping with your sister and mom. Before you knew it you glanced at the clock and 30 minutes had passed. “Taryn I appreciate you and mama calling to check on me, but I need to shower before Terry gets back with the food. I’ll talk to y’all later. I love you.” Your sister, mother, and you all exchange goodbye’s and you hang up. 

Turning on the radio nestled on your nightstand, you start to gather everything for your extensive night routine. Landing on a random station, the sensual voice of Dru Hill floods your suite. Humming the melody, you begin to undress. Your body taking on an autopilot, the regular routine of cleansing yourself putting your stimulated mind at ease. It was nice to shut your brain off after spending all day at war with your emotions about your current predicament. 

You always admired Terry, his calm but loud presence, how self assured he was, and how he always seemed to know the answer before the question was asked. Searching through memories, you tried to find one that could pinpoint when the animosity started to take root, but you came up empty. Shaking your head, you try to ignore thoughts of Terry and focus on your shower. 

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

TERRY

“So, how was the drive up?” Maurice (co-worker) snickered, passing Terry a beer. 

Terry’s eyes were going to get stuck as much as he rolled them today. “Don’t even start that shit man, I came down here for a minute of peace.” Terry says, grabbing the beer and taking a large gulp. 

“So I take it you two didn’t solve your issues,” Maurice teases as he watches his usually calm, cool, and collected co-worker break a sweat. 

Terry scoffed, setting his beer down with a little more force than necessary, “No, Mo, we didn’t. In fact, she suggested that we just fake getting along for appearances.” Maurice studies his friend, the former marine usually never let anything get to him. Yet, here he was about to blow a gasket over their fine ass co-worker. His knee bouncing in irritation, the subtle but constant tick of his jaw.

“Aye, T, are you sure you’re good man? You just don’t usually get this rattled. Did Nora say something?” Maurice asked.

Terry shook his head, a grimace turning his face down. “Basically she told us if we can’t find a way to get along, then we’re both out.” Terry sighs, running his hand over his face in exasperation.

”I don’t know what it is, man. It’s like she found her way under my skin and is stuck there. Everything she does annoys me, c’mon man, you’ve seen how she is around the office.”Terry said, motioning the bartender to bring him another beer. 

“C’mon what? She’s a nice girl, cool to work with, really pretty, and has a great ass. What’s not to like?” Mo teases, hoping to get Terry riled up. 

Terry could feel his chest tighten at his friend’s obvious approval of your appearance. It was the same chest tightness he got when Greg would hold open doors for you and bring you your favorite Starbucks order.

“Aye, T, I’m going to say something. When I say this, just think, don't give me an answer. But have you ever thought that maybe you’re attracted to her?”

The question hits Terry like a ton of bricks, his beer frozen mid-air as Maurice looks at him with a knowing smile on his face. Was Terry attracted to you? ‘He couldn’t be’, he thought. But, deep down he knew the answer to Maurice’s question. Of course he was attracted to you. 

A knowing smile appears on Maurice’s face at Terry’s lack of answer,”You have three days to change her mind and think you aren’t the asshole you pretend to be. Look man, I get it, some people really just don’t like each other. But, I don’t think that’s the case here. Give Tatum a chance, she isn’t all bad. Figure it the fuck out, for everyone’s sake,” Maurice finishes. With two slaps to the back, Maurice leaves Terry in the hotel bar with his thoughts.

Was he attracted to you? Terry scoffed to himself, you were beautiful obviously. Intelligent, charming, funny as hell, and as much as he hated to admit it he loved working with you. The bickering arguments were the highlight of his day. Terry always made his coffee at 7:42am, because he knew 3-5 minutes later you would come strolling in, and he’d have the perfect view of your early morning strut, beaming smile, and a figure to kill for. 

The waiter comes out with a huge to-go bag full of foods that Terry thought you would like. With a deep sigh, Terry grabs his beer and the food, heading back up to your room.

The seductive sounds of Dru Hill filters through the bathroom door as Terry enters the suite. He tenses, muscles in his jaw ticking as he can hear you singing softly. 

He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose, an attempt to calm his suddenly racing heart. The image of you, naked and wet under the cascading water, flashes through his mind like abrupt bursts of light. He shakes his head, trying to banish his sinful thoughts of you. 

Walking over to the small kitchenette , Terry placed down the bag of food. Plating it, and setting out a glass of wine for you and beer for him. In the bathroom, you’re completely unaware of Terry’s presence. The cherry blossom scent of your shampoo fills your nose, its familiarity bringing you a sense of calm. 

Not to mention the radio station you picked was playing all your favorites. Detangling through your curls, you sang Mariah Carey’s ‘Obsessed’ damn near at the top of your lungs. Terry sat on the other side of the door with a small smile on his face at your carefree singing. Unable to sit any longer, Terry rises from the bed and begins to pace the room. His thoughts waging a war in his head. He stops in front of the window in your room, staring out at the city lights below without truly seeing them.

Whether he liked it or not, somehow you’d managed to worm your way under Terry’s skin. He had yet to decide if this was a good or bad thing for him. 

The bathroom door creaks open and Terry hears the startled gasp you let out behind him. “Oh, did I take too long? You set all the food up, thank you Terry!” You cooed, patting your hair dry with an oversized t-shirt.

You watch Terry’s tense shoulder as he turns to face you. You had forgone your contacts, black cat eye frames sat on your nose giving you an innocence that made Terry clench his fist. You looked so soft, not the office siren that strutted around and ruled her team with an iron fist. Just Tatum. 

You watch as Terry scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah, no problem. Think of it as phase one of my apology.”

Your eyes widen as you take in Terry's words, “Wait, did I transport to a parallel universe in the shower? You’ve never apologized to me before,” you say, skeptically. Your mind was reeling, there’s no way this is the same guy you arrived with. 

A bashful grin spreads across Terry’s face at your acceptance, “I’m turning over a new leaf here, now come please sit down,” he gestures to the sofa. “C’mon, sit with me,” Terry says, as he pats the spot next to him. 

You eye the food, then back up to Terry before saying, “Sure, just give me a minute, I don’t want my hair dripping all over you.” 

Terry nods, shooting you a small smile, “If your food gets cold, it’s on you,” he finishes, with a teasing tilt in his voice. You playfully roll your eyes as you try your best to soak up your damp hair with a t-shirt. 

“So what are we watching?” You ask, sitting next to Terry. The gentle brush of your bare thigh against his, causing goosebumps to bloom across your skin. 

Terry clears his throat before mumbling, “sports highlights.” He turns up the TV signaling that he wants silence.

A dry chuckle leaves your lips, “I see the asshole is back.” Reaching for your kindle and your food you settle into the couch completely prepare to tune Terry out for the rest of dinner, this was going to be a long 3 days. 

Okay y’all! Please Tell me what you guys think! I think this could be a 4 -5 part series. I hope you guys like it! I just wanted to get this out before I start flooding y’all with sinners/ MBJ fics. 

UNTIL NEXT TIME <3

TEE

[lynxgriffin]

Deltarune Chapter 3 and 4 RANDOM THOUGHTS

Spoilers so it's going under the cut! This is just me gushing about the madness

Geez I have like 50 different things I want to do art for and I can't focus on any of them long enough to start, SOB

Was NOT expecting Susie to find out that Darkners are objects immediately upon starting up the chapter. I'm glad she took it as well as she did, though! Still think this may come up much much harder later.

Holy crap Tenna's designs and animations just hit like a truck LOL. It wasn't until much later that I was like "wait...this guy is not getting recruited to Castle Town, is he. There's no way those sprites will get integrated."

Disappointed we did not get a proper Susiezilla sequence, I wanted that!

All the banter of them sitting around playing Legend of Kris was adorable

Did not expect Lanino-Elnina-Rouxls Kaard DISASTER THROUPLE???

Lancer MY BOY

Geez all of the stuff where Kris was playing their solo adventure was just. SO unsettling.

"You didn't do Snowgrave in chapter 2? Well you're doing it here now lol"

"You were used up" UH OH!!!!

I managed to S-Rank both boards somehow and got to the Shadow Mantle boss but got my ass handed to me; I'll need to go back and try again later.

Totally called Toriel being in the prize capsule from the start

saxophone noise

Me at the end of the Tenna boss battle: Kris Knight is real? Well, not what I would've liked, but I'm sure it'll be--

Me five minutes later: I'M SORRY, WHOMST??????

But no for real the Knight design and demeanor is LEGIT scary, I'm so glad we got a proper really intimidating villain

But yeah absolutely got thrashed by the Knight as well SOB SOB

THAT ENDING THO??? AND THEN THE TRANSITION INTO THE NEXT CHAPTER?

Please give Susie MORE PANCAKES

Absolutely fascinated by the fact that the monster religion is also just. Like. The game legend. The implications

Cannot believe we had friggin Tom and Jerry-ass shenanigans in Noelle's house with the soul including Kris beating the crap out of us with a hockey stick

banging fists on the table SU-SELLE! SU-SELLE! SU-SELLE! SU-SELLE!

Asgore how did you get more awkward every chapter

The whole scene with Carol was just generally so, so DEEPLY UNCOMFORTABLE

Evil and intimidating deer by awesome lesbian couple indeed

Me earlier: Man Carol Holiday is going to get a pretty brutal death in Eldritchrune, I feel a little bad, it's probably going to feel unwarranted--

Me after chapter four: Hell naw this bitch gettin' what she deserves

I gotta say that I REALLY loved the music in this chapter, absolutely outstanding. I might like From Now On even more than Rude Buster

All in all in chapter four was SO cool, loved that we're taking everything seriously now, it felt like a real turning point

OKAY SO turns out THIS KINDA HAPPENED A BIT? But while my initial thought was Gerson being the Knight, I honesty like this better

IDK Gerson was just SO funny as a J.R.R. Tolkien-esque party member and I absolutely appreciated him being a mentor to Kris and especially Susie

Did NOT expect Susie making her own dark fountain before Noelle did!! But oh man all the differences in her version of the world that you can see compared to the usual one...

In any case I love Susie more and more every day if horrible things happen to her I will teleport to Toby Fox's house and push everything breakable off of his shelves

YOUR TAKING TOO LONG

Ralsei I am DEEPLY WORRIED about you my dude

He was looking so ragged this chapter and missed good chunks of Susie's dark world, too

I am extremely anxious about that critical part of the prophecy that we conveniently missed but that Susie saw, my weird kids need to be okay

Also uhhh??? Am I nuts or like? Did my half-human Susie crack theory get more evidence?? I was expecting just a solid debunking but if anything there's just more hints of it???? I'm kind of terrified???? Half-human Susie real????

Seriously I may just finally dive into the nightmare realm of making a theory video for it

HELLO NEO DARK FOUNTAIN ALREADY

HI TITAN ALREADY THAT WAS SICK AS HELL AND ALSO TERRIFYING

Seriously that Titan boss battle was crazy hard; it took me a lot of tries and it was a LONG fight every time

I have no solid thoughts on whether it's Carol Knight or Dess Knight; I'll have to ruminate on it more

It's Raining Here made real...

CANNOT BELIEVE WE ENDED THIS CHAPTER ON FRIGGIN KRIS MISERABLE IN BED WHILE SORIEL DISCO HAPPENS DOWNSTAIRS

Again: I want to draw but have no focus aaljsda

Also I got like two hours of sleep last night because my brain would not stop buzzing lol

Once again THIS GIF REMAINS MY ULTIMATE REACTION TO NEW DELTARUNE BYE:

[ms-boogie-man]

☦︎17TolucaLake☦︎

Yeah, this is not funny, not even a little, not even for now

The only people I see getting behind stupid stuff like this are uninformed, misinformed, egotistical, nihilistic, toxically altruistic, deviant, corrosive liberals who have not any idea how governments, geo-politics, economics, trade agreements, borders, freedom, protection, real human rights, real responsibilities, sovereignty, actual bodily autonomy, bureaucracy, NGOs, elections, human trafficking, viruses and vaccines, taxes and money-laundering, universities, the uni-party political grift, or actual history actually work. And yes, everything I just listed and more, is in play in the Ukraine moron-olympics

Volodymyr Zelenskyy is not a freedom-fighter nor the leader of the free world. He is a puppet installed after a Clowns In America color revolution and stolen election in Ukraine

Most all the Russian bombers affected were hugely outdated craft, many only taking minor damage, making this strike against Russia by Ukraine the equivalent of what Pearl Harbour was to Japan; a veritable nothing-burger

What was accomplished however, is that Ukraine leadership — a fucking joke controlled by the failing EU — is putting Vladimir Putin, Xi Jinping, and possibly the United States, in a very precarious position that is in no way humorous due to nukes, and saving face, and stuff like that It is called fuck around and find out

Have you asked yourself even once why Zelenskyy is still around? Why is he still around?? And I will point out to those interested that a very dominant faction who controls the globalist movement have ordered Zelenskyy to cease his fight with Russia, and he has ignored them. There are 1001 ways Zelenskyy could be literally wiped of the face of the Earth without so much as a grease spot left behind… and yet he is still here. The areas of Ukraine that he still controls are the playground and hot bed of the globalists establishment's illegal gain of function research in virology, the central hub for trafficking women and children, money laundering, drug and weapons trafficking, and all of it could be stopped with a push of a button; and yet it all continues. Why do you think this is?! It is not because Putin wants to allow it. It is not because Xi Jinping wants to allow it. It is not because 100 other countries with a better vision in mind for the planet, including the US, want to allow it.

I just gave you the biggest clue you are ever going to get re: why Zelenskyy and his fuckhead friends are being allowed to do what they are doing… and you probably still do not get it

So apparently Ukraine just blew up a third of russia's bomber fleet via a bunch of quadcopters stuffed into shipping containers that they just, like, parked outside airbases in siberia. Like well over 100 russian planes destroyed lmao

[rosenclaws]

Worth it (Soulmate AU) || Logan x Reader

summary: In this world soulmates can take the pain away from their partner. It's a true act of love, of sacrifice. You've found your soulmate but he doesn't know. Until one night he comes back with life threatning injuries.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending, blood/injuries.

wc: 2.7k

a/n: Fucked around and wrote a 2.7k fic in 2 hours. I had this idea and I wrote it idk how man but I wanted angst. This is also some old man logan love. I rarely write for him so I thought he needed some more fics from me tee hee.

The world was funny sometimes. In a universe where soulmates existed you would think things would be better, happier maybe. But it wasn't. At least not for Logan.

See in this world soulmates could take each others pain. Their love would be so strong, so powerful that even their pain would be shared. It a strange way it was romantic. To love someone so much you'd willingly take on their suffering. Taking their pain won't kill you but it gonna hurt like hell.

Logan never really cared about all that. He could heal on his own why the hell would he ever need a soulmate. Love is complicated and he's not looking for more complications in his life. His friends are dead and he's a run down limo driver slowly dying from metal poisoning. Adding love? That's just a recipe for disaster. He's reckless, he's angry, he doesn't care anymore. For all he knows his soulmate was long gone.

But soulmates can't stay apart for long. He just didn't know he had already found his.

When you met Logan you were working a dead end job at a sleezy bar. You hated it here. The pay was terrible and the patron were nothing but perverts. But it was all you could find. Then Logan walked right through that door. The night some asshole tried to stick his hand up your uniform. Logan took a claw and stabbed it right through that mans hand. He got thrown out of the bar and you had gotten fired. Logan drove you home and apologized for making a mess of your life. He didn't mean to, really he's just trying his best. He's got a kid to feed now and shit ain't easy.

Which is how your relationship was born. A live in nanny. He paid you to look after his daughter, clean, cook and honestly this was a much better job than working at a bar. He knows it's not what you want to do with your life but for now he'll do his best to help you get the money to leave this shit town one day. It was nice. Laura was sweet although a bit...feral and Logan was polite but very closed off.

You didn't realize you were soulmates until a few months into this arrangement. His back was killing him. The pain was written all over his face as he collapsed on the couch and squeezed his eyes shut. Sleep fell soon after but he never seemed to relax, like he was in a permanent state of pain. You laid a blanket over him and gently placed your hand on his arm.

Suddenly a sharp pain ripped through your back. You covered your mouth to hide the gasps of pain as you fell to the floor. Your eyes widening as you see Logan's face slowly start to relax. You take your hand off his arm and slowly try and stand up. The ache remains as you trudge your way to your bedroom. By morning it's gone. Your body was younger, able to heal pain faster than Logan can. You struggled with what to do.

Do you tell him? Would he accept you as his soulmate? Or would he cast you out? He never once talked about his soulmate and as far as you knew he didn't want one. He was fine with just Laura. Well just Laura and now you. When you walked out of your bedroom you made your decision. To stay quiet.

He was happier than normal. Even smiling with Laura at breakfast. The ache would return to his body but you were able to give him some relief. A relief he wouldn't accept if he knew it was you. You..you really cared about Logan. You were destined to love him. To care for him. So you will. Even if it's in secret.

That brings you to present day. The three of you had fallen into a nice routine. Logan would go to work, you'd take Laura to school, and then you'd do some of the more mundane things. At night before he slept you would find a way to secretly absorb some of his pain. A hand on his shoulder or his arm. He hadn't caught on luckily but it was starting to take it's toll on you. You were tired, achy. But still you kept a smile on your face. It was becoming harder to do things around the house so Logan insisted he could help. He was feeling better after all. But you still did as much as you could. Not because it felt like you had to, but because you wanted to. You loved seeing his eyes light up at the smell of a nice dinner and you loved Laura to death. This was your life and you were happy.

"How was school today?" You ask Laura as she drops her backpack off at the front door.

"It fucking sucked." She grumbles as she sits on the counter. A snack plate waiting for her as she pulls out her homework.

"Laura, we don't use that language." Dammit Logan. This was his fault.

"Why not dad uses it all the time."

"Yeah and look at him, you don't want to turn out like your old man do you?" You tease. The two of them had an odd but loving relationship and you've learned to lean into it.

"So what happened? Why did it suck?" You ask.

"We talked about soulmates. I think they're stupid." She bites into an apple slice as she talks.

"I don't need a soulmate to be happy." She says firmly.

"That's right baby you don't." You say proudly.

"Are you and dad soulmates?" She asks and it takes you off guard.

"Some jerk in my class was talking about it. Said we're weird because you guys aren't soulmates. I wanted to stab him." Her little brow furrows in anger as she stabs an apple slice with her claws. You know she really was like a mini Logan.

"But I didn't." She adds on. You sigh softly and pat her head lovingly.

"I'm proud of you honey. Soulmates are nice but we're happy as we are right? That kid doesn't know what he's talking about." The clock strikes 4 and her attention turns to the TV, already uncaring about the conversation from before.

But it does make you think. You aren't Laura's mother and you and Logan aren't together but from the outside you see how people can confuse you as a family. Logan has a natural protective instinct and on the rare occasion you three get to be together, it feels like a family.

As the sun goes down Logan still hasn't returned home. It was starting to worry you. Dinner passed and you had sent Laura to bed and Logan was still gone. You checked your phone repeatedly. Maybe he was just working late and you missed a text or he was stopping at the bar or something. Still deep in your gut you could feel something was wrong. And you were right.

It's just before midnight when Logan stumbles through the door. He's covered in blood. You jump out of your chair as he collapse onto the couch. Blood soaking the cushions as you rush to get towels and the first aid kit. Logan had shed his jacket and his shredded button up. Leaving him shirtless. He had wounds all over his torso and arms.

"Laura?" He croaks out, he doesn't want her to see him like this.

"Asleep." You assure him and he nods.

"Logan, what happened?" You ask as you press a towel to his stomach.

"Got jumped." He grits out, letting out a groan of pain.

"Bastards surrounded me." You try and wipe away the blood but it's pouring out of him. He can heal but it's not working as fast as it used to. He's losing so much blood. You can't call an ambulance, the panic setting in as you look to Logan for help.

"Logan what do I do?" You ask with tears in your eyes.

"Don't cry honey, m'fine." His eyes flutter closed and he stops responding.

Panic floods through your veins. No no no. You don't care if he'll heal eventually, what if its too late? What if this was too much. You won't let him die today. With shaky hands you place your hands on his torso. Taking steady breaths as the bleeding stops and the wounds start to close.

You let the tears fall as pain rips through your stomach. It won't kill you but it feels like it is. The cuts open on your arms but no blood. You squeeze your eyes shut as you endure as much as you can.

Logan slowly starts to come back. He's confused, disoriented. He feels fine. He shouldn't feel fine he should be in agony like he was when he passed out. Then he sees you. The tears streaming down your face. Your hands on his skin. Your skin cut open in the exact places he was stabbed.

"Get the fuck off me!" He shouts in panic.

Ripping your hands away from him. You collapse on the ground. Too weak to do anything but lay there. He kneels to the ground and grabs your face. Tapping your cheek until your eyes flutter open.

"Hurts." You whine and Logan feels his heart crack.

"I know honey, Fuck what were you thinking!" He growls. He's so damn angry, not at you but at himself.

"You...you were gonna die." You groan as you move your arm and another wave of pain washes over you.

"I was fine." Logan doesn't know what to do.

Everything is crashing down on him in this moment. You're soulmates. Fuck you are actually his soulmate and you've taken the pain that should have killed him. He's used to it by now but you, you've never felt this before and watching you cry is killing him.

He's meant to protective you, love you and care for you but here you are doing all that for him. A man who is not worthy. Logan picks you up, having to ignore your quiet whimpers of pain as he takes you to the bathroom.

"Need to take these off honey, I'm sorry but it'll help I swear." He mumbles and you nod.

The energy to reply just isn't there, but you trust him. He is your soulmate after all. He fills the bath with warm water and gently strips off your clothes. He gently places you into the water, breathing a sigh of relief when you slowly start to relax. The pain becoming an ache that settles deep into your bones. You tilt your head to the side. Seeing Logan staring at the ceiling, thinking.

"You can look you know. I don't mind." You say weakly. His eyes snap to yours and you see the anger swirling around those pretty hazel eyes.

"Have you lost your fucking mind?" He wants to shout, yell and scream how stupid that was.

How idiotic it is to take on all that for him? Him of all people. He deserve the pain he's suffered time and time again what the hell is one more day. But you. You just had to come along and steal his old broken heart. Show him kindness he hasn't experienced in years. Everything about you has taken over his fucking life and for the first time he wished things were different. That he could be the man who settles down and builds a nice quiet life. You turned him into that. You let him think for just a moment he deserved that kind of ending.

"Logan I-"

"No. Listen to me. I don't care if I am bleeding out on the side of the fucking road you don't ever do that again." It kills him to see you in pain.

He doesn't care that it won't be your demise, he only cares that you're hurt. To him, his pain becomes your pain. He's hurting you and he won't ever forgive himself for that.

"It's not worth hurting yourself. I'm not worth it." He cups your face as tears well up in your eyes again. He fears that you've taken on more of his pain but before he can pull away you grab his wrist.

"You're a fucking idiot Logan. Not worth it? You're worth it all to me. You think I like seeing you hurt? I know you're suffering. I took the ache from your body because I love you."

"You did what-" His eyes widening but you silence him before he can keep talking.

"Just shut up! I love you Logan. I know you've lived a long life and that you think you can handle it all on your own. Maybe you can. But you don't have to anymore." You stare into his sad eyes, you can tell he's fighting with himself in that head of his that never seems to rest.

"I would take your pain over and over, every day if it means you feel just a little bit of relief." You reach up and wrap your arms around his neck.

Pulling him down into a bruising kiss. Logan groans as he grips the edge of the bathtub tightly. Almost shattering it to pieces as he returns your kiss with equal fervor. His other hand dips into the water, settling on your back to push you closer to him. Your lips move messily against each other. Small whines and moans escaping as you tug on his silver hair.

When the kiss breaks your left breathless, nose bumping against this cheek as he closes his eyes. His chest heaving as he soaks in this moment.

"Please honey, don't do that again." He mumbles into your ear.

"You love me but I love you too and to see you in that much pain, it might kill me." Both of you are so fiercely protective of the other.

"Please. I can't watch you suffer because of me." He begs, his voice is so small. So broken. You press a gentle kiss to his cheek. You two might never see eye to eye on this. So hell bent on protecting each other.

"Okay, I won't. But please let me take some of it. Not all. But enough to where I don't have to watch you in agony." You plead.

Logan hesitates. A compromise is what you're offering and he doesn't want to take it. He's a damn hypocrite and he knows it because if he had to he'd take every ounce of your pain one day. He'll take his and yours and carry it on his back just to see you smile.

"Logan, please." He glances down at your arms and sees the cuts had closed. He runs his hand along your bare skin. But he sees your eyes and they're so sad.

"Okay." He whispers. He leans down and kisses you softly.

The real conversation comes tomorrow but for now you've found your peace. You've made your statement. In truth you'd do it all over again. It felt like you were being ripped apart, complete torture. But you'd take it for him. Always for him.

"How long have you known?" He asks as he traces shapes into your side.

"A month into working for you." Logan closes his eyes and sighs. He's not mad, really he isn't. He just feels like an idiot for not noticing sooner. When he started to feel better he didn't think much of it. He should have known.

"Why didn't you tell me?" "You had bigger things to worry about. Besides, Would you have let me help if you knew?"

"No." He answers and you smile, as if he had just proved your point.

"What are we going to tell Laura?" You ask, lightening the tension as Logan just chuckles.

"She'll be happy, she's been begging me to marry you for the last month." Logan smiles but his eyes are still full of worry. Of course he worries. He'll always worry.

"I love you Logan, I really do." He helps you out of the tub, uncaring if he gets wet.

"I love you too honey." He whispers as he watches you dry yourself off.

His mind might never shake the image of you on the ground in pain. The sounds you made will haunt him forever. He can hide his pain better, he can be more careful.

To protect you means to protect himself and now Logan has two reasons to come home. Perhaps the universe has forgiven his past violence and finally given him something to live for. A soulmate. A family.