#and i don’t have any of the problems i have here

[purinfelix]

── .✦ such a mess together - p. sunghoon

summary: the cute little girl you tutor is always going on about how you should date her smart, good-looking older brother, so why is your annoying, cocky classmate opening the door instead of her? ────── academic rival Sunghoon x reader || sfw, tension, can you tell i love the enemies to lovers trope LOL. || w/c: 3.5k (everyone clap jet is finally writing full length fics !!!)

a/n: ok whos shocked yet another enemies to lovers fic from yours truly - but i cant help that this trope is the most fun to write !!!!!!!

Shocked doesn’t even come close to describing how you feel right now. 

You feel as though if you widen your eyes anymore they’ll pop right out of your head, but the thought of him seeing you make such an embarrassing expression forces you to calm yourself. Slowly, he narrows his eyes, clearly not any less confused about this than you are. 

“The hell are you doing at my house?” he spits, thick brows furrowed as he looks you up and down. 

You’re about to reply with something equally as snarky, but you’re interrupted by a small head popping out from underneath his arm - which is outstretched to hold open the front door. 

“You’re here!” Yeji squeals in excitement, ducking past him to throw herself around your waist. You stumble backwards a bit, putting on her head to steady yourself as you laugh softly. 

“Hey,” you breathe out, though your eyes don’t leave those of the man in front of you, whose confusion only grows. “I’m here to tutor her,” you say curtly,  almost in disbelief that you’d have to spell it out for him this much. 

Though it’s not like you’re in much of a position to say much else because, really, you should’ve put the pieces together a long time ago. Being young and uninterested in her studies, Yeji had managed to spend most of your lessons together chatting about her life instead of doing her homework and so you had been told a lot about her - and her mysterious older brother who was rarely around because he was always busy working part-time or studying at university. At the time, you didn’t think twice about the fact that he went to the same university as you or that the times she mentioned him having exams always coincidentally lined up with yours - though now you’re beginning to think maybe you should’ve. 

Details like that were easy to forget though, especially when Yeji paid far more attention to the other details about her brother which she deemed far more important. You had spent many afternoons passively listening to her talk about how smart, sweet and tall he was, how he was “practically a prince” - all the while trying to get her to finish her algebra questions. You had even brushed it off when she mentioned that the two of you would make a good couple, and how it was a shame you had never met before. 

But Yeji couldn’t have been more wrong, because you actually had met her brother, and far more than you would’ve liked to for that matter. In fact, prior to today, Park Sunghoon had been nothing more than a nuisance in your university life. The one to constantly challenge your points in discussions, to steal your perfect front-row seat or to beat you by a singular mark in final exams. In your eyes, he was nothing but a cocky, good-for-nothing know-it-all who had been unfairly blessed with unnatural good looks which he used to trick your poor female classmates into liking him. 

All the details matched up though, times, places, hell they even had the same last name - but it had never occurred to you to put two and two together. Despite this, the shock of the initial realisation pales in comparison to the fact that you now how to continue with your lesson - whilst he sat in the next room over, glaring at you the entire time. 

You shifted in your seat nervously, eyes darting between Yeji’s exercise book and the strict gaze of her brother. Seriously, just what was his problem? - you’d never done anything to seriously wrong him, and if you did, you figured the fact that you were helping out his younger sister would be enough of a reason for him to let down his guard for once. But still, he sat there, completely uninterested in the video game he had loaded up as an obvious excuse, eyes locked on you. 

The weight of his gaze only made you more anxious and when you brought a hand up to hold your pencil you noticed the slight tremble in it. You couldn’t help but feel irritated, not just at him for being so distracting, but also at yourself for letting him get to you so easily. 

“I think he’s looking at you because you’re so pretty,” you heard a small voice mutter beside you catching you off guard. You let out a small laugh, about to calmly tell her to focus on her work but when you raise your eyes to look at her brother in the next room you notice that, for once, he’s avoiding your gaze, clearing his throat out of what almost seems to be nervousness. 

“Nice try Yeji, but I think your brother just doesn’t trust my tutoring skills.” 

She tilts her head, considering this for a moment - then with the same innocent bluntness as before, she shrugs. "Or maybe he's just grumpy because he got dumped."

A deafening silence falls over the room, and your pencil freezes mid-scratch as you glance up just in time to see Sunghoon's entire expression shift. His eyes widen for the briefest moment before his features twist into something between horror and annoyance. "Yeji," he hisses in warning, eyes shooting daggers at his sister, "shut up."

But it's too late, your interest is piqued and despite the harshness in his tone you can't help the smirk tugging at your lips at the thought of finally having some leverage against him.

"Wait," you say, tilting your head as you look at him, "Park Sunghoon ... got dumped?" 

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand across his face. "It wasn't- I didn't-" he stops himself, visibly irritated at the two of you. "That's none of your business."

Yeji, completely unaffected by her brother's obvious distress, hums to herself as she flips a page in her book. "She was really pretty too, she muses, "but she said he was too emotionally unavailable and always busy with school."

You blink in disbelief, then, unable to stop yourself, you laugh. "Shocking," your tone is dripping with sarcasm.

Sunghoon snaps his head towards you, eyes narrowing as if daring you to continue. "What did you say?"

You press your lips together, feigning innocence, but Sunghoon knows you too well for that and his glare only deepens. And for the first time, instead of just irritating you, the sight of him so obviously affected by your words is a little entertaining.

Interesting you think to yourself as you continue with the lesson, now far too aware of how the tension in the air has shifted ever so slightly. He doesn't move from his spot in the other room, or stop staring at you two, but now whenever you look up at him, instead of being able to meet your gaze he quickly looks away, pretending to be occupied with his game. You can't help but find it just a little amusing. 

Soon your lesson draws to an end and you begin to pack your materials away into your bag, thanking Yeji for working hard and listening to you - though you're interrupted by a deep rumble in the distance, followed by the sound of light rain. By the time you make it to the front door though, it's gotten much heavier and the plans you had to catch the bus home seem bleak. It isn't like you have much choice though, and you pull your hoodie over your head with a defeated sigh.

"You can't walk home in that," Yeji announces dramatically, clinging to your arm as she looks out at the heavy rain. Suddenly she perks up as if met with a great idea, and turns to her brother - who has been pretending not to listen from the living room. "Hoonie, can you drive her?" 

He barely looks up from his phone, though there's a slight delay in his response. "No."

"Why not?" she pouts.

"Not my problem," he mutters.

You roll your eyes, typical you think to yourself as you step towards the door. "It's fine, Yeji, I'll just-"

"You're seriously going to make her walk in this rain?" Yeji cries out as she walks over to her brother on the couch, "What if she gets sick? Then I'll be sad, and when I'm sad I don't do my homework. And if I don't do my homework, I'll fail and when I fail-" 

"Fine," Sunghoon groans, rubbing his temple as he pushes himself off the couch in a swift movement. He walks past you, grabbing his keys and twirling them around his finger coolly. "Get in the car before I change my mind," he says sternly.

You narrow your eyes at him and are about to deny his offer but the rain doesn't seem to be stopping anytime soon, and you're not stupid enough to reject a free ride out of pride alone. 

"Alright," you sigh, shooting Yeji one last thankful look before following her brother out to his car. 

"You live in the dorms on campus, right?" he asks casually. The rain hits the windshields of his car with a harsh rhythm, filling the silence between you two as you get in. The hum of the engine is the only other sound as he pulls out of the driveway, one slender hand lazily resting on the wheel. 

"Yeah," you say curtly, not even stopping to wonder how he could've known that. You're too busy holding a grudge against his ability to make every move seem so gracefully effortless, even turning a steering wheel. 

You sit stiffly in the passenger seat beside him, eyes fixed straight on the road ahead. You'll admit the car is nicer than you expected - spotless, the faint scent of something clean, a little floral, in the air - but you refuse to acknowledge it, just like you refuse to acknowledge that being here, alone with him, feels weirdly intimate. 

It doesn't help that he hasn't said another word since you both got in, not that you were expecting him to, but still - the awkward silence feels heavier than it should. You steal a quick glance at him out of the corner of your eye once the car reaches a red light - only to find that he's already looking at you. 

Your breath hitches for just a second, but you recover quickly in hopes that he won’t notice your reaction. “What?” you huff, raising an unimpressed brow. 

His eyes turn back to the road just as quickly, expression unreadable as the light turns green. “Nothing.” 

You sink back in your seat and the silence resumes, but with its temporary break, you feel compelled to keep up the conversation, even if it means more childish bickering. 

“I hope you don’t expect anything in return for this,” you say, turning to face forward again - but your attention piques once you hear a faint noise from him. It’s something you’ve never heard before, something just quiet enough that you almost didn’t hear it over the drumming rain, but you’re glad you did because you swear you just heard Park Sunghoon laugh. 

"When have I ever expected anything from you," he spits, but the usual malice in his tone is tinged with amusement.

"I'm just saying, don't think that just because you're doing this for me that anything's going to change," you huff, "if it weren't for Yeji you probably couldn't care less about me anyways." 

Sunghoon hums, the corners of his lips twitching as if he's holding back another laugh - he doesn't deny it, which somehow annoys you more than if he had outright agreed. Instead, he just shifts gears smoothly, eyes fixed on the road and you hate the way you find your gaze lingering on his profile for just a little too long.

"You sound disappointed," he muses after a beat.

You scoff defensively, crossing your arms. "Yeah, right." You've always hated how easily he could read you.

He just nods ever so slightly and doesn't press for more but the silence that follows feels a little different now, less tense. You shift in your seat and try to ignore the way your heart is starting to beat just a little too fast or the fact that you're waiting for him to say something. 

After a moment, he exhales, fingers tapping the steering wheel. "For the record," he sighs, his tone almost confessional, "I don't not care about you."

You crane your neck, searching his face for any sign that he's messing with you right now, a glint in his eye, his signature cocky smirk - but his expression is again unreadable. Instead, you watch the outline of his jaw shift slightly, almost as if he regrets his words, but he doesn't take it back.

You swallow nervously, unsure entirely of what to do with this new information. "Good to know," you say slowly, looking away before he can see how much that single sentence has affected you. 

As you do, you're suddenly desperate for an opportunity to change the topic. "How come this whole time I never knew you had a younger sister?"

"Well it's not exactly like you know much about my personal life," he scoffs - and you have to admit he's right.

"I mean, it's not like you're an open book or anything," you reply, "takes me ages just to figure out what you're thinking half the time with that blank expression. It's hard to believe you and Yeji are even related."

"Right because a guy my age should totally be acting like a middle school girl," he nods mockingly.

"You get what I'm saying," you sigh, going quiet for a minute as you think about what to say next. "She looks up to you a lot, you know," is what you land on, trying to balance your tone between sounding casual and earnest. 

You watch as he scoffs, and shakes off your comment with a slight shake of his head. "I'm serious," you say, "she talks about you like you're a superhero or something, even when she complains about you, it's obvious you mean a lot to her."

Even though his expression barely changes, you watch his fingers tighten slightly on the wheel - and the beat of silence before his response is enough to tell you that he's not used to hearing things like this. You find it interesting how even though you're practically complimenting him, he responds as if he's unsettled.

"Whatever, she's young and annoying," he finally mutters - though for the first time, there's no real malice to his tone, only something defensive.

"You're deflecting," you point out. This side of him, the one that's quiet and easily affected by your words, is one you've rarely gotten to see and if you're being completely honest, you're enjoying this far too much to let it go. "I think you like knowing she looks up to you." 

He huffs, clearly growing tired of your prying. "And I think you like hearing yourself talk."

You roll your eyes, but before you can shoot back with another remark, he beats you to it. "And whilst we're prying into my personal life, Yeji mentioned something interesting earlier."

You pause, suddenly wary. "Oh?"

He flicks his turn signal on, voice infuriatingly casual. "Apparently, you remind her of my ex." 

You feel your stomach lurch, followed quickly by a heat creeping up your face. "Excuse me?" is all you can manage to say.

His lips curl slightly, and it becomes clear that he only mentioned this to see your reaction. "Not in looks or anything," he clarifies, glancing briefly at you before focusing back on the road. "Personality-wise, she said you both have a way of getting under my skin."

You scoff, feeling an odd mix of feeling, irritation and something you don't really want to name. "Wow, should I be flattered or insulted?"

"That depends," he muses, "my ex was kinda terrible."

"Seriously?" you gape, shocked at how bold he's being in sharing this with you, "sounds like you're just butthurt from being dumped." 

He actually laughs - fully this time, not just the ghost of a chuckle he let out before. It's still short, and a little quiet, but for some reason it makes your chest tighten.

"Relax," he says, tone laced with amusement, "she wasn't all bad, but she did have this habit of always arguing with me, nitpicking things I did just for the sake of it."

You avoid his gaze, picking up on his signals just a little too quickly. "Sounds familiar," you mutter as you look out the car window at the rain.

You don't need to turn back to know his smirk depends, "Exactly."

The air has shifted completely now. The tension is still there, humming under the surface, but it's now covered by something else - something lighter, more playful, and charged in a way that makes you hyper-aware of how close the two of you are.

Then, just as you think the conversation is over, he speaks again - this time softer, almost absentmindedly.

"But I guess the difference is, I never really cared what she thought of me." 

It's such an offhand comment, something he's thrown out just to fill the silence. But something about it sticks to you, lingering in your mind as you nod, unsure of how to respond, and so you don't.

You spot the familiar sight of the dorms approach in the distance and even though you're compelled to feel relieved that this torturous car ride is drawing to an end - a tiny part of you can't help but feel a little disappointed that this seemingly rare opportunity is ending. Swiftly, he pulls up to the front entrance, parking smoothly and effortlessly.

As you move to undo your seatbelt, he stops you once again with his words. "Hey, I hope you're not going to stop tutoring Yeji, by the way," he's turned to face you now, but his eyes are avoiding yours. 

You furrow your brows, both at his words and his unusual expression. "Why would I?" you say slowly.

"Well, I mean, I just figured because of me and everything-" he begins to ramble, and it's the first time you've seen him stumble over his words like this.

"Relax, I hate you, not her, remember." You say it in the same teasing tone you've always used for him, but it seems to land heavier than you expected with how he turns back to face the steering wheel, his lips forming a thin line.

You linger for a moment, and something about the air between you feels different - like you're standing on the edge of something neither of you can name. Sunghoon's hand is still resting on the gear shift, his fingers drumming against the leather in a steady rhythm. 

"Right," he replies curtly, almost to himself and you can sense just a hint of disappointment in his tone.

You should leave it at that, you know you should. But something about the way he's gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly, or how his jaw is tensed ever so slightly, makes you want to press just a little further.

"Unless," you hum, tilting your head slightly, "you'd actually miss me if I stopped coming around?"

"Yeji would," he replies almost immediately - but you don't miss the way his shoulders go rigid for just a fraction of a second before he speaks.

"You didn't deny it," you smirk.

At this, he finally looks at you and there's something about the way he does it - something heavier than the usual irritation or exasperation you're used to. His gaze lingers, his expression unreadable and for a split second, you wonder if you've pushed too far. 

But then, he exhales, something softer flickering across his features before he quickly pulls them back into indifference. "Just get out of my car before I start charging you for emotional distress."

You roll your eyes, but do as he says, reaching for the door handle and pushing it open just as the rain continues to pour outside.

"See you next time, Park," you say, "and drive safe."

"Don't tell me what to do," he huffs, though there's a playful tone in his voice as he smirks at you.

You return his look, satisfied, and finally push the door shut - watching as he shifts into gear, headlights illuminating the street. You know you should get inside and out of the rain immediately but you can’t help but watch as he drives off, heart thrumming in your chest as you find the beaming smile on your face lingering. You shake your heard at yourself, almost as if to shake away your thoughts, before turning to head into the dorm. 

What you don’t see though, is the way Sunghoon glances in his rearview mirror one last time before turning away, just to catch a glimpse of you before you do. 

[valiasims]

Cozy Cabin Collection - Bedroom

Hey everyone!

The final part of the Cozy Cabin Collection is here! It is a bedroom set and includes a modular closet with items to fill them up with.

I'm a little sad to say goodbye this cabin theme because I gained a lot of followers through the time I was making these sets and I also learned a lot of new skills and techniques. When I came up with the idea of a large collection to guide us through autumn and winter, I hadn’t expected it to become so significant in terms of sentimental value. I was always thinking about the next idea to bring to life and living in a cabin in my mind. Despite this being a sad moment, I’m so excited for what’s next! I’ll be creating a set for a commercial lot, and I’ve had this idea for about a month and a half. After seeing what the next expansion pack will be, I’m even more excited because I think it will complement it well.

A bit more about this set: It started as a bedroom set but somehow turned into a closet set with bedroom items. At first, I only wanted to add two closet pieces with the door, but I figured it would be more versatile (and not too much extra work) if I included the corner piece as well. A little info on how the door works: You can slot the door onto the closet pieces, with three slots available on each piece. It only makes sense to use the side slots if you have two or more pieces placed next to each other. I added multiple slots for hanging clothes so you can use the in-game clothes (or other CC ones) that are grouped together, but also place individual items without using the TOOL mod.

The wicker basket, folded sweaters and the hat box are stackable.

For the curtains, I made a curtain rod that, for some godforsaken reason, looks completely different in-game than the rod on the curtain items themselves, despite them having the same texture and everything. This was the reason I couldn't include them in the last set—I just couldn’t get them right no matter how hard I tried. I even checked out other CC that does the same thing by separating the rod, and they all had the same problem. Somehow, the lighting on them looks different, and I couldn’t find a solution. So sorry for this issue but hopefully it's not too noticable.

I think that’s all! I’m really grateful for all of you being here—thank you, and I hope you’ll like this set as well. Let me know if you have any issues, and feel free to leave your thoughts below so I can see what you like and what you don’t.

The Set Includes

Wooden Bedframe

Bed Mattress

Decorative Pillows

End Table

End Table Lamp

Wooden Bench

Closet (3 types+corner)

Closet Door

Hanging Elegant Coat

Hanging Jacket

Hanging Puffer Jacket

Hanging Tops

Wicker Basket

Designer Hat

Fluffy Hat

Folded Sweaters

Decorative Footwear (3 styles)

Hat Box

Makeup Bag

Curtain Rod

Closed Curtain (3 heights)

Opened Curtain (3 heights)

Antler Wall Lamp

-BECOME A MEMBER- Public release on the 15th of March 6PM CST

[er1nne]

blurred lines

⸝⸝⸝ ⑅ —໒ྀི ִֶָ rafe cameron is kown for throwing the best parties, so of course your best friend had to attend, but who'd guess she'd leave you alone with him to take care of you

word count: 6.4k sorry lol

warnings : roofing / slight drug use, mostly fluff, misunderstood rafe as usual lol, also not proofread unfortunately so excuse any mistakes

AN: the problem is left ambiguous & left to the imagination so you can make up the problem, you guys loved the last one lol :) i have plenty more in the vault so let me know if y'all want them. enjoy!

(please do not copy or plagiarize, this is my original work subject to copyright)

You don’t know why you’re here.

The party is overwhelming, a pulsing, chaotic blend of music, voices, and movement that sets your nerves on edge. The heat of too many bodies pressed into one space makes the air thick, suffocating.

You hadn’t even wanted to come, but your friend had convinced you, promising it would be fun, promising she’d stay by your side. Your friend had dragged you along, practically vibrating with excitement at the idea of getting into a this party in particular for some reason. You don’t understand, she had gushed, fingers tight around your wrist, her eyes wide with something close to desperation. People would kill to be invited to one of these. She had promised it would be fun, that she wouldn’t leave your side, that this was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of night.

All lies. And just as quickly as you arrived, she had disappeared into the crowd, swallowed whole by the chaos, leaving you stranded in a place you had no business being. That promise had shattered the moment you stepped through the door. See, what she didn't tell you however, that it was at the famous Cameron Estate. As quickly as you both arrives, she had disappeared into the crowd, leaving you stranded in a sea of unfamiliar faces.

You don’t belong here. Not among the drunken recklessness, the glossy, carefree people who thrive on excess. Not in a house where money drips from every surface, where the air itself feels steeped in entitlement. You’ve heard the stories—everyone has. Rafe Cameron’s parties are one of a kind. But you're not the type to be interested in the whispers and gossip everyone spreads about them on campus.

Now, you hover near the wall, gripping a red solo cup with fingers that feel too tight, the plastic bending under the pressure of your grip. You're not normally a drinker, but given your nerves right now, you definitely needed the drink. You take a slow breath, exhaling through your nose. You’re not here to have a bad time. Maybe you just need to loosen up. One drink to take the edge off. You bring the cup to your lips, letting the liquid burn as it slides down your throat. It’s stronger than you expected, too sharp, making you cough slightly. You grimace, the burn lingering on your tongue, but you swallow it down anyway, hoping the warmth will spread, will make you feel like you belong here. You roll your shoulders, forcing yourself to relax, but the tension in your body remains stubborn, coiling tight in your muscles.

The bass reverberates through the floor, through your chest, making your pulse feel off-rhythm. People are laughing, shouting, clinking drinks together in messy toasts that spill onto the already sticky floors. Someone stumbles past you, knocking into your shoulder hard enough to make you stumble. You flinch, pressing yourself closer to the wall, hoping to make yourself smaller.

Still, you scan the room, searching for your friend, but she’s nowhere in sight. Irritation flickers through you—how could she just abandon you like this? You shift on your feet, debating whether to go find her or just leave altogether. But then, you feel it. A prickle at the back of your neck. It’s faint, barely noticeable at first, like the sensation of a cool breeze brushing your skin. Goosebumps rise along your arms, but you tell yourself it’s just the temperature shift from the packed, overheated room. The feeling lingers, subtle and nagging, trickling down your spine before settling deep in your gut. You shake it off, shifting your weight from foot to foot, convincing yourself it’s nothing more than the side effect of being in a crowded space with unfamiliar faces. But as the seconds stretch, so does the discomfort. The undeniable feeling of being watched. A vague, creeping unease, like an itch beneath your skin.

At first, you ignore it. The party is crowded, filled with wandering gazes and fleeting glances. It’s probably nothing. Probably just your imagination. But as the moments stretch, the feeling lingers, heavy and persistent. You force yourself to move, to look natural. You take another sip of your drink, even though the taste is sharp and acrid against your tongue, even though your stomach twists in protest. The burn should be grounding, but it only heightens the awareness prickling along your spine. You scan the room carefully, slower this time, more deliberate. Your gaze drifts past groups of people caught in conversation, past the drunken laughter and the messy dancing, past the flickering glow of the chandeliers overhead. Your fingers tighten around your cup as you look toward the bar, toward the far end of the room where the shadows stretch just a little deeper.

And then you see him.

Rafe Cameron.

He’s across the room, leaning against the bar like he belongs there, like he owns the place -- oh wait he does. Shit. You're the one who doesn't belong here. A drink dangles loosely in his fingers, but he doesn’t bring it to his lips. He’s not talking to anyone, not engaged in the revelry like everyone else. He’s just watching.

Watching you.

His gaze is a weight, heavier than it should be, anchoring you in place even as every nerve in your body is telling you to move. To look away. To do something. But you don’t. You can’t. The darkness in his gaze draws you in too close. The dim lighting carves deep shadows along the sharp edges of his face, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw, the cool detachment in his features. He looks almost statuesque, like he was placed there, perfectly sculpted, perfectly still. And yet, despite the stillness, despite the casual way he leans against the bar, drink loose in his grasp, his presence feels anything but passive. It almost feels like an accusatory stare, but something in your gut tells you it's something else.

You swallow hard, pulse flickering unevenly as you force yourself to breathe. He’s like a fixture in the room, unmoving, his presence both effortless and overwhelming. The dim light carves shadows along the sharp lines of his face, accentuating the cool detachment in his gaze. He isn’t smiling. He isn’t pretending not to stare. Doesn’t break the stare. He just is.

You look away, but your body betrays you. A shiver traces your spine, and your fingers tighten around your cup. The weight of his attention settles over you, thick and suffocating. You shift from foot to foot, adjusting your stance, suddenly unsure of yourself in a way you hadn’t been moments before. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe he’s just bored. Maybe he’s not even looking at you. But when you glance back, just for a second, his gaze hasn’t wavered. The space between you feels charged, stretching taut like a thread ready to snap.

Your throat is dry, so you take another sip of your drink, trying to dispel the tension. The burn should be grounding, but it only adds to the growing warmth pooling low in your stomach. The room feels different now, like you’ve slipped into another layer of reality where things happen slower, where every movement matters. The ice in your glass has long since melted, leaving behind a diluted, lackluster drink that won’t do anything to soothe the warmth pooling low in your stomach. It’s the perfect excuse. A reason to step away, to put some much-needed space between you and the weight of his gaze, still heavy, still unwavering. The kind of look that sinks beneath your skin and stays there.

A group of people pass between you, momentarily breaking his line of sight. The spell should break. It doesn’t. Your heartbeat presses against your ribs, too fast, too shallow. He’s still watching, still waiting. You tell yourself you’re overreacting.

The other side of the bar feels farther than it should. The walk is a slow unraveling, each step meant to shake off the feeling of his eyes still following you, still holding on even when there’s distance. But it doesn’t work. Your heartbeat presses too hard against your ribs, too shallow, too quick, the way it does when something isn’t quite right. You tell yourself you’re imagining it, that it’s just in your head, that you’re overreacting.

But then your head starts to feel heavy.

Your fingers feel a little looser around your cup, but you barely register it. You take another sip, but the taste is wrong now—bitter, artificial. The warmth that had been pleasant before now sits heavily in your stomach, slow, syrupy. A strange warmth spreads through your limbs, slow and unfamiliar. Your vision feels sharper and blurrier at the same time. The music presses against your eardrums, a dull, throbbing hum that no longer matches the rhythm in your chest. The music distorts, stretching and bending at the edges. The lights seem dimmer, then too bright, flickering as if they’re keeping time with your unsteady pulse. The conversations around you feel distant, layered on top of one another like a badly tuned radio. Your breath catches, sharp and uneven. The sensation is gradual, creeping, and for a moment, you convince yourself you’re just tired, or maybe you drank too fast.

You steady yourself, shifting against the wall. But the floor feels different beneath you—less solid, somehow. Your limbs feel lighter, and at the same time, unbearably heavy. A cold sweat beads at the back of your neck. Something isn’t right. But it takes longer for your mind to catch up with your body, to connect the dots between the warmth in your stomach and the sluggish, detached feeling seeping into your bones. Panic claws at your throat. You try to take another step, force yourself to move, but your limbs feel detached, foreign.

You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to shake the feeling, but it only makes the vertigo worse. The heat of the room presses in on you, suffocating, and the sound of laughter and music stretches, distorts, becomes something distant and hollow. You want to move, want to breathe, but it feels like you’re wading through thick fog, each step heavier than the last.

A bead of sweat trails down the back of your neck. Your heartbeat slams against your ribs, erratic and deafening. A sickly nausea curls in your stomach, spreading outward in slow, unbearable waves. The cup in your hand feels impossibly heavy, the plastic slick against your palm. You let it slip from your fingers, hear it hit the floor, but the sound is muffled, insignificant against the chaotic hum surrounding you.

Your vision tunnels, and for the first time, real fear grips you. The once vibrant room is now a mess of shadow and movement, colors bleeding together, voices rising and falling like waves crashing against the shore. You open your mouth, trying to call for your friend, but the words die before they leave your lips, dissolving into a breathless whisper. The realization is slow, unfurling like a nightmare you’re just starting to understand.

Your drink. Something is wrong with your drink.

Your breathing quickens, shallow and uneven, your chest rising and falling too fast, too tight. Your fingers twitch, grasping at nothing, muscles sluggish and unresponsive. The walls seem to bend and stretch around you, the lights overhead shifting like distant stars, too bright, too sharp. You blink rapidly, but it only makes the dizziness worse. The edges of your sight blur further, darkening. The room feels impossibly far away, your awareness slipping, slipping—

And then there’s a presence beside you.

A firm grip on your arm. The touch is steady, grounding, but you barely have the strength to turn your head and see who it is. You don’t have to.

You don’t know who it is.

The scent reaches you first—something clean, sharp, expensive, mixed faintly with alcohol. A voice cuts through the fog, low and steady, but the words slip past your understanding. The presence is steady, firm, an anchor against the overwhelming sensation that you’re floating, weightless. A name—your name?—is spoken again, but it barely registers, as if it belongs to someone else.

You part your lips to respond, but the words slip away before they can form. A strong arm curls around your waist, another against your shoulder. The world tilts, and you realize you’re being lifted. Your body feels light, unmoored, like a doll in someone’s grasp. Your head lolls against a broad chest, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat against your ear, grounding but distant. Footsteps echo—slow, purposeful—but you barely process them. The lights of the party blur into a smear of gold and shadow, flickering at the edges of your vision as you’re carried away.

The voices, the music, the chaos—it all drifts into silence. The world fades. Everything dissolves into black.

Dawn arrives in fractured light and warmth. The first thing you register is the persistent press of sunlight against your closed eyelids, insistent and intrusive. The dull ache in your skull pulses in synchronicity with your heartbeat. The silences of the space unsettles you—too stark a contrast to the last thing you remember.

A scent infiltrates your awareness—rich, savory. Coffee. Bacon. The comforting familiarity should soothe, but instead, it feeds the dissonance pooling in your gut. The weight of the blankets drapes over you, cool fabric against your overheated skin. Your limbs remain sluggish, burdened by an inexplicable fatigue.

Blinking against the light, you lift a hand to rub at your eyes. The motion feels distant, disconnected, as though your own body resists you. A tremor skates along your fingertips. A creeping unease slithers through you.

The room resolves in pieces. Soft, sun-dappled sheets. A nightstand, its dark wood surface adorned with a solitary glass of water. The low murmur of movement, distant yet present, beyond a partially ajar door. Every detail unfamiliar.

You sit up too fast.

The dizziness crashes into you, rendering the world momentarily unsteady. Your stomach churns in protest. A cold sweat prickles along your spine as you press your palm to your forehead, struggling to tether yourself to the present.

Where are you?

Your breaths come faster, shallower. The space surrounding you—spacious, curated, the kind of elegance that exudes wealth—does not belong to you. The bed is too large, the sheets too luxurious. The walls are adorned with artwork that suggests taste and affluence. This is not yours.

And you do not remember how you got here.

Your stomach knots, nausea clawing its way up your throat. Fragments of the night attempt to surface—the party, the music, the sensation of liquid sliding down your throat, the slow unraveling of your control. A pair of eyes lingering in the distance.

And then—

Nothing.

An abyss where your memory should be.

A new sound pulls you back—footsteps, nearing, steady. Your pulse stutters, skittering in your chest. Fear coils tight in your ribs, an instinctual response to the unknown.

The door swings open.

The figure standing there is silhouetted against the morning light, their presence filling the doorway with an unsettling quiet. You try to focus, to piece together something recognizable—an outline, a familiar stance—but the fog in your mind is thick, unrelenting. Your hands grip the sheets, fingers curling into the fabric as your breath catches, morning crust still coating your eyes, blurring your vision.

“Good morning.” The voice is smooth, calm, too composed. It should be comforting. It is not.

Your throat tightens as the memory gap yawns wider. Who is this? And why are you here?

The scent of coffee lingers in the air, mingling with something else—something darker, something you can’t yet name.

And then the figure takes a step forward, slow and deliberate. The weight of their presence fills the space, shifting the atmosphere in an unplaceable way. Shadows stretch and contract in the morning light, their silhouette still obscured by the glare of the sunlit doorway. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, each thud a heavy punctuation against the silence.

Your fingers tighten against the sheets, as if their fabric might tether you to some semblance of control. But control is slipping. Your breath catches in your throat as they advance further, their posture unreadable, their face still hidden from view. The scent of coffee lingers, but now it’s mixed with something else—something faintly metallic, almost sterile, unsettling in a way you can’t name.

They pause just short of the bed, standing over you now. A tension lingers in the air between you, thick, expectant. And then—finally—their voice cuts through the quiet again, smooth and even, but carrying an undercurrent of something you can’t yet define.

"You’re awake."

The voice sends a shiver down your spine. Familiar, yet distant. Your eyes finally adjust, your surroundings sharpening into something tangible. The deep mahogany furniture, the neatly pressed linens, the faint scent of cologne woven into the fabric of the room. Recognition dawns in pieces, fragments of memory slipping through the haze like sand through fingers.

Your breath stutters. This is Rafe Cameron’s bedroom.

Panic blooms in your chest, sharp and unrelenting. Your fingers clutch at the sheets, grounding yourself as the weight of realization crashes over you. How did you get here? The last thing you remember—the party, the drink, the slow, dizzying descent into something dark and consuming. Everything after that is a blur, an abyss where memories should be.

The tension in your limbs loosens, but a strange warmth replaces it—one you can’t quite define. The proximity, the realization that he had carried you, that he had seen you at your most vulnerable. A rush of heat blooms beneath your skin.

You shift against the pillows, suddenly hyperaware of the way the fabric clings to your skin. The weight of the night presses down on you, something heavy and lingering, something you can’t shake off. Your arms pull in close to your body, shrinking in on yourself instinctively, the way you might if you were trying to disappear. The feeling creeps in, insidious and unspoken, settling in your chest like an ache.

Rafe notices.

He exhales, his posture shifting as he takes a step closer, then hesitates, watching your reaction. "Nothing happened," he adds, quieter this time, as if anticipating your thoughts. "I just... made sure you were okay."

You swallow, your throat dry. Your fingers twist into the sheets as you nod, the weight of the moment settling over you. He moves again, this time toward the bed, lowering himself onto the edge. The mattress dips under his weight, closing the space between you in an intimate proximity that makes your pulse stutter.

Your breath catches. He took care of you.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The silence is heavy, charged, filled with unspoken questions neither of you seems willing to voice. Your gaze flickers to his hands, resting loosely on his lap, his fingers curled slightly as if he’s resisting the impulse to reach out.

You should say something, anything. But all you can do is sit there, the warmth in your cheeks betraying you, your heart hammering against your ribs as you struggle to process what this moment means.

And Rafe just watches, waiting.

"Why?" The word leaves your lips before you can stop it, barely more than a whisper but sharp enough to cut through the quiet. It lingers between you, heavier than you intended, like it carries more meaning than just the question itself.

He glances at you then, something unreadable flickering across his face before he looks away again. There’s something about the way he won’t meet your eyes, the way his fingers press into his palms like he’s holding something back.

"You don’t remember much, do you?" His voice is quieter this time, like he already knows the answer.

You shake your head, swallowing around the lump forming in your throat. "Not after a certain point. Just… flashes."

You think you see something in his expression shift, something fleeting. His jaw clenches for half a second before he nods, just once, like that was what he expected. And then he looks past you, toward the window, like there’s something out there more bearable to face than this conversation. Like maybe he doesn’t want to see the way you’re looking at him now.

Rafe leans forward, resting his chin slightly down as if in deep thought. His jaw tightens, like he’s considering his words carefully. "Because that party wasn’t for you. You’re not like them."

His voice is steady, but there’s something beneath it, something almost reluctant. As if he’s saying more than just that, as if there’s something else sitting on the edge of his tongue, something he won’t let himself say out loud. Your breath hitches. He noticed you. Not just that you were there, but that you didn’t belong there, that you weren’t the kind of girl who let herself get lost in that world.

His fingers tap absently against his elbow before he exhales through his nose, slow and measured. Without a word, he reaches toward the nightstand, fingers closing around a small, amber bottle. He twists off the cap and shakes out two pills into his palm before handing them to you along with a glass of water.

You don’t know what to say, don’t know how to respond to the weight of his words. A thousand questions press at the back of your mind, but none of them make it past your lips. So instead, you just look at him, studying the way his shoulders stay tense, the way his fingers twitch slightly where they rest.

You hesitate, glancing between him and the offering. The silence lingers, thick and unspoken, but he doesn’t push. Just watches, unreadable, until you take them from his hand. The cool glass feels solid in your grip, the only thing grounding you in the moment.

"It'll help," he finally says, voice low, controlled. Not an explanation, not an insistence—just a fact. And then he looks away again, like the moment never happened.

Your heart stutters, warmth creeping up your neck. You aren’t used to this side of him, this quiet sincerity. It makes your stomach twist in a way that has nothing to do with fear.

You clear your throat softly, fingers tightening around the blanket as you shift. you murmur a quick thank you to him, the words barely above a whisper, like you’re afraid to break the fragile quiet between you, you must have lost your voice last night.

Rafe doesn’t react at first, doesn’t acknowledge it right away. He just sits there, staring at a fixed point on the floor like he’s lost in something too deep to name. And then, finally, he nods—just once, a subtle dip of his chin. No arrogance, no teasing. Just acceptance.

The silence stretches, thick and unmoving, pressing against the walls of the room. The air between you is charged with something neither of you is willing to name, a slow, smoldering tension that lingers in the way he breathes, in the way his fingers twitch just slightly where they rest against his knee. The world beyond the bedroom feels impossibly distant, like something you left behind the moment you opened your eyes.

You can hear your own breathing, the slow, measured inhales that feel too loud in the quiet, the way your pulse thrums against the side of your throat. Everything is heightened, magnified—the subtle shift of the mattress beneath his weight, the faint scent of his cologne clinging to the fabric of the sheets, the way the sunlight spilling through the curtains catches in his hair, illuminating the sharp angles of his face.

Rafe doesn’t move. He hasn’t since he handed you the water, since he watched you take the painkillers without a word. He just sits there, his posture loose but intent, his forearms resting against lightly against his body, as if he’s waiting for something. You don’t know what. You don’t know if he does either.

Your fingers tighten around the glass, the condensation cool against your skin. The weight of his attention is suffocating, not because it unsettles you, but because it’s steady. Because he’s not watching you the way other people do—not with expectation, not with scrutiny, but with something quieter, something that feels like it belongs entirely to this moment.

You shift beneath the covers, suddenly aware of the space between you, of how small the room feels despite its size. There’s no rush, no urgency, but the tension coils slow and tight in the air between you, a pull that neither of you acknowledges, but neither of you breaks.

You should say something. Maybe to fill the silence, maybe to push away the weight of whatever is settling over the two of you, but the words don’t come. Instead, you glance at him, at the way his jaw is set, the way his gaze flickers—just for a moment—to the space where your hands curl into the blanket, to the way your shoulders have drawn inward, like you’re bracing yourself for something.

The realization lands heavily: he’s waiting for you to be okay.

You exhale, slow, measured. It should ease some of the pressure in your chest, but it doesn’t. The sheets smell like him. The realization makes your stomach twist, sharp and unexpected, and you inhale quickly, trying to steady yourself, to push it away. But it’s everywhere. His scent, his presence, the ghost of the weight of his gaze on you.

Rafe leans back slightly, his movements deliberate, unrushed. He shifts, settling more comfortably, but it does nothing to loosen the tension laced through the room. If anything, it solidifies it, makes it more tangible, makes it something that feels like it could snap at the slightest provocation.

The past few hours are a blur, a haze of flashing lights and distorted sound, of the world tilting beneath your feet, of a hand—his hand—steadying you before everything went dark. And now you’re here, in his bed, wrapped in the lingering remnants of a night you can barely piece together, but one thing is painfully clear: Rafe Cameron didn’t leave you behind.

And that fact, that certainty, makes your stomach twist.

Your fingers toy absently with the edge of the blanket, your gaze trained on nothing in particular. You can feel him watching you, can feel the weight of it in the space between you, in the air that crackles with something unspoken, something slow-burning and unrelenting.

It’s infuriating, the way he’s so still, so quiet, like he has all the time in the world to wait for you to make sense of whatever is unraveling inside you. Like he doesn’t care how long it takes.

Another beat of silence.

Then, finally, he shifts, pushing himself up from the bed with a slow, fluid motion. His presence doesn’t leave with him, though—it lingers, draped over you like a second skin, woven into the air you’re breathing, into the space he just vacated. He pauses near the door, his hand resting loosely on the frame, his body turned slightly like he’s debating whether or not to say something.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he looks at you, a glance that lasts only a second but feels like it stretches forever, before he turns and disappears into the hallway, leaving you alone with nothing but the ghost of his presence and the steady, relentless pounding of your own heart.

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. You just stand there, staring at each other, something unspoken stretching the space between you like a frayed wire. His gaze is steady, unreadable, but there’s something in the way he looks at you that makes your breath catch, makes your fingers twitch at your sides.

The weight of the night still lingers between you, thick like smoke, curling around the edges of whatever fragile thing this is. The silence isn’t empty—it’s full, layered with everything that wasn’t said. The flicker of his throat as he swallows, the way his fingers flex against the counter like he needs something to hold onto. His presence is a solid thing, inescapable.

He clears his throat, breaking the stillness like shattering glass. "I should take you home," he says, voice low, even. "You probably want to get out of here."

You nod automatically, but the motion feels disconnected, like it doesn’t belong to you. The truth is, you don’t know if you want to leave. You don’t know if you’re ready to walk out of this moment, out of this strange and suffocating thing pressing against your ribs. But it’s the logical choice. The right thing to do. So you shift your weight, stepping further into the room as if that will make it easier, as if that will make it feel real.

Rafe watches you for a second longer before pushing off the surface he was leaning on. He moves with the same careful deliberation he always does, like he’s in control of everything, like nothing touches him unless he lets it.

But then, as he reaches for his keys, his jaw tightens. His movements slow. His grip on the metal rings shifts slightly, like he’s debating something, like something about this moment doesn’t sit right with him. And then he looks at you again, his eyes catching yours, something flickering in his expression—something restrained, something almost unreadable.

"Be more careful next time." His voice is quieter now, rougher at the edges. "

You swallow, the weight of his words settling in your chest as a slight warmness fills your cheeks, even if he can't see it. The words settle between you, heavy. He’s not scolding you, not angry. But there’s something else beneath it, something darker. Like he hated seeing you like that. Like he doesn’t want to have to do this again. Like he hated seeing you like that. Like he doesn’t want to have to do this again. But maybe it's all in your head.

A part of you wants to say something—to defend yourself, to explain—but nothing comes out. You just nod, barely, the movement almost imperceptible. He watches the way your fingers tighten around the hem of your shirt, the way your shoulders tense like you’re bracing for something.

He exhales sharply, turns toward the door, and motions for you to follow.

But the moment doesn’t end there. The shift in the air is subtle, but it’s there. His fingers flex around the keys, his body pausing for just a second longer than necessary before he moves. Like he’s giving you the chance to say something. Like he’s waiting.

You don’t take it.

The cold air hits you the second you step outside, sharp and biting against your skin. It’s the kind of morning that lingers somewhere between the last remnants of night and the hesitant promise of day, the sky washed in pale hues of blue and gray, the world still and quiet.

You don’t say anything, but the shiver that rolls through you betrays you, your body instinctively curling inward as if you can escape the chill. Rafe notices. Of course he does. He hesitates for a second, just a fraction of a beat, then lets out a slow breath, as if he’s annoyed at something—himself, maybe.

Without a word, he shrugs off his jacket.

It’s heavier than you expect when he drapes it over your shoulders, the thick, well-worn material settling around you like a second skin. The scent of him lingers in the fabric—something clean but deep, a mix of faded cologne and the unmistakable warmth of skin, like the kind of comfort you don’t realize you need until it’s there.

The jacket is old, but not in a neglected way. More like it carries weight, history. It’s a varsity jacket, dark navy with white leather sleeves, the kind that looks like it’s seen late-night drives, fights behind stadium bleachers, and moments that don’t belong to you. His name is stitched into the fabric on the chest, subtle but undeniable: Cameron. The embroidered lettering is slightly frayed at the edges, as if it’s been touched too many times, traced over absentmindedly. On the sleeve, a faded championship patch clings to the leather, the numbers slightly worn, a quiet reminder of a past you know nothing about.

But he doesn’t just let it fall into place. His hands stay there, gripping the edges just beneath your collarbone, holding it closed, holding you—if only for a second too long. His touch is light, almost hesitant, but deliberate in a way that sends a shiver down your spine, one that has nothing to do with the cold.

The space between you feels smaller now, the tension stretched taut, humming like a wire between you. His fingers shift slightly, his knuckles grazing your collarbone through the fabric, his touch warm even against the cold bite of the night air. You can feel the heat radiating from him, the way his breath ghosts over your cheek, close enough that if either of you leaned in—just a fraction—you’d close the distance entirely.

Rafe’s eyes flicker down to meet yours, something unreadable passing through them, something almost thoughtful, almost careful. It’s a contradiction—the way he holds the jacket like he’s reluctant to let go, yet his jaw is set, his expression betraying nothing.

You swallow, fingers curling around the edges, your hands on top of his, pulling it tighter around yourself. It’s warm, warmer than his hands. Too warm, maybe, but you don’t push it off.

Rafe watches you, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in the way his gaze lingers on you that makes your breath come slower, makes your chest feel too tight and your hands are touching before he reluctantly pulls away, almost as if not to scare you off or harm you.

"It’s cold," he mutters, like that explains it, like that’s the only reason he did it.

You don’t challenge it. Because maybe that’s the reason you don’t take it off, either.

And just like that, whatever this moment was slips away, fading into the morning light as he leads you to his car.

The world beyond the house feels different, like the air is thinner, lighter, no longer weighed down by the silence between you. The gravel crunches beneath your feet as you follow him toward his car, your steps feeling almost mechanical. The sky is still streaked with soft shades of dawn, a nostalgic blue still coating the sky, the edges of the horizon tinged with the last remnants of night. The streetlights on the corner on still on,

He unlocks the door, pulling it open for you, but you hesitate. Just for a second. Just long enough for him to notice.

His fingers tighten around the top of the door, his gaze flickering to yours. But he doesn’t say anything. He just waits.

You don’t know what you’re looking for. Some kind of confirmation. Some kind of explanation. But there’s nothing. Just him. Just you. And the space between that feels too charged to make sense of.

You step inside, settling into the seat, the leather cool and smooth beneath you, molded from years of use, broken in but still exuding something undeniably expensive. The scent of rich leather and faint motor oil lingers in the air, a combination of luxury and the kind of careful work that doesn't come from a mechanic’s shop.

The dashboard glows with a soft luminescence, highlighting the precision of the controls—sleek buttons, polished chrome accents, the faint imprint of his hands worn into the steering wheel. The passenger seat, by contrast, is almost untouched. The leather is stiff, uncreased, lacking the wear and shape molded by frequent use. There are no stray belongings, no faint imprints of past passengers, no lingering signs that anyone else has ever sat there. It feels untouched, almost foreign, as though this space was never meant for anyone else. The thought makes your stomach twist, the realization settling in like a whisper you can't quite decipher. For all the history his car carries, for all the work and time poured into every inch of it, this seat feels like it doesn’t belong to anyone—except maybe, just maybe, to you now. The seats cradle you, low and firm, the kind of comfort designed for control at high speeds. A faint scuff on the door panel catches your eye, and you can almost imagine him there, late at night, sleeves pushed up as he worked under dim garage lights, fine-tuning something only he could perfect.

The convertible top is locked in place for now, but the idea of wind rushing past, of the open road stretching ahead, lingers in the air like a promise. This isn’t just a car. It’s his, in every sense of the word. And now, for the first time, you’re inside it.

You grip your hands together in your lap as he closes the door with a quiet click. The sound lingers in the air, final in a way that makes your stomach twist.

The car is dimly lit, the dashboard casting a faint glow across his face, sharpening the lines of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows. He doesn’t look at you right away, just exhales slowly, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. The movement is small, restrained, but you notice it. You notice everything.

The drive is silent. Not uncomfortable, but not easy either. The road stretches ahead, the faint hum of the tires against the asphalt the only sound between you. The air feels heavy, charged, like the moment before a storm, thick with something unsaid.

Your fingers twitch slightly, pressing into the fabric of his jacket still draped over your shoulders. It’s too big on you, the sleeves hanging long past your wrists, the collar brushing against your cheek. The warmth of it, of him, lingers against your skin, a constant reminder that he was close, that he chose to put it there. You could give it back. You should. But you don’t.

The leather of the steering wheel creaks as his hands flex, his grip tightening like he’s forcing himself to keep steady. You steal a glance at him, at the way his jaw tenses, the muscle there twitching slightly. The way his fingers tap once against the wheel before stilling. He’s holding something back, something weighted, and you don’t know if you want him to let it go or keep it buried between you, a secret neither of you knows how to say out loud.

The headlights cast long shadows across the empty road, the outside world slipping by in streaks of gray and muted gold. But inside the car, it’s different. It’s just the two of you, wrapped in a silence that feels almost sacred, like speaking would break something fragile, something delicate.

You shift slightly, the fabric of the seat cool beneath your legs, your knee brushing against the center console. The touch is barely there, a whisper of contact, but his fingers flex again, his grip tightening like he felt it too. Like he’s trying not to react.

You turn your gaze back to the window, but you don’t really see the passing streets. Not when every part of you is aware of him, of the tension strung between you like a wire ready to snap. It hums beneath your skin, lingers in the space between your breaths, curls in the air between you like smoke.

A red light slows the car to a stop. For a moment, the world outside is still, painted in the muted glow of streetlights. You chance another look at him, catching the way his fingers drum lightly against the gear shift, restless. His eyes stay forward, locked on the road, but his shoulders are stiff, coiled with something unreadable.

Then, without looking at you, without taking his eyes off the road, he exhales, slow and measured. "You warm enough?"

It’s nothing. Just words. Just an excuse for something else. But the way he says it, low and rough, makes your stomach twist, makes your fingers curl tighter around the sleeves of his jacket.

"Yeah," you murmur, voice softer than you mean for it to be. "I’m fine."

He doesn’t believe you. You feel it before you see it—the weight of his gaze settling over you, careful but unrelenting. When you finally look at him, his eyes are already on you, studying, assessing, searching for something in your face that you’re not sure you even understand yourself.

His grip on the wheel loosens slightly, but he doesn’t look away. It’s not just concern. It’s something quieter, deeper, something that lingers in the way his brows draw together just enough to show he’s holding back words he doesn’t know how to say.

His mouth parts, just slightly, like he’s about to speak, but he doesn’t. Instead, his fingers shift against the gear shift again, as if grounding himself, as if trying to keep some sort of distance between whatever is happening between the two of you. But it’s there.

You feel it in the way his throat moves when he swallows, in the way his shoulders seem to tense and relax all at once. And suddenly, the car feels smaller, the air thinner, the space between you pressing in from all angles.

The light turns green, and he finally looks away, jaw tight as he presses down on the gas. But the moment lingers, stretching across the quiet miles, settling somewhere neither of you wants to name.

His fingers drum against the gear shift again, once, twice, before stilling. The light turns green, and the car moves forward, but the moment stays, lingers between you like an unanswered question.

Another mile passes in silence. Another breath held too long before being released. The weight of the night still clings to you, woven into your skin, into the spaces between your ribs. And you know, without him saying it, without needing to ask, that he feels it too.

You tighten his jacket around yourself, pressing your fingers into the thick material. You don’t want to acknowledge how it feels like something you weren’t supposed to have, like something borrowed but not meant to be returned. But neither of you moves to change it.

The distance between you and the night before stretches, but it doesn’t fade. Whatever this is—whatever happened back in that house, in that room, in the space between breaths and silence—it isn’t over.

And somehow, you don’t think it ever will be.

© ER1NNE est. 2024. all rights reserved. unauthorized use, duplication, or reposting of any original content from this blog without explicit permission is prohibited. please respect the creator’s work.

[philosians]

ɪɴᴅᴜʟɢᴇɴᴄᴇ

a three week paid-vacation provided by your captain gave rise to the opportunity to finally show you the gift sylus had gotten you. and no, it isn’t the yacht you’re on—but he wouldn’t be opposed to giving you that either.

[ !! ] — mdni | established relationship, smut, breeding kink, pregnancy mention, fingering, oral (female receiving), praise kink, mating press, unprotected sex, sylus is soft in the bedroom okay now hush ;; alcohol mention (sylus drinks whiskey), fluff. oh did I mention soft! sylus?? uhhh maybe more tags than this idk there’s a lot going on lmao. unedited af I know that’s a warning. if y’all see cut sentences just know it’s a brain glitch >.< lol

a/n: Happy Valentine’s Day! phew i got this out before it ended hehe just in the nick of time. I do wanna forewarn everyone I don’t actively write smut so I deeply apologize for any sort of repetitiveness or just it being inaccurate and rushed overall, my apologies. but please enjoy reading! bc i wanna curl up and die and delete this after writing it actually lmao I’ll probably never write anything like this again haha

word count: roughly 4.8k

The starry expanse of sky moves quickly outside of the window of the car, nothing but a blur of cosmic colors. Where you’re going you’re not quite sure, with all the secrecy from Sylus and the twins. It’s something Sylus has clearly planned for awhile, from the way he wanted you to dress tonight, but you’re still unable to put your finger on it.

At the very least, you’re glad that Kieran is the one that’s driving instead of Luke.

“Are you two going to tell me where we’re going yet?”

“Afraid not, Miss,” Kieran replies. “That’d be against orders from Boss.”

“Are we at least almost there yet?” you ask.

“We have about ten more minutes,” Luke chirps. “Then you’ll finally get to see Boss, don’t worry.”

You’re stunned into a mild fluster and look at your hands in your lap. You heard the twins snicker and you can’t help but shake your head incredulously. Oh well. You’re almost to your destination anyway.

After the last two months of an increase in Wanderer appearances, you could most certainly use a break. It’s been nothing short of hectic, battles here and evacuations there and the occasional dumbass that doesn’t want to listen to the warnings given out that an area is too dangerous to go into.

You softly sigh. You really shouldn’t be thinking about work.

You tug the large coat on your shoulders over you further, closing your eyes and sinking into the warmth and the smell of the man it belonged to.

Whatever in the world Sylus had planned must be big, even so that he couldn’t be bothered to tell even the twins exactly what he had in store. All the three of you knew was that he had a surprise, and the two brothers were more than happy to have the opportunity to have the base to themselves.

You just wish you knew where you were going.

“Is this it?”

“I think so. Ah, there’s Boss.”

Oh, already?

True to word, you open your eyes and see a familiar patch of silver against the darkness of the world. And you also happen to see a very, very large yacht not far from him.

A marina? You blink incredulously. A private fucking marina. Good lord, how much money does this man really have?

Upon stopping, you watch as Sylus turns his head slightly to the car. Luke quickly jumps from the passenger side and opens the door for you, ushering his hand outward dramatically and says, “After you, Miss.”

The heel of your shoe clicks against pavement as you step out, holding Luke’s hand for stability until you find your balance.

“Thanks, Luke.”

“Not a problem! Enjoy the honey— Uh, vacation!”

Luke jumps back into the car, more than likely to save himself from your questioning eyes. You can’t help but shake your head and make your way toward Sylus and the man in uniform, more than likely the captain of the yacht.

“Ah, Mrs. Sylus,” greets the captain with a tilt of his hat. His eyes blink as he does a once-over on you and then laughs. “I was wondering what kind of woman would tie such a man down, and now I understand. Please, come aboard.”

Your brows raise at Sylus as the captain pivots and boards the yacht. “Care to explain that?”

Sylus, in all his audacity, simply shrugs and smiles. “Nothing to explain, sweetie. He came up with that himself after I told him my lady would be joining me.”

You scoff in disbelief, but can’t help the small smile that falls to your lips. You take Sylus’s arm, wrapped your hand in the crook of his elbow as he leads you onto the ship.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, gazing around as he takes you to the deck. And you could only imagine what it would be like when you went out to sea.

“I figured you would like it,” he murmurs. “Glad to see my instincts weren’t wrong.”

You don’t miss the way his red eyes look to you, knowing he’s waiting for your words of affirmation. You laugh behind your hand, because yeah, he’s right.

You hum, taking his hand in your own. “Thank you for considering me.”

You also don’t miss the way his large fingers eagerly twine with your own, nor the way his eyes soften and blend with devotion and affection.

“Always.”

Thirty minutes pass before the ship takes off into the open sea. You barely feel it until Sylus has you stand to take you back outside from the dining area.

“So, where are we going?” you ask, gazing up at him.

Sylus’s mouth twitches into a smirk. “It’s a surprise.”

You grumble, humoring the man. “Of course it is.”

Sylus’s coat never leaves your shoulders the couple hours you’re both out on the deck. He seems to enjoy that, too; you wearing his clothes sparks something behind his eyes that you’re all too familiar with. The thought itself has your cheeks warming and thighs pressing together.

He flicks his wrist to check his watch when a timer beeps twice. You can’t help it when your eyes linger on his hand. You’ve always had a fixation on his them—on how big and warm they are in comparison to yours, on how his long fingers stretch across your body, and how they gently wrap around you and pull you close like he’d die without touching you. Those hands that had once forced you to attempt to resonate with him for three days had become soft, remorseful and loving. And he’d more than earned your forgiveness.

“Dinner should be ready.”

You grin. “You brought your chef?”

“Just for this trip,” he retorts, standing to full height. “Come.” His hand outstretches to you and you take it without hesitation.

You don’t miss the way his eyes briefly light up at the way your fingers immediately interlace with his. It’s a small joy to you, but to him it means everything—a testament to how far the two of you have come.

Dinner, as always, is perfect. Dessert even more so. You’re not too full, but more than satisfied. You give your compliments to the chef, who in turn happily skips back to the kitchen like he’s on cloud nine. And you can’t help but look at Sylus and smile as he downs his whiskey like it’s water.

“You don’t compliment your chef enough,” you comment. “One sentence from me and he acts like he’s never heard praise.”

Sylus hums as his brows raise, humored. He chuckles with the whiskey in his mouth before swallowing it to retort, ���He knows his cooking is excellent. I suppose I just have a limit to how many compliments I can give out in a day.”

You place your chin in your hand. “Oh, really? Then how many do I get to have in a day?”

Adoration fills his ruby orbs. “As many as you want, my beloved.”

His hand reaches for your left over the table. Sylus’s thumb rubs over your fingers, resting atop your ring finger.

“Have I told you that you look exquisite tonight?” he whispers.

“You haven’t,” you reply cheekily. “I think you owe me a few more, don’t you think?”

The soft music in the background dies as you begin to hear your heart thunder in your ears. You do hope that Sylus can’t hear it pounding away like you can.

“Seems like I do,” he says in an exhale, leaning back in his seat but not letting go of your hand. His eyes have changed—once filled with adoration, now filled with a fire that makes heat rise to your cheeks and desire burn between your legs. “I don’t think I’ve shown you the bedroom yet, have I?”

You grin. “You haven’t. I’d like to see it.”

But what you don’t anticipate is your man standing and abruptly lifting you into a one arm carry. Your sharply inhale in surprise, arms immediately weave around his neck for support, but you know he’d never drop you anyway.

You trail your nose under his jaw, pressing a long kiss to his skin by his ear. Your fingers dig into his shoulder, the subtle presser making him hasten his long strides.

“Sweetheart—” Sylus gulps as you press two fingers to his mouth to silence him.

You pepper slow kisses down his neck, nipping at the skin every other kiss. It’s when you reach his collarbone you hear the click of a door. And seconds later you find the plush fabric of blankets underneath you and Sylus’s firm hand cradling the back of your head as he tilts your head back to capture your lips with his.

Between each heated kiss you attempt to catch your breath, only for your lover to devour your mouth with his own again and again.

“Mmmh— Sylus, let me—” another kiss “—catch my breath.”

He has a hard time pulling away. Sylus rests on one knee at the edge of the bed, hands grasping at the back of your bare calves as he catches his own breath and tries to pull himself back to his senses before he finishes himself off early.

While you toss your head back and close your eyes, trying to let oxygen catch up to your brain, Sylus lifts his head to look at you. He drinks in your appearance—the starry night sky sewn into the strapless obsidian dress (one that he had specially made for you) accentuated your body exactly the way he envisioned.

As he watches your breasts rise and fall with every breath, he feels his pants tighten even more. He’s so painfully hard just from simply kissing you—a testament to what you do to him, how deeply you affect him.

He rests his head against the plush of your thigh. As he trails his hand down your leg, he realizes you still have your heels on.

Your head snaps up at the feeling of one heel coming off, then the other.

“Sylus, what— Oh, shit.”

The momentum of him lifting your body further up the bed and hiking your dress up catches you off guard. His mouth latches to your thighs, kissing and biting all the way up until he reaches the fabric of your panties—the only thing between him and what he wants.

“Such a dark red, darling,” he hums. “Was this for me?”

“It might’ve been,” you tease.

As his finger loops around the red fabric covering you, Evol ready to help rip it off, your hand makes its way into his hair and tugs, forcing his eyes to attention.

“Rip these, I’m okay with that. Rip the dress, and I’ll kill you,” you say, half-joking. But damn did you really like this dress.

He chuckles, eyes glazed with lust. “Understood.”

As soon as he tears them away and hikes your dress even further around your hips, Sylus’s mouth does nothing short of devour your pussy. You let out the loudest, wanton moan you’ve ever heard from yourself as his tongue buries itself in and against your folds. Your head falls back against the pillows, hands moving to grip the sheets beneath you to maintain some semblance of being grounded as Sylus eats you out like a starved man. Your legs are over his shoulders, allowing him the best access to your womanhood.

“Oh— Fuuuck, Sylus. Ohmygod, please don’t stop,” you beg, threading one hand through his hair again, grip tighter than earlier.

His reply comes in the form of him pushing his thick middle finger inside of you and mouth sucking on your clit. You wail, bucking your hips into his mouth. His ring finger promptly follows, stretching your cunt and sinking deep inside of your walls. Tears of overstimulation line your eyes as you grasp at then pillow behind your head.

Both hands twine into his silver locks of hair, pressing him deeper into you. What you miss amidst your own haze of ecstasy is Sylus grinding himself against the mattress to find some sense of relief. His mind is at war, wanting nothing more than to cum right then and there versus wanting to watch his seed spill from your hole. It takes every ounce of self-control of his own body to not climax while he simultaneously loses his mind while his mouth is attached to your cunt.

“Don’t— Please— Sylus! Sylus, I’m gonna—”

Your back arches off of the bed, and you can’t help but press him further into you and grind against his face. Sylus’s arms wrap around your thighs, holding you steady. The deep groan of his satisfaction that leaves him only spurs you on further and further and further until your thighs clench around his head and you cum. Hard.

And Sylus more than enjoys sucking and licking away at your release as you climax, prolonging it as much as he can. He lifts your lower body into the air as he continues his onslaught of your pussy with his mouth and tongue, the pressure of your thighs on either side of his head making him dizzy. Your essence coats his chin and nose, your scent driving all his senses wild and pulls the remainder of his blood down to his cock.

He gains a free hand as you tighten your legs around his shoulders. He unbuckles his belt and slips it off with practiced ease before moving to unzip and unbutton his pants, tugging away at them.

When your hips stop shaking is when Sylus grabs your thighs with both hands and sets your body back down on the mattress. He hovers over you once again, taking in your disheveled appearance and partially-lidded eyes. His long fingers brush your skin and cradle your jaw.

“Still with me, sweetheart?” he asks.

You pant and gaze up at him. “Barely.” You swallow. “That tongue of yours is brutal.”

Sylus laughs. It’s almost enough to make him forget about the painful fact that his cock is straining against his pants. Until your knee brushes against it when you lift yourself from the bed and he groans.

You giggle as his head presses against your shoulder.

“You really shouldn’t neglect yourself like that,” you hum, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

Sylus’s lips meet your neck opposite of your arm wrapped around him and presses a long kiss to your sweaty skin, murmuring hotly into your ear, “There’s no one to blame but you, beloved. And I highly suggest you take responsibility.”

You moan and arch into him as his hands work on your dress, unzipping the back entirely and lowering it just below your breasts. You arch your back so he can undo the bra, and as soon as it’s on the floor, his mouth is on your chest. Sylus sucks and bites at your nipples, worshipping them and your breasts as he grinds his clothed erection into your bare pussy, soaking his dress pants in your juices.

You begin unbutton his shirt through the haze of your desire… before you slip your hands through the remaining buttons and fully rip his dress shirt apart, exposing his thick torso. You both chuckle at the sound of the buttons hitting the floor.

“Impatient?”

“Like you aren’t,” you remark.

Sylus shrugs off his shirt in a fluid motion and tosses it to the side from one arm. You manage to slide off your dress within a few moments, just as Sylus manages to get off his pants and briefs and… Oh…

You’d almost forgotten how big he is. Sure, the two of you have spent a couple more… sensual evenings together since you had him use your place as a safe house (and then him bringing you to his), but it always makes you shudder when your eyes land between the apex of his muscular thighs.

His tip weeps with precum, heavy cock red and flushed and—

Sylus’s breath is hot against your ear as he asks, “Like what you see, darling?”

—goddamn it you need it inside of you.

Your nails dig into his bicep, your other hand wrapping around his neck to pull him into a heated kiss, and Sylus is more than happy to oblige. His kiss is deep and reverent. A small moan escapes him as you two briefly pull apart for air before diving back into one another.

Everything is hot; your cheeks are flushed with the heat of desire and your pussy aches to have Sylus buried inside of you.

You pull him down on top of you with the arm around his neck, your other hand grasping his cock and positioning it at your entrance. Sylus hisses, hips bucking slightly as his fingers clench at his attempts at restraint.

“Fuck,” he pants. His red eyes clear for a moment, turning into a gentleness reserved for you as he asks, “You think you can take it?”

“I think you ate me out enough earlier I’ll manage,” you joke. Then your nails dig into the meat of his back, the sensation making him softly hiss again. “But if you don’t I’ll be doing it for you then.”

Sylus chuckles, nose dipping to your collarbone.

“My beloved is always so greedy, isn’t she?”

There is no retort from you—only a loud moan as Sylus’s tip enters you fills the room. He stops after that though, and as you look up to him to ask him why he stopped, you’re stunned at the sight before you.

Sylus is flushed red, panting and sweating as his muscles flex.

“Sylus?”

“Don’t,” he warns, shaking his head. “Give me… a moment. You feel… too good.”

The implication is clear. Sylus’s head falls as he inches himself a little further, delighting in hearing you gasp as he sinks more and more inches of himself inside of you. It takes all he has not to just cum at the feel of you; every ounce of self-control he has is being tested. He’s never been harder in his life, and being inside of the woman he loves—who feels like heaven wrapped around his cock—only proceeds to spiral him into a deeper pit of pleasure.

“Sylus… Sylus, more, please,” you hears you beg.

He’s halfway in, trying to take his time and let the romance of the evening last. But at that, and the sensation of your nails digging into his back, he finds himself a goner and lets his hips fall into yours, sinking the remainder of his fat cock into the depths of your wet pussy. A deep shudder passes through him, bliss running through his body.

“Fuck. Fuck, you feel divine,” Sylus says in a deep exhale.

“You’re so big,” you gasp, eyes clouded with the haze of lust. “Oh, Sy, you feel so good.”

The praise goes to his head immediately. He drags his cock back out slowly and a whine escapes you, hating the emptiness. But when Sylus places your legs over his shoulders and leans over you, it’s over for you both.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as Sylus rolls his hips, sliding his full length back into the warm expanse of your pussy. His head falls back, and the pace he sets proceeds to bury you both alive underneath overwhelming ecstasy.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he pants, clenching his fist into the sheet. “How I feel every time I look at you? Utter perfection is all I see. Do you feel what you do to me, darling?”

All you can feel is Sylus’s weight on top of you and the feel of his heavy cock inside of you as he stretches you open on him, carving your pussy into the shape of his cock. His pelvis rubs against your clit deliciously, spurring you on further. As much as you want to drive your hips up to meet his thrusts, Sylus has you pinned down into a mating press and all you can do is take what he’s giving you.

The papping noises of your bodies meeting filled the room, sending your thoughts into an even dirtier place. He feels so good reaching so deep inside of you, tip rubbing against that special spot perfectly, like you’re made to be perfect for each other. You clench around Sylus at another thought and he inhales sharply.

“What’re you thinking about?” he questions.

You shake your head. “N-Nothing.”

His long fingers grab your jaw gently. “Tell me.”

And then he slows his pace. “No, Sylus—”

“Then tell me what my beloved is thinking in that pretty head of hers,” he murmurs into your ear. “Or else.”

“I was thinking… about… Uhm…” Sylus rolls his hips back into you, his heavy balls pressing against your ass as he awaits your answer.

“Well?”

“I, uh— A baby.”

At the word, you shy away into your arm. But Sylus doesn’t say anything, which makes you confused. After a couple seconds, you gaze back up at him. His eyes show how stunned he is, pupils blown as no doubt the word also revolves around his own mind.

“Sylus, I— Oh, fuucckk.”

His body weight presses your body into the mattress further, leaving you at his mercy as Sylus’s pace becomes brutal, like he’s let his base instincts take over. His big hand finds yours and twines your fingers together as he drives his cock into your pussy over and over and over again, the squelching noises only growing louder and louder in your ears.

“My kitten… wants a baby then?” He hums into your ear. “She wants me to cum inside of her and carry my baby, is that right?”

“It was… just a thought.”

He laughs as your pussy clenches around him more at his words.

“Seems like it’s more than just a thought.”

Sylus’s mouth meets yours in another kiss, powered by something more than just lust. Your brain turns fuzzy and hot, reality beginning to finally blur as another climax ascends from the depths of your core.

Your eyes shut as his mouth finds the sweet spot on your neck. He sucks and nips at the skin with his teeth and you’ve no doubt that there’ll be plenty of love bites scattered across your skin for days after tonight.

When he nips at your ear, you squeak and clench around him again. Sylus groans into your ear, “Do that again.”

You oblige, clenching down on him and making him piston himself in and out of you faster. Every thrust turns into one that pushes the air from your lungs. All you can see, all you can feel is Sylus—feel his body heat as he presses your body down with his; feel the thickness of his cock stretch you open and the weight of his balls as they slap against your ass.

And it feels so good. The shlick and pap noises are getting to you. The coil that’s been winding up all night finally feels like it’s about to burst. Your back arches off the bed, breasts pressing into Sylus’s firm chest.

“Ohmygod, Sy, gonna cum, gonna cum fuckfuckfuuucckkk!”

He nips at your earlobe, biting down on it gently before whispering into your ear, “Indulge, my love. Indulge and I’ll fulfill every single one of your desires tonight.”

At long last, the coil snaps. Euphoria pilots itself to your brain and all across your body. You shake from the intensity, having to wrap your arms around Sylus to ground yourself as you reach your high.

Your orgasm sends him over the edge. He thrusts a few more times before he finds himself pressing himself as deep as he can possibly go and releasing his seed inside of your pussy. It’s almost too much, even for him. He doesn’t think he’s ever cum harder than tonight.

Your bodies rock together as you both fall from the heights of cloud nine. Sylus peppers your sweaty skin with kisses, across the bruised love bites he’d left earlier.

It’s only when he feels himself soft enough to slip out of you does he ask, “A family?”

Sylus’s voice is soft. So soft in fact that you barely hear him. You take a moment to reply, only to find yourself being easily lifted from the bed and onto Sylus’s chest.

“It’s… Something that’s crossed my mind a few times,” you admit bashfully.

Silence fills the air for a moment before he asks again, in the same, quiet tone he’d just used.

“With me?”

Your smile stretches across your face instantly. Your lips meet his chest, right over his heart. Your eyes meet his—uncertainty meeting unconditional love.

“And no one else.”

The next three days after are filled with you and Sylus partaking in all the activities that his yacht has to offer (plus more intimate times across the boat and it’s other rooms). He’d told you at one point that he would’ve just used the one he sails on regularly. But due to him wanting to spend more time with you than anything, and for you to have fun during the trip, he’d bought another and hired the captain to ensure safe passage.

Tonight however, was the night that you both were supposed to be arriving at your destination. You tried to help the anxiety and giddiness inside of you, trying to flatten it under a cool demeanor but Sylus just saw right through you.

Of course he would.

“There’s no reason to be nervous. It’s not like I’m taking you into enemy territory,” he jokes, gaze flicking to you from the stars in the open sky.

“I know that. I just can’t help it,” you mutter.

You shiver from the cold breeze, and Sylus shrugs off his leather jacket and places it over your shoulders. He leans down and zips it partway, resting his chin atop your head.

“Those hunter instincts of yours need to settle down,” he hums.

“I wish they would— Sylus!”

A hearty chuckle leaves him as you bounce away from his hold. Your eyes narrow at his treachery.

“What? Did I do something wrong?”

“Don’t you try and tickle me,” you warn playfully. You slip your arms through the sleeves of his leather jacket, trying to pull the sleeves back from over your palms to point at him. “Or I’m gonna tickle you back.”

Sylus smirks and rubs his fingers together. “Is that a challenge?”

“Mr. Sylus, Mrs. Sylus,” greets a familiar voice.

Embarrassment makes you duck your head away from the captain for a brief moment before you look at him.

“Just thought I’d come and let you know we’ll be docking soon.” The captain takes his hat off and bows before you both. “Thank you for allowing me the chance to sail you both for the last three days.”

Sylus nods his head in acknowledgment “Thank you for giving us safe passage, Arthur.”

Arthur nods, reapplies his cap and heads back to steer the ship into the upcoming port.

You don’t get to watch as he disappears since Sylus wraps his arms around you, pulling your chin to his chest. He presses a sweet kiss to your temple and murmurs, “I do believe we’re here.”

The distraction of the captain was long enough that the scenery before you had changed into the moonlit sea into a large landmass illuminated by the full moon above.

Your jaw drops open at the sight, eyes lighting up as you get closer and closer to the port where the ship would dock.

“Sylus, where are we?” you ask quietly.

“It’s an island,” he states. “One that I bought awhile back and was making… renovations for.”

“Renovations? For what?”

He laughs softly and looks at you like you’re a goddess. “For whom, you mean.”

Your eyes widen into saucers. Is he…? Could he seriously mean…?

“Sylus, you bought me an island?” you inquire, utterly flabbergasted.

“I can’t exactly un-buy it, so I do hope you’ll like it,” he replies. To your ears and yours alone you can hear his wavering tone, like he’s awaiting your disappointment. You can’t have that.

You cup his cheeks and force him to look at you again.

“Sylus, I love it; even if it’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever been gifted, I love it. It’s just going to take me time to get used to it,” you tell him. Then you step on your tippy-toes and give him an eskimo kiss. “Thank you. I love you.”

You kiss him there at the front of the ship, wrapped in his warm, protective embrace, momentarily oblivious to the world and your surroundings.

What you’re also oblivious to, and have been since the start of the trip, is the fat diamond ring that’s been tucked away, hidden in Sylus’s bottom drawer to his dresser. And also to the fact of his other reason of being nervous.

To him hoping that you’ll say “yes” when he gets down on one knee to ask you to marry him.

But he’ll save that for later. Right now he intends to indulge and savor your lips on his and you being tucked into him, safe from the world to be loved and worshipped by him.

And hopefully, for the rest of this lifetime.

[rebelssvy]

babeeeeee you have me addicted to your roommates ushi x reader fic 😭 please make more with links 😭😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏 maybe a tsukki x reader 👀 okie but also love the size difference kink showing in your fic too 😭😘👌 absolutely delish girl thank you for blessing us

FUCK yes. god YES i can.

cruel ✧.*

tsukishima x reader ₊˚ෆ

★ twt links included!!!!

⋆·˚ ༘ *

summary: you and tsuki are roomates, you go out to a party and he is just mean to you. so when you get home you embarrass him by going through his porn. smut, making out, twt links, squirting dirty talk all, male receiving head

twt links scattered in here. loved making this!!! request more babes.

of course you were overstepping. of course you had had a little to much to drink. but to be honest you were still fully aware of every move you had made tonight. it was all calculated.

you and your roommate tsukishima kei had found yourselfs at a party earlier that night. it was a friendly get together that turned into more of a party the longer it went on. sure you took some shots. but all of that was hours ago.

during the party you had been flirting with some of kei’s teammates. it was nothing bad of course. it was all far play. the music was bumping and the lights were flashing. truly it had turned into a house party. it wasn’t until tsuki had pulled you aside that your mood really flipped.

he could be cruel sometimes. a sharp mind and a sharper tongue, but he was also caring. in this moment all the lines were blurred.

whispering in your ear he spoke the words. “stop putting yourself out there your just going to embarrass yourself..” you gasped, pushed him back and left. like any sane person would. you ordered and uber walking out of the apartment complex and arrived at your shared apartment within minutes.

instead of wallowing in your pain, you created a master plan. one that was going to embarrass him so much that he would have no choice then apologize to you. you were quick to your room, changing into skimpy pjs and lacey under garments.

sure his comment hurt. but it hurt more coming from him. you liked him. after sharing an apartment with him for so long you two would laugh after his snarky comments. hitting him and telling him to treat you better in which he would reply, ‘yes y/n…’. so why did he pull you away tonight and degrade you? did he have a problem with you flirting? maybe..

shortly after you changed the locks to your home unlocked and he walked in. with his timing it seems like right after you left, he said goodbye to everyone and followed you shortly after.

“how did you get home?” he asked, taking off his hoodie and hanging it up. then proceeding to take his belongings out of his pant pockets.

then and there is struck you. your master plan.

you walked over to him, making sure you didn’t rush to fast, but just quick enough to close in on him. “took an uber..” you spoke quietly. almost to a whisper.

“huh? you what? why are you being so quiet..?” he asked tone slightly annoyed. hook, line, sinker. you had riled him up just enough.

“oh i don’t know…” you said now right next to him, back against the counter top. he stood above you. eyes linked with yours. he was obviously looking at all of you. all of you. he tilted his head to the side waiting for you to finish your sentence.

“maybe.. it’s because..” you had to sly about this. reaching behind you in a very smooth motion, you grabbed his phone into your hand. praying he didn’t notice until you had it firmly in your grasp.

“-because you made me feel stupid..!” you said sharp and bluntly pushing him on the chest with your open hand before taking quick strides back to your room. it was too late for him to realize what you had.

you were already at your door when he started “y/n! give me my phone back!” stumbling after you, you shut the door in his face. locking it quickly. he was right on the other side of the door. his knocks turned into pounds. then shortly he gave in.

“what did i do y/n… fuck- please i’m sorry just open the door.” he said pleading to you.

“no tsuki. you embarrassed me. you said i was trying to hard and i was going to embarrass myself. so now… im gonna embarrass you.” you said while a smile on your face. your mission was simple, find somthing so embarrassing that he wanted to cry, give his phone back. and he would apologize. simple.

you knew his password. of course you knew his password, when unlocking his phone he spoke again on the other side of the door. “i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have said that. i didn’t know what i was thinking…” he said softly. it was sincere, but you were going to let this end that quickly.

you searched through his phone, going to his camera roll you looked for embarrassing photos of him in his pre-teens or maybe even as a kid. but the only thing you could find were younger pictures of him and he was adorable. this wasn’t going to work, you needed somthing better.

and there is was, your knight in shining armor. an app with a big white X on it. you knew you could find somthing on twitter right? ever guy had somthing on there… so he should right..?

before opening the app you decided to toy with him. just to make this whole thing more painful for him. “whatcha got on twitter kei? anything you want to tell me before i go through it?” you spoke with a joyful voice.

“god. y/n please don’t oh my god. i’m sorry. just don’t go into that app.” he pleaded more miserable then ever. that was your goal anyways.

“sorry i’m gonna do it anyways!” you laughed. and just like that you clicked into it. it had to be here somewhere… you thought.

like a beacon in the night, the likes tab revealed all. scrolling through countless videos of porn. something inside you shifted. maybe it was the way you heard him whisper “fuckk..” behind the door. or maybe it was that you had a full visual gallery of all his kinks. but you were growing needy, and it was clear to you.

you paused on certain videos, watching them longer than others. like the way this girl took her bfs cock down her throat and the way she was all tied up. it made you think about kei doing that to you. god! what were you thinking!

mindlessly you rubbed your legs together. the sound of him behind the door made your brain go fuzzy. “y/n just stop.. please..” he whispered. you couldn’t stop. you scrolled to the next one.

the next video was of a girl get railed right next to a pc monotor. her hands scrambled over the key board as she took rough back shots. your mind flashed to the set up kei had in his room. your mind flashed to him pounding into your cunt infront of his game. you having to be al’ quiet because the mic is still on. fuck. why were you thinking this. you forced yourself to remember you were still mad at him.

the next one a girl spread her legs in a public bathroom, forced to be quiet as her partner finger fucked her. spitting on her cunt. kei would be good with his fingers, is he seriously into the whole public thing? god seriously what is wrong with you! the need for him to do stuff to you was too much. your lust was replacing every emotion you had in you.

the last one really sent you over the edge. a video of a girl getting pounded, it is only about 30 seconds. and the entire 30 seconds is of her getting fucked through her orgasm. she soaks the camera with her liquid and is moaning through the whole thing. it was too much for you.

opening the door you met face to face with a deranged tsukishima. blushed and flushed his hair was a mess and his eyebrows furrowed with anxiety. there was something else though, the way his eyes were halfly litted and the way he looked down at you were your gaze met his. you needed him. and maybe, just maybe… he needed you too.

“tsuki…” you called his name out, bringing the phone up to his chest before taking it back into your hands and unlocking it. he didn’t say a word the whole time. “i’ve never squirted before…” you admitted before showing him the video. he recognized it. it was one he watched often.

“fuck.. y/n… what do you want. i’m sorry seriously. but… is this just a game to you? to get back at me?” he asked while taking his phone back. through it into his pant pocket.

“no.. it’s just… fuck tsuki-“ you cut yourself off. to afraid to cross that line. your gaze dropped to the ground. but somthing else caught your eye. his cock was prominent in his pants. it was big from the looks of it.

“tell me what you want.” his voice rang iut in the silence. confidence surged through your body. lust was overcoming every other emotion you had. any clear thought was gone.

“i want you to fuck me kei..!” it was music to his ears. before you knew it his body crashed into yours. he grabbed your face and pulled you in for a deep kiss. you moaned into his mouth. your noises made you embarrassed.

“fuck i love that… keep moaning for me please” he begged, almost reading your mind.

your back crashed into the wall next to your door frame. his hands traveled up and down your figure. your lips worked against each other. both of you needing more.

without second thought you broke the kiss and dropped to your knees. you really weren’t one for giving head, but for him…. you would do anything.

“y/n.. you don’t have to..” he said sincerely. you shook your head no, before freeing his cock from his pants and underwear. pulling them all down at once. it was beautiful. on the longer side, with a little girth. his balls were smaller. his tip was a nude pink. and fuck- your mouth drooled.

licking the tip, but a little. he groaned, hands flying to your hair, pulling it out of the way. you then licked all of it. before taking it into your mouth. back and fourth you bobbed your head. saliva slipping out of your mouth.

you gaged once or twice but it was short lived before he was pulling you to your feet and into his arms. lifting you up off the ground he mumbled the words “need more..” before making his way to his room.

gently resting you on the bed he stripped you of your clothing. making fast work of anything you had on, which already wasn’t much. your legs were closed before he pried them open. back flat on his bed, legs spread for him to see. you leaked on to his sheets. your wetness already overwhelming. his mind went silly.

“let me…” he said bringing his hand to your cunt. he sat infront of you on the bed, slightly angled but only to see your sopping pussy at full view. you moaned when he touched your folds. curling your clit your back arched off the bed.

it wasn’t until you lifted your hips into the air that he plunged one of his slender fingers into you. “fuck~ kei-!” you moaned out. your words were his motivation. he finger fucked you with grace. until he added a second one and you were squirming all around the place.

“fuck that too much for you baby?” he toyed. you clenched down on his fingers, enticed by is words. “you like that? you like when i fuck with you huh?” butterflies filled your stomach. he was too much.

“i need… you kei please please gimmie your cock..!” you moaned out, reaching for his length. only to grab his thigh and claw at it. searching for more.

“i’ll give you more baby…” he said while flipping you around. moving both your bodies in harmony while he kissed you with heat. you moaned into his mouth until you two broke for the position change.

it was in no time that he had you all stretched out around his long length. you were al spread for him. him underneath you, your back against his chest. his words rang out in your ears.

“knew you would like this position. been thinking about doing this to you al night. can’t fucking run away from his cock baby…” he fucked his dick into you. you were lacking of control. the only thing you could do was bounce on it.

“fucking been thinking of fuckin you like this for ages. getting to whisper in your ear and play with your clit….” his hand came in contact with your sensitive little bud. you started seeing stars.

“didn’t know you would be such a slut for my dirty words.. huh baby you like that?” he slaped your cunt. your back spasmed and you moaned out. you were going to cum. it was too late to even say anything your overwhelming sensation approaching too fast.

“cum on it.” he spat out. he knew you were gonna cum. and yet he kept fucking you. his long hard cock in and out of your sopping wet pussy. his balls smacking against your skin. his groans behind your ear. fuck.

white liquid rushed out of you. tsukishima quickly rushed to rub harshly into your clit.

“fuck! ah-! kei fuck! ah~ i can’t-! stop!” your words were rushed, staggered and stuttering you grabbed onto his wrist to stop.

finally when no more seemed to come out of you he stopped his motion and set you down. laying you beside him. all your energy you once had was gone.

“see, now you can say you have squirted.” he laughed from beside you.

he was right.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

yum.

[demigodofhoolemere]

Poll’s over but let’s play this again just for fun, shall we?

19th century China facing Tereleptils with Ten, Gabby, Cindy, and Anubis. I do NOT know any of those companions but okay, strength in numbers is good. And… oh. The TARDIS hates me. That’s not a good sign. I’ll probably live just because of how many of us there are but I’m not sticking around if the TARDIS hates me.

Let’s just do this again for characters I know and hopefully a TARDIS that does not hate me…

*spinny spin spin*

I’m on Gliese 581d… *looks that up*… oh my gosh, the Emojibot world. It had better be AFTER Twelve solved that problem already. Facing… THE FORETOLD ARE YOU KIDDING. Mummies are already an old and deep fear for me but this thing literally targets physical and mental illness to weed out the weak. My neurodivergent and severely chronically ill butt is DEAD. I’m with Fifteen and Ruby but I’m gonna be real with you, I don’t think they can save me. I think I’m gonna be the reason he cries in this episode.

*spins for condition even though the situation is hopeless*

… I LIVE???

Wow, okay, I guess I underestimated Fifteen and Ruby. Thanks guys!

After somehow saving me from the Foretold we’re gonna head to the Pirate Planet where we’ll face some Ood. Hopefully they’re friendly ones and we don’t have too hard a time.

Next up we’re headed to an Arctic research station and unfortunately run into some Kasaavin. That sounds pretty dangerous but luckily I have the plot armor of needing to be in the next episode, so we all make it out alive, though I suspect the people manning the station may not be so lucky. This one could be a cool story actually lol.

Finally we’re off for a holiday on New Earth, but we find a Pting wreaking havoc. Thankfully Fifteen should know what to do by virtue of having already been Thirteen, so we can probably solve this problem between the three of us. Assuming New Earth has advanced enough technology for it, we might be able to capture it using whatever tech existed in the RotD space jail that managed to keep that one contained. It’ll certainly take some effort but I think we’re good here and I’m not gonna die on my final journey. Honestly this kind of sounds like a zany little adventure that Fifteen and Ruby really would have.

I’ll gladly stay with them until I can get home but man, I’m already on borrowed time after the Foretold incident, I’m not taking my chances traveling full-time. It’s been great fun though, guys.

Spin the Wheel: Doctor Who Edition

You have been swept away in a Time Storm to some other place and time, where monsters stalk the streets! Fortunately, the TARDIS has landed there, too. Can you make it through this adventure? What will you do even if you can?

Spin for your location

Spin for Monster of the Week

Spin for TARDIS team

Spin for bonus condition

[essycogany]

Sonic And Amy Are A Unique Couple

This is a quick Sonamy rant /ramble session. With a few added clarifications too. Enjoy!

This couple is more unique than you’d think. It’s cool if anyone disagrees. I'm all for a polite debate and respect your opinion. But if you're willing to hear me out, I'll be willing to explain myself as clearly as possible. Great? Awesome! Let’s get started!

Amy doesn't want to change Sonic. I will scream this until I'm not able to speak any more that Amy loves Sonic for who he is. She always has but it wasn't until IDW that she expressed it out loud. Still one of my favorite moments between them.

Does that make their relationship unique? Not really. What makes their relationship unique is what Amy loves about Sonic is kind of the reason they're not a couple yet. Sonic is an ongoing force that can’t be stopped or changed. Of course, he’ll allow someone to join him on a race, but he still keeps going. Not to say Sonic won’t stop to smell the roses (pun not intended) but he’ll do it on his own time. Amy always likes to take advantage of those moments and best of all, Sonic doesn’t mind. Even during their old chases, he’d slow down for her. Says a lot about the connection they have but there’s more

Their chemistry is…something for lack of a better term. Their back and forth is so interesting to me. Sonic does like Amy back. Notable examples here but to put it shortly, Sonic doesn’t know what he’s doing when it comes to romance. Sometimes he’s not into it and other times he’s chill. Sometimes Amy is ecstatic and other times she's bashful. I'm looking at you Sonic X.

Every time Amy’s occupied, is when Sonic wants her the most. Amy on the other hand wants Sonic to enjoy his freedom. Neither of them stops to think about how maybe they can have it both ways.

I'll also mention romance isn’t about “being tied down.” That paints romance as if it’s some kind of chain being rapt around your neck or being forced to be with the person. That is not romance. It’s keeping someone hostage. Something Amy would not do. Every time she’d joke around about marrying him Sonic didn’t take it seriously. Heroes included.

Sonic’s line in Heros: “Amy, knock it off. There's no time to play!” Dude knows Amy was messing with him. She was written to be girly, childish, adventurous, and cartoony. No, it wasn’t always executed well. Hello, Sonic Freeriders Amy! But I think this scene summons it up the best.

Important thing to mention as well is Sonic is an outspoken and honest character who rarely lies. It’s either you get the truth or you get nothing. He’s not the type to spare people’s feelings either, so if he had a problem with Amy in the past, he’d tell her directly. I do think she'd also stop if he genuinely told her to. The last thing Amy would want is to tarnish their friendship because of her actions. This loyal girl is so sweet.

Not to mention this is a popular trope in Japan too. The trope was what their relationship was based on.

Back to my original point Sonic and Amy aren’t a traditional couple. That’s a good thing. If they became canon their relationship wouldn’t change if they got together, but also they don’t need labels either. Romance isn’t or shouldn’t be a burden on you. That’s not how love works and that’s not what Sonic believes Amy to be. If that’s the case he wouldn’t be friends with her. Whether you ship Sonic with Amy, someone else, or no one, there should be no doubt Sonic values her friendship.

I’ll also add that Amy is just as up for an adventure as Sonic is. It’s why she loves him so much. They’re a power couple and love going out to travel, so there’s no staying in one place for these two.

In Sonic Adventure 2 you can tell Amy’s intuition when it comes to Sonic. Close to the end, she saw him looking a bit down and noticed his mood shifting a bit. “What’s the matter, Sonic?” “Oh, it’s nothing.” She knows him so well. I don't know what connection they run on but it’s inspiring.

These two don’t have a typical girl/boy relationship. I know some people say, “Well, why can't Sonic and Amy stay friends? Not every male and female relationship needs to be romantic.” You're 100% correct. Here are some examples.

The difference between other relationships is that Amy was created to be a Minnie to Sonic’s Mickey. Which is why these two are treated differently compared to others. Including in merch. There are more examples but I digress. The point is this specific pair is always going to have nuance even if they’re only friends. It doesn’t stop until Amy doesn’t love Sonic and even if it shouldn’t define her, it should still be a part of her. She might work without romance, but we already have other amazing female characters for that.

No one’s obligated to ship them because of this of course. Again, your opinion is still valid, and I will always stick to that point.

Last but not least is their friendship (or situationship) as a whole.

The funny thing is their friendship is what makes their romance the most compelling. The appeal to Sonic and Amy’s dynamic is how much platonic energy they have. Romance doesn’t always mean you need to be lovey-dovey. With Sonamy it’s their powerful friendship that makes the (somewhat not platonic) interactions memorable. You don’t have to choose romantic or platonic. It can be both. I wouldn't be a Sonamy fan if I didn't think their relationship was plain. I'm here because of how different they are.

And I love them to bits. Look at this panel and tell me it isn't running with situationship fuel.

Another fun detail is in recent years despite knowing Amy still loves him, Sonic hugs her back. Even the moments in Sonic X he carries her are moments he offers to. Even when it wasn't necessary.

Can’t forget about the recent asking Amy out to a dinner panel in IDW. He's never done that before. There's a familiarity between the two of them however you look at it. I LOVE them for it.

His moments of genuinely being excited to see her are not due to some development but because Sonic’s passion for Amy has noticeably increased. Why am I bringing these up? It’s because one thing that hasn’t been talked about when it comes to romance is actions. Sure, Sonic doesn't fully confess his feelings to her outwardly. But why do you have to be obvious and in people’s face when it comes to loving someone? In Japan, love is mostly shown through what you do more than what you say. That stuff can happen there but it doesn't always have to. The “Sharing an Umbrella, Amy,” line in Frontiers carries a lot more weight when you think about the implications.

Please read this post by @egalitarian-tomboy if you're interested in the implications of Sonamy in Frontiers.

The up-to-interpretation view of whatever they have together is the main reason I and so many people ship them. It’s not the fact that they are close, but the progression of their closeness. To make a long story short, the appeal of Sonamy is the fact that they don’t have to be traditionally romantic to be an interesting couple. Amy represents expressive love and Sonic represents emotional love.

Stay creative! 💜

[hottiesforhockey]

the big oopsie ⎜a.matthews + m.knies

pairings: auston matthews x afab!reader ⎜ matthew knies x afab!reader ⎜ genre: romance ⎜accidental pregnancy ⎜heavy angst ⎜ please read trigger warnings if you have any triggers relating to pregnancy ⎜ warnings: accidental pregnancy ⎜auston is much stressed ⎜ lots of crying ⎜ heavy making out ⎜dry humping? ⎜ descriptions of miscarriage ⎜ fighting ⎜ matthew knies is here to save the day ⎜ mentions of protection breaking ⎜ mentions of abortion ⎜ synopsis: two little red lines is all it takes to make your situation-ship a little more complicated. word count: 10.8k authors note:  I had some requests for some auston matthews so I hope this suffices - it doesn't really have any smut and is honestly mainly just sad. sorry.

(unedited)

“This isn’t supposed to happen.” You whisper to yourself as you sit on the closed lid of your toilet, staring down at the plastic stick in your hand. You shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be in this situation, shouldn’t feel like your entire world has just been flipped upside down over two little red lines staring back at you.

But here you are.

The world doesn’t stop turning just because you want it to, and the pregnancy test in your hand isn’t going to change no matter how long you sit here, willing it to be something different. You swallow hard, your throat dry as the realisation settles deep in your bones.

You’re pregnant.

And there’s only one person who could be the father.

Auston.

Your stomach churns at the thought, not because the idea of him being the father is unbearable, but because you have no idea how he’s going to react. Auston has always been closed off, even with you. Even in the quiet moments after sex when most people would find themselves wrapped in lazy conversation, he’s always kept a part of himself locked away. Not to say he didn’t take care of you, but there was always something that you knew he kept locked up in that head of his. You knew what this was when you started it—no strings, no emotions, just an arrangement between two people who found comfort in each other’s bodies.

But here you are. 

You let out a shaky breath as you slide off the closed toilet to brace against the cold tiles of your bathroom floor, pulling your knees up to your chest as you press your cheek into your pants, glaring at the test as you blink rapidly at the tears gathering. 

You think back to that night, the way his hands felt on your skin, the way he murmured your name against your throat as he moved inside you. 

“You’re so perfect.” Auston had whispered against your skin, the creak of your bed filling the room as you pant, your legs hooking around his waist. 

It had been reckless - as most of your nights together were -  but neither of you had noticed when the condom had torn. Well you had noticed, just maybe a little too late. You remember the way he swore under his breath afterward, sitting up on his knees as he glanced down at the small tear in the latex, a furrow between his brows as he pulled you close, but neither of you had lingered on it.

“We can get you a plan B pill in the morning.” He mumbled into your hair - he did get you the pill - clearly it didn’t work the way you hoped, didn’t help you ignore the problem like you usually would. 

Now, you don’t have the luxury of ignoring things anymore.

You take a deep breath, setting the test down beside you as you rub at your temples. There’s no avoiding this conversation. No pushing it off or pretending like everything is fine. You’re going to have to tell him.

And that terrifies you.

“We can do this.” You say quietly into your bathroom - the ‘we’ is this situation is unknown - you shake your head quickly after, placing your phone back on the ground. “Who am I kidding, he’s just become captain of his team, everyone’s looking to him to finally bring a win back to the leafs, he doesn’t care about this.” You grumble, feeling the agitation rise inside of you as you go back and forth between calling him and not calling him. By the time you work up the courage to call him, your hands are trembling. You hear the phone ring once, twice, three times before he picks up, his voice hushed as he whispers into the phone. 

“Yeah?”

Your throat tightens. “Hey.”

There’s a pause, and a rustle as the sound of his teammates in the background gets quieter. “You good?”

No. Not even close.

“I need to talk to you,” you say, gripping the edge of the counter like it’ll keep you steady. “Can you come over?”

A beat of silence. Then, a quiet exhale. “I’m kinda in the middle of something right now - can you come to me?”

Your teeth catch your bottom lip as your head falls back against the bathroom wall, your knees pressed up against you chest as you look down at the test one more time, holding your hand over your phone as you pull it away from your ear, “Kinda in the middle of something.” You mock with a deepened voice as the test on the floor glares back up at you  - letting out a long sigh before agreeing. “Okay, where do you want to meet?”

“Just come to the rink - I’ll tell security to let you through.” He says quickly, not waiting long for a response before hanging up with a quick ‘see you soon.’ 

Two little red lines.

And everything is about to change.

+

+

You pull you car into the parking spot about an hour after getting off the phone with Auston, you’re hands white with effort as you try to relax your grip on the steering wheel - the sound of your phone dinging from in your bag finally dragging your attention away from the brick wall in front of you. 

Matty 😈: hey, auston said you were on your way to the rink  - want me to save you a double choc chip cookie? 

Matty 😈: are you ignoring me? 

Matty 😈:  fine no cookie for you

Matty 😈:  seriously are you ignoring me? 

Matty 😈:  this is just rude - I thought we were friends 

You read through your missed messages smiling at the photo that comes through, the large brunette hockey player you had met last year at Auston’s birthday party taking a huge bite of arguably the best thing they serve at the ford performance centre - your smile drops as quickly as it arrives though, the reason you’re here burning a hole in the bottom of your purse, wrapped tightly in a zip lock bag. 

You took another three tests before coming - each confirming the exhaustingly bright red lines the original test had - the undeniable truth looking you right in the face. 

“Let’s get this over with.” You sigh, tucking your phone back in your bag before slinging it over your shoulder and sliding out of the car - the security guard giving you a tight smile as he buzzes you into the building, the sign in form ready for you at the front desk. You take the visitor tag from the guard, sticking it to your shirt before he directs you to the locker rooms where he assumed Auston would be waiting. 

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the erratic beating of your heart as you walk down the long hallway of the Ford Performance Centre. The familiar sound of skates scraping the ice, the scent of cold concrete mixed with the faint smell of sweaty gear, should comfort you. After all, you’ve been here plenty of times before, each visit more casual than the last. But tonight? It feels like you're walking into an entirely different world, one where everything is about to change.

You pause at the door to the locker room, your fingers nervously adjusting the strap of your purse. The small plastic bag with the pregnancy test tucked inside feels like it weighs a ton, even though it's hidden away. 

Another deep breath. 

You’ve made it this far. You can do this. You only need to survive this conversation, and then... well, you’ll figure out the rest. As you step forward, the sound of footsteps in the distance catches your attention, and you freeze. When you turn the corner, you spot him— well not him but him —Matthew.

He’s leaning casually against the doorframe, staring down at his phone, completely unaware of your approach. His trademark smirk curls on his lips as he looks up and catches sight of you, the usual playful glint in his blue eyes.

"Hey, you," Matthew greets, pushing off the doorframe with a fluid motion. His towering frame fills the hallway, but despite his size, his voice is warm and easy, laced with that signature mischievousness. "Auston said you'd be coming by. What took you so long? I was about to assume you were stuck in traffic... or maybe just avoiding me."

You can't help but smile at the teasing. Matthew always knew how to lighten the mood, even when things felt impossible. But today? His usual charm isn’t enough to soothe the nervous energy buzzing beneath your skin.

"Traffic, yeah," you say, attempting a light laugh, though it comes out sounding more like a strained cough. "Something like that."

Matthew arches an eyebrow, his grin widening as he steps closer. "Yeah? Something tells me it’s not just traffic, though. You look like you’ve seen a ghost." His tone shifts, becoming more observant as he glances at you. "What’s going on?"

You swallow thickly. Of course, Matthew notices. He has an uncanny ability to see right through you. He doesn’t even need to try, and yet here you are, trying to keep your mask on.

"I’m fine," you say, trying to brush it off, but the words feel weak even to your own ears.

"Uh-huh," he hums, not buying it for a second. "Fine, huh? And I’m totally not gonna notice that you’re clutching your purse like it’s a life raft." He glances at the bag hanging loosely over your shoulder, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Come on, don’t do that. You’re making me worry. You know I can’t resist when you go all mysterious on me."

You force another smile, shaking your head. "I’m serious, Matty, everything’s fine."

"Everything’s fine?" He chuckles, his voice full of incredulity. "You sure about that? I mean, I don’t want to be that guy, but you’re looking a little pale, and I’m pretty sure your hands are shaking. Come on, spill. Did Auston finally push you over the edge with his constant brooding? I know that’s what would do it for me."

You snort at his attempt to lighten the mood, but it only makes the lump in your throat bigger. “Ooh, are you finally breaking up with him cause you know I’m the better option?” He jokes, Matthew is trying, in his own way, but he has no idea what’s coming. No idea how much this conversation is going to change things, not just for you, but for everyone involved.

“It’s hard to break up with someone you aren’t dating.” You whisper glaring to the floor, clearing your throat before looking back up at Matthew, plastering a new more determined smile on your face.  "I’m okay, really," you repeat, feeling like a broken record. But the more you try to convince him, the more you feel like you’re lying to both him and yourself. Matthew isn’t buying it. He steps forward, dropping his playful façade for a moment, the concern creeping back into his features. 

"No, you’re not okay. I know you too well, and right now, you're barely holding it together. What’s going on?"

Before you can respond, you hear the distinct sound of heavy steps hitting the floor, the rhythm of them familiar. The tension in the air shifts. Matthew looks at you, his eyes narrowing for a brief moment, almost like he’s seeing through the layers you’ve built to keep everything in place. “Did he hurt you?” Matthew keeps his voice barely audible, all signs of humour gone from his face as you shake your head quickly. Auston emerges at the end of the hallway, his broad form instantly recognisable. He walks with purpose, his usual confident stride, but as soon as his eyes meet yours, his expression shifts just slightly—a flicker of hesitation.

Matthew notices it too, straightening up and crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, speak of the devil," he mutters under his breath, his voice dripping with that trademark sarcasm you’ve come to expect from him.

Auston’s gaze shifts from Matthew to you, his brows furrowing, and you can feel his attention on you like a weight pressing down on your chest. "You okay?" he asks, his tone clipped. There’s a slight edge to it, like he’s already preparing himself for whatever it is you’re about to say, but it’s buried beneath layers of indifference.

Matthew quirks an eyebrow at the question, clearly not impressed. "I was just asking her the same thing," he quips, turning to you with a raised eyebrow, his voice now tinged with playful accusation. "Something’s off, right? Come on, don’t make me drag it out of you." You open your mouth to speak, but the words get stuck in your throat. There’s so much you need to say, so much you’ve been holding back, but when Auston steps closer, you can feel the weight of it all crashing down.

"Everything okay?" Auston repeats, his voice lower this time, softer, like he’s trying to coax you out of the shell you’ve locked yourself inside. You can tell he’s sensing the shift in the air, the tension that’s thickening around you, you watch as Auston raises his hands, reaching for you before deciding better of it and letting them fall back to his side. You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, but it’s like the words are stuck behind an invisible wall. Matthew’s gaze flicks between the two of you, and for the briefest second, his playful smile falters. There’s a look in his eyes, an instinctive understanding that something’s really is not right. He looks back at you, no longer playful, but protective.

“Seriously, what’s going on? You’re starting to scare me.” Matthew asks again, quieter this time, as he looks straight into your eyes. His voice is gentle now, lacking the usual teasing edge, replaced with something that feels a little too serious for your liking. "You don’t have to tell me, but—"

"I’m pregnant," you blurt, your voice almost a whisper, barely audible against the hum of the arena, your hand slapping over your mouth, but it’s too late. The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, raw and trembling, and for a moment, you feel as if the entire world has stopped. Auston’s reaction is immediate. He freezes, his eyes wide, and for the first time, you see the cracks in his carefully crafted façade. His jaw tightens, and he takes a small step back, as if your words have physically pushed him away.

Matthew’s eyes widen too, but then there’s a strange kind of understanding. He doesn’t say anything at first, just looks between you and Auston, his expression unreadable. You can tell he’s trying to process it, trying to figure out how to navigate the situation.

"Shit," Matthew mutters, his voice barely above a whisper as he looks down at the floor. It’s clear the reality of what you just said is sinking in. “I um.. should leave you guys to it.” He mumbles - taking a step back before hesitating. 

Auston finally speaks, his voice low, almost mechanical. “This wasn’t what I was expecting.” he says, the words hanging in the air like a heavy fog. You want to say something, anything, but all you can do is stand there, rooted in place, waiting for Auston’s response. Matthew looks at you one last time, his gaze softening with a quiet sympathy, before turning away, giving you both space to process.

“Are you sure?” Auston questions, your hands automatically digging into your purse pulling out the stack of tests in the ziplock bag, handing them over so Auston can take his turn to examine them. “Pretty sure - I guess we won’t fully know until I see the doctor but I think it’s pretty likely.” You let Auston take his time, letting everything sink in as you stand there awkwardly, arms crossing over your chest any kind of protection better then standing out in the open like this. 

“I know this is a lot to take in but we need to talk about what were both expecting in the situation.” You say, trying to stay as calm as you can as you watch the seven stages of grief flicker of Auston’s face. 

“I… I can’t—” Auston’s words get stuck in the back of his throat as he hands the tests back to you, running his hands over his face as he shakes his head. “I don’t have time for this.” He says softly, the words slapping you across the face. Your breath catches in your throat, the sting of his words hitting you harder than you expected. You don’t know what response you were hoping for, but it certainly wasn’t this.

Auston runs a hand through his hair, his frustration evident in the tense lines of his jaw, the way his shoulders seem to draw in on themselves. He looks like he wants to say more, but instead, he just exhales sharply, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear a thought before it takes root. Your fingers tighten around the plastic bag in your hands, the crinkle of it impossibly loud in the silence between you. The weight of his words settles in your stomach like lead.

“You don’t have time for this?” you echo, your voice eerily calm, but inside, everything feels like it’s unraveling.

He doesn’t respond immediately, just presses his lips together in a thin line before turning his gaze away from you, as if looking at you directly is too much.

“You had time to fuck me,” you say, the bitterness in your tone undeniable, your hands trembling at your sides, “and look where that got us.” Auston flinches, just barely, but you see it. It’s small, almost imperceptible, but it’s there. His fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you, like he wants to say something—something other than what he just did—but he doesn’t. He stays rooted to the spot, silent, frozen in place like this is some nightmare he’s trying to wake up from. Your pulse pounds in your ears, the hurt bubbling beneath your skin threatening to spill over, but you force yourself to take a breath.

“I didn’t mean—” he starts, but you shake your head, cutting him off before he can attempt to backtrack.

“No, you did,” you say, voice steadier than you feel. “You meant every word.”

Silence stretches between you like an abyss, and for the first time since you stepped into the arena, you realize just how cold it really is. The chill bites at your exposed skin, but it’s nothing compared to the ice settling deep in your bones.

Auston drags a hand down his face, sighing deeply, before finally looking at you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something flickering behind his eyes, something you can’t quite decipher.

“I just—” He exhales, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you expect me to say.”

You stare at him, trying to swallow down the lump forming in your throat. “I expect you to act like a goddamn adult,” you snap. “I expect you to acknowledge that this is happening instead of pretending like you can just ignore it.”

His jaw clenches, his nostrils flaring as he takes a step back, like he needs the distance between you to think clearly. “This was never supposed to happen,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, but you hear it anyway, and it sets something off inside you.

“Oh, really? Because I totally planned this,” you bite out, sarcasm lacing your words. “I thought, ‘hey, you know what would make my life really great? Getting pregnant by a guy who can’t even be bothered to have a conversation about it.’”

His eyes snap to yours, anger flickering beneath the surface, but you don’t back down. If he wants to be mad, fine. You can be mad too.

“This isn’t just about you, Auston,” you continue, voice shaking despite your best efforts. “You don’t get to decide that you ‘don’t have time for this’ just because it’s inconvenient for you. Because guess what? It’s not exactly convenient for me either.”

Something shifts in his expression, a crack in the wall he’s been trying so hard to keep up. His lips part, but whatever he was going to say never makes it out, because before he can, Matthew’s voice cuts through the tension.

���Everything okay out here?” You both turn to see him standing a few feet away, arms crossed over his broad chest, an unreadable expression on his face. You don’t know how much he heard, but from the way his eyes flick between you and Auston, you’d guess it was enough.

Auston exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck before muttering, “Dude, this doesn’t have anything to do with you.” Matthew rolls his eyes at his captains words, turning his gaze to you as you let out what feels like your millionth sigh of the day. 

“It’s fine, Matty.” Matthew doesn’t look convinced. His gaze lingers on you for a second longer, like he’s waiting for you to say something more, to confirm or deny whatever he’s thinking. But you don’t. You’re too exhausted to even attempt to explain.

Auston steps back, stuffing his hands into his pockets, his eyes avoiding yours. “I need time to think,” he mutters.

A dry, humourless laugh escapes you. “Take all the time you need, Auston. But this isn’t going away.” You turn on your heel before he can respond, before he can say something else that might break you even further, and walk away without looking back.

Matthew falls into step beside you, quiet for a few beats before finally speaking. “Where are we going?” You nod quickly to the security guard as you stomp your way over to your car, finally turning to face Matthew as you reach the hunk of metal. 

“We aren’t going anywhere.” You say quickly, letting out a shaky breath as swallow the lump in your throat. “I’m going home to book a doctors appointment and then I’m going to crawl into bed and try to pretend like none of this has happened, while that goddamn oaf takes his time pulling his big boy pants on.” You hiss, Matthew’s small smile returning at the fire in your eyes, his arms circling around you and tugging you in for a tight hug, his chin finding a spot of the top of your head as he hands stroke up and down your back. 

“It’s okay to be upset.” He whispers, his soft smile sitting on his face as your body crumbles against his, soft soothing words falling out of his mouth as you let out a choked sob. “You’re going to be okay - if he’s not going to be here, then I will.” Matthew whispers as he presses a soft kiss against your hair. 

Matthew lets you cry for what feels like eternity before he tucks you into the passenger seat of your own car, his large body sliding into the drivers side as he taps your address into the GPS. “You really don’t have to drive me home.” You says softly, your cheeks still red and eyes swollen from you tears. 

Matthew looks at you with a raise of his eyebrows before backing out of the parking spot, his hand finding your knee as he gives it a quick squeeze. “I don’t have to.” He agrees, “But I want to — who else is going to take care of you.” He hums, his hand squeezing your leg one more time before retreating back to his own lap - letting you spend the drive staring out the window, your phone buzzing in your bag constantly as you ignore call after call from Auston. 

+

+

Auston knows he said all the wrong things. 

Auston knows that it’s boyfriend 101 to support your girlfriend in her time of need - to give up your own panic to make sure she doesn’t have any. 

But Auston isn’t your boyfriend and his panic had settled deep in the pit of his stomach as he watched you walk away from him. He should go after you. He knows that. But his feet feel like they’ve been cemented to the ground, weighted down by the things he didn’t say. The things he should have said. Auston runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as he glances toward the door you disappeared through. His heart is hammering against his ribs, a staccato of regret and frustration.

He replays the conversation in his head, the sharp edges of his words cutting deeper now that you’re gone. He hadn’t meant to be cruel. He hadn’t meant to push you away. But he did—just like he always does. And now? Now, he’s stuck in the aftermath, watching the space you left behind like it might somehow tell him how to fix this.

The panic is still there, simmering under his skin, curling in his stomach. He’s never been good at this—at knowing what to say, at making things right before they go so horribly wrong.

But he can’t let this be it.

So Auston moves.

His legs feel heavy, his pulse unsteady, but he moves. Through the door, down the hallway, searching for you like he’s scared you might slip through his fingers entirely if he doesn’t find you now.

Because maybe you’re not his to lose.

And maybe this baby is what you both need to realise how much you need each other. 

Baby. 

You were going to have a baby — his baby. 

Auston pauses his searching, leaning over to brace his hands on his knees as he lets out a groan - the bile raising in the back of throat as one of his teammates comes up behind him to clap a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, you’re not looking too good, cap.” Mitch’s voice was unmistakable as Auston lets out another groan. 

“I need to go.” He says quickly, shaking off Mitch’s hand as he pats his pockets, his keys tucked deeply into one and his phone in the other. Auston ignores Mitch’s protests as he taps on the screen of his phone pressing it to his ear as he waits for the rings to turn into your soft voice. 

It never does. 

Auston rings again. 

And again.

And again. 

Nothing. 

Auston knows he should give you space — let you breathe like you were going to let him. 

But this can’t be how he lets you walk away. 

+

+

“Matthew I seriously think this is too much food.” You coo as you look at the bags of take out he stacks on your kitchen counter - his eyes lighting up with joy at the sight of the food.  

“No such thing.” He frowns, pulling each item out of its bag before laying it out on the counter and taking stock of his order, “And besides what if there’s something that makes you feel sick? Or something you can’t eat? I really should’ve checked what pregnant people are allowed to eat before ordering.” He sighs, the amount of food suddenly overwhelming as you roll your eyes tucking your throw blanket tighter around yourself as you shuffle back over to the couch, flopping on the plush seat as your T.V continues to play the fantastic reality show Matthew had insisted you watch. 

“I’ll take the cheese pizza.” You interrupt Matthew’s spiralling as he looks at the google search results for ‘what do pregnant people need to avoid?’ Matthew nods sliding a few pieces on a plate before delivering it over to you on the couch taking his own seat with the remaining slices on his lap. 

Auston’s words echo in your mind, a relentless loop of his dismissal, his coldness, his inability to understand. The ache inside you hasn’t dulled since that moment, and with every bite of pizza, you can feel it growing, gnawing at your insides. Matthew’s presence is a comforting balm for your soul, but the emptiness left by Auston’s rejection is harder to shake.

Matthew’s quiet chuckles bring you back to the present as he teases you about the reality show, his laughter light and easy, a stark contrast to the turmoil swirling in your chest. You force a smile, trying to match his easygoing mood, but it feels thin, like a flimsy mask over the raw hurt still festering inside.

"Hey, you really don’t have to hang out with me because you feel bad,” you joke weakly, taking another bite of pizza to drown out the thoughts that are threatening to spill over. But Matthew doesn’t seem fooled by the attempt. His eyes soften, and his hand, resting on the arm of the couch, inches closer to yours, the warmth of his touch offering some measure of comfort, even though it’s not the touch you really need.

“Who said I was here cause I feel bad?”  he says with a teasing smile, but his voice has a certain gentleness to it that tells you he’s more concerned than he lets on. “Maybe this is me finally taking my chance to put a wedge between you and Auston so I can have you all to myself.” Matthew chuckles at his own words and you nod silently, grateful for his lightheartedness, but your mind drifts back to Auston again. His absence, his words—everything feels so wrong. If you could just speak to him, explain how much this meant to you, how much it hurt when he brushed you aside so easily, maybe you could find some kind of resolution. But every time you think about facing him, the thought of his indifference fills you with dread.

A soft beep from your phone interrupts the silence, and you glance at it. Another call from Auston. The number of missed calls from him is starting to pile up, each one a reminder of how far apart you both are now. You stare at the screen for a long moment, debating whether to pick up or not. You know that every conversation with him right now will only hurt more, but there’s this part of you, deep down, that still wants to hear his voice, to feel like there’s a chance of reconciliation.

Before you can make a decision, Matthew speaks again, his voice more serious this time. "You know he’s not giving up on you, right?" You don’t have the energy to respond right away, so you just look at Matthew, his expression soft but determined. He’s been your rock through this, always there when you needed someone.

"I’m not trying to start something," Matthew continues, "but I just want to make sure you’re okay. If you want to answer him, then do it. But don't let him off the hook too easily. You deserve more than what he gave you earlier." You know he’s right. But still, a part of you wants to believe that Auston could change, that he could find the right words to make it better, to make you feel like everything’s going to be okay. The other part of you wants to slam the door shut, leave him in the past, and never look back.

"How do you always know what to say?" you ask softly, unable to hold back a tired laugh. Matthew shrugs, his smile small but genuine.

"I guess I just know you." His words are simple, but they’re enough to make the tension in your chest loosen, just a little.

You exhale slowly, sinking deeper into the couch as the TV drones on in the background. Matthew’s words linger in the air, and for the first time today, you let yourself feel a bit of peace. Maybe it’s not the peace you were hoping for, the one that comes with Auston’s apology, but for now, it’s enough.

The next few hours pass in a blur of television and food, and though you still feel the weight of Auston’s absence, it’s easier to breathe. You don’t have to solve everything in a single night. You don’t have to be strong all the time.

When Matthew finally leaves, after a quiet conversation and a long hug, you feel the solitude of your apartment settle around you like a thick blanket. The house is silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. You place your dishes in the sink as the loud knock sounds through your apartment, your head tilting at the sound as you glance at the clock on your microwave. 

2am. 

Who on earth would be knocking on your door at two in the morning? Each step feels heavier than the last, the weight of the evening still pressing down on you. When you reach the door, you hesitate, fingers hovering over the handle. Your phone is still on the couch, too far to grab quickly if you need it, but something deep in your gut tells you exactly who is on the other side.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself, before unlocking the door and pulling it open just enough to see who it is.

Auston.

He’s standing there, his dark hoodie pulled over his head, his face cast in shadows from the dim lighting in the hallway. His eyes are wild, desperate, and for the first time tonight, he looks as broken as you feel.

“You’re ignoring my calls.” His voice is rough, uneven, like he’s been running or like he’s spent the last few hours drowning in his own thoughts.

You cross your arms over your chest, gripping the fabric of your sweatshirt tightly. “Figured that was the point, since you ‘don’t have time for this.’” The bitterness in your voice is unmistakable, and Auston flinches like you physically struck him.

“I didn’t mean that.” He steps closer, his hands shoved deep into his pockets like he’s trying to ground himself. “I didn’t mean any of it.”

You let out a breath, exhaustion weighing heavy in your bones. “Then why did you say it?”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks away, staring at the floor like it holds the answers he’s searching for. “Because I was scared,” he admits, voice raw. “Because I’m an idiot. Because I didn’t know how to handle it, and I reacted the only way I know how—to push people away before they can leave me first.”

His words crack something inside you, but you force yourself to stand firm. “I wasn’t going to leave you, Auston. I told you because I thought—” Your voice wavers, the pain seeping through. “I thought maybe we could figure this out together.”

“I want to,” he says quickly, stepping forward again, his hands twitching like he wants to reach for you but isn’t sure if he’s allowed. “I know I don’t deserve another chance after what I said, but I need you to know I don’t want to run from this. I don’t want to run from you.”

Your throat tightens, and you shake your head, trying to process everything. “You don’t get to just show up in the middle of the night and expect everything to be okay.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “I know, and I don’t expect that. I just—” He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “I just need you to know that I’m here. That I’m not going anywhere.”

The silence between you stretches, heavy and uncertain. You want to believe him, you do, but the wounds are still fresh, still aching.

After a long moment, you sigh, stepping back just enough to widen the door. “Come in.”

Auston’s eyes snap up to meet yours, surprised, hopeful. He hesitates only a second before stepping inside, his presence filling the space as you shut the door behind him. He stands there awkwardly, unsure of what to do next, and you sigh, moving past him toward the kitchen.

“Do you want some tea?” you ask, your voice softer now, less sharp around the edges.

Auston nods, his shoulders sagging slightly in relief. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

As you move around the kitchen, boiling water and pulling down mugs, you feel his eyes on you, watching, waiting. You’re not sure where this leaves you, if you can forgive him or if things will ever be the same again. But for now, at least, he’s here.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s a start.

He shifts, exhaling slowly. “How are you feeling?”

You hesitate, fingers tightening around the handle of the kettle. The question is simple, but the answer is anything but. Finally, you sigh. “Tired. Confused.” You glance at him. “Still angry.”

He nods, absorbing your words like they’re a verdict he already expected. “I get that. I deserve that.” You pour the hot water into the mugs, watching the tea steep, the swirling colours mirroring your tangled emotions. 

“I don’t know what happens next, Auston.” You brace against the counter, your shoulders dropping forwards as your hair falls into your face. You take a deep breath before rolling your shoulders back and continuing to make the tea - dumping the tea bags in the garbage before carrying the mugs over to the coffee table, calming your seat on the edge of the couch as Auston moves to join you. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.” You whisper before taking a long sip of your tea, willing the hot liquid to burn away all the anxiety bubbling in your chest. 

“It wasn’t.” Auston agrees as he makes himself comfortable on your couch, his eyes tracking each of your movements as he sips his tea. “But it is and we need to think about all our options.” He adds, his lips tipping up at the corners as you snort into your cup, sending an amused glance his way. 

“What options do we have, Auston?” You start off with a small chuckle but the expression on his face makes you pause, a shocked gasp leaving you. “You want to get rid of it?” You slowly leans forwards to place you mug on the table, your brows furrowing as you stare down the man next to you, his eyes widening as he shakes his head. 

“I’m not saying that what I want, I’m just saying it’s an option if that’s what you wanted.” He explains, throwing his hands up in defence, “This is your choice, whatever you want to do is what we’ll do.”You stare at Auston, searching his face for any hint of deception, any sign that he’s saying what he thinks you want to hear rather than the truth. His eyes remain locked onto yours, unwavering, and there’s something about the raw honesty in his gaze that makes your breath hitch.

“Do you mean that?” Your voice is quiet, but the weight behind your words is undeniable.

“Every word,” Auston replies immediately, his voice rough with emotion. “I know I screwed up. I know I hurt you, and I might not deserve another chance, but I swear to you, I’m here. For you. For—” He stops short, your body moving quickly as you lean forward—your hands pulling his face toward you as you latch your lips to his. The kiss is feverish, fuelled by anger, longing, and desperation, your hands tangling into his hair as he lets out a muffled groan against your lips. His hands twitch against your waist, hesitant, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch you yet.

You answer for him by swinging a leg over his lap, settling atop him as your mouths continue to move in frantic unison. Auston gasps against your lips, his grip tightening around your waist as he finally allows himself to touch you, fingers pressing into the curve of your hips. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself back, afraid of pushing too far, too fast. But you don’t want him to hold back—not tonight.

You grind down against him, slowly at first, testing, teasing, feeling the way his breath stutters as his fingers dig in harder, a strangled groan slipping past his lips. His head falls back against the couch, and you take the opportunity to kiss down his jaw, your lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of his neck. He curses softly, his grip tightening as he bucks up instinctively, seeking more of your warmth, your touch, your everything.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice strained, his hands sliding up your sides before stopping just beneath the hem of your shirt, his thumbs brushing against the soft skin there. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His desperation is palpable, and it makes something heady and powerful coil in your stomach. You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze, watching the way his pupils are blown wide with want. His lips are kiss-swollen, his breathing ragged, and you feel the thrill of knowing you did that to him, that despite everything, he still wants you—needs you. You roll your hips against him again, and his head drops forward, his forehead pressing against your shoulder as another rough groan leaves his lips. “You’re killing me,” he mutters, voice thick with need.

For a moment, you revel in the way he’s unraveling beneath you, in the way he’s clinging to you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. But then, just as quickly as the fire ignited, reality crashes down around you.

“We should stop.” You whisper, looking into his eyes with a sheepish smile, “This is what got us into this mess in the first place.” You let out a soft laugh as you slide off his lap, not noticing the way Auston’s body chases after yours, rising to his feet as you rise to yours. 

“Do you think I could stay tonight?” He asks slowly, your head immediately nodding, “No funny business.” He promises, his lips spreading into another grin as he leans down at captures your lips one more time, slow and steady, his hands reaching up to brush your hair away from your neck. “Sorry, I just needed one more.” 

+

+

The cramping starts as a dull ache, a whisper of discomfort that you initially brush off. You’re curled up on the couch, Matthew beside you, flipping through channels aimlessly. It’s been two weeks since Auston showed up at your door, two weeks of tentative peace, of whispered reassurances and hesitant touches that still carried the weight of his fear and your uncertainty.

It’s not perfect, not even close. But it’s something.

Then the ache sharpens.

You shift, sucking in a slow breath, a hand instinctively pressing against your lower stomach. Matthew glances over from his spot on the couch, his phone in front of his face as he watches a movie through TikTok, catching the movement. “You okay?” he asks, brows drawing together.

You nod, forcing a tight smile. “Yeah, just...cramps, I think.”

Matthew frowns, eyes flicking down to your stomach. “Is that normal?” You open your mouth to answer, to dismiss his concern, but the pain lances through you then, sudden and sharp, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your fingers clutch the fabric of your sweater, your body curling in on itself as a strangled gasp escapes you.

Matthew’s already moving. “Hey, hey,” he says, shifting closer, his hand landing gently on your back. “Talk to me.” You try, but another wave of pain crashes into you, and this time, it’s accompanied by a terrifying warmth between your legs. You look down, breath hitching as you see it—the small dot of stark crimson staining your sweatpants. 

A sob rips from your throat. “Matty something’s wrong.”

Matthew follows your gaze, and his entire body goes rigid. “Shit,” he breathes. Then, more forcefully, “Shit, okay, we need to go. Come on.”

He doesn’t hesitate, you teeth trapping your lip at the panic that sinks in. Your doctor had said that a bit of spotting was normal, but this felt wrong. 

Everything felt wrong. 

 Matthew is scooping you into his arms before you can protest, his grip firm but gentle, his voice steady despite the panic flickering behind his eyes. You cling to him, the pain rolling through you in unbearable waves, fear clawing at your throat.

“Auston,” you whisper weakly. “We need to—”

Matthew’s jaw clenches as he carries you to his car. “I called him earlier. I think he’s still at practice. I’ll get you to the hospital first, then I’ll call again.”

The drive is a blur of pain and fear and Matthew’s voice grounding you through it all - his hand steady on your thigh as he drives your through town like a goddamn maniac. 

“Matthew I know this is probably an emergency, but if you could get me to the hospital alive that would be great.” You hiss, your hand gripping his wrist as he swerves between the traffic a cacophony of honks following behind him.

By the time you get to the ER, your world is a haze of fluorescent lights and Matthew’s warm hands pressed against your back as he walks you into the ER, his voice low as he whispers to the nurse at the front desk. “Hi, my friend here might be having a miscarriage.” The nurse glances at him blankly as she types on her computer nodding slowly. 

“And what are your symptoms?” She questions, just as you curl into yourself again the cramping making you let out a frustrated groan. 

“She started cramping really bad and the bleeding was slow at first but it seems to be speeding up.” Matthew notes for you, his jacket tied around your waist the hide the dark red stain on the back of your pants. 

“Sir if you could let her answer the questions, that would be great.” The nurses replies, not noticing the way Matthew rolls his eyes, his brows furrowing into a frown. 

“What he said, please it really hurts.” You hiss, standing up remotely straight as Matthew rubs soft circles against your back. 

“Okay, if you don’t mind taking a seat a nurse will come get you once there is availability.” She says shooting you a surprisingly soft smile, the empathy written across her face as you nod, moving towards the waiting room before Matthew stops you, his hand holding you steady in front of him as he leans closer to the nurse. 

“Did you not hear a word we said?” He snaps, “She’s in a lot of pain and is bleeding - she thinks she’s having a goddamn miscarriage and you asking her to take a seat.” He lets out a laugh of disbelief as the words tumble from his mouth, his head shaking as he looks down at the nurse one more time. “Find her space and a doctor.” 

The nurse huffs at his firm words, rolling her eyes as she stands from her chair, her eyes shooting down to your pants as she glances over the desk, her eyes widening a little as she glances up at you. “Hold on, baby we’re getting help.” Matthew whispers pressing a soft kiss to your hair as you lean against him. You hear Matthew arguing with the nurse, demanding they hurry, that you’re bleeding too much, that something isn’t right. His voice is sharp, edged with barely restrained panic.

You barely remember getting whisked out the back, Matthew keeping your hand tightly grasped in his as the nurses work around you - the doctor placing the ultrasound probe on your stomach, before shooting the nurse a small grimace. 

“How far along are we?” The doctor asks softly. 

“13 weeks, I think.” 

“Okay, we’re just going to run a few test - it’s best if you rest for now.” The doctor says carefully, ushering Matthew out of the room with a nod of his head. 

“I’ll be right back, don’t close your eyes for too long.” He mumbles, lifting your hand to press a featherlight kiss against your knuckles before following the doctor out of the room. 

Matthew should know better than to expect you to listen. 

+

+

You wake to a dull, hollow ache. The weight of an IV in your arm. The sterile scent of antiseptic and too-clean sheets. Your head feels foggy, your limbs heavy. For a moment, you forget why you’re here.

And then you remember.

The baby. 

The blood. 

The pain.

Your throat tightens as you glance around the room, sitting up quickly in your bed to take in your surroundings a little more. There’s movement beside you. A hand slipping into yours. 

Warm, solid, grounding.

Matthew.

 You turn your head slowly, blinking through the haze of grief and pain. He’s sitting in a chair beside your bed, his elbows on his knees, his fingers laced through yours like he’s afraid to let go. His eyes are red-rimmed, dark circles bruising the skin beneath them. He looks wrecked.

“The baby?” You know you shouldn’t bother asking - the doctors face was enough to go by, but you can’t help yourself - the sadistic part needing to hear someone say it out loud before you can let it sink deeper into the pit of your stomach. Matthew doesn’t say anything, he just shakes his head slowly. 

“They, um— The doctor said they’ve got the bleeding under control but they’re worried about more internal issues so they want to keep you for observation. “Matthew starts to explain slowly - “They think the pregnancy was something called an ectopic pregnancy and the baby wasn’t viable.” Matthew repeats the words just as you assumed to doctor had told them to him. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice raw. “I should’ve made them speak to you but they thought I was the—”

“You were here,” you whisper, squeezing his hand weakly. “That’s all that matters.” His throat bobs as he swallows, and for a long moment, neither of you speak. The weight of the loss sits heavy between you, a silent, unbearable thing.

Then, the door swings open.

Auston.

His eyes find yours instantly, widening with something akin to panic as he steps into the room. “Jesus,” he breathes. “I came as soon as I—”

He stops short when he sees Matthew’s hand in yours.

Matthew doesn’t move.

 Doesn’t let go.

Auston’s gaze darkens. “Can we talk?”

Matthew rises slowly, but he doesn’t step away. His stance is protective, shoulders squared. “Now you want to talk?” His voice is dangerously calm. “Where the fuck were you? You were just supposed to be back from practice hours ago.”

Auston’s jaw tightens. “I had a thing,  I didn’t—”

“You didn’t pick up.” Matthew’s voice sharpens, the tension in the room coiling tight. “I called. I left messages. She was bleeding out in my fucking car, Auston.”

“Matthew.” You whisper quietly, giving his hand a squeeze to try and reign in his frustrations. 

Auston’s face pales, his gaze flicking to you, filled with something unreadable. “I didn’t know—”

“That’s the problem,” Matthew cuts in, stepping closer. “You should have been with her in the first place.”

Auston bristles, stepping forward to meet him. “You think I don’t know that? You think I wanted this to happen?”

“I think,” Matthew says, voice deadly quiet, “that she needed you, and you weren’t there, again.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Auston’s fists clench at his sides, his breathing ragged. He looks at you, at the tears slipping silently down your cheeks, at the devastation etched into every inch of your face. And something in him breaks.

“I fucked up,” he says, voice barely more than a whisper. “I know I did.”

Matthew scoffs, shaking his head. “That’s the understatement of the fucking century.” Auston ignores him. He steps closer to you, hesitating before reaching for your hand, but you don’t move. You don’t know if you can.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. 

You swallow thickly, your heart aching with the weight of it all. “You shouldn’t be sorry - it’s not your fault.” You can feel Matthew’s hand squeeze against your again, the anger rolling off him in waves. 

Auston flinches like you physically struck him. “I know, but he’s right, I should’ve come home straight after practice.” Matthew watches you carefully, his expression unreadable, but his hand gripping yours, ready to catch you if you fall.

The silence stretches between the three of you, thick and suffocating. Auston is still staring at you, his eyes dark with regret, with guilt, with something you don’t have the energy to decipher.

Matthew’s thumb strokes slow, reassuring circles on the back of your hand, the warmth of his skin grounding you, keeping you tethered to something tangible when everything else feels like it’s unraveling.

“I fucked up.” Auston says again, softer this time. 

Matthew scoffs beside you, shifting on his feet, his fingers tightening around yours. “No shit.”

Auston’s gaze flicks toward him, sharp with frustration. “I know you’re pissed—”

“Pissed doesn’t even fucking cover it,” Matthew snaps, his voice low but brimming with anger. “Do you have any idea what it was like? Do you know how fucking scared she was?”

Auston flinches, his shoulders stiffening. “I—”

“She was crying in the car, in so much pain she could barely breathe,” Matthew barrels on, voice shaking now. “And you didn’t answer your fucking phone. I had to sit in that waiting room, not knowing if she was gonna be okay, if she—” His voice catches, and he stops, dragging a hand over his face. “And where the fuck were you, Auston?”

You exhale shakily, your free hand pressing against your stomach. There’s nothing left inside you but hollow, aching loss. “Matt,” you murmur, tugging his hand gently.

His eyes snap down to you immediately, the fury in them softening the second he sees your face. His thumb brushes over your knuckles again, soothing in a way that makes something shift in your chest. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice quieter now, gentler. “I just—” He blows out a breath, shaking his head. “It’s not my place.”

But that’s the thing, isn’t it?

Matthew had been here. Every step of the way. Holding you together, keeping you steady while your world cracked apart at the seams.

You shift slightly, wincing as the movement sends a dull ache through your abdomen. Matthew notices instantly, his free hand coming up to adjust your pillows, supporting you without a second thought. Auston watches, his expression carefully blank.

You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I think I just need to rest.”

Matthew nods, stepping back slightly but not letting go of your hand. Auston, however, hesitates, looking like he wants to say something, do something—fix something that can’t be fixed.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” he finally says, his voice strained. “If you—if you want me to.”

You don’t know how to answer that. You nod faintly, looking away, and Auston takes that as his cue to leave. The door clicks softly shut behind him, leaving you alone with Matthew in the dim, sterile quiet of the hospital room.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. The weight of everything lingers in the air between you.

Matthew sighs heavily, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “You should get some sleep.”

You nod, but your grip on his hand tightens slightly. “Stay?”

His eyes soften. “Yeah. Of course.” He doesn’t even hesitate. He just lowers the railing on the side of the hospital bed and carefully, gently, climbs in beside you, manoeuvring around the wires and IV with practiced ease. His arms come around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his body a steady, solid warmth against yours. You exhale slowly, your body relaxing for the first time in hours.

Matthew presses a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “I got you,” he murmurs.

And for the first time all night, you believe it.

+

+

The first two weeks after leaving the hospital had been torture — Auston has come back once the next day, sitting silently in the corner of the room when Matthew went to get lunch, only moving to grab something you needed, but for the most part he just sat, and watched. 

He said nothing, his had used up all the apologies he could give, he knew pushing would make things worse so he just said nothing — waiting for you to give him the time you thought he deserved. 

He was there when you were discharged, walking you into your apartment and sitting by your kitchen counter until Matthew came to keep you company, silently slipping out of your house without a word - his tiredness showing more then it ever had before. 

It had been two weeks since you had seen him last. 

The weight of Matthew’s presence beside you is comforting, a steady anchor in the storm of emotions swirling in your chest. His arm remains slung across the back of the couch, his knee brushing against yours as the TV drones on in the background. You should be paying attention, should be letting the ridiculous antics of reality show contestants pull you into distraction, but your thoughts are elsewhere.

On Auston.

On what you’ve lost.

And on the way Matthew’s presence, solid and unwavering, should be enough to make you feel whole again—but it isn’t — it’s making you miss the brown eyed hockey player even more then you ever thought possible.

You shift slightly, turning your head to find Matthew already watching you, his blue eyes softer than usual, filled with something you don’t quite have the courage to name. His gaze flickers down to your lips for a split second before he quickly looks away, clearing his throat.

“Have you heard from him?” 

“Not really — he’s been calling to check in but I haven’t really answered. You say sheepishly, Matthew nodding slowly, his hands loosening on his phone as he places it besides him, turning his body more towards you. 

“You wanna talk about it?” he asks, his voice quiet but insistent.

You swallow, shaking your head. “Not really.” He studies you for a moment, then nods, like he understands. He always understands.

“Alright,” he murmurs, shifting closer, the warmth of his body radiating against yours. “Then we won’t talk.”

You don’t know who moves first, whether it’s him or you. 

You’re pretty sure it’s you. 

But suddenly, the space between you disappears, his hand finding your cheek as he tilts your face toward his. His breath fans against your lips, warm and familiar, and for a fleeting moment, you let yourself lean into it.

His lips meet yours softly at first, tentative, as if giving you space to pull away. When you don’t, he deepens the kiss, his fingers tangling in your hair as he shifts, his body pressing against yours in a way that feels undeniably right.

But as quickly as the warmth spreads through you, it dissipates, cold realisation creeping in like a slow-moving fog.

It doesn’t feel the same.

You pull back sharply, breathless, your heart hammering against your ribs. Matthew’s brow furrows, his expression shifting from dazed to concerned in an instant.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that” he says, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone.

“I started it.” You shake your head, as you slip away from him, any explanation failing you. 

Because how do you explain that the kiss was nice—good, even—but it wasn’t Auston? That no matter how much you want to move forward, and how much you hate feeling like you’re leading Matthew on, your heart is still tethered to someone else?

“I—I need to go,” you murmur, scrambling to your feet.

Matthew blinks, his concern deepening as he watches you gather your things with shaking hands. “Wait, hold on—”

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly, voice thick with emotion as you back toward the door. “I just— I have to go.”

Matthew stands, his hands flexing at his sides like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t know if he should. “Where?” He asks the question, but you can see in his face that he already knows the answer, the tension in his body growing as he follows you to your front door. 

You hesitate, biting your lip before confirming, “Auston’s.”

His face tightens for a split second before he nods, the fight leaving his posture. “Are you coming back?”

“I don’t know, Matty.” You breathe, taking a few steps forwards to push up on your tippy toes as press a soft kiss against his cheek, “Please don’t hate me.”

Matthew closes his eyes for a moment, taking in a long, deep breaths before nodding softly, the acceptance of the situation washing over him - “Drive safe.” He says. 

You nod, offering him one last fleeting look before slipping out the door and into the night. The what could have been slipping into the night with you - the possibility of everything Matthew could’ve offered you left behind in your apartment. 

The drive to Auston’s is a blur, your hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that your knuckles ache. Every thought, every fear, every unresolved emotion crashes into you all at once, leaving you breathless. By the time you pull up outside his house, the reality of what you’re doing starts to sink in.

It’s late.

You shouldn’t be here.

And yet, you find yourself stepping out of the car, the chilled night air biting at your skin. Each step feels heavier than the last as you approach his front door, your pulse pounding in your ears. You knock once, twice, before the door swings open, revealing a very surprised and very exhausted-looking Auston.

His hair is disheveled, like he’s been running his fingers through it, and his hoodie is slightly rumpled, as if he’s been pacing the house for hours. His brown eyes widen when he sees you, and for a moment, he just stares, like he’s not sure if you’re real.

“Hey,” he finally says, voice hoarse, rough like he hasn’t spoken in hours.

“Hey,” you breathe out, suddenly unsure of what to do with yourself. He steps aside, wordlessly inviting you in. The silence between you is thick, weighted with all the things left unsaid. You walk past him, the scent of him—clean laundry and something distinctly Auston—wrapping around you like a cruel reminder of everything you’ve been trying to forget.

“You’ve been ignoring my calls,” he says after a beat, his voice careful, measured.

You turn to face him, hugging your arms around yourself. “I know.”

His jaw clenches, and he looks away, exhaling sharply. “Is it because of him?”

Your stomach twists. “It’s not about Matthew.”

Auston lets out a hollow laugh, but there’s an edge to it, a sharpness that makes your breath catch. “Really? Because it sure as hell seems like it.”

“Auston—” He steps forward, his hands clenching at his sides. 

“I saw the way he looks at you. I know what he wants. And now you’re here, after ignoring me for days—what am I supposed to think?”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “That I’m here because I want to be with you.”

He flinches slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that. “Then why does it feel like you’re here to break up with me?”

Your breath catches, anger flickering across your face. “It’s kind of hard to break up with someone you aren’t even dating.” You snap, running your hands through your hair as the words you had said only a few weeks ago ring into the silent room, your shoulder’s slumping forwards as you lock your eyes with Auston’s.  

“I kissed Matthew.” You say softly, waiting for Auston’s spit fire words to slice through your but all the leaves him is an empty laugh. 

“Of course you did — so you are breaking up with me?” He spits out, his arms crossing against his chest as his eyes soften the tiredness pulling you apart. 

“It didn’t feel right.” 

“What didn’t?” 

“The kiss.” You explain, “It didn’t feel right because it wasn’t with you.” You watch as Auston’s eyebrows raise, the disbelief clear in his body language mimicking the hundreds of emotions flashing over his face, his arms falling from their tense posture to dangle by his sides. 

Silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. Then, softer this time, Auston murmurs, “I don’t know what to do.”  “I’ve never wanted to hold onto something this tight before and I’m so scared I’m going to lose you cause I didn’t realise how much I needed you until now.”

You take a tentative step forward, closing the distance between you. “You’re not losing me, Auston,” you step forwards keeping his eyes locked with yours as you continue. “But I can’t stay if you’re not going to let me in.” 

His eyes search yours, desperate and uncertain. “Promise me.” He pauses, “Promise me you’ll stay, and you can have every part of me — everything is yours to keep.”

You reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “I promise.”

Auston exhales, like he’s finally letting go of the weight he’s been carrying. And when he pulls you against him, holding you close like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers, you let him—because, for once, you both need this.

[mitternacht]

Hi I spend way too much time thinking about Fuuta Kajiyama and really wanted an excuse to throw out a full breakdown of his character and why I think he’s so well written.

The long and short of it is that Fuuta’s character was built to represent social isolation and the effects it has on the psyche. And the direction his character has taken in T3 was always going to be the natural progression of his character, especially based on his T1 verdict and the consequences of that, it did not come out of nowhere and is not a questionable writing decision.

(The rest under the cut for really long winded meta and dissection of Fuuta’s character and how we got here)

To start, I want to talk about Fuuta’s life before Milgram.

He’s a 20 year old university student, with no strong ties to family and no real group of friends or social circle to speak of. Already, he’s very isolated and has shown that he’s quite directionless. He doesn’t have any dreams or aspirations, because he thinks things like that are “childish” and “worthless”. He’s also never felt a real sense of protection or authority from the adult figures in his life, based on the way he talks about his parents. I’m inclined to believe they weren’t really present while he was growing up as well based on what we know of them, which caused further isolation and left him devoid of a sense of purpose. (Getting slightly ahead of myself here, but guess which type of people are most susceptible to falling into cults?)

So, what does he have to cling to? What does he have to keep him going? We all have a deep innate need for human connection and community, so where can he get that?

Online, of course.

So, he turns to the internet. He finds a community of people who enjoy the same things he does that he can connect with, and this serves as a lifeline for him. Now, he’s also been shown to have a strong sense of justice, which is perhaps one of the only other defining characteristics he can claim for himself and one of the only things he believes in. He feels a sense of empowerment and pride when he’s “carrying out justice” in his eyes, and it gives him a sense of purpose and duty that he’s lacking elsewhere in his life. It also brings him validation from his community, who further enable him and fan the flames, so to speak. He’s part of a group, he’s part of something for the first time in his life, and he has no way of stopping at this point. And then, it goes too far.

(I don’t feel like I should need to say this, but for the sake of posterity, yes, what Fuuta did was very, very bad and should never be condoned or excused. But again, it’s a very real problem and is caused by social isolation which is very common in today’s world and is worth having a discussion about. Fuuta’s character is an excellent showcase of how easily this can lead people to do terrible things by turning to online validation and praise for their sole source of connection with others.)

Now Fuuta is a person that doesn’t know how to deal with heavy negative emotions. He’s not very mentally strong, and being so isolated for most of his life with no real sense of purpose has left him with not a lot of ways to properly process or cope. When we first meet him in Milgram, he’s leaning very heavily on denial. He’s convinced himself that he did nothing wrong, and can’t even entertain the thought that his actions had killed someone. He’s also the type of person that can’t stand showing any signs of weakness. He acts big, and angry, and tough, because that’s the easiest way to deflect from any other “weak” emotions he may be feeling.

But, the side effect of this inability to process his negative emotions and acting out like this, is that he can’t make any real connections with the other prisoners in Milgram. (I’m not counting minigram as canon in this breakdown as an fyi, I’m basing this solely on interactions from timelines and voice dramas)

He’s lost the only community he had, completely cut off from it, and is experiencing the social isolation that drove him to this in the first place all over again. He sees the older prisoners as unreliable and not anyone he can lean on in this situation, and at this point doesn’t seem to have any particular feelings about the other prisoners. He mentions looking out for Haruka in particular, but (as much as it pains me to say this since I do love the 0103 dynamic) it’s unlikely that this was a significant enough connection to keep him from feeling socially isolated in Milgram. He states that he’s not looking to make friends with the other prisoners, but that was likely just big talk and hiding the fact that he couldn’t make that connection with anyone.

With all of these negative emotions he can’t process or cope with, the fear and uncertainty of his environment, the loss of community he once had, and without anybody or anything to rely on for guidance or protection, it’s already a recipe for a shattered mental state.

Now let’s throw a guilty verdict, some horrible physical trauma, voices that you can’t escape, heavy sleep deprivation and paranoid hypervigilance into the mix!

(I also want to point out… Fuuta’s second voice drama is titled “Baptism of Fire”. Yes, it’s a turn of phrase involving fire because that’s Fuuta’s motif, but knowing what we do now this was completely intentional foreshadowing)

The attack Fuuta sustained from Kotoko would be traumatic for anyone, and I feel that the effect this attack had on him is frequently dismissed because he wasn’t on the brink of death like Mahiru was. In Shidou’s T2 voice drama, he lists Fuuta’s injuries as: an orbital floor fracture, traumatic retinal detachment, bruising, lacerations, and a partial fracture of the thorax. This is going to cause some very severe chronic pain for him, particularly in his head and chest, especially considering they don’t have access to proper treatment and from what Fuuta has said they likely don’t have access to any sort of painkillers either. Even the act of just breathing is going to exacerbate his pain, and there’s just nothing that can be done for it. Speaking as someone with chronic pain myself, it definitely has a severe impact on your mental state and ability to do quite literally anything.

Regarding the “voices and eyes” of the audience, Fuuta has always been a special case, because out of the characters that have mentioned the voices in particular he has been the most severely and negatively affected by them. He states that he can’t sleep because he feels that he’s being watched, and he’s mentioned several times how badly the voices affect him and how badly he wants them to stop. And this sleep deprivation just aggravates quite literally everything else that he’s currently dealing with, physically and mentally, making everything worse by tenfold.

The fact that he even admits to being scared and shows weakness to Es, considering the fact that he has an innate need to hide any sort of weakness, should be very telling. We are also told so many times during T2 that Fuuta is at his breaking point and is a complete mess.

Although it’s not directly stated in canon, Fuuta very heavily showcases symptoms of psychosis that have seemed to become progressively worse through and after T2. (I made a post about this not too long ago, trying not to repeat too much here but I broke this down a little more in that other post)

And what’s a common symptom of psychosis? Religious delusion.

To start with, Fuuta's character even before entering Milgram is a prime example of someone who is extremely susceptible to falling in with a cult. Someone who is socially isolated, craves human connection and belonging, and who is searching for a sense of purpose/duty. You add onto that his murder and the need for someone to forgive him for it, the desperation for something to cling to, the worsening symptoms of psychosis and need for something to cure his pain? How in the world was he supposed to do anything but turn to religious delusion? If he hadn’t, it’s very likely the only other possible option he saw for himself was to end his life, which he mentions doing in Backdraft (and passively in his T2 voice drama).

There was a glimmer of hope when Fuuta mentions that he was grateful to Kazui and Shidou in the aftermath of Kotoko attacking him and what they did to help him, but it’s likely that he saw himself not able to continue relying on them considering Shidou had been so busy with Mahiru and Kazui may not have continued to be as present as Fuuta would have preferred. Which is heartbreaking, considering Fuuta seems to so desperately need an authority/protective adult figure to look up to. Mind you, 20 is not that old and especially if he never had that growing up, it’s natural to still want that at this age.

I would like to reiterate again that Amane did not “brainwash” nor “indoctrinate” Fuuta, she just ended up being the outlet for the only thing Fuuta has become convinced will save him. And now they’re stuck in a very sad cycle of enabling each other through their trauma.

All in all, looking at the pieces of Fuuta’s character I feel that this was always the plan, even from the beginning of T1. We were conditioned from the start to view Fuuta as guilty: by making his character theme red, by introducing him as foul mouthed, angry, arrogant, and unapologetic, and even from Jackalope’s comments in Es’ voice drama. We were conditioned to dislike him from the start, and since that guilty verdict in T1 was made Fuuta’s fate was sealed and this was always going to be the natural progression of his character. It was a slow build up, but was very well thought out and didn’t come out of nowhere.

This is the fulfillment of what happens when you put a socially isolated person through extreme stress and trauma with nothing to hold on to, and again is an excellent showcase of what it can look like to fall in with a cult even with no religious background. And how it’s even easier with individuals who have pre-existing mental illnesses/disorders.

We’ve come full circle and I’m very interested to see where his character goes from here.

[shanastoryteller]

Dean is taking too long in the basement.

He should have been right behind him, but he isn’t. Sam gets the kids out and goes running back downstairs, gun held in front of him, which ends up being pointless. The rawhead is head.

For a moment, he thinks Dean is too.

He’s pale and cold in the water and Sam sees the tazer and knows exactly what happened and if his brother is dead, he doesn’t care about personal gain or consequences or any of that shit, he’s brining him back no matter what.

But his pulse flutters weak and too fast under his fingers and Sam doesn’t even spare a moment for relief before he’s shouting, “CHRIS! CHRIS! I need you!”

Nothing happens.

Fear clogs his throat. “Paige! Wyatt! Leo!”

He never bothers the others. He’s trained with them, even fought with them while he was at Stanford, but at the end of the day he’s just another witch and Chris is his whitelighter. But his brother is dying.

No one comes.

He calls 911 then, because as long as Dean isn’t dead then he can be healed, and he’ll worry about what’s going on with the Halliwells later.

~

The doctors can’t do anything, Dean’s already resigned himself to death, and no one’s answering his calls.

He’s pacing in the hall outside of his brother’s room, not wanting Dean to see him unraveling but not able to bring himself to go too far away. It’s not like he’s going to drop dead the second Sam looks away, he knows that.

He knows that.

It doesn’t matter if no one’s answering his calls. He knows other witches, he can track down another whitelighter if he has to. Even then, whitelighter healing is the best solution, but not the only one. He’s loathe to attempt a healing spell on his brother, just in case it goes wrong, but he knows the stasis ones well enough. Dean won’t like being put in a glass case like Snow White, but it’ll keep him alive while Sam finds a solution.

“Sam!”

He turns to see Chris striding toward him and he should be relieved, he is relieved, but the terror and stress he’s been managing since yesterday all course through him at once and come out as rage. He grabs the front of Chris’s shirt and slams him into the wall, thankful there’s no one around. “Where the hell have you been?”

Chris doesn’t fight him, not that it would do him much good to try. Chris may be the stronger witch, but Sam can hand him his ass easily. “Sam-”

“Dean electrocuted himself saving children,” he says, “He almost died! He – they said – his heart–” It’s almost too much for him all over again, but then he notices the blood down Chris’s neck, the smell of smoke clinging to his clothes, the bone deep exhaustion that Chris is so good at hiding from everyone except for him and Wyatt and occasionally Phoebe. “Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Sam wonders if his grip is pressing him down or holding him up. “There was a demon attack, we were in the underworld. They had Peyton, we didn’t,” he shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m your whitelighter, I should have–”

“Shut up,” Sam says gently. He pushes Chris’s hair aside, but whatever wound left the blood is long gone. “You’re not just my whitelighter. You’re my friend. I know you wouldn’t not answer for no reason, sorry, I just. It’s Dean.”

He offers him a weak grin. “Yeah, I know. Older brothers, right? Always causing problems.”

Chris knows that better than most.

“Sam, I can’t heal him here,” he says quietly.

“I know,” Sam says. “Secrecy, mortals, I get it. I’ll get him out of here and to the motel, then I’ll call you, alright?"

“Alright,” Chris says, then frowns. “What are you going to tell him? He’s going to have questions.”

“He’ll get over it,” Sam says firmly. “I wouldn’t expose you guys like that.”

Chris shrugs. “I mean, I get why you don’t want to tell him, with your dad and everything, but he does have a right to know. Just because his powers are bound doesn’t mean he’s not a witch too.”

Sam stares.

He frowns. “What?”

“You,” he starts, then changes tracks. “Dean’s a witch?”

Now Chris is the one staring. “Of course he is. It runs in families. If you’re a witch, Dean’s a witch. He’s just had his powers bound and you haven’t.”

“But,” he starts. “Why?”

He shrugs. “You were too young. Doing it before the child’s first birthday can lead to, uh, some strange results.”

Sam understands that him being a witch descended from Melinda Warren means his mother was a witch, but he’d never really thought about it before. She knew what he was, what Dean was, and had planned to keep it from them forever. If she hadn’t died when he was six months old, she would have bound his powers too.

He doesn’t know how to feel about that. He doesn’t have the space to figure it out now. “Okay. Well, that’s probably a conversation more appropriate for when he doesn’t have a heart condition. Go, clean up, I’ll call you when we’re ready.” Chris nods, but before he goes Sam grabs his wrist. “Hey. Peyton’s okay, right?”

He grins. “She’s good. And maybe next time she won’t think it’s a good idea to sneak to the underworld alone.”

Knowing Peyton, it probably won’t be much of a deterrent.

~

Dean isn’t afraid of dying.

It’s just that this is a really bad time.

Dad’s missing, the demon that killed their mother is after Sam’s girlfriend, never mind what the hell is going on with Sam and the weirdo vision he’d had about their house. Vision. It’s enough for sweat to prick out over his skin in worry.

And now this, him frying his heart and leaving Sam on his own, the one thing he never wanted to do.

“Hey.”

He looks up, trying to force a smirk, but it falls off and he’s just left blinking. Sam’s lost the stubborn fragility he had before, smiling at him like everything’s going to be fine. Maybe it will be. There’s a jump in his chest that he thinks might be hope and not his heart giving out on him.

“We’re getting out of here,” Sam says, slapping his leg. “AMA, come on, you know the drill.”

“Alright,” he says, bemused. If he’s going to die, he hadn’t been all that keen to do it in a hospital bed anyway.

The doctor is less than impressed. Dean lets do Sam do all the talking and eventually the doctor rounds on him and demands, “Why are you doing this? It makes no sense!”

He actually has no idea why he’s doing this, so he just shrugs. “If my brother says we’re going, then we’re going.”

Which is apparently not the right answer by the way he goes white to the lips, but Sam smiles at him, so he really can’t bring himself to care.

They eventually get out there, Sam helping him from the wheelchair to the Impala, and being back in his baby, even in the passenger side, is another hit of relief. Of course they reach a second problem when they get to the motel and Dean realizes he’s not certain he can make it to the door.

Sam rolls his eyes, parking the car as close to the room as they can get, and says, “Don’t be a baby. I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”

He considers arguing against it, but he’s exhausted, there’s no one around, and he’s already lost a significant amount of big brother credibility by getting fried in the first place.

“Shut up,” he mutters, but only rolls his eyes before looping an arm around Sam’s neck. He grimaces when Sam gets an arm under his knees, lifting him up with at least a grunt of effort. He’s kind of irritated that his baby brother can lift him this easily at all, even though it’s not exactly a surprise. Sam’s grown up a lot since he left for Stanford, adding inches of height and muscle, and it’s not exactly like he was a weakling when he left. Still, being carried by his little brother like a princess is almost as bad for his ego as nearly dying in the first place.

Sam doesn’t comment on it, however, easing him down on the bed closest to the door, even though he’d be a speed bump at best to anything coming after them. It sends a well of fondness through him that he expresses through a scowl.

“Lay down and keep your eyes shut, okay?” Sam says. “No matter what you hear or feel.”

Dean blinks at him. He figured Sam had a plan, but he hadn’t expected it to be so immediate. “Why? What are you doing?”

“Not letting you die,” he answers promptly. “Don’t argue with me. It’s not going to hurt. Just trust me for five minutes, okay?”

He’s been trusting Sam for a lot longer than five minutes. “Fine, whatever.”

He lays down on his own, because he can at least do that, and Sam doesn’t look nervous or worried or guilty, so whatever thing he’s about to try is probably fine. Although he really has no idea what the hell Sam thinks he’s going to pull out that can fix his heart, but he closes his eyes and waits.

There’s the sound of the door opening and closing, which he hadn’t expected. A moment later it opens again, but there are two sets of footsteps. He tenses. “Sam?”

“It’s alright,” Sam says, his large hand settling warm and comfortable on Dean’s shoulder. “Just relax.”

Relax? How the hell does Sam expect him to relax when –

There’s a hand on his chest, one he doesn’t recognize, and he barely keeps from leaping off the bed. Then there’s a warmth, something comforting, like being held by his mother or his dad’s proud look or how it feels every time Sam reaches for him. Then he’s breathing in, chest expanding comfortably in a way it hasn’t since he was electrocuted. He’s not cold anymore, not exhausted, the creeping feeling of death chasing him whisked away in a matter of seconds.

It leaves him terrified.

“Sam?” he says, and it takes everything to keep his eyes squeezed shut.

There’s the sound of the door opening and closing again and Sam says, “It’s okay, you’re okay,” and Dean’s eyes pop open and he’s shoving himself onto his feet.

It’s nothing, it’s easy, just like it was a day ago. Sam is smiling, relieved and okay, and Dean grabs onto his shoulders and shakes him. “What was that? Who was that? What did you do, Sammy?”

“A friend,” Sam says. “Dean, don’t worry, it didn’t cost me anything.”

He scoffs. “Right, because what – hoodoo priests and witches or whatever the hell that was just help out hunters from the goodness of their hearts? What did you do?”

Sam presses a hand to his chest, where his heart is now beating strong and sure in his chest, none of that stuttery crap of before. “I didn’t give anything. It’s okay. Sometimes people just help each other out because they’re good people, Dean. Like you do, when you saved those kids last night.”

“We saved those kids,” he corrects, because he wouldn’t have been able to both fight the rawhead and get the kids out on his own. He and Sam did it together.

“Right,” Sam says, mouth tugged up in the corner. “There’s no trick, no price. They’re someone I know that was willing to help, that’s all.”

Dean presses for more information, but Sam refuses to give it, and eventually he has to give it up. At least for now.

He’s glad he’s alive. He’s glad he won’t be leaving Sam alone.

And most of all, he’s glad he’s going to be around to pry out of Sam whatever secrets he’s keeping from him.

let the beltane fires burn

The Halliwells are descended from Melinda Warren, are the branch in which the greatest power resides, the line that would birth the most powerful witches to walk the earth.

It's not the only line.

Deanna knows about hunters, knows what they don’t know and don’t understand and that they killed her family. But Samuel didn’t kill her family. Samuel’s a good man who saves innocents, the same way she was raised to, if not how she was raised to do it.

She’s all alone. It’s not safe to be a witch.

The day before her wedding, she binds her powers.

When Mary is a year and a day, she does the same to her. It’s safer this way. Better. The world is so unkind to witches, even ones like them, born into it, with their power baked into their blood. Better to fight evil with bullets and knives than the strange terrible thing she’s destined to give her daughter, that her daughter is destined to pass along to her own daughters.

She never tells Samuel. There’s no reason to.

When Mary is old enough, when she’s talking of running and rebelling and all those things Samuel thinks will never come to pass and Deanna knows almost certainly will – running and rebelling is in her blood as surely as the magic, but there’s no binding potion for that – she tells her daughter what they are. What she’ll have to do to keep her future daughters safe, if she has them. It’s the only potion she ever teaches Mary how to brew, the only one she’ll ever need.

The day after Dean’s first birthday, Marry brews the potion and feeds it to him. He cries more after, doesn’t settle as quickly, and John worries and Mary reassures him and tells herself she’s done the right thing. Whatever it is that Dean feels he’s lost, he’s better off without it. She’s going to be normal. Her children are going to be normal.

She intends to do the same for Sammy, but she burns above his crib when he’s six months old.

~

John sees Sammy levitate a toy towards him when he’s two years old and shouts so loudly that he drops it, tears running down his face and wailing in the face of his father’s anger. Dean comes running from the other room and reaches for Sammy, letting his brother’s chubby fingers tangle in his shirt. “What’s wrong?” he asks, eyes wide.

He doesn’t answer, rubbing his hand over his face and heart pounding in his chest.

What did that demon do to his son?

What did it turn him into?

Is Sammy even human anymore?

He doesn’t react to salt, to holy water, to silver. John loses his temper every time something moves inexplicably and eventually it stops, by the time Sam’s in kindergarten he’s just like all the other kids.

John watches, fear and suspicion and something uglier caught up inside of him.

What is his son?

~

Sam figures out young that he’s a freak.

Dad and Dean just think he’s weak, just think he has nightmares, and he lets them. He only practices the telekinesis when he’s alone and every time he almost gathers the courage to tell his brother or father about it, to finally come clean, he’s viciously reminded how much they hate the things they hunt, how they’d never accept it, accept him, and as soon as he tells them what he is, he’ll lose them.

He doesn’t know what he is, really. Only that he’s not normal.

Eventually he stops seeing things in his sleep, instead getting them when he’s awake, more vivid and real than the monsters that plague his dreams. He sees people being hurt, people who need help, and it goes against everything he’s been taught to leave them to their fate.

But how can he explain it to his family? He can’t.

He’s thirteen the first time he sneaks out and saves a woman from one of his visions, finding her in the dark alley he’d seen her die in. He puts a bullet in the man’s chest, but it barely stops him, and then she and him both are getting a fireball thrown at them.

Sam shoves his hand in front of him, pushing back against the heat, refusing to die the same way his mother died.

The fireball returns to the man, catching him in the chest and he screams, disappearing into the fire until he’s nothing more than a smudge on the ground.

“Wow,” the woman breathes. Sam turns to her, trying to come up with some sort of explanation, when she continues, “I’ve never met a witch with active powers before.”

“I’m not a witch,” he says automatically, thinking of bargains made with demons, of hex bags and rotting meat and blood sacrificed.

She looks between him and the smudge on the ground incredulously. “Are you sure about that?”

Yes. No.

He doesn’t know what he is.

She leads him back to her apartment, stacks books into hix arms, and then makes him a sandwich when his stomach rumbles. His age worries her, his ignorance worries her even more, and everything she’s saying sounds like kooky new age bullshit except for the way that it explains everything he’s never been able to.

There are witches and demons and monsters nothing like anything his father’s ever talked about.

~

It’s easy to research, at least, because his dad thinks there’s a kernel of truth in every piece of supernatural bullshit. Dean makes fun of him for digging into girly, feel-good crap rather than the harder stuff, but his dad just seems relieved he’s taking an interest all. Sam starts taking notes, keeps them all in a folder until Dad buys him a journal, patting his back when he hands it over like it’s a rite of passage.

To Dad, it’s his first hunting journal.

Sam runs his hand down the soft leather spine and knows he’s starting his book of shadows.

The visions don’t stop. He saves more innocents, some witches and some mortal, and keeps the record of all the creatures he’s killed in Latin to discourage Dad and Dean from snooping. He uses his telekinesis on hunts only when there’s no other option, only when there’s someone’s life on the line, and he’s as careful as he can be not to get caught.

It should be a relief, to find out there are other people like him, to know that he’s a force for good in the world.

There’s no way he can explain the existence of a different type of witches to his father without putting a target on their backs.

Some witches have been targeted by hunters, ones who were trying to help but got caught in the crossfire, ones that had turned evil and needed to be stopped, but it’s not often he finds a witch that regards hunters with anything but fear. At least when his family are the ones sniffing around, he can give them a heads up, can tell them how to avoid their attention.

He’s had a lot of practice, after all.

~

Sam is sixteen when he’s a little too slow.

The innocent is safe and the demon is killed, but his chest is torn open and he’s bleeding out on the pavement.

“Oh no, oh no,” the woman he’d saved chants, pressing her hands against him, even though it’s pointless, even though it just sends a bolt of pain through him. Fuck. He doesn’t want to die. Dean is going to devastated. “Paige! Help me! Paige!”

There’s a bright light in the corner of his eyes and an woman around his dad’s age with bright hair red hair is leaning over him.

Then she touches him, but her touch doesn’t hurt.

He looks down and the wound on his chest closes, skin clear and unharmed, pain retreating to only a memory.

“He saved me,” the woman says. “He can move things!”

The redhead’s eyebrows rise. “You have active powers?”

They’re always so surprised by that. Sam’s more impressed with the fact that she just healed him. “I get premonitions too. What are you?”

“You get,” she starts then cuts herself off. “Where’s your whitelighter?”

He stares. “My what?”

She raises a hand to her head and groans. “Oh, someone’s really messed up somewhere. Leo!”

~

Guardian angels are real, called whitelighters, and apparently witches with active powers who go around saving innocents are supposed to have them to help keep them from getting themselves killed in the process.

Leo, who’s something called an elder with a kind face, says an unconventional witch deserves an unconventional whitelighter.

Chris Halliwell is his age, half witch, and also has telekinesis.

Oh, and he’s apparently his cousin. His very, very, very distant cousin.

“Are all witches related?” he asks incredulously.

“No,” Chris says, long dark hair and hazel eyes doing more to aid his claim of family than the spell his mother had cast. He and Chris look more related than him and Dean do. “We’d thought all the other branches of the Warren line had died out. You’re a surprise.”

Great. He’s a freak even among witches.

~

It’s so much easier now that he’s not desperately trying to piece together everything on his own, with only the occasional help from the innocents he saves. Chris is sarcastic and annoying and funny and more than having a guardian angel, Sam’s relieved to just have a friend he doesn’t have to lie to for once.

The Halliwell house, with its potion ingredients and powerful witches and home cooking, is only an orb away. He mostly hangs out with Chris, of course, but Piper always invites him to stay for dinner and Paige checks in on him, feeling somewhat responsible for him since she met him first, and Wyatt’s friendly enough but Chris sends him packing whenever Sam’s there.

He’s pulling doubletime when it comes to saving innocents, doing it as a witch and as a hunter, and he’s still maintaining straight As on top of it all while lying about half his life to his father and brother. It’s a stack of cards that’s bound to fall apart.

Going to Stanford is about more than just escaping his father.

It gets him close enough to San Francisco that he won’t need to be orbed to the Halliwells. It’s supposed to give him some breathing room, to let him focus on being a witch, to let him get his education. He does more good as a witch than as a hunter, but it’s not like that’s something he can explain to his family.

He’d wanted out, needed out, before he gets himself or someone else killed trying to balance it all. But he hadn’t thought his father would kick him out. He hadn’t thought Dean would let him.

He goes to the bus station but doesn’t buy a ticket. He calls Chris and spends the rest of the summer at Halliwell manor, burying all his hurt under training with Chris and saving people and getting ready to start college in September.

~

Jess wears a pentacle around her neck and keeps salt in small bowls in each of the cardinal directions and Sam doesn’t intend to tell her that he’s a witch, but when he ends up saving her from a darklighter attack, that decision is taken out of his hands. Coming clean about the hunter part takes longer, but it’s a bit of an easier sell once the knowledge of the supernatural is already out there. The thing that surprised her most of all is that things like bullets and steel can be used successfully against monsters, rather than the existence of monsters themselves.

Three years later when Dean shows up at their door, Sam can’t bring himself to deny him. It’s one weekend. He’d never wanted to lose his family in the first place.

When he returns home to Jessica pinned to the ceiling, he doesn’t even have to think.

He yanks her down, catching her in his arms just as fire effulges the place she’d been. He pushes the fire away from them, but it fights him harder than demonic fire usually does and leaves his hands burned and blistering. He doesn’t care. Jess is bleeding and in shock but still alive, breath rattling against him. “CHRIS!”

Dean’s yelling for him, but Sam can’t let him in. He throws his hand out, keeping his bedroom door closed even as his brother throws his body against it, still screaming his name.

Chris orbs in, eyes going huge. “Sam, what-”

“Heal her then go,” he snaps, the smoke already hurting his throat. “I’ll explain later.”

He puts his glowing hands over her bleeding stomach and the wound closes, her body going slack and her breathing easing even as her eyes roll back.

Sam tenses. “Is she-”

“Fine, let’s go, your hands,” Chris says, hands already glowing as he reaches for him.

“SAM!” Dean shouts, sounding like he’s about two seconds away from trying to shoot through the door.

“You can heal me later,” he says. “Thank you. Go.”

Chris shoots him a bitchy look that Paige says they share and then he orbs away. The fire’s covered almost the entire room now and Sam finally lets go of the door.

Dean stumbles in, pale, already reaching for him.

Sam stands and finds his knees buckling, gritting his teeth to keep himself upright. “Take her,” he says urgently, pressing Jess into his brother’s arms. “We have to go.”

“You think?” he snaps, but he’s gentle with Jess. Sam shoves him towards the door, slamming it behind him just as it surges after them. Keeping the flames from killing them is one of the hardest things he’s ever done. No wonder he’s exhausted.

They stumble downstairs, away from the fire, and someone’s already called the ambulance.

The story’s an easy sell because it’s not like anyone would believe the truth. They say Jess took sleeping pills and Sam came home to flames. He pulled Jess out and has the burns to prove it. Dean saw the flames in the window and went up, helping to get them both out.

It’s almost true.

“He had yellow eyes,” Jess tells him after. “He was – Sam, I’ve seen demons, I’ve fought demons. He’s something else.”

“Different kind of demons,” Sam says. There’s the underworld, and there’s hell. Underworld demons go after witches mostly. Hell demons go after mortals and are a lot harder to kill, ironically. “It’s the same demon that killed my mother, Jess, and now it’s after you. I have to take care of this.”

Dean’s too relieved about Sam’s determination to rejoin the hunt to question him too closely about all this. He knows better than to think that will last for very long.

Chris agrees to watch over Jess for him even though she’s not technically one of his charges. They layer protection spells on her, including one cast by the power of three, and even this yellow eyed demon will be hard pressed to break through that.

Hell demons are tricky. They’re not as susceptible to witch magic. But Sam’s not just a witch.

He’s a hunter too.

[translatemunson]

save the date

top gun pilots x female!reader blurb cw: mentions of a dress. i believe this can be read as any of the daggers, minus nat (i'm writing something special just for our girl); lmk if i forgot anything.

You’ve gotten the ‘save the date’ months ago. The invitation only came through the mail a few weeks back, but it was 100% set in stone: you were attending your best friend’s wedding with your aviator boyfriend as your plus one. What you forgot to take into consideration was deployment.

It was like playing in a casino: you could get lucky and he wouldn’t be called for a mission until the wedding, or he would be god knows where doing whatever mission the Navy had for him, and you’d be missing him during the wedding.

And since you were never the luckiest person in the room, he got deployed. For six weeks. One month before the wedding date. Good luck telling all your friends you didn’t get dumped, it was just that your boyfriend was government property and they needed him overseas doing some good for the country. It was honorable, but still: you wanted to walk around the venue with a pretty aviator by your side.

It didn’t help that his internet access was limited, nor that you were having second thoughts about attending. Well, if not having someone with you was a problem, he told you he could get one of his friends to take care of you — just so other guys wouldn’t take a chance on his hot girlfriend. But it wasn’t just the lack of your boyfriend that was undermining your presence at the wedding.

One week the dress wasn’t good enough. The next one, just before his deployment, you weren’t sure about the tickets and hotel you booked — he said to keep them, even if he wasn’t going anymore, because you could use the extra space on the plane and the bigger bed. Your first email to him, while deployed, was about how nerve wrecked you were feeling now that your bestie asked you to do a speech. A few days later, you went through it with him, and he reassured you were doing amazing. 

“Gosh, this would be so much easier if you were here,” you admitted on your phone call.

“I know, baby. I promise to take you to a fancy event as soon as I’m back so I can have the chance to see you in that pretty dress.” He was trying his best to cheer you up.

But a phone call across the ocean wasn’t enough. You needed him there, with you, saying you look pretty even though your make up is nowhere near as done. Or telling you look like those old Hollywood stars when your hair was still on the hair curlers. Or saying you need to hurry up before it’s too late to get a nice parking spot at the venue. Or checking if you need a drink or something else during the reception.

You looked down at your phone, hitting “send” on another email, with pictures you took from the party. The whole place is covered with flowers and fairy lights hanging from the trees and ceiling, and you miss him so much it hurts more than your high heels.

You gave your speech minutes ago, and had one of your friends filming it for you. It was a nice piece about your best friend, how she was always the one saying you were gonna be married first but hey, look at you, alone at her wedding. Of course you made fun of the lack of a plus one, but it was fine. You brought back a few embarrassing memories, also spilled some tea on the fact that she had a list with the names for all of their babies. And if one of those names was not inspired by yours, you would be seeing her in court.

“Hey, do you wanna grab another drink with me?” Your friend nudged your arm. “I hate seeing you down.”

“Can you call the Navy and file an official complaint for me? I’ll give you his full name and call sign, so then later I can show up to the courtroom and use those as proof.” You threw your cell phone inside your bag. “Sorry, I’ve been under the weather since the news broke.”

“I know, babe, and I don’t blame you.” She gave you a soft smile. “I think a drink might help you. And maybe I can convince that waiter I’ve told you about to sneak a few sweets for us.”

“Just one more drink, then I’m going back to the hotel.”

“You’re no fun, you know? Maybe something good is happening tonight.”

“Unless you have a teletransportation machine here somewhere to bring me my boyfriend, you can’t trap me for another hour with the promise of good booze alone.”

At the bar, you got yourself your favorite drink. It would be better if he was there, his hand on your waist, making comments about the party or asking you the little details about the people there. It would be his first time in your hometown, getting to know the place you were born and raised. You loved San Diego, but a piece of you would always love your hometown.

“I just wished they had decent Wi-Fi at the ship,” you murmured. “I’ve sent like a hundred pics since I’ve arrived, but still no reply. I can’t believe my own boyfriend is going MIA on me.”

“Hey, maybe it’s just bad connection. And based on what you’ve told me, I bet he’s pissed he’s somewhere in the ocean instead of by the side of his gorgeous girlfriend.”

“Please plan a wedding in the next few weeks so I can attend one with him.”

“Why don’t you plan your own wedding?” She turned the idea around.

“And throw a surprise wedding? I’m crazy, but even I have limits.”

“Well, I hope it doesn’t take him too many deployments to pop the big question.”

“I might have to ask him to divorce the Navy before we can get married. Sorry, but I won’t be the mistress in this,” you laughed.

Halfway through your drink, your friend ended up going to talk to one of your colleagues from high school, and you went back to your table, staying up and trying to swing your body in the rhythm of the song — just to get your mind off of things.

You checked your phone, one notification from your email’s app. You clicked on it as fast as you could, blowing out in frustration when you saw it was just a marketing email.

You saw someone approaching from your peripheral vision, and you heard “Tough night?”

“Don’t even get me started.” You pushed your face into your hand.

“Try me, honey.”

You turned your face. And, magically, your boyfriend was there. You blinked a few times, not believing he was really sitting next to you, in a suit. You held tight into his arm, and he said “Did she let you have way too many drinks?”

“No. I mean, are you real?”

“Yes, baby, I’m real.”

“How?”

“Finished the mission early, called in for a few favors, got on the first plane here, and asked your friends to keep it a secret.”

“Oh my, you’re really here.” You threw your arms around his neck, bringing him closer. The last time you were this close, it was the morning before his deployment. You always took the days up to the deployment as a chance to spend all the time together. Ok, you had to work, and the house chores wouldn’t magically disappear, but as soon as you were both at home, you’d stick to his side as glue.

“Sorry I missed your speech,” he hugged you back. “I’ll watch the footage later.”

“That’s ok. I’m so happy that you’re here,” you kissed his cheek.

“C’mon, let me take a look at my stunning girlfriend,” he took a step back and, with your hand in his, made you spin on your toes. The flowy dress and high heels were far from your daily clothes. “You look better than in the pictures, honey.”

Your cheeks blushed, and you could bet even the make up wouldn’t be able to hide it. “Thanks.” You took a look at him, finally noticing how good he looked in a normal suit. The color suited him like a glove, and you were considering finding a good excuse to see him wearing it again. You kinda begged him to attend in those pretty white suits the Navy had, but he was always saying those were only for special occasions.

“Should we take a picture?” He rested his hands on your waist.

“Sure!”

Now that you officially had your arm candy with you, it was time to walk around the party introducing your boyfriend to your friends. They were all very friendly and excited to meet him, but also kept the Navy related questions to a minimum. He was all smiles and handsy, keeping you close to him as much as possible.

You got your picture, on the balcony, with the gardens as a background to your affection. Your friend convinced one of the photographers to take a few official pictures — she used the “He’s Navy and flew all the way here to be with her!” card. On the first pic, you were close, side by side, smiling but keeping your hands to yourself.

And then the photographer asked you to look each other in the eyes, and it was like your lips had a magnet of some sorts. He pulled you closer, and gave you a quick kiss on the lips. “Hold her like that!” the photographer said.

Once you had the pictures taken also on our phone, he took you to the dance floor. A slow song, something your parents would play in the car when you were younger, was telling the steps you were taking. Swaying slowly in the middle of the small crowd, soaking in that moment. You snuggled in closer to his chest, leaving him to lead you. 

“I’m so happy you’re here,” you confessed.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t say anything before.” He pressed his lips on the side of your head.

“That’s ok. You know I like surprises when they come from you.”

“I know. And I like being with you.” Another kiss on the side of your face. “And I love you.”

You  tilted your head back, connecting your eyes, “I love you too."

[cherrycheolkat]

• random slutty thoughts, feat. mingyu •

the valentine’s day / co-worker crush one

mingyu has sat in the cubicle next to yours long enough to know exactly how shitty your ex made valentine’s day last year, plus he knows you definitely haven’t even thought about a valentine’s date since you just accepted a stack of last minute work, because to quote you, “fuck this pretend holiday”

but he really hopes to change your mind

mingyu’s had a crush on you since you started working in his group, maybe before that even when he would just see you in the break room sometimes

at first he thought you were a bit unapproachable, but the longer he sat next to you, the more he realized you were a really good co-worker and friend - you always have great ideas for projects and you don’t make him feel like shit for not knowing every single thing like most people in the group, plus you’re always happy to grab coffee when he wants to complain about how something personal

he was glad when you had offered to exchange phone numbers so he could message you “just whenever” - it took him a week to finally decide what to send - a photo proving that he really uses the name ‘james’ as his ‘coffee order name’ because he was tired of the misspellings and you would not believe him - you had practically cackled at ‘james’

he was surprised when you asked if he had a date that night, “no, i haven’t really been talking to anyone” besides you, he thought

“at least you won’t be stuck here all night, though,” you smiled, leaning towards your computer to read something

he nodded, “yeah, true,” even as he spoke, he started to poke around seeing if there were any assignments he needed to complete (he knew there weren’t)

“wait, actually, sorry - there’s this part i kind of need help with,” you mumbled from your slouched over position

he blushed and scooched his chair over to your side of the barrier, you had already moved so he could see your screen - he was glad that you seemed to always have problems with excel functions

he started tinkering with the spreadsheet while you read some documents next to him - before he realized it, he was ready for dinner

he leaned back, “want to take a break?” it was a totally normal question

you nodded, “yes, please, I’m so tired of looking at this,” you whispered and then stood up to look around the office, “wow, it’s like a horror movie in here - absolutely everyone is gone but us”

he smiled knowing you mean zombie movies, which you proclaim to hate but still seem to know a lot about

“so what were you thinking?” you asked as you sit back down next to him - he notices when your knee bumps his leg

“hm, how bad do you think the waits are across the street?”

“oh fuck, i forgot, couples out in droves, right?”

he nods, watching you scrunch your face as you start checking for reservations close by - it takes a few minutes but you’re suddenly grabbing his sleeve, “oh my god, if we leave right now, we can just make it to a decent place,” you practically drag him along

the ‘decent’ place is actually really nice, way more than he was expecting, but he was glad for once that he was in dress clothes - he actually looked like he was your date

they seated you in one of the open booths, another couple were right next to you - he had started to look at the menu when you nudged him with your foot, he glanced up to see you covertly glance at the other couple - mingyu almost laughed when he saw the girl’s foot was practically buried in the guy’s crotch and moving at a concerning pace

he blushed slightly at the scene and glanced back to you, seeing the dangerous smirk on your face, he suddenly felt the toe of your shoe press gently to his calf - he was quick to slip a warning hand onto your thigh, squeezing gently

“i think we can do better darling,” he whispered

you looked too game, “oh, can we, sweetheart?”

he wasn’t sure what to make of your sugary voice, but he knew you were horribly competitive (both of you, if he were honest, could be a bit scary at company retreats)

he didn’t hesitate to nod, “of course we can,” he answered in a low tone, his thumb tracing circles against your thigh

when the waiter came back, you both ordered drinks, but he noticed quickly when the other couple conspicuously got up at the same time and wandered towards the bathroom

he sipped his wine, “did they really just go to the bathroom?”

you giggle, “they definitely did”

he swirled his glass gently, “okay, so if we go into the men’s room after them, do we just need to be louder?” he was genuinely asking

you laughed behind your hand, “seriously?” you grinned, “it’s not like we get a peleton this time,” you shoot back, voice soft in a way that makes his stomach flutter

“yeah, but,” he wasn’t sure where he was going with this, “they were annoying, why not be, you know,” he shrugged

“be more annoying, my darling, dearest,” you smiled and covered his hand with yours

he flushed but had a sudden thought, “look if we freak them out, i will literally pay for a full weekend at that glamping place you keep ogling,” he was very serious

“oh, okay, no wait, it has to be the one with the hot tub that overlooks the trees,” you were getting serious

he nodded, “i’ll give you my card, book whatever you want,” he was too sincere

he noticed the slight blush blooming across your cheeks, “you know it’s like a couples thing, right?”

“so, you can book for two and go alone, whatever,” in his mind this was completely reasonable to offer a co-worker who he clearly had just a crush on, especially when he hadn’t confessed

he watched you bite your lip lightly, “okay, but shouldn’t we both go? it’s like a group activity,” he flushed, knowing you’re looking at him much too clearly

“just come on or we’ll miss our chance,” he stood, glancing around and walking towards the bathroom

he pushed the door open and was immediately assaulted with sounds, really wet sounds

he caught you as you walked through the door, knowing you would laugh at the sounds, he pressed his hand across your lips and guided you to the stall next to the occupied one, locking the door

you glance at the stall wall, rolling your eyes at the sudden feminine cry of “oh, baby - yeah, just like that”

you lean close to him, “make it good, okay,” you whisper, your hands suddenly ghosting down his chest and stomach

he’s shocked when you ran your hands down the front of his trousers, “fuck, daddy, show me how hard you are,” you say in a breathy voice as your hands press roughly to his hips

he bit his lip hard to avoid laughing in total shock, “that what you want baby girl, my hard cock filling that tight pussy?” he asked, his voice lower than he expected, even though he was leaning down close, whispering against your throat, obviously in character

“mhmm, yes, i want you so badly - i’ve thought about it all day, daddy - i’ve just been sitting, waiting for you, all wet and ready for your cock”

he paused hearing this, his mouth immediately dry, he could feel your hand working him through his pants

he kissed your throat gently, “daddy’s good little girl, just waiting at her desk, hoping to get fucked,” he nipped your earlobe gently, “my naughty little girl,” he whispered as he bit your throat

he was momentarily stunned when you pulled your shirt down enough to expose your tits and your perfect nipples, but he didn’t even think before he dipped down, latching onto one and then the other, hearing your moans, as he licked and sucked “yes, daddy” - “yeah, just like that” - “fuck, i bet you could empty me”

he leaned up, catching your mouth in a soft kiss, he licked into you, tasting you as he pushed up your skirt, his cock was way too hard at the idea of your full tits

he slid his fingers under the hem of your panties, immediately feeling the slick waiting for him, “oh, baby, so wet for me,” he barely broke the kiss to murmur

he watched your face as he plunged his first two fingers inside your hot, wet pussy - you gasped softly, pulling his hair roughly as you did, “yes, daddy, play with me, you’ve kept me waiting so long,” you whimper as he crooked his fingers to hit the soft spongy spot he knew your ex had never been able to find

he had completely forgotten the other couple - all he cared about was the way you were writhing in pleasure in front of him - that and the way your cunt was clenching around him, it was so fucking tight and already dripping

he pressed close, “come for me baby girl, i can feel you holding back, just let go, make a mess for daddy to clean up,” he whispered

you pressed close, “give me one more finger first,” you breathed heavily against his skin

he was happy to slip his third finger in, stretching you and then scissoring you open too, pressing against your tight walls

you moaned loudly, “oh, fuck, yes - daddy, don’t stop, make me feel good”

he wasn’t worried about how loud you were - it was part of the point, but when your pussy suddenly gushed, “fuck,” he breathed, feeling your juices wet his thigh

he held you close as he he still worked his fingers inside your pussy, you yelped as a second orgasm tore through you, a new splash of hot pussy juices running down his thigh as you shivered with pleasure in his arms, grasping blindly for him, needing him to hold you as your orgasm worked through you

“mhmm, daddy, oh, fuck, did i do good?”

he was quick, “yeah, baby, you’re so perfect, so messy and wet for me,” he pressed soft kisses to your cheek, nuzzling close to you

it was obvious that you were more fucked out than either of you expected - he definitely didn’t hear anything from the couple in the other stall, but he wasn’t especially concerned either

he suddenly turned you around, pulling your back to his chest, as he unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants, “still want daddy’s cock, baby girl?”

you nod, “yes, please, use me like a toy, make me yours”

he breathed slowly, lining his cock up with your cunt, he needed to control himself or he would come too fast

he plunged in, pausing to breathe, to feel your slick cunt stretching so wide to take all of him - he listened to your whimpers and soft pleas as you adjusted to being full

but he waited to move - and when he did, he was slow at first, feeling every bit of you squeezing him, wanting him

and when you leaned back, “fuck me daddy, fuck me like you want”

the way you gazed up at him told him everything - that you knew - you already knew exactly how he felt

and so he plunged in, setting a quick pace, not being afraid to snap his hips - he wanted to fuck you raw

and when he felt you clenching and fluttering around him, he pulled you close, holding you tight, and reaching down to work your clit, he gasped at the feeling of your third orgasm, the feeling of your slick against the head of his cock was too much

he came, he clenched his teeth together tightly, moaning low against your skin, his cum filling you, he kept moving, slowly fucking his cum deeper into you

“keep it inside baby,” he demanded, breathless, finally letting you go

you nod with a little smile, “what do i get if i do?”

he laughed softly, shaking his head, and fixed his pants

he helped you fix your clothes, glancing to see how massive your pupils were

he stopped and nuzzled close, feeling nothing but tenderness for you, “want to leave?”

you nodded, holding tight to his lapels, “can we still fuck though?”

he smiled, “mmmh, of course we can baby - we can fuck all you want,” he kissed you softly - he meant every word

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨

a/n: happy v day - if you’re not getting fucked tonight, just think of mingyu ^^ we all know he would do it right …every time

♡ kat

tags: @syluslittlecrows

[elegantauthor]

Die With a Smile

Pairing:  Nick Fowler x Reader

Summary:  Nick was ruthless. He would do anything, sacrifice anyone, to get what he wanted. Except maybe you.

Warnings:  friends to lovers, soft smut, threats of death

“…your civilian girlfriend.”

“What about her?” you heard Nick ask, after having only caught a snippet of the previous statement.

“I would like to interrogate her, find out what she knows.”

“Why?” The inflection in Nick’s tone was almost imperceptible. You could practically see his eyes squint, his posture belying his true emotions.

“This isn’t a game.”

“Never said it was,” Nick replied coolly. “You sent me on this op, but you never said I couldn’t recruit help.”

“Either she’s an asset or a problem that needs to be dealt with, swiftly.”

“She has nothing to do with this. She doesn’t know anything. She’s here because I want her to be.”

“Cute.” The man’s English lilt sent a shiver racing up and down your spine. “This girl… she must be important to you. I don’t think I’ve seen you so protective over someone.”

The conversation between Nick and his boss took a nosedive. You didn’t like the implication. Suddenly, you were reminded of the night Nick arrived on your doorstep, his face bloodied and bruised. “I took a beating from my boss.” It was the first time you were privy to the fact that he was more than a CIA officer.

Just as you were about to make yourself scarce, a pair of beefy hands grabbed your upper arms and shoved you into the room.

“Ah, there she is.” Elijah Clarke uncrossed his legs and stood. “I can see why you’re so beguiled, Nick. Tell me, my darling, since Nick refuses, why did he ask you to accompany him?”

You met Nick’s gaze. He looked at you, and the subtle vulnerability in his blue eyes was unlike anything you’d seen from him. “I have a degree in art history. He thought I would be able to authenticate the painting.”

At your answer, the tension in Nick’s shoulders ebbed. “I told you, she doesn’t—”

He was cut off when Elijah raised a finger. “You had your chance to speak.” He turned his attention back to you. “Do you know why I sent him after the painting?”

You shook your head.

“Do you know where it is?”

The question hung thickly in the air, your heart hammering in your chest. You were never a good liar. Part of you knew that Elijah would see through any untruths. Except, it was vital that he didn’t get his hands on the painting. Once you and Nick discovered its origins, the two of you decided the best place for it was locked up in a secure vault, preferably The Vatican. Its secrets could unravel the Creation myth, and you’d deduced the reason Elijah wanted it: to topple world religions and spread anarchy.

Unfortunately, your silence told Elijah everything he needed to know. His features darkened. Pulling his gun from his pocket, he pressed it under your chin. “Tell me where the painting is, Nick.”

When Nick didn’t answer right away, Elijah stepped closer to you. He tilted your chin up with the barrel of the gun, eyes flitting between Nick’s and yours. “I don’t think your boyfriend cares for you all that much.”

You glanced sidelong at Nick, whose expression remained unreadable. Despite his previous candor in defending you, he appeared nonchalant. Your hearing tunneled, picking up on a single faint noise that seemed to fill the entire room—the click of the pistol being cocked.

“All right,” said Nick, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. “I’ll tell you where it is. Let her go…”

~ * ~

Stepping out of the shower, steam coalesced around you. Nick had a towel already prepared. He swathed it around your frame, before lifting you in his arms and carrying you to his bed.

He held you to his chest, threading his fingers gently through your damp locks. The quiet that befell you was punctuated only by the vehicles passing outside his apartment. The low light in the room a comfort, compared to feeling exposed by too harsh fluorescents.

After a moment, he whispered into your hair, “I’m sorry.”

You knew without asking what he was apologizing for—his hesitance. For the first time, you questioned everything about your friendship with Nick Fowler. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

“Let me make it up to you… show you what you mean to me,” he husked softly in your ear.

The icy sting of betrayal gave way to warmth, as he wordlessly shifted his body on top of yours. It wasn’t the first time you and Nick blurred the lines of friendship, but this felt different somehow. Cupping your face between his palms, he leaned in to kiss your forehead, your temple, finally capturing your lips.

He rocked his hips against you, now bared completely as the towel fell away. You felt his hardness through his pants and reflexively arched your body, craving the friction. He growled into your mouth, pooling heat in your stomach.

As you swallowed the sound, Nick unzipped his pants and freed himself, rubbing the tip against your slick folds. He pulled back slightly with a devilish smirk. “Already wet for me, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you demured. You wanted him to know exactly what he did to you, which you hoped he’d remember if there was a next time. Your heart ached a little at the thought.

Nick, perceptive as ever at reading people, interlaced his fingers with yours and pinned your wrists against the mattress. “Look at me, prinţesă.” He didn’t need to say it, instead, you felt his love with every languid thrust. He never broke eye contact. This was as vulnerable as he would get, but you’d take it. Him, his love, and his apology.

[bi-planeandsimple]

I see so many posts worrying about boys and men, and their mental health and their body image issues and be kind to men and men are good and men are hot and it’s okay and good to like men and if you’re really a feminist you can’t hate men and don’t worry men we don’t hate you …and vanishingly few posts about how feminism is actually about freeing women from the hell we exist in. It’s about liberating all women from patriarchy. Vanishingly few about if you are a feminist these are the things killing and hurting women and here is what men can do to stop this. Putting any responsibility on men for the system created by for and of men is too far, I guess.

Like yes, all that is true about men, men are not inherently evil and body positivity is for men too. Sure all that is correct. But can we talk about men as beneficiaries of misogyny and the patriarchy? Women still do the majority of childcare and cleaning/keeping the house while also working full time - and that’s just in America. In other countries it’s even worse. And there are absolutely not enough legal protections for domestic violence victims globally. In America Republicans want to remove no fault divorce which was one small protection for victims of domestic violence. And there is not gender parity in the perpetration of domestic and sexual violence. And It’s not biological - it’s 100% cultural. Rape culture is perpetuated by women too, yes, but that’s likely because we see what happens when we don’t toe the line. At best it’s pointless and at worst we lose our entire world and even life for daring to suggest a man should choose to behave better.

Like so many women came forward for me too. We did our part. We did the scary thing, the brave thing, the right thing. And what happened? Not a lot. A few individuals got charged, but man more women got yelled at for daring to speak up. For daring to tarnish a man’s reputation for “only” for doing xyz. something every man does (which is the problem) or it’s not a big deal or you’re lying for attention etc etc. and there has not been a larger cultural shift for the better I have seen. Andrew Tate got more popular after me too. and many many women are still routinely abused and raped and routinely not believed when they come forward and talk about being abused or raped. We saw amber heard ignored and mocked and belittled by tons of men and women online who fell for the smear campaign Depp paid for. Roe v Wade is gone and now in some states it’s a crime to seek an abortion. And those who rat you out for even wanting one can be rewarded for their trouble. (Which of course means as taxpayers we are paying men to rape women - rape a woman repeatedly until she gets pregnant, call in her desire to get an abortion, get $10,000 - easy peasy for any one who thinks women aren’t human - which is too many men)

Ending patriarchy needs to be the goal. Not passively “believing men and women are equal” that’s not feminism. That’s not an action. You aren’t doing anything. a belief is nothing. Men need to highlight women coworkers who are talked over, give them credit for their ideas publicly, push them forward for raises and promotions, do more around the house, take care of their own kids, provide transport to and pay for abortions, not stalk or attack women who reject them, not spread rumors lies or personal information shared with them in private, not share nudes, not send dick pics unprompted, not create deepfake porn of their exes, and stop perpetuating and supporting rapists and abusers and rape culture.

Stop defending Andrew Tate and Louis CK and Johny Depp and Woody Allen and R Kelly and P Diddy and Cosby and Roman Polanski and Neil Gaiman and and. The list is so long and it’s not even the half of it. Stop defending your cousin your uncle your father your brother your friend. Cause these perpetrators are not all loners born fully formed out of the ether - they have families and friends. Who don’t listen to the wives the girlfriends the sisters the daughters the friends. And so they continue to harm. For years and years and years. Traumatizing dozens of people, or the same people over and over. children too often included. with no consequences and no one to stop them.

This is what it means to be a woman. It’s not about genitals or chromosomes. Of course trans women are women. There are many ways to be a woman. But something we all share is being an ignored inconvenience to larger society. It’s about our harm being expected and accepted. As the cost of doing business. We are An afterthought. For no one to act on our behalf. Most rape victims are women and most rapists are serial rapists. So one individual is hurting lots of women. And is never caught. Or stopped. Or even slowed. But saying “I hate men” because of their collective inaction on liberating women from the hell they benefit from is the real crime. That’s what’s really keeping so many male feminists away from the cause, from doing the work. If we were just slightly nicer then maybe they wouldn’t hurt us would help us.

So I will say to all men: Stop minimizing what abusers and rapists did, listen to women, and take action. Women cannot end the patriarchy on our own. We have been trying, believe me, since so few men join us, and those that do are chased off by other men. But we need all men to step up and take action. Take accountability and make change happen. Stop asking for our sexual histories, stop forcing your creepy friend on us, stop telling women to give him a chance, stop ratting us out for wanting an abortion or otherwise keeping us from getting medical care, whether abortions or hysterectomies, or vaccines or anything else. stop commenting on our weight stop expecting sex ever, start learning more about menstruation start carrying tampons and pads start cleaning up after yourself and cooking your own meals and parenting your own kids and making your own appointments and believing women who say they are being abused or were raped. And then help them. Ask them what they need. Do that.

When the patriarchy ends, everyone benefits, yes even men. When there is no more rape culture male victims will be believed about their rapes too, and treated with the care and respect that all victims/survivors deserve. When there is no more patriarchy and ppl’s worth and rights are not determined based on looks, or passing, this will help cis and trans fat balding men as well as cis and trans fat women to not be discriminated against.

until we seriously address these cultural pitfalls, and until men and boys seriously address their failings in themselves and and in fellow men and boys around them, and until men realize our toxic misogynistic culture is the problem and permanently change the culture, and change their own behavior, we won’t get anywhere. And women globally will remain in hell.

Men shouldn’t feel bad for being men - they should feel bad only if they don’t actively work to destroy the patriarchy every single day. Action vs inaction. That’s what matters. A little perspective is what I would like to see on this site.

The toxic masculinity epidemic and machoization of America is why I'm even less willing to entertain a lot of niceness and cordiality to the "we need to be nicer to and understanding of men these days!" argument because the problem is that these men think they don't need to experience negative consequences for their behavior and I'm tired of it.

As a trans woman who struggled with my identity and experienced a lot of this up close while closeted (and veered from very masculine to somewhat androgynous), and continued to experience it from the other side now that I'm out and actively embracing it (and have been for years now, actively and very feminine-presenting) a lot of this is bullshit and the same pleas for understanding the challenges of women, or of non-binary or intersex people are not extended in the same way, to the same level, with the same fervency.

Why isn't it an alarm bell for society and culture that women aren't being understood or listened to or regarded? There's no movement calling for the reorganization of education and employment on behalf of women who might not be succeeding or progressing as there is with the fucking Richard Reeves motherfuckers and their Men and Boys Crisis invocation.

I'm not saying I'm perfect, or have everything figured out, but I've had to work on myself and grapple with myself to be comfortable and present in society, and I don't see why a lot of men can't be told they should do the same.

[clockwayswrites]

The Haunting of Danny Fenton, p5

masterpost please no crit or editing, I know there are mistakes. this migraine is on day 7 and killing me <3

Danny swiped his finger over one of the hanging crystals in the waiting room window of Marvelous Mina’s Spiritual Nexus: or, in other words, the old, tiny, craftsman building that was crammed between two mid rises that Wilhelmina Aleshire had inherited from her grandmother several years ago.

There wasn’t any sort of spiritual nexus in the place. Mina was actually completely inept at conversing with the dead (Danny excluded). What Mina was unusually skilled at lay in the realm of psychic readings, specifically those involving divination such as tarot and oracle cards. She was also quite good at reading living people.

(Danny might have been a little jealous of that.)

Danny had first stumbled upon Mina and her ‘nexus’ when they were both dealing with the same ghost: him from the spirit itself and her from the bereaved widower of the man. Working together had wrapped things up quite quickly. It had also actually been enjoyable.

Mina was weird, energetic, and curious. It was an overwhelming combination at times, but other times it was just perfect. It was especially welcome when Danny got into a slump of some sort, usually between jobs or partners or when he wanted to kill and then end an annoying new roommate.

Not that he would ever do that.

(But Brad came damn close.)

A crying woman came dashing out through the curtain that separated the foyer waiting room from the sitting room that Mina used for her readings. She wiped dramatically at her eyes as she got to the door, heaved a massive sigh, tossed her hair back, and headed back out into the world.

“Wow. What did you tell her?” Danny asked, not even turning to look at Mina yet, though he knew she would be standing at the open curtain on the edge between the two spaces where old, cracked black and white tiles met darkly stained hardwood painted with hena style flowers.

“Oh, you know, the usual thing people hate to hear; it won’t work out between her and her current boyfriend,” Mina said. She dropped into the seat next to Danny, and he finally turned to look at her. Her mass of dark blond hair was piled up on top of her head in a sort of gibson girl bun that looked effortlessly, messily stylish. Mina was good at that—being effortlessly stylish in a disheveled sort of way. She brushed back her bangs and continued. “He’s actually already being set to be engaged by his family to ‘someone proper’, which he’ll give into for the inheritance—which is all she was after anyways. She’ll get over it.”

“Something something fish in the sea,” Danny said. He reached out and plucked a petal from Mina’s hair. It was from a bright orange zinnia. Mina’s favorite.

Mina hummed. “And how is your fishing going, Mr. Fenton?”

“Currently in an absolute drought, no where to fish around here.”

“Danny, you live in San Francisco. A bi man such as yourself is not allowed to say there is no fish around.”

Danny scowled, “No fish that don’t want to eat me and spit me out.”

“I mean…”

“Not like that!” Danny explained, a quick blush rising on in his cheeks. “I meant like, viciously.”

“I mean…” Mina repeated with a lascivious smirk.

“I regret coming to you for help.”

“No,” Mina whined, drawing out the word. “What help? Do you have a new ghost problem? What sort of help do you need? Danny, let me help!”

Danny managed to glare at her, but only for a few moments before he relented with an over wrought sigh. “Fine, you can help. Can we go talk now or do you have another appointment?”

“Not until four,” she said. She took Danny’s hand and practically dragged him through the door to the right and into the private section of the once stately home. “Which tea do you want?”

“Dealer's choice. Whatever tea you think is best for a weird talk about a weird ghost,” Danny said. He had his favorites of Mina's diverse tea selection, sure, but she had a way of always choosing the best blend foe the day if he left the choice to her.

She narrowed her eyes as she studied Danny in a way that always made the back of his neck itch. He put up with it dutifully, but relaxed noticeably when she nodded and continued them on to the kitchen.

The room was painted a warm, coral orange. The color should have clashed with the the pale blue cabinets and pale butcher top counters, but instead it just worked. It was very Mina.

Danny sat at the table and idly scratched Hubris on the head.

Hubris was Mina’s ancient grey cat. He had one single golden eye left and used it to glare pitifully at whoever was near until the pet him. He also purred like a wood chipper.

“So give me the deets,” Mina demanded once she had set down the two cups of tea.

Danny sighed and took a sip of his tea. “They’re different. It’s not like they’re made of smoke or mist, it’s like they’re full of static. And they don’t look dead either. I actually—I finally got a got a good look at them this last episode.”

“I don’t like the way you say ‘episode’,” Mina said. Her eyes narrowed over the top of her tea cup.

“You shouldn't,” Danny said with a frown as pulled out the sketch and unfolded it. “They’re seizures, I think? Not like I’ve gone to a doctor about them. I don’t think ‘the ghost person touches me and the world goes technicolor kaleidoscope’ would go over well with a medical professional.”

Hubris opened his one eye with a snort as Mina’s cup clanged down onto her saucer.

“Seizures?! Danny! What the f! You can’t just mess around with seizures.”

“You can say fuck, Mina, we’re both adults,” Danny said dryly.

She leaned forward. “I will throw my tea at you, Danny, unless you explain.”

“But I can’t exactly. They’re not a regular ghost, and I’ve never had anything like this happen before. Mina, look. They look alive.” He turned the drawing around to face her and slid it her way. “I drew this after the episode yesterday. I saw them so clearly. Their eyes had a spark, their skin was healthy skin with a flush and everything, and I even think they breathed. I don’t… Mina, I’m worried that they’re not a ghost.”

Mina picked up the sketch carefully. Her brows were furrowed. “But if they’re not a ghost, why are they contacting you?”

Danny shook his head. “No, if they’re not a ghost, how are they contacting me. And why am I their only option?”

“Fuck.”

“Pretty much. But that’s why I’m here. I want to try things a different way. I want you to try and read for them, Mina.”

[toonice113]

False god  ᥫ᭡  M.Barzal

Part two of three of my valentine's series

Part one: Paper rings - Q. Hughes

Part three: Lover - N.Hischier

Pairings: Mathew Barzal x fem!reader 

Genre: smut

Summary: your relationship has ever only existed for a few days at a time inside of the bedroom, that has never been a problem, but today? Today Mat has decided he doesn't want you to leave so soon.

Warnings: smut under the cut minors DO NOT INTERACT, p in v, unprotected sex (pls don’t do this, take care of yourselves), overstimulation, my first time writing smut

Word count: 1.6k

⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚ Writing this note before i write the story to let yall know i have never written smut before so i apologize in advance. Update after writing it, this sucks i cringed at myself and im never writing smut again but oh well i had to at least try it once

When you had started this ‘relationship’ with Mat you knew it was not a conventional one. It began when you met in Italy at a family friend’s wedding you attended, Mat was there as a friend of the groom and things had escalated quickly, first with a drunken makeout session the night before the wedding and then with you two naked in bed after the wedding reception was over. One night became three and then you changed your flight back home to stay with him for a couple more days, days that were spent in between the sheets of his bed, hidden away in his hotel room instead of exploring the beautiful little town you were staying at.

Returning home you had expected the short escapade with Mat to dissolve and become nothing more than a memory, but flirty texts turned into facetime calls into Mat flying you to New York to see him, just like in Italy, your time was mainly spent naked under sheets savoring each other. It had been around a year now, and today you sat in his bed covered only by the white sheets while he stood by the window staring out to the city. “Why can’t you just change your flight?” He argued, his hair messy, his eyes not meeting yours 

“Because it’s my friend’s birthday and I would like to spend it with him” You said frowning, when you mentioned having to leave this afternoon while eating breakfast in bed you hadn’t expected Mat’s reaction to be this but as soon as you told him there was no way you were changing your flight to another day his mood soured

“Doesn’t he have other friends?” He scowled “Why does he need you to be there?” 

“He doesn’t need me to be there, I want to be there. You’re not listening to me right now” You fought back “Why do YOU need me to be here?” 

“Because I do” His response made you snort a laugh making him even more annoyed 

“Please, like there’s not other girls out there that could keep you entertained when I’m not around” He finally turns to look at you “People talk, I know what you get up to when I’m not here Mat” 

He walks towards you, his tall frame looming over you, he can’t help but think about how pretty you look down there and how much he wished your pretty lips were wrapped around his cock right now “Maybe I don’t want any of those other girls” he bends down and gives you a rough kiss, his hands tangling in your hair as he does “And maybe you should put that pretty mouth to work on something other than fighting me” 

Your hands slip through his exposed abs to the waistband of his sweatpants playing with it “‘M not the one fighting” You push the pants down before running one of your hands over the erection in his boxers looking up through your lashes at him “Because there’s no fight, I’m leaving later” not giving him a chance to say anything you finally relieve him of his underwear licking a stripe up his hard dick making him hiss and push you for more 

“Stop talking” He guides your lips to his tip and moans loudly when you put him in your mouth, using your hands to help you stroke what you can’t take “Yeah, just like that, look at you” You moan as a response to him pulling your hair “Bet birthday boy can’t give you this huh” One of his hands lets go of your hair, manhandling you until you’re on your fours, with the sheets no longer covering you his fingers slide down your pussy “So wet baby”

“Mat” You sigh out “Please, no teasing” 

“What do you want baby? Tell me” He teases brushing his fingers through your wet folds putting no pressure to alleviate your needs

“Your fingers, please” You plead, he pushes his cock back into your mouth and finally touches you the way he knows you like 

“Yeah? You wanna come on my fingers?” One of his fingers pushes inside of you making you moan, the vibrations feeling so good on his dick that he can’t help but moan with you “You’re doing so good pretty girl, just like that” he hums when you swirl your tongue around him pushing another finger inside of you and rubbing your clit with his thumb “You can take more than that though” His hand that is still tangled in your hair pushes your head down, you fight him pulling up “No, you can take it baby, I know you can take it” He can feel you pulsing on his fingers making him pick up his pace, your moans drowned by his dick in your mouth “Take it all and i’ll make you come” You shake your head as best as you can to tell him you can’t “No? Okay then” He pulls his fingers out of you making you whine at the loss of contact “You know what to do baby”

“You’re an asshole” You tell him coming up for air before taking him back in your mouth, Mat just chuckles knowing he’s about to get what he wants, relaxing your throat you do down, taking him deeper until you have taken him all 

“Oh yeah” Mat moans “See? I knew you could do it”  After making you come once with his fingers, Mat pushes you down until your back is on the mattress, he wipes your chin off and kisses you harshly before trailing a kiss down your chest until he’s by your hips kissing you there a couple times before his tongue finds your clit, alternating between sucking on it and kissing it

“Mmm Mat” You gasp, your hips pushing up but he holds them in place “Too much, can’t” 

He looks up at you, your hair messily sprung on his pillows, your cheeks flushed, your lips swollen “You taste too good, can’t stop baby, let me eat you out, please, you can take it, give me another one” Your nod is all he needs to go back to devouring you, using his fingers to help him and it doesn’t take long for your to release all over him, your overstimulation speeding up your orgasm

He comes back up with a smile on his face, his lips and chin glistering with your juices “God you’re too good” You tell him pulling him down into a kiss

“And we haven’t even gotten to the best part yet” He says reminding you of the erection that pokes at your stomach, he gives himself a few strokes before teasing your overstimulated pussy making you whine 

“I don’t think I can take another one” You tell him making his smile widen in cockiness, he knows you can come for him again, he’s tested you before 

“I need to remind you that I can give you a better time than whatever his name is can” His dick presses on your opening and even though you’re exhausted your body seems to disagree with you, your hips pushing up looking for more “Just one more and we can rest” 

The moan you let out when he burries himself deep into you has to be his new favorite sound, every time he’s with you he thinks there’s no way things can get better, but they do, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get over how your body reacts to him, how your eyes roll back and your mouth parts, the sounds you make for him, and most importantly, the way your pussy feels so tight around his dick, his hands trail every curve of your body, taking his time especially with your tits as he pumps in and out, pinching your nipples before taking one in his mouth 

“Mat” You whine “‘M close, so close oh god” 

Mat moves to give your other nipple some attention never once interrupting the rhythm of his hips that clap against yours, you come not too long after, your legs curling around his middle, your orgasm triggers his and he finally releases your nipple to give you a kiss before sliding off of you making you hiss in discomfort as he does “Still wanna leave?” he asks laying next to you 

You scoff at him trying to get out of bed to go to the bathroom and clean yourself, but just sitting down is too much work, your body already beginning to ache not only from the three orgasms he gave you just now, but from the ones you shared last night as well, not wanting to show him how spent he’s left you you ignore your body moving to get up, but your legs tremble the second your feet touch the floor, and you know if you stand right now you’ll resemble baby bambi 

“What’s the matter baby, thinking about staying?” Mat laughs behind you getting up and putting his boxers on before walking into his bathroom leaving you sitting there staring at him in annoyance, he doesn’t take too long and when he comes back he has a warm towel in his hands, kneeling down in front of you and cleaning you, then picking you up bridal style and taking you with him to the bathroom sitting you in the toilet so you can pee 

“I’m still leaving” You point at him “Just maybe not tonight” You see his cocky smile thinking he’s won, and technically he has, but not for long because as soon as you’re back in bed, with clean underwear and one of his t-shirts covering you, you change your flight from this afternoon to tomorrow morning