#every time there is a post about heart of the sun i think of this

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

SAFE & SOUND — part 3

Navigating one year post-apocalypse, when the dead began to walk and the living proved to be no better, you decide that trust is a luxury you can no longer afford. But after a run-in with a group of seven peculiar survivors, you learn that there are bigger problems than just the undead roaming the streets. You also start to wonder if there’s more to survival than simply staying alive.

word count: 7.4k

MASTERLIST

Whispers.

Soft at first, like the rustling of leaves in the wind. But they grow louder, more insistent, wrapping around you like tendrils of smoke. You’re alone. Back in the forest, standing in the middle of that clearing.

You spin around, your heart pounding in your chest. They’re here.

Rotters.

They shamble toward you from every direction. Some are missing limbs, dragging broken legs behind them. Others have half their faces torn away, flesh hanging in ragged strips. But it’s their eyes that hold you captive—clear, human, and horrifyingly aware.

They’re whispering.

You can’t make out the words, no matter how hard you strain to listen. The whispers slither into your mind, incomprehensible and maddening, sending a shiver down your spine.

You take a step back. They take a step forward. 

Every time you blink, they’re closer. Closing in, tightening the circle around you. You’re surrounded. 

“Y/N.”

Their whispers begin to merge, forming one singular voice. It echoes through the clearing, sharp and cold, making your blood run icy.

“Y/N.”

It’s louder now. They’ve reached you. Hands—cold, skeletal hands—grab at your shoulders. Tugging. Shaking.

“Y/N.”

The voice isn’t distant anymore. It’s right there. Right in your ear. Your chest tightens, your breath caught in your throat as panic seizes you. The hands grip harder. Shaking you so violently you think they might throw you to the ground. 

There’s nowhere to go.

You’re going to die.

“Y/N!”

You gasp, your eyes flying open. The forest, the rotters, the whispers—they’re gone. Instead, you find yourself staring into a familiar pair of dark eyes. Jungwon’s hands are on your arms, gently shaking you awake.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice soft but steady. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe and sound.”

Your chest heaves, your pulse still racing as the remnants of the nightmare cling to you. Sweat beads on your forehead, and your hands tremble as you push yourself upright.

Jungwon’s brow furrows with concern. “You were shaking. I tried waking you earlier, but you wouldn’t come out of it.”

You swallow hard, trying to find your voice. “It… it was nothing,” you say, your voice hoarse. “Just a nightmare.”

Jungwon doesn’t look convinced. His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before he sighs, leaning back slightly. “You sure?”

You nod, forcing yourself to steady your breathing. “Yeah.” But even as you say it, the whispers linger in your mind, a haunting echo you can’t quite shake.

You take a look around, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as the surroundings come into focus. The others have already alighted the van, their silhouettes moving quietly in the dawn light. The sky is painted in soft hues of orange and pink as the sun slowly rises from the horizon, casting long shadows over the road and surrounding trees.

“Are we there already?” you ask groggily, your voice raspy from sleep.

Jungwon, still seated beside you, reaches for his canister and hands it over without a word. You take it gratefully, the cool water washing away the dry, bitter taste in your mouth.

“No, we ran out of fuel,” he replies.

You glance toward the front of the van, where Ni-ki is tinkering under the hood, muttering quietly to himself. Jake stands nearby, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders, his gaze drifting toward the distant village down the hill.

“Jungwon,” a familiar voice calls from outside. Heeseung appears at the foot of the van, one hand resting on the roof for support. “We’re thinking about checking out the village down there. Hopefully, siphon some gas and scavenge for supplies.”

Jungwon nods thoughtfully, his eyes scanning the horizon. He’s calculating the risks, weighing the possibilities before making his decision.

“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “Let’s do that. But not all of us. Just a few.”

You watch as the group gathers around to discuss the plan, their voices hushed but purposeful. There’s an underlying tension in the air—a shared understanding that every move counts, every decision could mean the difference between life and death.

Heeseung crosses his arms, his sharp gaze landing on Jungwon. “Who’s going?”

Jungwon’s eyes flick between the group, assessing each person in turn. “Jay, Ni-ki, and I. Us three will check out the village. You guys stay here to keep an eye on the perimeter.”

Sunoo lets out a scoff from where he leans against a tree. “You’re sending Ni-ki? What if we need the van fixed while he’s gone?”

“We’re not leaving him behind,” Jungwon says firmly. “If there’s gas to be found, we’ll need someone who knows how to siphon it properly.”

Ni-ki straightens from where he’s crouched by the van, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Relax, Sunoo. I’ll be back before you miss me.”

The feeling of guilt rises again—a familiar weight you’ve carried for far too long. It creeps up your spine and settles deep in your gut. You shouldn’t be sitting here, letting them take all the risks. They’ve already been through enough. And yet here you are, another mouth to feed, another body to protect.

It doesn’t sit right with you.

The words slip out before you can stop them. “No, Ni-ki should stay.”

Jungwon’s gaze snaps to you, his brows knitting together in confusion. “What?”

Ni-ki frowns, his usual playful expression replaced by something more serious. “Why? I’m the only one who knows how–” and he yawns. Self-explanatory.

“Because you’ve been driving all night,” you reply, your tone steady but resolute. “You need rest”

“I know how to siphon gas,” you say, your voice firmer this time. “My dad’s a mechanic back in the province. I used to help him all the time at his shop. I know what I’m doing.”

The group falls silent, everyone turning to look at you. The weight of their stares presses down on you, but you stand your ground, refusing to back down.

“You’ve done it before?” Heeseung asks, tilting his head slightly as he studies you.

You nod. “Plenty of times.”

Jungwon’s expression remains unreadable as he considers your words. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s going to shut you down. Because at the end of the day, whatever he says goes. But when he speaks, his voice is measured but tinged with something you can’t quite place—concern, maybe.

“It’s not just about siphoning gas,” he says. “It’s dangerous out there. You saw what we ran into last night.”

“I know,” you say quietly. “But I can handle it. You need me to do this.”

The silence stretches for a moment before Heeseung speaks up, breaking the tension. “She’s got a point.”

Jay scoffs from where he’s still leaning against the tree, arms crossed over his chest. “This is insane. We barely know her, and you want to let her go off into the village?”

“Jay,” Jake’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and steady. “Again. Not your place to speak.” He doesn’t even look up from the med kit he’s reorganising again for the tenth time, but his tone is enough to silence Jay instantly.

The weight of Jake’s words hangs heavy in the air. You can see Jay tense, his jaw clenching as he looks away. It’s clear Jake hasn’t forgiven him—not entirely. That wound still festers beneath the surface, a quiet reminder of what they’ve lost.

You take a breath, your fingers curling into your palm before you speak. “Trust me. Or better yet, don’t trust me. If anything goes wrong, it’s easier to leave me behind anyway.”

Your words come out too easily. Too naturally. They’re the kind of words you’ve told yourself for days now—an unspoken truth you’ve lived by. The moment they leave your mouth, though, you see the ripple of discomfort they send through the group.

Every one of them shifts, guilt flickering across their faces. Heeseung’s hand falters over the strap of his bag, Sunoo looks away entirely, and even Jay’s hardened expression cracks for a split second.

“Y/N, that’s not—” Heeseung starts, his voice soft with concern, but you cut him off before he can finish.

“I was just joking,” you say quickly, forcing a smile you don’t feel. “Relax, guys.”

But no one laughs. No one even cracks a smile. Instead, their discomfort seems to deepen, the awkward silence stretching longer than you anticipated. It hits you then—you’ve triggered something you didn’t even realise was sensitive. Maybe it’s because those words carry a truth they’ve already lived through. Maybe it’s because the thought has crossed their mind before.

Either way, the tension is palpable. You’ve misjudged your audience.

Jungwon steps forward, his expression calm but serious. His voice, when he speaks, is quiet but firm. “Don’t joke about that.”

His words linger in the air, not harsh, but weighted with something you can’t quite name. There’s something in his eyes—a heaviness, a flicker of guilt or regret—that makes you realise he’s not saying it to admonish you. He’s saying it to comfort himself.

You hold his gaze for a moment, searching for the meaning behind those words. There’s no accusation there. Just a quiet plea.

“Alright,” you say softly, nodding once. “I won’t.”

The group falls into silence again, but it’s different now. Heavier. 

The road leading into the village is eerily quiet, the only sound coming from the crunch of your boots against the gravel. Jay walks a few steps ahead, his bow slung over his shoulder, his posture tense as he scans the area. Jungwon stays closer to you, his gaze sweeping over every abandoned house and overgrown field, ever the vigilant leader.

It’s a small village—the kind you’d expect to see bustling with life, where neighbours of neighbours know one another by name, where doors are left unlocked, and everyone exchanges gifts on Christmas and rice cakes on New Year’s Eve. 

But now it’s nothing more than a graveyard of memories. Weeds grow wild through the cracks in the pavement, creeping up the sides of empty houses. Windows are shattered, doors left ajar, swaying gently in the breeze as if still waiting for someone to come home. Faded signs and rusting bicycles lean against walls that haven’t seen a human touch in years. 

Unfortunately, a small village also means there’s no need for cars to travel around. No gas for you to siphon.

But among the dense field stretching miles out of the village, something catches your attention.

Overgrown crops, long since withered and dead, stretch endlessly in every direction. Tangled weeds twist through the rows, choking out what little life might have remained. And in the middle of it all, sitting like a forgotten relic from a time before, is a tractor. Its rusted frame gleams faintly in the early morning light, patches of red paint barely visible beneath layers of rust and grime.

Gas.

The three of you stop at the edge of the field, taking in the sight.

“That thing’s been sitting there for a while,” Jay says, his tone sceptical. “No guarantee it even has gas left.”

“Only one way to find out,” Jungwon replies, already moving toward it.

You and Jay exchange a glance before following him, cautiously weaving your way through the wild weeds and brittle stalks.

The field is too quiet, too still. The kind of quiet that makes your skin crawl, as though something is watching from the shadows, waiting for the right moment to move. The overgrown weeds brush against your legs, and every rustle sets your nerves on edge. It feels like something is going to pop out from beneath the ground and take a chomp out of your feet. 

The unease prickles at the back of your mind, but you push the feeling aside.

When you reach the tractor, Jungwon pulls out the siphoning kit Ni-ki packed for you. He hands you the tube and a canister. You kneel beside the tractor, unscrewing the fuel cap before inserting the tube.

“Let’s hope this thing’s got something left in it,” you mutter, giving the tube a few pumps. It takes a moment, but then—finally—liquid begins to flow.

Jungwon gives a small nod of approval before stepping back to keep watch. Jay crouches nearby, pulling out a knife and absently running his thumb along the edge of the blade.

The silence stretches as you wait for the canister to fill. The distant rustling of leaves in the breeze is the only sound. Until you decide to break it.

“It might not mean anything, but I would’ve done it too,” you say softly, your voice carrying across the field. Both Jungwon and Jay turn to look at you, confusion flickering across their faces. You meet Jay’s gaze, holding it steady. He knows what you’re referring to, but you spell it out anyway. 

“Going after him—I mean.”

Jay’s jaw tightens, and he looks away. “You don’t have to lie to comfort me. I know what I did was wrong.”

“There’s no right or wrong in the apocalypse. But even if you think it’s wrong, you don’t regret it” you say, your tone calm but unwavering.

Jay’s head snaps back toward you, his brow furrowing. “What are you trying to say?”

You shrug, leaning back slightly on your heels. “What I’m trying to say is, what you’re feeling is valid. If it were up to me, I would’ve shot him in both ankles. Make sure he couldn’t run to begin with.”

There’s a beat of silence. Jungwon shifts slightly, his gaze flickering between you and Jay, but he doesn’t interrupt. He’s listening too.

Jay’s expression is guarded, his lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re not scared to say that? In front of him?” He gestures toward Jungwon with a tilt of his head.

“Why would I be?” You glance at Jungwon briefly before turning back to Jay.

“You probably already figured it out,” Jay says quietly, his gaze fixed on the blade in his hand. “But the whole point of this group—the way Jungwon leads us—is to make sure we don’t become the monsters we ran away from.” He pauses, his jaw clenching briefly before continuing. “Whatever Jake or the others feel about what I did… that’s valid.”

You watch him carefully, noticing the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tighten around the knife as if it’s the only thing keeping him steady. There’s guilt there, deeply rooted, but also defiance. He doesn’t regret what he did—he regrets what it cost him.

“Protecting your loved ones comes at a much too high cost sometimes,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the heaviness of the conversation. “Frankly speaking, if I saw someone I love die in front of me, I’d do much more than just shoot someone in the ankle.”

Jay’s knife stills in his hand. For a brief moment, something shifts in his expression—a crack in the hardened exterior he’s built around himself. In that moment, he looks younger. Less guarded. More human.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, tinged with something close to regret. “It doesn’t bring her back, though.”

“No,” you agree gently. “It doesn’t.”

The words hang between you, heavy with shared understanding. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the sound of the wind rustling through the overgrown field filling the silence.

“But,” you add, your gaze locking on his, “you seem to forget that it’s also human to want justice. Or revenge. Whatever you want to call it.”

Jay lifts his head slowly, his eyes meeting yours. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze—recognition, maybe. Like he hadn’t allowed himself to think of it that way before.

“Justice or revenge,” he repeats, almost to himself. “I guess it depends on who’s telling the story.”

You nod. “Or who’s left to tell it.”

He lets out a quiet exhale, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “I don’t know what that makes me, though. A monster or just… someone who’s trying to survive.”

You offer a faint smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Maybe it makes you both.”

Jay huffs a soft, humourless laugh. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Jungwon, who’s been standing quietly off to the side, finally speaks. “It makes you someone who’s still here. Someone who’s still fighting. That’s all that matters.” His voice is steady, filled with that quiet authority that makes people listen. Jay glances at Jungwon, something unspoken passing between them before he nods. 

The canister fills with a soft glug, and you pull the tube out, wiping your hands on your jeans. You glance at Jay again, his gaze distant as he processes your words. You screw the fuel cap back onto the tractor and Jay picks up the canister.

The three of you head back through the field, the morning light casting long shadows across the overgrown crops. You and Jungwon walk a few feet ahead while Jay trails behind in silence. For the first time, the silence between you and Jay feels a little lighter. A little more bearable.

Jungwon doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the weight of his unspoken words in the way his gaze flickers toward you. He glances at you, then away, like he’s searching for the right moment to speak—or maybe the right words. It’s subtle, but you notice it every single time.

It’s fascinating, really.

Just days ago, back at the auto shop, he was an impenetrable shell. Guarded, unreadable, every word measured and calculated. His presence then felt heavy with the burden of leadership, the weight of keeping the group alive pressing down on his shoulders.

But now? Now, you see something else. There’s a quiet shift in him. A softening. 

It’s in the way his shoulders aren’t as tense, the way his eyes don’t carry the same storm they did before. He still holds himself with purpose, still walks with that quiet confidence that commands respect. But there’s something more now—something vulnerable. Something real.

He’s finally living up to his name.

Garden.

Not the enclosed, walled-off kind. But an open, untamed one. Wildflowers breaking through cracks in stone, soft green creeping over hard surfaces, reaching out toward the light despite everything.

And it makes you wonder if you’ve planted yourself there, too. If, without realising it, you’ve taken root in the cracks he kept so tightly sealed. The thought sends an ache through your chest—one you can’t quite place, one you’re not sure you want to name.

But it doesn’t change the facts.

Your plan to slip away quietly still stands. It has to. The moment you start to care too much, the moment you feel like you belong—that’s the moment everything falls apart. You’ve learned that lesson the hard way, and you’re not about to forget it.

You glance at Jungwon, his gaze once again flickering toward you before settling ahead. There’s trust in his eyes now, trust you never expected to earn. And it terrifies you.

Because when the day comes, when you finally decide it’s time to leave, it won’t be as simple as walking away. You’ll not only have to pull yourself out of that garden—you’ll have to dig. Dig deep. Find every root, every tendril of connection that’s wound itself around your heart, and sever it.

And that’s what scares you the most.

You’ve always been good at surviving. Good at keeping your distance. But something about this group, about him, makes you question whether you’re as detached as you like to think.

You push the thought aside, your grip tightening on the knife at your belt. Not yet. Not today.

For now, you keep walking. 

But with each step, the weight in your chest grows heavier. The more you procrastinate confronting this—the way your walls have started to crumble, the way the cracks are widening—the deeper the roots grow. 

And one day, those roots will grow too deep. So deep that no matter how hard you dig, no matter how determined you are to sever them, they’ll remain. Buried beneath layers of regret, fear, betrayal and everything you’ve been running from.

And deep down, you know this. You’ve always known. 

It terrifies you.

Because in a world where nothing is certain, where survival often means cutting ties and leaving before things fall apart, you can feel yourself tethering to something—or someone—that you’re not sure you’ll be able to walk away from.

Knowing this and yet, you keep walking.

The three of you near the foot of the hill, the climb back to the van just ahead. Your legs ache from the trek, and your mind is still spinning from your earlier conundrum. But just as you’re about to start the ascent, something stops you cold.

At first, you think it must be your mind playing tricks again—another hallucination brought on by exhaustion. But no. These voices are real. They’re vivid, sharp, and far too close.

“Get down,” Jungwon whispers, already crouching low. His eyes scan the surroundings, quickly assessing the situation.

You drop to your knees, heart pounding in your chest. The voices grow clearer, drifting through the trees just ahead.

“When are your stupid friends coming back with the gas?” It’s a voice you don’t recognise—rough, impatient.

“If they’re taking this long, it better be because there’s so much gas for them to siphon,” another voice replies, laced with irritation.

“Or maybe there’s no gas at all, and you idiots are just wasting your time on us.” Sunoo, the ever so convincing diplomat. He might as well tell them to shoot him right there and then.

Jungwon glances up from his crouched position, subtly peering over the tall grass. His blonde hair, ironically, blends into the wildflowers scattered around, making him almost invisible from a distance.

He raises two fingers, silently indicating the number of visible threats.

Jay crouches beside him, his bow already in hand, an arrow notched and ready to draw. “I can easily take them out,” he whispers, his tone steady but eager. “One shot each.”

“No.” Jungwon shakes his head firmly. “Think about it. Sunghoon, Heeseung, and Ni-ki could’ve taken them out themselves. They wouldn’t let themselves get caught off-guard. Which means there’s more of them. Armed. Hidden.”

The realisation sends a chill down your spine. Of course. It’s not just two men holding your friends hostage—there’s a whole group. And they’re lying in wait, hidden in the trees or behind the van, ready to strike if anyone makes a move.

Jay curses under his breath. “Fuck, I knew I should’ve brough the pistol along.”

Jungwon’s jaw tightens, his eyes scanning the area for any possible advantage. His mind is already racing through options, calculating risks. His hand twitches toward the knife at his side, but he doesn’t draw it. Not yet.

“We wait,” he says quietly. “We need to figure out how many we’re dealing with.”

“And if they hurt them?” you ask, your voice wavering despite your best efforts to stay calm.

“They won’t,” says Jungwon, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “Not yet. They want something. And as long as they think they can get it, they’ll keep them alive.”

You swallow hard, nodding. But your eyes drift back toward the direction of Sunoo’s voice, your chest tightening with worry.

The seconds crawl by, the tension weighing heavier with each passing moment. Every whisper from the strangers ahead feels amplified, mingling with the rustling leaves and the distant calls of birds. You try to focus, straining to pick out anything useful—a clue about how many of them there are or where they’re positioned—but the sounds blur together, indistinct and frustratingly useless.

Then, from the corner of your eye, you catch it—a flicker of movement. Your head snaps toward the tail of the van, heart pounding. For the briefest moment, a hand emerges, fingers twitching in a silent signal.

Three.

The hand disappears just as quickly as it appeared, but the message is clear. You nudge Jungwon lightly, your fingers brushing his arm. His gaze follows yours to the spot where the hand had been, and you watch as his expression hardens. His eyes narrow in that calculating way you’ve come to recognise.

Three. 

No—more. The hand reappears, flashing another quick signal.

Five.

Your stomach twists, the tension tightening like a noose around your chest. Five? Does that mean five hidden threats, or five including the two already standing out in the open with your friends? You curse under your breath, frustrated that you hadn’t thought to establish hand signals with them sooner. Anticipating a situation like this should’ve been second nature by now.

Your heart skips a beat as the hand emerges once more. But this time, it’s more than just fingers. You catch a glimpse of hair, dishevelled but unmistakable.

Sunghoon.

His hands are tied behind his back, but he’s doing everything he can to communicate. His fingers form a fist, except for his thumb and index finger, which he cocks repeatedly.

“They’re armed,” Jungwon whispers, his voice low and steady, cutting through your thoughts. He’s already figured it out. Of course he has. Sunghoon’s making the universal sign for guns, cocking his thumb like a makeshift trigger. When he raises two fingers, it clicks.

Two guns.

Three hidden threats.

Five in total.

You turn to look at Jungwon and Jay and it’s pretty clear they figured it out too. Their faces mirror your own dread, their expressions tense and focused. There’s no room for error here. 

Sunghoon’s hand twitches again, slower this time. He forms a clenched fist before making a sweeping motion inwards, his fingers pointing to the back of the van.

“He wants us to come up behind the van,” you whisper to Jungwon, barely able to hear your own voice over the pounding of your heart. Jungwon gives a slight nod, his eyes never leaving Sunghoon.

But then Sunghoon’s fingers start counting down.

Five.

Wait, what?

Four.

Panic flares in your chest. What’s the plan? There’s no time to figure this out.

Three.

Jungwon’s jaw tightens, his hand inching toward the hilt of his blade.

Two.

If you rush out now, you’ll be spotted. You know it. You’ll be shot before you even make it to the van.

One.

You freeze.

“So, what’s the plan, lady and gentlemen?” Sunoo’s voice rings out, light and sarcastic despite the weight of the situation. “Gonna stand there all day?”

He’s creating a distraction. Of course he is. Turning the strangers’ attention to him, giving you a window of opportunity to sneak around. For a brief moment, you’re struck by how well this group operates together—how they fill in the gaps for each other. It’s seamless, even in chaos.

You also catch the nuance in Sunoo’s words. Lady and gentlemen. One woman. Four men.

One of the men steps closer, his rifle glinting in the light. “Keep talking, pretty boy. See how that works out for you.”

“I understand,” Sunoo says lightly. “But I really do need to pee. Would you be so kind as to help me out?”

The man doesn’t even flinch. “No. Pee your pants.”

Sunoo lets out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, come on. I know it’s the apocalypse, but you can’t strip me of my basic human rights. Back in the day, you’d be charged with kidnapping on multiple counts.”

“This isn’t ‘back in the day’ now, is it?” says one of them.

“Fine. But at least unzip my trousers and help me take it out, please!" you make a mental note that Sunoo and lack of decorum do not go well together, even in the apocalypse.

The man’s face twists in disgust, and a woman’s voice pipes up from the other side, exasperated. “Ugh. Just help him.”

There’s shuffling. Movement. Now.

You push yourself off the ground, body low as you crawl across the curb and step into the open road. You creep behind the van, the gravel crunching quietly beneath your boots. Jungwon and Jay follow close, silent shadows trailing in your wake.

Sunghoon stands just a few feet away, Jake perpendicular from him, both still bound. The tension between the three of you is palpable, a shared understanding that one wrong move could cost everything.

Unfortunately, from your position, you can't see where the oppressors are without risking exposure. The van offers some cover, but it’s not enough to make a clear assessment. Your pulse drums steadily in your ears as you scan your surroundings, searching for any advantage.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you notice Jake shifting slightly. At first, you think he’s adjusting his position, but then a glint catches your attention—a flash of sunlight reflecting off the knife secured in his belt. Your brow furrows, curious.

Jake moves again, this time more deliberately, tilting the blade just enough to catch the light. The reflection bounces toward the treeline, and you realise with a start that he’s not just adjusting—he’s positioning himself to show you something.

He’s using the reflection to signal.

You narrow your eyes, focusing on the faint gleam in the knife. It flickers as Jake tilts it, revealing small glimpses of what lies beyond your line of sight. Through the distorted image in the reflection, you can make out the silhouette of a woman standing near Sunghoon. She’s clinging to the arm of a man with a rifle.

Jake tilts the knife again, revealing two more figures standing near the van’s hood. They’re not moving much, but the muzzle of a rifle glints faintly in the light.

Four.

Your chest tightens as you try to piece together the situation. You glance at Jungwon, who’s crouched nearby, his gaze locked on the same reflection. His lips press into a thin line as he absorbs the information.

Four by the van. One unaccounted for.

“What? Are you going to watch me pee?” Sunoo’s voice drifts through the trees, loud and mocking. He sounds far too relaxed for someone tied up and at gunpoint. It would almost be funny—if it wasn’t terrifying. But you know exactly what he’s doing—keeping the focus on himself. No, not just that. 

The pieces fall into place. Four by the van. One with Sunoo. Two confirmed firearms.

You take a risk, tilting your head just enough to peek beyond the edge of the van. The road stretches out before you, dappled with sunlight filtering through the trees. And then you see it—an opportunity.

Your gaze sharpens as the woman catches your attention again. She’s unarmed, still clinging to the man with the rifle, her hands trembling slightly. The way her fingers grip his sleeve, the tension in her posture—it tells you everything. She’s scared. Not just for herself, but for him.

Girlfriend? Wife? Sister? It doesn’t matter. It’s a weakness. 

Your heart pounds as you glance at Sunghoon, signalling with a subtle nod. He inches to his left, giving you a clear path. Every movement is slow, deliberate. The woman remains oblivious, her focus entirely on the man she’s holding on to. You shift your weight, exchanging a glance with Jungwon. His eyes narrow, and in an instant, he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

Don’t.

The silent message is written all over his face. His hand twitches, reaching toward you, a last-ditch effort to stop you. But you’ve already made up your mind.

You step out from behind the van, your footsteps soft but purposeful. The knife in your hand feels like an extension of your arm. The woman’s head snaps up as she senses your presence, her eyes widening in shock.

Before she can react, your arm wraps around her neck, pulling her close. The blade presses against her throat, just hard enough to make her freeze. A gasp escapes her lips—a fragile sound, filled with fear.

“Move and I’ll slit her throat,” you say, your voice cold and unyielding. Something in it that scares you even. The woman stiffens in your grip, her breath catching in her throat. The man in front of her spins around, his rifle swinging toward you before he freezes, wide-eyed and panicked. 

Beside you, Jungwon stays hidden, crouched low behind the van. He signals to Jay with a subtle nod, motioning for him to circle around to the front of the van now that every pair of eyes is locked on you.

“Let her go!” he shouts, his hands tightening around the weapon.

"Not a chance," you reply, pressing the blade just a little closer to the woman’s neck. Her breath hitches, a strained gasp breaking through the tense silence. She trembles in your hold, her fingers clawing weakly at your arm—not to fight you off, just instinct, pure desperation. Her nails barely scrape your skin, like she knows it won’t help but can’t stop herself from trying.

You know what must be running through her mind. You wonder if she feels like prey in a trap, heart pounding, mind racing to find a way out. Your mind spirals further, unwanted thoughts clawing at the edges of your focus.

This moment is a reflection. A sickening déjà vu.

Would this woman be feeling what their friend felt when that man held her at knifepoint? 

Would this man be feeling what Jay had felt when he witnessed his loved one on the verge of death?

Would they see you in that same light? 

Then again, why would you care what they think about you? It’s not like you’ll be staying long anyway.

So, you don’t let go. You can’t let go. Because you know what will happen when you do.

The man with the rifle looks like he’s calculating his odds, his gaze flicking between you and your hostage. The tension is palpable, each second stretching out endlessly. The woman whimpers, her body trembling against you. She’s scared. Good. Fear keeps people compliant.

“You don’t have to do this,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “We didn’t come here to hurt anyone.”

You scoff, the sound bitter in your throat. “Funny. That’s not what it looks like.”

The man with the rifle shifts again, and your grip on the woman tightens. “You really want to test me?” you ask, tilting your head slightly. “Because I promise you, I don’t care about her life nearly as much as you do.” 

“No!” he shouts, his voice raw with desperation, his grip loosening on the rifle. “Don’t hurt her!”

For a moment, everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion. The trees sway gently in the breeze, the leaves rustling like whispers of a long-forgotten world. The morning sun filters through the branches, casting dappled shadows on the road. And yet, all you can focus on is the pulse beneath your hand—the steady, panicked thrum of the woman’s heartbeat against your arm.

Mentally slapping yourself out of your trance, you command. “Drop your weapon.”

He hesitates, his knuckles whitening around the rifle. His fear is palpable, radiating off him in waves. You press the knife just a fraction deeper against the woman’s skin, enough to make her whimper. “I said, drop it.”

The man hesitates for a long moment, his grip tightening. His gaze flickers to the woman in your grasp, then back to you. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he weighs his options. But you also see something else. 

Fear. Not fear of you—but fear of losing her.

That’s the thing about love, isn’t it? It makes you vulnerable. It cracks you open, gives someone the power to hurt you. And if someone knows where to press, that love becomes a liability.

Slowly, he lowers the rifle, the barrel pointing toward the ground.

“Good,” you say, your tone steady. “Now kick it over.”

The rifle skids across the asphalt, stopping just a few feet from Jungwon. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Jungwon’s expression—tense, calculating, but not surprised. He moves slowly, staying low as he presses himself closer to the van, positioning himself to take control of the situation once the opportunity presents itself.

"You don’t want to do this," another man, closer to the hood of the van, says slowly. His voice is calm, measured. Too measured. Like he’s trying to steady not just himself, but the entire situation. His eyes flick between you and the woman you’re holding. He’s trying to be the voice of reason, the negotiator, but there’s a tremor in his tone—one he can’t quite hide.

"You don’t want to hurt her."

"Don’t tell me what I want," you snap, your voice cutting through the tense air like a blade. Your grip on the knife doesn’t waver, but inside? Inside, it’s chaos.

Because he’s right. You don’t want to hurt her. Not really. Not if there’s another way out. They’ve got guns and they’re desperate, just like you. 

Desperation makes monsters of everyone.

The thought claws at the edges of your mind as you adjust your grip on the woman. She’s trembling, tears slipping down her face, but she stays silent. Her breath comes in short, shallow gasps, her chest heaving against your arm. You can feel her fear, taste it in the air, and it makes your stomach turn.

This whole situation, it’s just the natural order of things now. The strong preying on the weak. Demanding supplies, food, whatever it takes to keep their own people alive. You’ve seen it before, lived through it. Hell, there’s a whole organisation running rampage out there doing exactly that.

Regardless of their intentions and how they do it, it’s survival. But that doesn’t make it any easier to stomach.

And you know—you know—these people aren’t much different from you and your group. They’re just trying to survive, trying to keep moving, to keep the people they care about alive. They don’t want to hurt you any more than you want to hurt them. At least not until you give them a reason to.

And you did. The moment you grabbed the woman, the second your knife pressed against her throat, you gave them all the reason they needed to pull the trigger. Because you touched something they care about.

That’s the thing about people. It’s all about who and what they care about. And when you touch it, threaten it, everything changes. Logic, reason, morality—it all flies out the window. And now? Now they’re counting down the seconds until they can shoot you in the face without a second thought.

But they forget one thing.

They touched your people first.

"You’ve got about thirty seconds," you say, your voice steady, cold. "Drop all your weapons, let my people go, or I swear I’ll slit her throat."

You glance at Jungwon out of the corner of your eye. He’s still crouched low behind the van, waiting, watching. His expression is unreadable, but you know him well enough now to see the tension in his shoulders, he’s waiting for the right moment.

Jay is out of sight, somewhere on the other side of the van. You can’t see him, but you know he’s moving, circling, trying to find an angle. Trying to protect your group the only way he knows how. 

Your gaze flickers to the others. Jake and Heeseung is still bound, but their eyes are locked on you, a mix of shock and something like pride flickering in their expression. Sunghoon remains frozen, his body tense but ready to spring into action the second he gets a chance. Ni-ki is pinned down on the hood of the van but his eyes are on you, unwavering, waiting.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a flicker of movement in the treeline—Sunoo. His figure is barely visible through the dense foliage, but you can tell his hands are free. He must have managed to cut through the rope binding him, probably using the rough bark of a tree. That—or the guy tasked with watching him isn’t very good at his job.

You keep your gaze locked on the man in front of you, careful not to let your eyes betray Sunoo’s presence. The last thing you need is for them to catch on. Instead, you let your peripheral vision do the work, tracking Sunoo’s slow, deliberate movements as he inches forward, his footsteps light and calculated.

He’s closing the distance. The guy guarding him hasn’t noticed. Too busy shifting from foot to foot, fidgeting nervously with his knife. He’s jittery. Out of his depth. They’ve clearly never done this before. Not properly, at least. There’s no confidence in the way he stands, no calm resolve you’d expect from someone used to wielding power.

But the man closest to you—the one with everything to lose—is different.

His jaw clenches tight, muscles flexing as he shifts his weight. You can tell he’s getting impatient, barely containing his frustration. His hand twitches at his side, fingers curling and uncurling like he’s itching to do something, anything. He keeps glancing at the rifle on the ground—probably kicking himself for letting go of it in the first place.

“What’s your plan here?” he sneers, voice low and venomous. His eyes bore into you with disdain. “Think you’re walking out of this alive?”

God, you hope so.

But hope isn’t a strategy, and you know that better than most. You don’t answer him. Instead, you move deliberately, swinging your free hand up to cover the woman’s face, pressing your palm over her eyes. She gasps, stiffening in your grip, her hands scrabbling weakly at your arm. She doesn’t fight hard enough to hurt you—too paralysed by fear. 

The man in front of you frowns, taking a cautious step forward, his confusion clear in the crease of his brow. Yes, that’s right. Let him think you’re escalating the situation. Let him think you’re panicking, acting out of desperation.

But It’s nothing more than a calculated move—meant to look like you’re trying to intimidate her further. Really, it’s to cover her vision. Keep her from seeing Sunoo.

“Shh,” you murmur harshly against her ear, low and threatening. Your voice doesn’t waver, even as your heart pounds relentlessly in your chest. She lets out a muffled whimper, trembling, and you press your hand more firmly over her face. The other man with the rifle steps forward, his brow furrowing in confusion. Perfect. Let him focus on you. Let him take the bait.

Sunoo is closer now, creeping along the treeline like a shadow. His footsteps are almost silent, his movements fluid and precise. He’s patient, careful. Waiting for the right moment.

Behind you, you sense Jungwon shift slightly, adjusting his stance. You know he’s seen Sunoo too. His hands hover near the discarded rifle on the ground, his body taut like a coiled spring, ready to move at a moment’s notice.

But it’s Jay’s absence that nags at the back of your mind. Where is he? He should have circled around by now, taken position. The fact that he hasn’t reappeared yet only heightens the tension coiling in your chest.

“Let her go,” the man demands, his voice harder now. “We’re done playing games.”

Games? You almost laugh at that. This isn’t a game. This is survival. Still, you keep your tone even, your grip steady. You tilt your head, letting a slow smirk curl at the corners of your mouth. “It’s kind of fun though, isn’t it?” you mock, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “This little game.”

Sunoo’s almost there now. Just a few more steps. He’s inching closer, creeping along the treeline with the precision of someone who knows how to stay invisible. His hands flex at his sides, ready to act.

And then—

The sharp crack of a branch echoes through the air like a gunshot. The noise is deafening in the tense silence, slicing through the moment like a blade. Your heart lurches into your throat as the man with the rifle reacts instantly, swinging his weapon toward the sound, his finger tightening on the trigger.

“Sunoo—now!” you shout, your voice breaking through the moment of standstill.

Bang.

A singular gunshot rings out.

part 2 - warmth | masterlist | part 4 - ?

♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

notes from nat: *laughs menacingly* i'll shout out the person who guesses the title of the next part first when i post it HAHAHA also lowkey had a breakdown writing this part because of the whole sequence at the back. it was so challenging trying to portray her anxiety and levelheadedness at the same time.

perm taglist. @m1kkso @hajimelvr @s00buwu @urmomssneakylink @grayscorner @catlicense @bubblytaetae @mrchweeee @artstaeh @sleeping-demons @yuviqik @junsflow @blurryriki @bobabunhee @hueningcry @fakeuwus @enhaslxt @neocockthotology @Starryhani @aishisgrey @katarinamae @mitmit01 @youcancometome @cupiddolle @classicroyalty @dearsjaeyun @ikeucakeu @sammie217 @m1kkso @tinycatharsis @parkjjongswifey @dcllsinna @no1likeneo

taglist open. 1/2 @sungbyhoon @theothernads @kyshhhhhh @jiryunn @strxwbloody @jaklvbub @rikikiynikilcykiki @jakesimfromstatefarm @rikiiisoob @doublebunv @thinkinboutbin @eunandonly @wilonevys @sugarikiz @jellymiki @adoredbyjay @rebeccaaaaaaaa @strawberryhotlips @baedreamverse @bamguetismee @flwwon 

non-gray/underlined = cannot tag

[justallihere]

i've been talking about this for two months now, but we're past onyx storm and i'm finally far enough into this fic that i'm almost ready to start posting, which means. . .

dead on arrival chapter 1 will be coming your way on feb 3rd!

this is a bones-inspired modern au, and i'm in love with every moment of it so far. i can't wait to start sharing it with you, but in the meantime, here's the summary - and below the cut, a longer look into the first bit of chapter 1

Violet Sorrengail is a forensic anthropologist good with only one thing: dead people. Their bones speak a language only she can hear, but the living aren't quite so easy to understand - particularly one FBI Agent Xaden Riorson, who does everything possible to get under her skin. When an unexpected murder victim washes up in DC, the ensuing investigation brings them closer together despite her every effort to stay away, and she's forced to decide if the careful distance she keeps around her heart is really worth it.

There was a dead body.

That was what the text message said anyway, the one that interrupted Violet Sorrengail’s music with a cheerful little ding and made her flinch. It popped up on the screen of her car—from FBI Agent Xaden Riorson.

7:03 am There’s a dead body. I’ll pick you up in 10. 

When she read it, she rolled her eyes. Of course there was a fucking dead body. That was the only reason he ever texted, called, emailed, or otherwise contacted her. There was a steady stream of texts from him dating back six months, from their first case together, all variations of: Got a body. On my way to pick you up. Any updates on the case? Why aren’t you in the lab? I have new evidence for you. Never so much as a hello or a how are you. If his neck was more easily reachable, she would have strangled him by now, but as it was, he stood about fifteen inches taller than her, and Violet hated both high heels and step stools, so he got to keep breathing. For now. 

A bark came from the passenger seat. She spared a glance at Tairn and found the dog was already glaring at the car screen, as if he knew exactly who had texted. He held a special sort of contempt for Xaden Riorson that Violet didn't think he'd ever shown anyone she knew, and he'd been her service dog for almost three years.

She was stuck at a red light, so she took a fortifying drink of her coffee and then plucked her cell phone out of the second empty cup holder to respond. 

7:04 am  it’s 7 in the morning on a monday y tf do u think i’m in the lab already. i’m 20 min away 

Riorson hated shorthand text. Violet normally didn’t do it, but once, in a hurry, she’d typed bc instead of because, and it was the first thing he’d commented on the next time he saw her. She’d made it a point ever since to shorten as many words as possible. 

7:04 am  Then I’ll pick you up in 20. Washed up from the Potomac at a park in Alexandria a couple hours ago.

Sounded lovely—and unstable for her, given it had rained the entire weekend before and she could break or dislocate just about anything with a single wrong look.

It took her twenty-two minutes instead of the promised twenty to get to the lab, and she felt confident Riorson was losing his mind. He had a thing for punctuality that bordered on compulsive. Sure enough, he was already there, his government-issued SUV parked next to her usual spot. He stood outside it, leaning against the closed driver’s door, wearing a sleek black suit and aviators, not a strand of dark hair out of place. He looked the perfect picture of professionalism, were it not for the tattoo on his left arm that wound from wrist to jawline. The early morning sun gilded his brown skin, and he looked almost ethereal. It was both infuriating and unfair how beautiful he was, but he made up for it by being a complete and utter dick most of the time. 

Riorson was too composed to show any outward signs of impatience, but Violet was sure he was counting the seconds it took her to gather her coffee, her phone, and her bag and climb out of her own car to join him. Instead of waiting for her to round the car and open the passenger door, Tairn followed her out of the driver's side, his leash trailing. She didn't bother to pick it up; he stuck close to her side regardless, his nose nearly against her thigh.

“I need to go inside and get waders,” she informed Riorson instead of offering any polite greeting. She knew he certainly wasn’t going to offer her one. She skirted around the back of his car to the passenger side. She was wearing jeans and a white sweater and sneakers—not exactly appropriate attire for investigating a dead body on a riverbank. “I’ll be right back.” 

“Your waders and boots are in the trunk, and Sloane has the rest of all your fancy tools and equipment. She rode ahead to the scene with Rhiannon.” 

Well, that at least answered the question of which intern was on the schedule today. And hopefully Rhiannon was far enough ahead of them that she’d be done with her preliminary analysis by the time Violet got there. If this was the FBI’s problem, and Riorson wanted Violet there, then the remains were presumably in bad shape. 

Violet opened the back door for Tairn and stood back as he jumped inside, settling on the nice leather seats without a care for his claws. There were scratches in the material already, but Violet was sure most of them came from Xaden's own dog, Sgaeyl. She wasn't a service dog like Tairn, but Riorson had brought her around a few times, usually when a case called them in on a weekend or late at night. Tairn used his teeth to tug his leash closer when it dangled, and then sat back on his haunches, looking at her expectantly. She shut the door.

Violet climbed into the passenger seat, dropping her bag at her feet and her coffee in one of the cup holders, then buckling her seat belt as Riorson climbed in next to her, starting the car without a word. 

He was seemingly allergic to music, so they almost always rode in silence. Violet was never quite sure why he felt the need to drive her to crime scenes. She could just as easily get herself there, or hitch a ride in the forensics van with Rhiannon or Ridoc. But since the very first case, he’d insisted, and he was about as much fun to argue with as a brick wall, and some things simply weren’t worth the energy to complain about. 

Every so often, Tairn would make a little chuffing noise in the back seat, but he didn't actually lean forward and alert, so she ignored him. He was always restless and grumbling around Xaden. Despite his relative youth, he acted remarkably like an old man.

"So why are we going to Alexandria?" Violet asked skeptically as Riorson weaved expertly through the early morning DC traffic, heading the opposite way Violet had just come from. She had a charming, spacious house in Georgetown she'd received as a gift from her father, with a secluded backyard and even a small heated pool. As one of the most renowned forensic anthropologists in the world, she made good money, enough to cover the utilities and the property taxes and insurance with ease, but it was still far too rich of a neighborhood for her; she never could've afforded it outright. There had been questions for a while about where the money came from for her father to afford to buy her such a place, if it had been earned through legal means, but after six months of investigating when she first got the deed, everyone had stopped looking into it, and she'd been able to finally move in with no problems.

She'd been there for three years now with no additional issues. She suspected that was her mother's doing, but Lilith Sorrengail had never admitted it outright.

"Because that's where the dead body is?" Riorson offered dryly without taking his eyes from the road.

Violet huffed, and Tairn echoed the noise behind her. "It's in Virginia," she said, like it should've been obvious, because it should have. "What makes this the FBI's problem? Shouldn't local police get first dibs?"

"They don't want it," he answered. "The remains are in bad enough shape that we need you, Sorrengail. Do you really think Alexandria PD has the resources to investigate this?"

"Do you really think I know anything about the resources Alexandria PD has?" she countered. She didn't, and she didn't want to. That fell into the pile of things that were very firmly not her problem. Her brain had a lot of room, but local police jurisdiction wasn't really something she bothered to make space for. Riorson gave her bodies, and she told him how they died. That was her job.

He did look at her then, a brief, cutting glance from the corner of his eye. "I thought you knew everything."

She rolled her eyes. "Obviously not, Riorson."

A little smirk curled up one corner of his mouth, but he didn't say anything else.

Violet spent the rest of the car ride braiding her hair. She kept it long, and she liked to wear it loose, but her work didn't often lend to it. When she was younger, her older sister, Mira, had braided it into a crown for her when she'd gone through a phase of reading only princess books, and had taught her to do it herself as a teenager. It had quickly become her signature style in college and while she completed her PhD; it was the easiest way to ensure it was all out of the way while she was in the lab or on the university's body farm, studying decomposing remains. Beyond its practicality, she just thought it was pretty, especially because the ends of her hair were leached of all pigment, so the silver strands looked interesting all weaved together.

It was a challenge in the car—she had to lean forward to flip her hair over and start the plait at the back of her head, which didn't do great things for her heart rate—but it wasn't the first time she'd done this and it wouldn't be the last. She had hair ties and pins in her bag that she held between her teeth until she needed them.

By the time she was done, they'd reached the crime scene. The park was right on the Potomac River, and already blocked off with yellow tape. Riorson eased the SUV around a group of civilians standing and tittering as they watched the FBI forensics team as they gathered evidence. Violet couldn't find her own people among the sea of navy jackets, so they must have been closer to the river.

She hopped out and paused when her head spun, bracing a hand on the open door. Tairn barked, scratching at the door she hadn't yet opened for him.

"You good, Violence?" Riorson paused, leaning back down to look at her through his own open door. His sunglasses slid down his nose, revealing dark eyes and long, thick lashes.

She lifted her head enough to glare at him. "Don't call me Violence."

[topzsun]

MISS YOU MORE

── ♡ YUU NISHINOYA

"You heave yourself up a familiar hill that you were sure didn’t take this much energy to reach before. You sit yourself down under the singular tree situated. You keep your posture polite, as if invading the space meant for someone’s ghost. When the popsicle first hits your tongue, you cry."

(i)

Most days, you can shrug off the pain that comes with missing Nishinoya Yuu.

However, when it’s especially sunny out, or you see soda-flavoured popsicles being sold in convenience stores, you are reminded. When you think of your sleepy hometown, you are reminded. When you pass by children aimlessly tossing around a volleyball, you are reminded.

His grin had been infectious. His eyes would crease at the corners and his smile lines prominent. The sun would catch the brown hues of his eyes in time for you to, in that split second, believe you were graced by the presence of a wild deity. However, Yuu is painfully human, as the next minute he bites into his popsicle too quickly and gives himself a painful pause. You can’t stifle your laughter even when he glares at you meaninglessly, because he’s still smiling even at the expense of his dignity. He used to do anything to make you laugh.

When asked, you would say you were still in contact with members of Karasuno’s Volleyball Club. It’s a gross overestimation of the ‘contact’ you still have. They are accounts sitting on your phone, still following with stories unwatched and posts unliked. You were up-to-speed with the fact that Ryuunosuke Tanaka and Kiyoko Shimizu were married. You knew Hitoka Yachi works for her mother’s design company, and that she still meets with Kei Tsukushima and Tadashi Yamaguchi based on pictures together. Asahi Azumane is a rising designer in Tokyo. Hinata Shoyo and Kageyama Tobio made themselves impossible to miss, their names and photos circling the internet and live television on every sports network. The point is that you knew where everyone was, and that was a good enough connection as you can manage. You didn’t need to read the messages Yachi last sent you in 2015. You didn’t need to pay attention to the fact that there was an impromptu group meetup with a handful of alumni just a few months ago. You didn’t need to scroll through Yuu’s untouched Instagram account from a decade ago, his last photo had been a grainy and over-filtered selfie with Tanaka and Ennoshita.

Yuu had, for the most part, completely disappeared from your reach. There was the option to message someone who would know where he was, Azumane and Tanaka being the first to pop into your mind. Yet, terror fills you at the notion, an anxiety that leaves you trembling as you blearily thumbed through the interface of the social media app. You always shut your phone before your impulsive thought reached fruition, and you considered deleting the app entirely if it weren’t for the fact you found comfort in knowing where everyone is, as they simultaneously knew nothing about where you were. Most days, however, it was a rude reminder of the bottom of the rung from which you squander, and the heights they have reached since graduation.

Despite your ever-growing list of regrets, not holding onto Nishinoya Yuu had been your biggest one.

“Let’s get married,” He had said under the glow of the setting sun. The apples of his cheeks were a lovely shade of red and your heart danced in tandem with the leaves blowing past gently. The grass underneath you feels more like a cloud, and you’re lightheaded under the weight of Yuu’s declaration. Not now, you tease him, you haven’t even graduated yet. He sits up immediately, eyes wide and shining as a grin graces his lips.

“So you’re saying we can get married after I graduate?” He wiggles his eyebrows comically at you, and you bat his arm where you lay. Maybe, you had said and he followed your response with a series of kisses pressed against your heated, flustered skin while you squirm and laugh.

If you could go back to that summer evening, you wouldn’t have thought twice before following him straight to the municipal office. Anything to have him in reach, kept him where you could still love him.

(ii)

When your morning begins with the ring of your phone, you do not suspect anything out of the ordinary. Your new manager had become audaciously comfortable in abusing your number at every minor inconvenience—“The numbers just aren’t adding up” or “I have a lot on my plate, go teach the new interns”. So you wait until the fifth ring, a small act of rebellion and spite before you inevitably have to answer to a problem above your pay grade. When it’s Kiyoko Shimizu’s name that pops onto your screen, you nearly drop the device. A blurry contact photo of her Tanaka together, her contact name that is unchanged from when you were in your third year, and the way she does not call a second time. It is her, and not a cruel trick of the imagination. You count to three hundred before you hesitantly press on the call-back function. She picks up on the second ring, and her voice doesn’t burst intrusively into your speaker. Dulcet, as you remember it, with a twinge of something more merry in her tone.

She says your name in fondness and it makes your stomach sink, and when she repeats it a second time you can only nervously laugh.

“I’m sorry, I can just hardly believe it,” And that had been the truth. “It’s so good to hear from you,” You weren’t sure if you meant it. She cheekily corrects you when you tactfully greet her as Shimizu-senpai, and you pretend to be awed by her marriage and congratulate her as if the news isn’t laughably old to you. Reminiscent of old behaviours, she jumps straight to the topic after some idle talk. A reunion, she said, to get as many members of the old team together as possible. An overdue meetup. You are submerged underwater and drowning, unable to claw for air as your throat threatens to collapse. Your mind swam with possibilities, of implications, of everything that can and will go wrong. Who will be there, and what will they want to know? Your carefully crafted isolation is gone, all because you never mustered the strength to cut the last cord tying you to Miyagi. Your silence awards you with another concerned call of your name, and you manage to stammer out an excuse in half-lucidity about your work, schedule, train tickets and anything that could placate your lack of answer now. She pacifies you with a passive, understanding response before promising to check in later and hangs up. It leaves you alone with running tap water, and a glass tipped over in the sink.

(iii)

Miyagi greets you as if it had been frozen in time. You view everything from the same hazy, saturated tint as you were a teenager. The breeze feels colder, there is more life breathed into nature than the city you dwelled in, and glimpses of your memory threaten to peek as you note spots that should be familiar to you.

When your eyes scan over a certain signage, your heart sinks. From an outsider’s perspective, the idea of a convenience store overwhelming you with nostalgia sounds pathetic. Yet it is on Sakanoshita Market’s property where everything happened.

He almost forces the popsicle into your hand despite your string of protests. I owe you one, he had said in relation to last week’s cram study. Your notes saved my life, he insisted though you didn’t exactly feel too great about the fact your notes merely helped him scrape by a passing mark. You don’t rain on his parade, so you gingerly pluck the cold treat from his hand and much to your horror, he bites his own. It was like watching a snake unhinge its jaw as he finished the popsicle within two chomps. When he meets your aghast stare, he smiles cheekily. Efficient, he said and so you take extra care in enjoying the treat and he laughs at your stubbornness.

The bell above the door rings as you enter. You are almost disappointed to find that instead of Coach Ukai’s blonde head of hair, you spy a gangly-looking teenager at the counter. He had been reading something under the table, that much was obvious, but upon the alert of your arrival, he fumbles to stand up straight and shove the source of his distraction away. Whatever he finds on your face, likely no recognition of being his boss, appeases him and he relaxes all the while greeting you politely. He doesn’t bother you as you make a beeline through the aisle, stopping at the refrigerator. You pick up one cola-flavoured popsicle. The cashier boy rings it up but eyes you for a split second for your single purchase. He’s likely not used to older people buying snacks popular with school kids.

When you leave, your feet take you through the grass that cuts the street. You heave yourself up a familiar hill that you were sure didn’t take this much energy to reach before. You sit yourself down under the singular tree situated. You keep your posture polite, as if invading the space meant for someone’s ghost. When the popsicle first hits your tongue, you cry.

(iv)

Your hand hovered over the handle far longer than you wanted to admit. It was the final crossroad in which you could back out, but upon silent admission that this would render your motel costs, your nice dressing, and your taxi ride here useless, you finally push down your wave of nausea.

It’s not Kiyoko who greets you, but Tadashi Yamaguchi who had been conveniently idling near the door in wait for Tsukishima. He greets you politely, a high pitch to his voice you recognise from when he would find you before morning practice followed by the term of respect senpai. Even as your vision began to blur under the intensity of the gold lights decorating the ceiling, your attention was drawn by the pair that came to greet you. You can barely breathe when Kiyoko reaches you because she’s as beautiful as in photos, and when her arms circle around you you feel the bile rise to your throat. Too much. All too much. Yet, you muster a greeting with a smile you hoped reached your eyes, and Yachi is next to follow. She doesn’t hug you, and you don’t think you could handle it right now either, but she beams and grasps your hands without a hint of resentment in her eyes despite the fact you had essentially ghosted her all those years ago. You are led to the living room of the Tanaka household, and you manage to blearily pick up the faces of Sugawara, Sawamura and the man of the house himself, Ryuunosuke Tanaka. The teacher and the officer greet you with warm handshakes and squeezes of the shoulder, and while Tanaka has gotten up from his seat he does not go to give you affectionate greetings like the others. You were not surprised, and yet it still made you want to turn to the door and run. Your name doesn’t leave his lips like a slur, and there is no scowl on his face, and yet you know he has not forgotten. Likely none of them did, they are just better at hiding any animosity. It is when your eyes leave Tanaka’s that you finally pay attention to the other man in the room. Tears threaten to spring to your eyes when you see Asahi Azumane, even more so when the man gives you a gentle smile, but you hold back in fear of causing a scene.

“Not now, just—” You turn away from Asahi’s concerned stare as you briskly attempt to out-walk him. “Not now.”

It doesn’t take him a lick of extra effort to reach your pace, and you feel a spike of annoyance akin to blistering fire. You didn’t like this defiant show of persistence, not from somebody who is usually so gutless in the face of confrontation. You continue to ignore him despite the fact the leather straps of your school bag weigh you down like an anchor.

“This isn’t right, you know this,” He keeps his tone even and placid, even in the face of your growing rage. “He cares about you. A lot. This isn’t fair to you or him.”

You finally spin on your heel, causing the man to stumble slightly at your sudden movement. Your tears are hot, burning even, in the ducts of your eyes but you don’t dare let a single one spill. Not in front of Asahi, who will only be further vindicated that you are making all the wrong decisions. Not even for yourself, who will begin to wonder if they are making the right choice.

“It’s because I care about him that I’m doing this,” You snap and he almost flinches under the force of your voice. “I know what type of person I am. I know what I’m going to become. I can’t reciprocate the intensity of Yuu’s feelings. He deserves to have someone who gives him a high like he gives me.”

You don’t realise your heated retorts have died down to near-desperate begging, not until you're digging your nails into your skin, enough to draw blood. Asahi tries to pry your grip away, but you move before he can reach and he lets his hands fall limply to his sides.

“Don’t you dare say he deserves to be stuck with me just because he happens to care. He’ll get over it, and he’ll find someone better. I’m not ruining his life by dragging him alongside the monotony of mine,” You finally meet the brown-haired man’s gaze from when you hung your head, and your glare burns and the fire spreads. “Do you get it now?”

You are seated down, sandwiched between an almost-doting Kiyoko and frantic Yachi as snacks and conversation are passed around. You are asked the expectant questions—How are you, what are you doing, what’s changed? You answer the questions to a degree that should tame any further curiosity, though take care in leaving out unsavoury details. This was only an impulsive trip. After this, you will go home, delete their contacts and finally free yourself from Karasuno, Miyagi, Yuu and all the memories left behind.

The door opens and you suspect Ennoshita or the like to arrive, as Hinata and Kageyama already confirmed their absence due to their busy schedule. Nothing could have prepared you for when Nishinoya Yuu walked in as if he owned the place. It’s the same spiked hair that your hands used to find purchase in. The same slanted brown eyes that would make your heart quake in your chest. Worst of all, the same grin that haunted your memory. When his eyes fall on you after his loud greeting, you can feel the earth cave in.

(v)

The universe, unfortunately, did not end upon Yuu’s arrival. His gaze had quickly shifted from you to the remaining attendees in the house and the lack of acknowledgement made you feel like a first-year again, standing with your back to the gymnasium wall as your sense of person is reduced to dust in the face of much fiercer personalities. You don’t know what you had expected. He wasn’t going to kick up a fuss in the middle of a reunion, and that’s assuming he even cares about you anymore at all.

Which answer would have been more satisfactory? The one where your teenage self got what they wanted—a Yuu who has moved on and no longer cares for them? Or the one present you guiltily wished for—that he cares, that he thinks of you as often you do him, that he hasn’t gotten over you?

With the last guest’s arrival, you all are moved to the dining room, where dinner is prepared. The delectable smell wafts in the air, and excitement grows. You momentarily perk up at the prospect of a homecooked meal that wasn’t your subpar cooking, but you are immediately tense when Yuu brushes past you with a brisk “whoops, sorry.” This is a casual interaction. There is no tremor in his voice, no avoidant glances. It’s akin to two strangers passing each other on the street.

You want to go home. You want his attention. You want to run. You wish he’d say your name again.

The conversation picks up as everyone eats, and you are still kept in between the two ex-managers while Yuu sits on the opposite side but from the furthest vantage point from you. Judging by the passing glances you had gotten when he arrived, you had a feeling this seating arrangement was purposeful. You don’t tact on to the discussions but try to smile and laugh when appropriate so it doesn’t seem like there is something totally wrong with you. At least you managed to gather that Yuu is currently travelling, and you have to bite back your smile when you recall the nights he used to call you and explain his dreams of seeing the world.

Within the hour, ceramic dishes and steel utensils clink together and everyone begins to disperse with the grand idea to watch a few films together over drinks before ending this event. Tsukushima quietly gestures towards his departure with a curt explanation of morning practice when Tanaka hounds him. You realise this is also your only chance at escaping without too much awkwardness. You arm yourself with a list of excuses—sorry, I have to check out early tomorrow. I have a morning work call. I’m still a bit light-headed from the train ride.

Nobody questions you further when you say your general, tentative goodbyes along with an extra minute of gratitude for the Tanaka household’s hospitality (Ryuunosuke’s gaze even seemed to soften when you turned to thank him). You are out the door before you can make selfish eye contact with Yuu, your coat tossed over your figure as you depart with nothing but a sheepish wave.

The night chill hits you in full force, and you shiver as you quickly attempt to find warmth in the rapid friction of your palms. You are not more than just a few steps out the front lawn when your name is shouted, the syllables rolling off a familiar tongue with so much nostalgia it feels sickening. Nishinoya Yuu is broad-shouldered with a sports jacket messily pulled over his figure and calling for you as if you both are seventeen and he’s letting you know one more time that he loves you before walking his half of the way home. You pause where you stand, you let him catch up, and you let him stand close enough that you can recite every minute detail of his face. A decade wasn’t enough, you realise somberly, to shake away your utter adoration for him.

He grins and asks if you want to get popsicles in the middle of the cold. Crazily enough, you agree.

(vi)

He regaled you with stories of his travels under that tree, from when he lost his hotel keycard in São Paulo and had to spend the night on the lounge chair because the staff couldn’t replace it in time, to when had gone fishing in Colorado River and fell of his boat when he got too excitable about his catch. You couldn’t stop your laughs, and he was only encouraged to continue with an eager beam. By the time you catch your breath, you find him leaning back on his hands with a smile so earnest that it makes you feel like you are seventeen and in love again. You grow nervous when he proclaims it's your turn to fill him in on the details of your life and the peace of the moment crumbles under his expectant stare. With the way you left him and the way he’s treating you as if you didn’t break his heart all those years ago, you felt obliged to be honest.

Shuichi Toyama began as your co-worker. He didn’t enter your life in a hurricane like Yuu did, but he did leave behind a disaster once he closed the door.

He asked you out and with you having been off the dating scene since high school, you agreed with some reluctance. The first date turned out fine, better than the awkwardness you first expected, so you let him take you out for a second. Then a third. He asked you to be his, and you agreed without paying note to the premonition behind his wording (Yuu always used to brag that he belonged to you).

It was comfortable. Stable. On good days Shuichi felt like a friend, and that was your first warning that you mistook security for love. He proposed a year later during a fancy dinner date, the restaurant overflowing with patrons. When the pastry chef brought out a slice of cake, moist and carefully decorated with your name, all you could think about was the eyes on you and how much money Shuichi must have spent on this proposal. You agree and something prideful crosses your now fiance’s expression.

A few months after you are wed in a fanciful ceremony with your attire to the decorations hand-picked by your mother-in-law, the cracks in your relationship begin to show. Late arrivals home, heading straight to bed after work, no ‘good morning’ or ‘I love you’ uttered. A year later you catch him in bed with his co-worker he swore to you not to worry about. It’s a sight to see when he struggles to pull up his pants, racing after you as you lock yourself in your car. He keeps a firm grip on the handle as he pleads for you to reconsider. He’s sorry. He didn’t mean for it to happen. It was a lapse of judgement. You listen to the excuses bemused, but you can’t help the tears that sting your eyes. Time with Shuichi had been wasted time, and you could have done so much and been so much without him. Yet, your mind tracks back to Yuu. This must be how he felt when you left, and it comes with a realisation of shame that you were no better than Shuichi. When your neighbour’s young children emerge from the front door to play, you unlock your car and follow your husband back home to spare them the sight of a half-naked man begging in the driveway. Maybe this is what you deserve.

He only kept his promise for two months, then while doing the laundry you find a lipstick stain on his collar that did not belong to you. A normal person would have packed their bags and tossed the stupid shirt at him without looking back. You toss it into the washing machine and go back to the rest of your chores. You don’t bring it up even when he comes back home almost four hours late, drunk and smelling unusually floral. You tell him his food is in the oven, and head to bed.

You let the cycle run its course for another few months until he breaks a plate during an argument about one of your neighbours catching him leaving a woman’s house in the early mornings. You had yelled at him to at least keep his infidelity under warps so that you aren’t embarrassed in the process, and he screams about why you aren’t angry that he’s cheating and more concerned for your reputation. When the ceramic dish hits the kitchen floor and shatters, you go quiet and stare. He’s the one who packs his bags this time, and you don’t implore him to stay. After that, you do not see Shuichi without a lawyer and you eventually lose rights to the house and most of your savings you mistakenly put into a shared account. You quit your job with no available living accommodation and no friends whose couch you could crash on while you try to pick up the remnants of your life. You find a job in another city after several nights at a cheap motel and begin to live in a small apartment in a place unfamiliar to you. Your new job pays less, is more demanding and your coworkers don’t take to you. However, it puts a roof over your head and food on your table. Within the silence, all you can contemplate are regrets.

By the time you are finished, there is a fire in Yuu’s eyes that blaze, fraught with rage. He curses your ex-husband without sparing a breath and you have to bite back a smile because it was just like him to get angry on your behalf.

“That sounds rough, I’m so sorry,” He says quietly and despite his awkward wording, he’s practically melting in sincerity and you only shake your head. You almost wished he felt vindicated by hearing this, but that’s simply an insult to the type of person Nishinoya Yuu is. He is never happy in the face of someone else’s misery, he is earnest and sincere, and he cares for others loudly and passionately. You are free-falling, a pit in your stomach that lurches to reach your throat, weightless and doomed. The words leave you before your mind can catch up.

“From all of this, it’s just a constant reminder I fucked up the moment I left you,” His eyes widen at the sudden confession, lips pressing into a straight line as you gaze at him with glassy eyes. “Yu—Nishinoya, I’m so sorry. I know my words can never make up for my actions.”

“Don’t,” His breath leaves him in a shaky exhale as he closes his eyes, “Don’t call me Nishinoya like that. I’m always Yuu to you.”

Tears now freely roll your cheeks and you know you don’t deserve it when he reaches out to briskly wipe them away with calloused hands. They warm your face and he lets his touch linger longer than appropriate even when your sobbing has died down to quiet sniffles.

“You and I were dumb kids. Sure, back then I wanted to scream and chase you down until you changed your mind,” He moves his hand to grasp yours, intertwining your fingers together as he gives you a reassuring and tight squeeze. “But I didn’t hate you for it. I don’t think I’m able to even if I tried.”

His grin takes on a little more sheepish twinge, a contrast to a teenage Yuu who would have urged you to stop taking things so seriously and to get over it. With maturity, he has the patience to sit down and actually talk with you. However, curtness is integral to his personality so he adds on.

“Even though you’re in the habit of catastrophising everything,” His sly remark earns a look of offended bafflement from you, causing him to laugh loudly in return. He brings you to stand alongside him, tugging you from the hill and onto the street. He insists on walking you back to your motel, and promises to pick you up the following morning. Nishinoya Yuu is cementing himself into your life again. You make sure to take extra care of keeping him.

[speaknow-sw]

Pretty much need a whole fic about Hayden with a boy toddler, as far as I can't create it 💔

you know what ? I let my mind wander on this ask so here’s drabbles of PURE FLUFF :

Hayden grins broadly, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth as he wrestles playfully with his little boy on the living room rug. "No way, you can't beat me! I'm the tickle monster champion!" Hayden declares in a goofy, deep voice. His son giggles and squirms, trying to wriggle free from his dad's gentle but persistent tickling fingers.

"Daddy, noooo! I give, I give!" the little boy howls with laughter, his blonde curls bouncing. Hayden relents, pulling the giggling child into a warm hug, both of them breathing heavily from the playful tussle.

"You did so well, bud. But you know what that means?" Hayden asks, ruffling his son's hair affectionately. The boy looks up at him with curious blue eyes, a big grin still plastered on his face.

"It means... it means ice cream time!" Hayden exclaims, unable to contain his excitement. "What flavor do you want, sweetheart? Chocolate, vanilla, or maybe... strawberry?"

The little boy thinks for a moment before squealing in delight, "Strawberry! With sprinkles and chocolate syrup too!"

"Your wish is my command," Hayden chuckles, booping his nose playfully. "C'mon, let's go get your ice cream reward for being such a brave little guy."

Rising to his feet, Hayden scoops up his son and carries him towards the kitchen, the boy's legs dangling and kicking happily. Hayden smiles to himself, his heart full and content in this perfect, simple moment with his beautiful child.

Hayden sits in the stands of the small community ice rink, his hands clasped around a steaming paper cup of coffee as he watches the tiny hockey players skating clumsily on the ice. The chill of the rink sends a shiver down his spine, and he takes a sip of the hot liquid to warm himself.

His eyes are glued to a small figure in a bright blue and white jersey, struggling to keep up with the other children as they chase the tiny puck around the rink. Hayden's heart clenches as he recognizes his own son, the shy and timid boy hesitating before attempting a shot on the small, child-sized net.

"That's my boy," Hayden murmurs under his breath, willing his son to gain the confidence to take the shot. "You got this, sweetheart."

As the play continued, Hayden found himself on the edge of his seat, his heart racing as his son finally mustered the courage to skate towards the goal. With a tentative swipe of his tiny stick, he managed to tap the puck towards the net, the small crowd of parents and siblings erupting into cheers as it bounced off the post and trickled into the goal.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" Hayden lept to his feet, shouting his encouragement and pride as his son looked up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. Hayden smiled broadly, giving him a double thumbs up and a proud nod. "That's my boy!" he called out, his voice echoing in the rink. "You did it! Way to go, buddy!"

The shy boy offered his dad a tentative smile before glancing down shyly, his cheeks flushed pink beneath his helmet. Hayden chuckled softly, taking another sip of his coffee as he settled back into his seat, his heart swelling with love and pride for his little guy. He knew the road to confidence was a long one, but he would be there to cheer his son on every step of the way.

Hayden kneels down by the half-dug hole in the backyard, sweat glistening on his brow from the warm spring sun. He's wearing a tight white t-shirt that hugs his lean, muscular frame, and faded jeans with the knees caked in dried mud. Hayden looks up as his little boy toddles over, a handful of pebbles clutched tightly in his chubby fist.

"Daddy, I gonna help!" the child announces proudly, his blonde curls disheveled from running around the yard. He drops the pebbles with a clatter at the edge of the pond excavation, looking up at Hayden with eager, blue-eyed anticipation.

Hayden smiles warmly at his son, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Alright little man, you can definitely help," he agrees, ruffling the boy's hair affectionately. "But we need to make sure the rocks are big enough to stay put when we fill up the pond. Wanna try again?"

The boy nods solemnly, then scampers off to the pile of river rocks Hayden hauled in with the wheelbarrow earlier. Hayden watches as his son carefully selects a slightly larger stone, grunting as he lifts it with great effort.

"That's a good one!" Hayden encourages, kneeling down to help his son set the rock along the edge of the pond. "Nice and sturdy, just like you." He winks playfully, making the boy giggle.

Together, the unlikely pair continues to place rocks around the perimeter of the pond, Hayden guiding his son's small hands to position them just right. Every so often, Hayden pauses to wipe the sweat and dirt from his brow, smiling at his little helper who's doing his very best to assist his daddy.

In these quiet, unhurried moments, Hayden feels a profound sense of contentment and purpose. Building a pond with his son, teaching him, being a positive influence - this is what truly matters in life. He knows he'll remember and cherish these everyday moments with his child for years to come.

He’s a pro at bonding father/son activities don’t tell me otherwise

[swordlux]

Xiao's Longing - Xiao x Reader

A short headcanon featuring our lovely adeptus. Originally posted on AO3

~~~

“Missed me…? Huh…” His thoughtful gaze explores the grass before returning back to you. “This feeling. Tell me more about it.” ~~~ Xiao's Longing

Xiao looked out at the rolling hills of Teyvat with a strange feeling in his chest. It was a feeling that had persisted ever since the day he’d met you. Xiao was used to battling intense, and often dark feelings, but something about this was different. It was as if his chest would burn up and devour him if he didn’t see you within a certain time frame. The more he tried to fight it, the more it seemed to grow.

He began to see your face everywhere he looked. In the blue waters of Liyue Harbor, in the valleys of Qingce Village, in the sweet fog of Qingyun Peak. Currently, it was projected in the sky like a second sun. He wondered what you were doing at the moment, if you were out getting yourself into trouble, or making new acquaintances as you so easily do. Part of him—a small part—hoped that the former was the case, because it meant he would have a reason to see you and to ease this unbearable ache in his chest.

It had been a few weeks since you’d last met, but those weeks had felt like months to the Vigilant Yaksha. The days between your meetings stretched longer and longer, and every day Xiao would try to think up an excuse to see you. He was never one to indulge in something just because it pleased him. Spending time with someone for the sake of spending time with them was something he couldn’t justify. And yet…

“Why do I still think about you every day?” He said. He sighed, letting the wave of emotions pass out and with the wind.

He stood up from the cliffside, deciding to take out his feelings at the nearest slime hotspot—and that was when he heard it.

It was the call he had been waiting for.

In reality, the sound was the gentlest of whispers, no more than that of the wind passing through the petals of a Qingxin flower. But to Xiao, it resonated across the land like thunder.

It was you. You were calling his name.

***

“Xiao.” The name falls out of your lips as natural as sap out of a tree. You can’t remember what made you say it, but you know you must’ve been thinking about him. You know because your chest hums with the same warmth as it always does when the great Adeptus comes to your mind.

The truth is, Xiao has never left your mind. Not since the moment you first saw those kind amber eyes.

Every day you spend apart feels like an eternity. And every day you wonder about throwing yourself into dangerous situations, just so you'll have a reason to call his name.

Today however, is different. Today you aren’t even thinking up ways to get the Adeptus to come. Today it just happens.

“Xiao.”

He is there not a second after the name leaves your lips. His strong form stands tense, his amber eyes glow with concern.

You blink in shock, and then you remember the promise he made to you—every time you call his name, he would appear.

The embarrassment you would normally feel in this moment is quickly overcome by the intense joy of seeing his face. No matter the reason, he’s here. Just as you’d been wishing for.

“Xiao,” you say, as if speaking to an apparition from a dream, “You’re here.”

His brow lowers at your obvious statement. “I promised I would come any time you called my name.” He sighs, letting the hidden tones of desperation slip out of his voice. “So, what is it? You don’t seem to be in any trouble.”

“Oh, right…” Just hearing the smooth tones of his voice has your head in a daze. It takes a moment for you to fully process his question, and then another to realize you don’t have an answer for it. “Uhm, it’s nothing really. I’m fine.”

He sighs deeper. The sound washes over your body like a sweet remedy for your heart.

Your moment of bliss only lasts a moment before you remember his tendency to disappear as quickly as he had come once he finds himself of no further use.

“Wait!” you cry, hoping to catch him before he has a chance to do that. “Don’t go yet!”

He seems to pause; the very particles of his body slowing. This subtle change in energy confirms your suspicions—he was preparing to make a quick dash before you stopped him.

Xiao studies your face for a moment and then sighs again. “If you have no urgent need of me, then I have other matters to—”

“This is urgent!”

Shock. It’s an expression you’d never imagine to see on Xiao’s face, but you get it now. His amber eyes open wide, and for a second you catch a bit of light behind those dark curtains. But it disappears in a flash, the curtains closing once more.

“Well, what is it then?” he says. Though still serious, his voice has softened a bit. It’s just enough to allow you to speak your thoughts honestly.

“Err– well…the truth is… I missed you.”

The moment the words are out you regret them. You’re sure you’ve done it now—you’ve found a way to send him off and ensure he never comes back again.

You prepare for the backlash comment, but instead of snapping, he just looks wistfully off to the side. “Missed me…? Huh…” His thoughtful gaze explores the grass before returning back to you. “This feeling. Tell me more about it.”

“What?“ For a second you’re sure he must be joking. But the look in his eye is simply inquisitive. “Oh…” you continue, “Well it’s like… like this feeling in my chest. This urge to see you that keeps getting stronger and stronger the more time we spend apart. And if I don’t, if I don’t see you it’s like my heart is going to explode. “

The explanation is mediocre at best, but he stirs over your words as if you just presented him with a complicated thesis.

You wonder if it was the explanation he was looking for, or if you just went and made a complete fool of yourself.

After considering your words for what seems like forever, he finally seems to come to terms with something. “This feeling,” he says, “I think I know it.”

“You… do?” Now it’s your turn to be shocked.

“Yes,” he sighs. “It’s quite frustrating, actually. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to shake it. But now I see that you are the cause.” He closes the distance faster than you can follow.

You see the bright jade glimmer of his spear as it swoops down behind you, hooking you behind the ankle and sending your feet out from under you.

You fall back onto the grass, but not before Xiao catches you, placing you down the rest of the way gently.

His strong arm is still wrapped around your waist as he looks into your eyes. “Am I correct to assume that you are the remedy?

“Xiao…” Desire overcomes you. Without thinking you reach for his neck, pull yourself up, and press your lips to his.

He startles at first, the last bit of wall still holding strong. But then finally, at last, it crumbles before you.

Xiao melts into you, leaning into the kiss with new hunger.

You feel a world open up. The world of Xiao. And it is bright and pink and wonderful.

You pull him closer, exploring this new, beautiful world with increasing curiosity.

“Why?” Xiao huffs into your lips. “Why do I… feel like this?”

You shut up his questions with more kisses.

He seems to gather the answer from your lips. He kisses you with such a passion that your head nearly spins off its axis.

The ache in your chest only seems to get stronger.

You grab him and pull him closer, desperate to have as much of him as you can.

You roll around in the grass—two undistinguishable forms, each attempting to fulfill their increasing desire.

Eventually, Xiao pulls back, placing his forehead against yours so he can look into your eyes once more.

“In all my years of existence,” he says, “Never has a human perplexed me the way you do.” He looks at you with tenderness as he strokes your cheek. “What can I do to make sure this feeling of ‘missing you’ never returns?”

“Stay,” you say, catching his hand. “Stay by my side, always.”

He sighs and looks at you once more with that sweetness. “Alright,” he says. He kisses you again and you surrender to eachother. Though Xiao has promised to stay, you say his name all night. ~~~

More Readings: Xiao's Lust | Xiao x Reader Smut, The Balladeer | Scaramouche x Reader Xiao is my favourite person to write <3

[glasvera]

Adornment

Adam Warlock x GN!Reader

Description: You enjoy a peaceful, private moment with your boyfriend and develop a newfound appreciation for gold in the process.

Warnings/Disclaimers: Smoochies? Nothing, really. I mean, Adam's in a speedo I guess but you'll just have to imagine that. This is alllll fluff.

A/N: There's no way I'm going to keep up posting like this long term, but my gods am I going to ride this Golden Boy high while it lasts.

Word Count: 850

You never were much of a gold person. 

Silver always seemed to compliment you better. Sure, you'd had a few gold pieces here and there, gifts from family and past lovers, but it had never been your favorite. 

It just never suited you.

Now, as you find yourself dragged along the beach by your rather excited boyfriend who only took the time to grab your wrist, you think you might understand the appeal. Those golden fingers of his look terribly lovely on your arm.

Maybe it's the way he glitters, not just because of his golden skin, but as a person. His very soul shines so brilliantly it almost blinds you. You stumble a bit in the loose sand, lost in thought as you are, and he’s quick to catch you and steady you. He is nothing but love, sweet, syrupy, and suffocating in the best way.

And when he smiles? Oh… the very warmth of it could rival the glory of the sun itself.

Of course he attracts the attention of everyone around you no matter where you go. Especially dressed as he is here, in his shiny new red and gold speedo, it’s hard not to look at him. It honestly fills you with a sense of pride, knowing that the perfect man chose you out of anyone in every universe.

When he finally stops at the top of a hill, overlooking the water as the sun sets slowly down amidst vibrant hues of orange and magenta, your breath catches. Of course you had caught glimpses of it as he led you up here, but you had been so distracted then… and it truly is beautiful. The scene is framed by palm trees that grow at the base of the hill, and the surrounding area is secluded with nary a soul to disturb you. He stands behind you, wrapping his arms around you like a beautiful golden scarf as he nuzzles his face into your hair.

“It's wonderful…” you breathe, relaxing in the warmth of his arms.

You can feel him smiling when his arms lower to wrap around your waist and he moves to bury his nose into the crook of your neck. And you can feel the warm, tingling sensation that flutters across your skin when he presses a gentle kiss there.

“Just like you,” he hums.

A chortle thrums in your chest, and you take a moment to look down at where those strong arms hug you tightly. Your own personal, living golden corset. It reflects the setting sun onto your skin, bathing you in delicate patterns of warm light. 

“If anyone around here is reminiscent of the golden sun, I'm pretty sure it's you,” you tease lightheartedly. Your cheek presses against the silky hair that tickles your face.

His chuckle vibrates against your skin. “I think gold is much more becoming on you, my love.”

Something about those words makes your heart flutter. Your face presses more insistently against his head and he takes the hint, lifting his head just enough to press his lips to yours as you crane your neck towards him. Soon after you turn to face him properly, still caged in those strong arms of his as yours come to rest around his neck. He's so warm, so full of life and love that he is eager to show you while his lips part and mold against yours.

He lowers the two of you to the ground, sinking into the soft sand as he hovers over you. One arm remains wrapped tightly around the small of your back while his other hand comes to rest at your hip. You can’t help but hum contentedly as he kisses you again, and your fingers find their way into his perfectly soft golden locks. No one else, nothing in the world matters to either of you in this moment. Lips press upon lips just as readily as skin meets skin, and breathy sighs blend with the sounds of waves as they lap upon the shore. You could stay like this forever.

When you break apart, staring into those dazed, pearly eyes of his, you smile softly. He tilts his head to the side curiously while his thumb traces tiny circles into your lower back. The entirety of his face is bathed in the reds and purples from the sky above you, and part of you thinks that might just be prettier than any sunset you'll ever see. Unbeknownst to you, he can see the way those colors bounce off of him and onto you, scattering across your flushed face and complimenting the warmth that radiates off of you. It nearly takes his breath away.

“I think I'm starting to agree with that,” you say finally, lowering one hand to gesture at his arm before you trace your fingers along his bicep. “I quite like gold on me now.”

A lazy smile draws upon his face, giving it that dazzling brilliance once more, and he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I will gladly adorn you any time you wish.”

[thespianinthebackcorner]

AHA! EXACTLY! I've had this hc from the beginning that Heart affects the others- whatever he feels, the others do to an extent.

I like the idea that it's reversed for Mind, I didn't think of that. If Heart is lovestruck, Mind is irritable, but Soul is daydreaming. If Heart gets mad, Mind is happy, but Soul is annoyed. (Hence why Heart states that every time he tried to take Mind down and hurt him, he kept going with a smile and a laugh- Heart's anger and rage naturally makes him feel happy. That's an interesting dynamic- for me it was simply the other two feeling the same way but lesser, and for Mind it's only something he feels if he pays attention.

Sjfhsjfneni love everything about this post actually. The way it might affect the world around them is so interesting omg??? And that would affect the Whole too, to him the sun is too bright and it burns but it's too cold inside, far too cold, so he just stays in bed and tries not to do anything. Of course, it's not like that in reality, but that's how he sees it. That's how it is to him.

All three affect each other. Heart's apathy is making Soul apathetic, but Mind's rage at Heart for causing all of this is also affecting Soul too. No wonder he was driven to the edge of insanity, split between suicidal apathy and murderous rage.

Forever and always thinking about how Hearts time in apathy could have affected Whole and the other two.

I personally like to think he was down there for at least a week or one month, which is so much time to negatively impact everyone!!!

Did Whole change? Did he become completely numb and disinterested with the outside world and his own intrests? Does he eventually stop finding enjoyment in things and begins to live on auto pilot? Two dead eyes staring into the mirror when Mind wrestles him out of bed to brush his teeth.

What about Mind? Is he overwhelmed with this new responsibility? He thought he’d be able to do it all alone but Heart contributed a lot more than he initially realized. Is he confused? Frustrated that piloting their host gets harder and harder as the days pass? Does he start to spiral? For the first time in his life he got what he wanted and it’s not working how he thought it would. So much time planning, so many nights imagining himself as the leader, why is he failing? What if he takes all of his anger out on Heart with his songs, the 3 song tangent being him getting more and more frustrated. Whole isn’t getting better and instead of accepting that he might be wrong he only hates Heart harder.

I can’t even guess how it affected Soul, only showing up at the very end to put a stop to this once and for all. Did he feel empty too? Did his chest ache everyday for the man 6 feet under? Did he finally show up because Mind was killing their Whole just like Heart had predicted? Or was it because he was finally ready to give up?

You can even go into how it affects their house! Does it get colder? Are all of the pictures of Heart magically wiped away and covered in purple ooze? Do clocks begin to appear and tick louder and louder until it’s deafening? Is the sun brighter? Does it blind your eyes? Does it burn your skin when you step outside? What about the opposite? What if the headspace gets colder and colder, more snow piling up everyday as the sun emits no real warmth. Does the moon disappear? Are the nights unfathomably dark?

SO MUCH COULD HAPPEN

[swordsovereign]

seofon genuinely gets mad whenever he thinks abt ceodric bc damn ... if his life had gone Bad he could've been just like that (also he has other seofon in the back of his mind this is not helping him) and he is just so ... Upset everything sucked there and it also sorta drove it home even more that people are not just envious of the power the eternals have, they're SCARED of it and he doesn't want people to be afraid of the eternals he doesn't want them to be afraid of HIM but it causes all these doubts and considering how his mental state has been going on the steady decline ... yeah.

that was bad times all around he just does the Usual Seofon Thing and smiles so people dont know how fucked up he is over it

[oncominggstorm]

My aunt decided a good way to wish me a happy birthday would be to text me a picture of me & my dead dad from my 22nd birthday.

Like yay thanks, I totally wanted to be sad and missing my dad on my birthday. I definitely wasn't trying to do the "out of sight out of mind don't think about sad things" thing to get through it without crying or anything 👍 Definitely wasn't already struggling missing not getting a happy birthday text from him 👍👍

[seventh-district]

i’m not like other girls, my “Rest” stats are a heart rate of 110bpm and a HRV of 14 fucking milliseconds. :)

[sharkdays]

i love pokemon

[menagerofmischief]

Heart song (OP81)

summary: in the middle of dating rumors, current music industry hit, y/n l/n releases a love song which leaves no space to deny her relationship. -> based on this request

fc: olivia rodrigo

cw: bad language,

a/n: the only bands I listen to are a bunch of old men or a bunch of dead man, safe to say I don't know much about bands so I made her a solo artist.

liked by: oscar piastri, sabrinacarpenter, and 1,556,895 more

yourusername: something coming soon, or whatever

comments:

ynsleftshoe: oscar in the likes before me again

hooklinesinker: girl same! and I got notifications on cococroissant: the struggle of making it here before pee ass tree vrom vrom is real

ynupdates: mother is cooking and eating for real

sabrinacarpenter: so excited for it!

justonechange: the bond between two girls scorned by a man is unbreakable breakmyback: sabrina is so me right now

likealovesong: my hears are about to be blessed again! thank you god for answering my prayers

liked by landonorris and 1,345 more

f1wagupdates: seems like a new wag may be entering the paddock, showcasing papaya!

mclaren driver, oscar piastri, has been spotted being touchy and affectionate with pop star, y/n l/n. this is not the first time the two have been spotted together.

comments:

vroomyroom: what the hell is lando doing in the likes of a wag updates page

norrizzz: he's so messy fr

user454: seriously what's wrong with you people, leave them alone!

justanichident: oscar's lucky he's good that polite cat smile because those hands do be wondering

breakmyback: I too am no better than a man (I'd be touching y/n's ass all the time if I could)

user334: ow! they're so cute together!

user331: power couple vibes

user564: ew, he can do so much better

user887: SHE can do much better

liked by hattiepiastri, nicolepiastri, yourusername and 1.345.221 more

oscarpiastri: great vacation, lots of sun

comments:

macmylarens: if bwoah was an instagram caption it would be tht

rockabye: who does bro think he's fooling with that soft launch

dropstoproll: like sir, we all know that's y/n l/n, now give us some good content

landonorris: you really poured your heart out with that caption mate

ynupdates: I spy with my little eye, y/n in the likes

justonechange: so ... he's not that bad

user423: I get y/n, he's hot

liked by sabrinacarpenter, oscarpiastri, landonorris and 1.978.645 more

yourusername: Summer When Everybody Ever Thought, Love In Knowledge Existed, Yellow Orchids Unidentified

see you on august 19th ;)

comments:

ynupdates: NEW ALBUM ALERT!!!

breakmyback: I don't care if a man driving in circles for living inspired it, new music is coming!

sabrinacarpenter: that caption triggered my dyslexia

justonechange: no because same user332: I thought I was the only one!

dotsaredotting: hear me out, the aesthethic of this album is orange (so far), and there's a car, mclaren F1 team is orange ("papaya" or wtv), oscar piastri drives for mclaren, oscar is soft launching, they wore spotted together = they're dating

crazyonce: this is so delulu it may be trululu

ynupdates: in case you thought you were crazy for not getting the caption, every words starts with a capital latters and all the letters together spell SWEET LIKE YOU which is either a song on the album or the name of the album

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, hattiepiastri, and 2.021.331 more

yourusername: the way sun shines over beaches, the first taste of summer peaches, yellowed pages of a favorite book it may all be sweet but not sweet like you.

my new album, sweet like you, is now available to stream. this is such a special album for me which is why it's dedicated to such a special person. I love you, Osc, keep on being sweet.

comments have been turned off for this post

liked by yourusername, sabrinacarpenter, landonorris and 1.987.554 more

oscarpiastri: every day I'm grateful I get to have you. you're the sun of my morning, the stars of my evening, the breath of my lungs and the song of my heart. I love you, y/n.

comments:

landonorris: wow, you actually poured your heart out with this one

sabrinacarpenter: she was mine first car boy, remember that

hattiepiastri: I hope you know how much cooler than you your girlfriend is

yourusername: love you too, my sweet boy <3

comments have been limited on this post

[harmoonix]

☾ Like a prayer ☽

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫/𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐭!* + 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬

Note: Take this with caution! These placements are not bad. These are just some 'side things' that come within having such placements. Every placement has a dark trait, and sometimes, the nature of astrology can be negative as well as positive. Thanks for reading 🤎

• Venus x Moon harsh aspects (square, opposition, conjuction). When the Moon is in harsh aspects with Venus, the native will have a hard time telling what's on their heart. They can have the feeling of a 'heavy heart'. The native may be embarrassed or shy to tell their feelings

• Saturn x Moon harsh aspects (square, opposition, conjuction). These aspects can often feel very insecure about their feelings. They can get hurt fast, but mostly, these aspects can indicate being cold, having a hard time opening yourself, being more like a loner rather than with people

• Lilith in Gemini/3rd house, these placements often indicate gossiping and talking bad upon others. Cursing a lot, etc. The native may be savage in their communication, and their words can hurt

• Ascendant x Sun/Venus/Neptune aspects. With these placements, the native may have trouble with loving himself and may cause a lack of self-love from their side. Before having a relationship, you should always check up on yourself first. You can't love others if you don't love yourself

• Venus in the 5th/7th or 8th house. I did a 'mini post' about Venus in those houses, but in short, the native could've had more partners in their romantic past. If you're not interested in your lovers' past romantic life with other people, I think this won't affect you

• Uranus in the 7th house is also found within people who happen to have more lovers in their life. Also, dating or having casual one night stands

• Lilith x Moon aspects (all aspects). The native can have issues with their mother or their feminine energy. May feel like the black sheep or an outcast due to this. They may keep family things private in their life

• Pluto or Saturn in their 4th or 5th house could've indicated being abused as a child or having their childhood taken away from them. A person with a strong inner child

• Scorpio Saturn, the native with this specific Saturn placement can struggle with their intimacy. Can be insecure over some parts of their body and might overthink what the other person thinks about them in bed. Engaging in sexual activities can be chaotic but also beautiful

• Venus in Fire signs, the native can be either extremely loyal either extremely catchy with your feelings. Tends to flirt quite a lot. And may have multiple crushes

• Saturn in the 2h/6th/10th house or Saturn in Earth signs. The native can be an workaholic, they work over the program to gain more money/salary. This can also result as then coming exhausted from work and most times being away from home

• Lilith x Jupiter aspects (all aspects), the native with these aspects can crave more in bed. They're not happy if they're not satisfied. And they may struggle with obsession over sexual things

• Neptune in the 5th or 8th house, the native may have addictions related to 18+ content which can be a turn off for many. Nonetheless Neptune can also have a strong sexual energy

• Sun in the 7th or 10th house, the native might receive a lot of compliments. Sweet personality and a very charming aura, they like attention

• Scorpio/Capricorn/Cancer Venus, the native might be into dating older people, not very old but there can be some age gap between them. They might get successful relationships in their adulthood yesrs

• Pisces Venus and Moon, these natives are mostly ending up with a lot of scenarios in their head after an argument. They need lots of resurance from their partners

• Venus in the 8th / 12th house, the native could've had several admires, which he wanted to keep hidden. Secrets around their relationship

• Water Dominant: The native may be too clingy or very fast to respond to your feelings/they mirror the type of love you give them

• Pluto x Mercury aspects (all): The native will always have the last word in arguments. 'Truth hurts' archetype. They can use words to manipulate after their own will

• Sun x Jupiter in harsh aspects, the natives ego can be fragile, yet they tend to have a 'superiority complex' they may think they're better than others

• Aphrodite (1388) in the 2nd/5th/8th houses, the native may want to be satisfied physically. They may use their sexual energy to make themselves feel better

• Aphrodite x Ascendant/MC Aspects (all): People may find their beauty intriguing. Approachable with a soft/feminine/calm energy by the public (to both genders) tender personality

• Juno in Aries/Cancer/Scorpio may give a possessive and jealous spouse. If the spouse has low self-esteem, these can be intense

• Pluto in the 9th house, 9th house can indicate how your spouse family might see you. With Pluto here, they may see you as a powerful person to marry their son/daughter

• Pluto/Lilith/Saturn in the 11th house, the native could've had lots of issues with betrayal in their life. People in general weren't so loyal to them

• Sun in the 5th house, the native may feel to act more like a child when they are around your presence or if they feel safe with you

• Aries/Mars over their 4th house can indicate that they were raised in a household with abusive or angry family members, also can posses angry issues

• 2nd house ruler in the 8th house, they may be stingy with their money, may keep them like a secret behind you

• 2nd house ruler in the 10th house, the native may love money over anything. Money over love is their way to go

• Saturn in the 12th house can drain the native a lot. They may feel tired 24/7, get irritated fast, and becomes melancholic easily

• Leo Saturn, they can struggle with favoritism. Can be related to family trauma/ just they love picking on things to cause conflicts

• Scorpio or Lilth in the 4th house/Cancer, raised in a household where their family could have been manipulators, liars, toxic, etc

• Juno aspecting Jupiter can grant the native with fulfilments in their relationship, in harsh aspects you don't feel satisfied enough

• Mars in the 7th house can cause relationship arguments (which are normal for every relationship), but with Mars, these can he quite intense

• Having Retrogade planets like Venus in the 7th house can indicate your exes coming back in your life more than usual (these are mostly just things you need to finish, as an little advice, exes don't always come back to be together with you again, but you don't need to get back with them even if they come back in your life lol)

𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫, 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫

If you enjoyed this, let me know so I can make a second part 😊 🥰

Have a good day, everyone 🥰🥰

[shouyuus]

18+, yet more vi-shaped brainrot, mndi

yes so we have all considered rugby/college roommate!vi but have we considered waterpolo/childhood bff!vi.

waterpolo!vi who's constantly at the pool, so much so that her sweat even on her gym days smell like chlorine. who will stand in the lockers with nothing but a towel around her waist, water still dripping down her body, tits out, just texting, grinning down at her phone bc she totally doesn't have post notifs on for your instagram... like who does that, right? but damn, you look cute in the little sundress you wore to brunch last sunday with your friends -- she wonders if you'll tell her about it at lunch later today.

waterpolo!vi who's been friends with you since childhood, and you were the one who go her into swimming because that one summer when you were both eight and your mom signed you up for swim-class, you cried for half and hour bc you said you weren't gonna know anyone there. and vi, being the amazing bff and neighbor that she is, of course, volunteered as tribute. she'd never forgotten how much fun it was to play in the shallows with you after the class had ended, splashing at each other, pretending to have a tea-party, sitting criss-cross at the bottom of the sun-soaked water, how you'd pulled your hair out of the swim-cap and let it halo around you in soft, wispy waves.

waterpolo!vi who definitely hasn't told you that she only applied to this uni (on a sports scholarship bc she knew that'd get her in) bc you said it was your top choice. thankfully, it has one of the better waterpolo teams, so you were ecstatic when you found out. who, by then, has definitely figured out that her affection for you is just a bit more than straight up bff status, but she also don't wanna fuck things up with you so she keeps her mouth shut. and really, she asks herself, what's the difference anyway? i mean, you hadn't even blinked when she brought up wanting to sign up for the same freshman dorms. ("of course we are! what, did you think i'd let anyone else be my roommate? gosh, it's like you don't know me at all!")

waterpolo!vi who tries to give you your own space (having practice every single day helps with that tbh), but can't help when her heart skips a lil every time you text her, or every time you post something on social media. she tells herself that it's okay to text back immediately, you've been friends for so long after all, right? that doesn't make her look weird or desperate? right? right.

waterpolo!vi who honestly still gets off to the memory of the one time the pair of you made out drunkenly at a party in high school -- it had been one of those backyard parties where everyone was drinking fucked up jungle juice and things were already a mess when you got there. but you were always down for a good time, and so was she, but somehow, it'd ended up with the pair of you curled up in a dark corner, your legs slung over her lap, her fingers inching up the hem of your spaghetti strap top, all eager, clumsy lips and needy little moans and the taste of your strawberry-mint glitter lipgloss.

waterpolo!vi who definitely tries a bit harder to show off whenever you come to her games, always checking the stands, her face lighting up whenever she spots you in the crowd, waving at her, cheering whenever she makes a goal. afterwards, she'd find flowers tucked into her locker and the rest of the team snickering at how red she's gotten staring at them before she towel-whips the nearest one and tells them all to shut up.

waterpolo!vi who asks you to come to the gym with her, promises it'll be chill and that she won't work you too hard, but nearly short-circuits when you show up in a pair of lululemon shorts and a sports bra, your hair tugged up into a high ponytail, telling her that you got these super cute stickers from a cafe you went to last week and have been meaning to give one of them to her so your water bottles can match. who makes good on her word of not working you too hard, but she definitely suffers in her own workout that day cause she's too busy watching you do squats (she tells herself its to make sure ur form is good but we all know the truth).

waterpolo!vi who freaks out when, on her birthday, the water polo team texts her and tells her to come to the pool house, alone. she thinks it's just another one of their weird pranks, but when the lights click on and you're standing there behind a massive cake with her name hung up behind you in lurid, bright pink blow up balloons, she freezes. and then a there's champagne popping and spraying at her, completely soaking her tanktop, sticking to her skin. you squeal, laughing as you shake a bottle towards her, grinning so wide she thinks her heart might burst.

"surprise! happy birthday!"

"holy shit -- oh yeah! it's my birthday!"

you roll your eyes, dabbing at some champagne that had gotten on your cheek, glancing at a few of the other girls.

"yeah, that's the thing with birthday's vi, they happen every year. and yet somehow every year, i'm the one that remembers its your birthday."

vi just grins, pulling you in to press a fat, wet kiss to your cheek, making you squirm bc she's literally soaked with champagne still, and a few of the girls on the team smirk in her direction when they make eye contact with her, but she only glares at them before going back to watching you fuss about the cake and how many slices to cut it into.

an idea slithers into her head, a truly insidious idea. but fuck it, it's her birthday, and she deserves to have a little fun (and she doesn't think you'll be too mad at her afterwards), so she inches her hand up till it's cradling the back of your head, then shoves your face into the top layer of the cake. you yelp, jerking back with your mouth wide open, icing smeared across your skin. everyone laughs, but vi only grins and wipes a bit of the sweet cream from your cheek, sucking her thumb into her mouth.

"mm delicious, princess. thanks."

you blink at her for a few seconds before sighing, attempting to wipe a bit more of the cake from your face, and falling into a fit of giggles as well.

"whatever, i guess if it makes you that happy," you say, accepting a few napkins from one of the girls on the team. someone else takes over cutting the cake, and a few un-spilled bottles of champagne are already being poured into red solo cups. "i'm gonna go clean up -- be right back."

vi watches you make for the lockers, but someone shoves her towards you. she turns to find several of her teammates motioning furiously in your direction, mouthing go, you fucker, go!

she teeters for a few seconds before jogging after you.

"hey! i'll -- uh -- i'll come with you. since it's my mess too." she laughs, nudging you with her shoulder as she catches up to you.

waterpolo!vi who has to hold her breath when she's helping you wipe cake icing from your face, running a damp towel down your neck, you tilting your head back to give her better access.

"so, how long've you been planning this?" she asks, if only to say something to break the silence.

"not that long -- like a week or so. the cake took the longest -- i wanted to get it from your favorite place on the edge of town, but they don't do deliveries, so i had to go and get it without you knowing, and then figure out where to hide it --"

"oh is that was the 'emergency study sesh' was that you had to run off to this morning was?"

you grin, sheepish as she pulls back to look you over.

"yeah... but i mean -- as long as you liked it! it was worth it, right?"

"oh i loved it, cupcake," she says, casually bopping your nose as she tosses the towel into the big laundry cart for cleaning. she takes a breath, "you're the best friend a girl could ask for, princess."

and she sees it the, the something flicker across your face, a shadow that darkens your eyes for just a second before you look back up at her.

"uhm... about that --"

"hm?" vi turns so fast her neck almost cricks. fuck.

you're staring at her, and she's staring back. there's a moment, like the held-breath between twirling fan-blades.

"i -- uhm -- damn," you look down at your hands, your cheeks suddenly flooding with color, "i had this whole speech prepped and everything --"

vi plops down on locker bench in front of you, tugging your chin back up.

"c'mon, princess. what is it?"

your eyes catch, and vi feels her stomach flip, her heart crawling up the length of her chest to beat, bleating and desperate, at the back of her throat. she can almost taste the metallic thump of it on her tongue.

"i just -- it's --" you twist your fingers in your lap, "i've been meaning to... to tell you for a while but uhm --"

"tell me what?" fuck, her voice comes out so raspy, so needy. she swallows, trying for her usual nonchalance. "you can tell me anything, y'know that right, cupcake?"

you purse your lips, her words seemingly setting you more and more on edge. she leans forward, mesmerized by the pink plumpness caught beneath your teeth. she swipes her thumb along the corner.

"sorry -- missed a spot..." she pulls back, showing you the tiny smear of icing on her finger.

"i like you," you blurt out, the momentum of the words carrying you forward just a bit, and you're gasping when you jerk back, eyes wide, as if you can't believe you'd just said that out loud.

vi freezes.

"oh."

"sorry that was -- i was gonna tell you later tonight -- i had this whole thing planned but -- ugh, there's even a really nice bottle of wine chilling in the fridge --"

but vi's kissing you, and holy shit -- vi's kissing you. her hand at the back of your neck, her other hand cupping your cheek, and she's pressing you back so hard you almost stumble off the bench, squeaking in surprise when she nearly hauls you to your feet to press you up against one of the lockers, cushioning your head with a palm.

"v-vi? mmngh --" you gasp, lashes fluttering as she licks her way down your neck, sucking a hard hickey into the skin there, her teeth biting down as she fists her fingers in your hair.

"holy shit -- sorry -- just -- you have no idea how long i've wanted this --"

she pulls back, her pupils blown, and for a second, you wonder if she's drunk -- you wonder if you're drunk because what is happening right now -- but then you remember that neither of you have had anything to drink yet.

"y-you have?"

vi groans, pushing back in to mouth at your lips, "yeah -- sh-shoulda told you earlier but --" she tugs at the strap of your dress, reveling in the tiny little gasping sound you make as she nips at your collarbone.

waterpolo!vi who can't believe this is happening right now -- really, she might be dreaming, but even if she is, whatever. it's the best dream she's had in ages, having you whimpering against her in this empty locker, your fingers digging into her back as she rucks up your skirt.

"fuck princess, if you're joking about this you better tell me now because --"

"i -- i'm not violet, i swear if you stop --"

she keens when she tugs aside your panties and feels your wetness collect on her fingers. she grins, pulling back just far enough to catch your eyes -- they're glazed over with want, and so, so soft. it almost makes her pause, almost.

she pushes forward, sinking a finger into you, groaning at the tightness. your head lolls back against the closed lockers and vi takes the chance to admire you -- the soft sweep of your lashes as your eyes flutter closed, the round o of your mouth as you moan, the tiny crease between your eyebrows as pleasure paints itself by strokes across the delicate features of your face.

"yeah? that feel good, princess?"

"mm -- mhm --" you nod, fervently, looking back down with half-lidded eyes, reaching down to pull vi back towards you for a long kiss. you lick into her mouth, rocking your hips down against her hand. she hisses against you, her mind nearly fizzing out at the way you drop your face into her shoulder, hanging onto her for dear life as she fucks you on her fingers.

waterpolo!vi who misses nearly her entire birthday party for fucking her new girlfriend to pieces in the lockers. not like her teammates didn't know -- sound really carries in that locker room. she knows. they know. you only find out later when the pair of you come back to the party, red-faced and way too disheveled, vi looking way too smug.

"have a good time in there?" one of the girls asks.

vi shrugs, "yeah y'know. just had to make sure she was cleaned up properly."

another girl rolls her eyes, "yeah right. and im sure all the screaming was because you were just doing such a thorough job, right."

vi smirks, "i try."

waterpolo!vi who makes a point of coming back from swim practice with her hair still wet, a towel draped around her shoulders, baggy shorts around her hips, a tight white tank, and nothing else, just because she knows it makes you pause, knows it sets you off. grins when she comes home to drop a kiss to your cheek and you look up, only to swallow, eyes raking down her body.

"gonna jump in the shower, wanna join me?"

you crinkle your nose, glancing back at the group project you were trying to finish with some classmates on zoom.

"uhm -- sorry guys -- i gotta go."

"wait what -- we're supposed to finish this tonight --"

"sorry, there's uh --" you glance back at vi, who's smirking, leaning in your doorway, an eyebrow hitched, "i think my girlfriend burnt the toast in the kitchen -- sorry, bye!"

you hang up the zoom call even as vi scoffs.

"really? i burnt the toast one time."

she tugs you to her for a kiss as you try to walk by her towards the bathroom. you grin against her lips.

"yeah, and it set off the fire alarm for the entire building, remember?"

"mm. yeah, whatever," she mumbles, busying herself with tugging off your sweatshirt as the pair of you stumble into the bathroom.

"how was practice?" you ask, as vi kicks the door closed behind you, jerking off her tank with one hand, kicking it away on the tiled floor before advancing on you with a predatory glint in her eyes.

"it was fine. we did passing and man-up drills. nothing too bad -- shoulders are sore though."

"yeah? you wanna massage after this?"

"mm that does sound nice," vi says, twisting on the shower, jerking her head for you to step in, climbing in after you with a soft, satisfied groan as the hot water hits her aching muscles.

"but for right now," she says, twisting you around and pressing a quick kiss to your lips, "why don't you get on your knees for me, pretty? there's just one more thing i want you to take care of for me before that massage."

you lick your lips, kiss her back, before dropping to your knees with a sweet smile.

"ready for your post-workout?" you ask, blinking up at her with your big, innocent eyes, even as your fingers inch up her thighs, coaxing them apart. vi groans, leaning back against the cool shower tiles.

"holy fuck yeah."

[rafecameronsslut4ever]

CASUAL pt.2— lando norris (angst)

pairing; fem!reader x lando norris summary: it took lando too long to realise it wasn't just 'casual'. warnings: a LOT of angst, toxic relationship, sexual implication, not proofread a/n: casual part 2 was not really a part of the plan but the audience had demands 🦧also i think this was too long lmao. AND IM SO SORRY FOR THE LONG DELAY OMG

part 1 - casual

miami grand prix: the biggest pr nightmare for every driver—especially lando norris.

the media had been all over him that weekend, going to the lengths of literally calling him 'the hottest catch on the single market'. hollywood stars and instagram models were so desperate to marry him and have his kids that they didn't catch on the fact that he was a 23-year-old racing driver who couldn't give a fuck about them.

because he was stuck on you.

for weeks, he'd waited—hoping you’d reach out, or at the very least, watch his instagram stories. he posted shirtless photos, sun-kissed photos—hell, he even threw out a thirst trap just for you. But you didn’t take the bait. you didn't take the fucking bait.

you hadn't texted him or spoken to him since the moment you walked out of that hotel room weeks ago, so he didn't try to reach out either. "would've been a blow to my ego," he'd told sainz.

but now, he didn't give a shit about his ego. he was tired of waiting.

his eyes darted across the packed club, friends and guests scattered all around. he couldn't wait to get out of there.

he hadn't been drinking. didn't really feel like it. truth be told, he hadn’t been feeling much of anything at all.

pool parties, clubs, yachts, champagne and girls.

he was tired of the glitz and glam of his life, and you were the only escape from it.

but you were gone.

his mind wandered to that morning, when you had kissed him and the two of you had ordered room service. when he had held you for the last time.

he hated how the only thing on his mind was you. how it was the only thing on his mind all through the celebrations, as hookers danced around him and people tried to pour drinks into his mouth.

for fuck's sake, he had won a grand prix for the first time in his life, and yet he was unhappy.

how did he get here?

he looked up, eyes falling on a group of men in the VIP section, the lights illuminating their faces.

everyone could tell something was off with lando. he didn't want to do any of this.

all he wanted was you. you, you, you.

the girl who had left without an explanation.

why had you left, anyway? no calls, no texts. your friends avoided him, and you avoided his friends. it was like the two of you were nothing.

lando norris was many things, but he was not a fool. he could recognise when something was wrong, or when a situation had escalated beyond his control.

he knew that there was a reason why you left, but the reason never clicked in that thick brain of his. what had he done wrong? where had he gone wrong?

"i'm not feeling too well, mate." he muttered, handing the beer bottle back to the guy standing next to him.

okay, maybe not admitting his feelings for you had fucked things up. but, what could you expect? he didn't have the time to give you what you deserved.

not right now, at least.

"what are you waiting for, then?" the other man asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"what?"

"just call her, bro. i know it's about a girl because there's no way any sane man would say no to expensive beers and a million hot hookers."

did lando even know this man? probably not.

"i can't call her. she doesn't want to talk to me. trust me, i've tried."

"have you?"

he didn't know how to deal with rejection. not like this, not with you. you weren't supposed to leave.

"judging by your sulkiness, i doubt you're going to find a girl like her again. and you'll never have her if you're here."

lando didn't have a heart of stone, as much as his social media persona might suggest. he didn't care for any of this. the women, the money, the fame.

he wanted to hold you again. kiss you, tell you he loves you. he wanted to hold your hand. he wanted to be near you, and only you.

so, when his feet hit the floor and he found himself walking towards the exit, he wasn't surprised.

yeah, it was foolish of him to leave a party full of women who were celebrating him (literally) for a girl who had ghosted him, but the need was stronger than his pride.

out of the yacht, he was dialling the only number he'd ever memorised. the phone rang, and then it rang again.

would she be wearing his clothes, or would she have gotten rid of everything related to him?

maybe she'd found another man, finally realising that lando was a bad investment.

as the phone rang, you were hidden in your apartment with blankets wrapped around you and a youtube video playing in the background.

it had been months since you'd heard the word 'casual' leave his mouth. months since you had fled london and monaco to move to miami.

at first, his words had echoed in your mind constantly, and you'd cried yourself to sleep a few times more than you'd like to admit.

but just like every heartbroken poet in history, the hurt faded and the pain slowly morphed into hatred. and anger.

you wanted to slam your head against a wall. scratch that, you wanted to slam his head against a wall.

it was so stupid, and you hated yourself for believing he'd been genuine.

it was just sex. that's all it ever was. it truly was just casual.

the phone was still ringing. your finger hesitated over the answer button. you weren't going to answer it.

it wasn't worth it. you didn't want to hear his voice. didn't want him to have the satisfaction of knowing that his words had hurt you. you didn't want to know if he was sleeping around, if his girlfriends were prettier than you.

so the line went dead.

lando stood by the harbour, watching as yachts and ships sailed past him. the air was humid and his t-shirt clung to his body, the heat almost unbearable. the sound of waves, the distant laughter and music, and the sound of his ragged breaths.

he ran his fingers through his hair, looking around. where was his car?

he had to find his way back to his hotel. he was a mess, and his clothes were sticking to his skin. he needed to fix his appearance, buy a bouquet a flowers.

he checked the time on his watch, and cursed as he saw the numbers. it was almost 3 am. he wouldn't find flowers anywhere at 3 am.

"fuck it." he said, running over to his car. the drive was quiet, save for the low hum of music and his occasional swearing when someone drove a little bit slower than he'd like.

lando norris had the world on his fingertips. he could have any girl he wanted. anyone, really. but he only wanted you. he was a hopeless romantic, and you were his muse.

when he pulled up outside the apartment, his nerves were going haywire. he ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath before getting out of the car.

he knocked twice on the door and when it opened, his eyes lit up.

you stared back at him, sleepiness in your eyes and confusion etched on your face.

and god, did you look gorgeous.

he loved you, he realised. he had to cross his hands behind his back to stop them from reaching out and holding you close.

"lando?" you breathed out.

he had grown a slight stubble since you last saw him. his hair were still the same, except a little bit longer. his blue eyes were wide as he looked at you.

"hey," his voice was shaky.

"what the fuck are you doing here?"

he wanted to say so many things. ask you why you left, where it went wrong, why you moved to miami. he wanted to declare his love for you, press his lips to yours, hold you by the waist. he wanted to hear you say that you loved him too.

he was so in love with you, and you had no idea.

"lando? why are you here?" you asked again.

he was at a loss of words. what could he say? he couldn't exactly just stand there and say nothing.

"because," his voice cracked, "i miss you."

your throat went dry. he could not just say that.

it had been weeks. weeks of him not contacting you, weeks of you not speaking to him. the phone calls had stopped, the text messages had stopped, the late night chats had stopped. everything was just gone.

and now, he missed you?

tears welled up in your eyes, a lump forming in your throat. you shook your head, pushing back the tears, "go away."

"what? no, wait. wait. don't do this." he pleaded, his voice fragile and desperate, like a child trying to avoid bedtime.

"lando-"

he interrupted you, voice louder than before. "can we please talk about this?"

"what is there to talk about?" you were raising your voice. you hated him. how could he act like this after all that happened?

"everything. just—please, can i come in?" he sounded so pathetic. he felt so pathetic. his hands were slightly hovering over the door, ready to push it open and walk in.

the request took you by surprise. "i-no."

you missed him. there was no denying that.

you wanted him to tell you it was okay. wanted to go back to that night in his mclaren, the night he told you he liked you. wanted the weekends spent in london with his family. you wanted him, all of him.

his curly hair wrapped around your fingers, blue eyes staring at you, soft lips kissing you. his cold hands grabbing yours, and his voice saying your name. you wanted it to not be casual.

"i just want to talk to you."

he was drunk. there was no other way he would've showed up here, let alone begged to talk to you. the fact that he needed to be drunk to have this conversation made your blood boil.

"do you still have my jacket?"

of course, you still had his stupid jacket. the one that had his smell embedded into the fabric. it was an exclusive print mclaren had given him, and he had swung it around your shoulders after the night you had first made love to each other.

but he didn't care about the jacket, and neither did you. it was just a reminder.

you were silent for a while, taking in the sight of each other. it was his breath mingling with yours.

"i love you." he whispered.

your breath hitched in your throat, the tears finally falling out of your eyes as you sighed.

"i love you," he repeated to himself. "yes, i do. and i've known that since the day i met you."

you choked back sobs as you shook your head, "you're drunk, lando."

"i'm not," he chuckled, "maybe a little, but not enough."

then, he added, "i mean it. i love you." his voice was steady. he truly meant every word. but he didn't know what would happen now.

"what do you want me to say, lando?"

he sighed, "anything."

you laughed bitterly. anything, he said.

anything would've been better than what had happened.

"i don't think i can do this, lando."

"we can take it slow."

"you've never done slow."

he fell silent again because you were right. he'd never done slow. he didn't know how to take things slow. he was a fucking formula 1 driver, after all. slow wasn't something he did. he'd always lived life like it was the last day. and that's how he had lost you.

"i'm sorry," he began, his voice breaking. "i should've been a better person. i'm sorry for everything i did. i should've given you more, i-i should've loved you more, because you deserve so much more. i'm so, so, sorry."

"lando," you whispered, "it's not—"

"don't make excuses for me, please. i love you, i really do. and if i have to spend the rest of my life proving that, i will." and he meant every word. "i just want you back."

your mind was racing, a million thoughts running through it. it was like a movie. his blue eyes, his voice, the desperation in his tone, the way he stood before you.

"okay," you muttered.

"wait, okay? does that mean—"

"you're gonna have to work for this," you said.

"i know, and i will. i promise."

you sighed, rubbing your temple. this wasn't a good idea. "get in."

lando's face lit up, and before you could change your mind, he had walked into the apartment. he hadn't really been here before, considering you moved here after the two of you had stopped talking. but the apartment was lovely, homely. everything you.

you closed the door behind him, watching him look around the living room.

"how'd you know where i live?"

he chuckled, turning to face you. "i'm a famous driver. i have my sources."

"i'm sure." a tense silence followed, neither of you knowing what to say.

"i'm not letting this happen again," he blurted, "i'm not. i don't know how, but i won't."

"i don't believe you." you scoffed.

"fuck, baby, what do i have to do for you to believe me?" he stepped towards you, closing the distance.

"stop calling me that."

"you are my baby." he tried to joke.

"lando, i'm not joking."

"i'm serious too," his voice was sincere, "i love you, and i'll do whatever it takes for you to believe me."

you had been through a lot together. the highs, the lows. you had seen him at his best, and at his worst. the good and the bad.

he moved closer, reaching a hand out to hold yours. you didn't know why, but the moment his hand touched yours, it was like a switch had flipped inside of you.

you let his hand wander over yours like a ghost, his calloused fingertips tracing over your knuckles. he intertwined your fingers together, eyes casted down.

"i've never cared about anyone the way i care about you." he admitted in a soft voice.

and then he pressed his lips to yours. his other hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

and god, did he taste the same. lando had a way with his lips. it was a talent. he kissed you like he needed your lips to survive. he was desperate for your touch as if he had been starving without it.

you were so lost in the feeling that you hadn't realised how far you had pushed him until the back of his knees hit the couch, and he fell on top of it.

his eyes were wide, mouth hanging open. his shirt was halfway unbuttoned, exposing his chest and toned abs.

the two of you stared at each other, eyes searching the other's.

"i love you." he murmured for what seemed like the hundredth time that night.

maybe it was the way his blue eyes bore into yours, or the way his lips quivered, or maybe it was the fact that he had driven across the city to say this.

but for the first time that night, you believed him. and suddenly, the anger was gone. it was all gone.

"i love you, too." you whispered.

it was the only thing the two of you needed. the confirmation, the reassurance. the love.

you leaned down and connected your lips once more, hand reaching up to his curls and tugging lightly. he moaned into the kiss, pulling you on top of him.

your tongue entered his mouth, the taste of him making you lightheaded. his hands roamed over your body, the feeling of his skin against yours.

"baby," he whispered between kisses, "i want you so bad. i've waited so long."

his lips trailed along your jaw and down your neck, sucking marks into the sensitive skin.

"i want you," he murmured against the crook of your neck, "so fucking bad."

but he pulled away, flipping the two of you over so he was on top of you. he took off his shirt, and rested his head on your chest. he cleared his throat, "i should've asked this question earlier, but are you single?"

"yeah." you chuckled, running a hand through his curls.

"so, can i be your boyfriend?"

"lando norris," you hummed, "did you finally get the guts to ask me out?"

"yes," he smiled, lifting his head up to look at you, "yes, i did. will you be my girlfriend?"

"you're a dork."

"that's not an answer."

"yes," you laughed, "yes, i'll be your girlfriend."

lando grinned, and you grinned back.

yeah, it wasn't casual anymore.

(u guys im so sorry if i've tagged someone who doesnt want to be tagged i just had no idea how to let non-followers know part 2 is out bcs tumblr is not letting me reply to comments😭if anyone wants their tag removed, feel free to dm me!! i hope u liked this) @oscarpiassrri @meglouise00 @f1fantasys @technicallypleasanttree @ggaslyp1 @obxstiles @nataliambc @prudyhoo @idkwtdwml123 @ushygushybaby @emilyroxy @yootvi @fishingarden @pillowprincess4him @herexpertcollector

[metalheadsforblacklivesmatter]

Heat Intolerance

This disability pride month I'd like to talk about heat intolerance. Because honestly although it's not the first health issue that presented symptoms in my life. It was the first time I was like "I don't think my body works right".

And honestly given disability pride month is during one of the hottest months in the year. It seems fitting. Especially because there's a lot of disabilities and medications that cause it.

What is heat intolerance?

Simply speaking it's the inability for the body to regulate it's temperatures especially in hot settings to cool itself down.

Why is awareness important?

Because gaslighting people or worse not providing them a place to cool down just because you "feel fine" is extremely fucking dangerous.

What are the medicines that can cause heat intolerance?

Antihistamines (Allergy medications) . Decongestants (Sudafed or any medication that has the D at the end of it). Stimulants (ADHD medications. Steroids. Caffeine.) Beta-blockers (blood pressure medications). Overactive bladder treatment. Psychiatric medications (including but not limited to medications for depression and anxiety). Pain relievers. Antibiotics.

What medical conditions can cause heat intolerance?

EDS (Elhers-Danlos syndrome). Autism. ADHD. Migraines. Brain/spinal-cord injury. Sensory processing disorder. Chronic fatigue syndrome. Endocrin problems. POTS. Menopause. Hypothyroidism. Diabetes. Heart Disease. Multiple sclerosis. Mental health disorders.

What should I do if I suspect I have heat intolerance?

Reduce time outside during hot months. Keep your electrolytes up. Drink plenty of water. Stay out of the sun whenever possible if outside. Be aware of the symptoms of heat exhaustion and heat stroke.

Clothes that are best worn for heat intolerance. Loose lightweight breathable fabrics. Natural fibers. Long sleeves that protect from sunburn as sunburns will increase your risk. Light clothes that reflect light. Wide brimmed hats that shade the face and neck.

Cool. So what are those symptoms I'm supposed you be looking for?

Headaches. Excessive fatigue. Mood changes. Muscle cramping or weakness. Nausea/ vomiting. Rapid heartbeat. Excessive sweating or not sweating at all.

When should I do to the doctor?

If you suspect you have heat intolerance you can go to your PCP to discuss what medications you may be on and what you can do about it. Otherwise, please go to the emergency room if you have symptoms of heat stroke.

This is good information and all but why are you making this post?

To raise awareness. Not just for the people that have it but weren't aware of what it was called. But for all of the idiots that tried to gaslight me when I was in school because I was like "I don't think this is normal. Every time we do our mile run outside I vomit all over the place but other kids aren't doing that."

Also because people always blame me for over heating if I wear long sleeves or pants. I always like to take notes from what people in the middle east wear because they literally live in the excessive heat and spend long hours in the excessive heat. Often in clothing that covers most of their body. They've gotta know what they're doing, right?

I have some type of xenophobic comment about why people from the middle east cover up

Shut the fuck up 😊

-fae