#just really thin and disconnected lines

[sweetcalebb]

Catching reader listening to nsfw audios hehe 😼

They catch you listening to NSFW audios ! ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

wc: 1.9k (~350 each boy)

a/n: there wasn't a specification on which boy, so i did my take on all of them. also a special thanks to @beaconsxd who helped me with raf's dialouge (directly quoted!!) and mannerisms. i hope it was okay!! :(

content: caleb/ zayne/ xavier/ sylus/ and rafayel x reader, some of them are pouty and whiny, obsessive, possessive, making your own videos together! <3

––

Caleb

You thought you were careful. How were you supposed to know that Caleb's earbuds would connect to your phone?

You sit there for a second, dumbly—brows furrowed with annoyance and fingers nudging at the volume button.

"What the hell?" you murmur.

You check your Bluetooth status. It says connected. But when you look closer, your cheeks burn.

They're connected. To Caleb's earbuds.

Before you can disconnect, you hear footsteps padding to your room.

Then there he is, brows furrowed and lips parted.

"What am I listening to right now?"

You scramble, turning the volume all the way down. Then you just sit there, blankly. What are you even supposed to say?

"How often do you listen to this stuff?" he asks, his voice edging with curiosity and something darker as he steps closer

"Not often..." you murmur, shrinking back into your bed like the pillows will erase the fact that you've been caught red-handed.

You want to die. This has literally been one of your worst fears since you stumbled across these NSFW audios—for someone else to connect as you're listening.

But for it to be Caleb of all people?

"I just—Sometimes I..—"

"Do you want me to make those sounds?" Caleb sits down next to you, hand twitching at his side. "Because I can. I can groan and grunt all you want. I can make videos for you."

Your chest tightens at that.

"N-no, that's not—"

"Then you wouldn't have to listen to that," he says, his voice caught between something equal parts soft and rough. Like he can't decide whether to be sweet or jealous.

"You could have me in your ear instead."

Your breath hitches. "You would seriously... make audios for me?"

Caleb nods, leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours, then your jaw, then your neck. Then his hand finally slides up your side.

"I would do anything for you."

(BONUS)

Caleb really followed through. Of course he did.

Anything for you.

You could tell he had fun—could practically hear the lopsided smile in his breathy sighs and moans.

Especially when he'd grunted out the words, "M'mhah. Is this what you wanted, Pipsqueak?"

Oh yeah, he was cocky.

But the pure possession and jealousy started bleeding in through the cracks. So painfully shameless, too. He started saying things like "I'm the only one you need pips," and "Just me, just me, just me," through grunts the closer he got.

And you ate it up.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Zayne

You had a routine. Connect to your earbuds. Check once. Check twice. Check thrice.

So the last thing you expected when Zayne asked if you guys could talk was for him to bring up the NSFW audios you were listening to earlier that day.

Your cheeks burn. You don't even want to look at him.

Zayne's lips press into a thin line, frustration sharpening the edges of his face. He isn't one for jealousy. No, he's composed. Rational.

Usually, anyway.

But this?

Something about it irks him.

"What do you use it for?" he asks, his voice rougher than he intends.

"Sometimes I just listen.."

Zayne's eyes narrow. "And other times?"

You stay silent, and that's all the answer he needs. He waits a beat, like he's contemplating what to do before carefully pulling you into his lap.

"Is there something.. I lack?" His voice softens in a way he can't hide.

He brushes his lips against your temple, then your cheek, then lower still until they're at your neck, sweet, but hesitant.

"If that's what you need... then let me be the voice you listen to."

You melt, guilt flaring in your chest.

"No, you're enough.. It's just something.. for when I miss you," you say, tilting your head. "But I shouldn't use it at all."

Zayne lets out a small sigh against your neck. "No. You shouldn't. Not when I can help you."

You pause.

"In what way?"

"I could... make those for you."

"What—?" You can't help the excitement that creeps up, but you quickly beat it back down. "You don't have to—"

"I want to." Then quieter, "Will you let me?"

(BONUS)

Zayne didn't spoil you. He's too strict (he's really just shy) for that. But he did leave you one video—him gasping and huffing as he worked himself over.

Again, he's too strict (shy) to be overly vocal, but he did slip in some lines.

"I need you..."

"I... I miss you."

Then casually, after sending the audio, he texted you.

Zayne: I hope you'll listen to that when you need me.

When you need him.

Such casual wording, like he hadn't just wrecked you even more with that.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Xavier

You've never seen him like this. Not since the last time you mentioned Lumiere. And you don't even try to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks.

It's not even from being caught.

It's from the way he looks you—brows set in an irritated line, lips pressed in a tight line, his jaw ticking from how hard he's clenching it.

"Why do you listen to that?" he questions, carefully grabbing your phone and shutting it off. "When I'm here?"

His eyes soften a fraction, his hands slipping up your sides and pulling you close. "I don't like it.."

Your chest feels heavy. "I didn't think it mattered," you murmur.

His hold on you tightens, and you can feel the heat of his stare even though you can’t meet his eyes.

“It matters to me,” he says, softer now.

You nod, cheeks burning. “Okay… I won’t anymore. I’m sorry, Xav.”

Xavier huffs, the sound caught between relief and something else. He nudges his head against yours. "Is that what you like?" He asks, his voice quiet, like he's not sure he really wants the answer.

Quickly, he decides he doesn't want the answer. He just kisses your head and murmurs, "I can make those for you."

It almost sounds like a plea, but that edge of possessiveness comes creeping back in. "You don't need anything—or anyone else."

(BONUS)

When Xavier actually sent you the video, it surprised you. But when you listened to it, you nearly lost it.

Because the sounds?—God, the sounds.

He whimpered all soft and needy. Then, halfway through, he started asking things like "is this okay?" and "am i doing it right?" between ragged breaths.

You felt a small twinge of guilt though. When you saw him at work again; he averted your gaze and his cheeks tinted a cute pink.

Then later, when you were alone, he asked, "Did I do it right..?"

When you nodded, he smiled and said, "I'm glad."

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Sylus

"Sweetie."

You briefly glance up at Sylus as he enters the bedroom. "Yeah?"

Nothing could've prepared you for when Sylus holds up his phone, the NSFW audio you listened to yesterday on the screen.

"What is the meaning of this?"

You glance up again as he stops in front of you. Heat rushes to your cheeks. You open your mouth to explain, but all that comes out is a small breath.

Sylus tilts his head and smiles. "What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?"

"I don't... How did you..?"

"I'm not judging, sweetie. I'm just.." he glances at the screen, still smiling, "intrigued."

"I.. I just missed you."

Sylus chuckles, the sound low and rumbly. He places his phone on the nightstand before carefully dragging his hand up your arm and stopping at your cheek.

"So you imagine me when you listen to that?"

"Yes.."

Sylus hums in acknowledgment.

"Well, why listen to this when you can have the real thing?"

He thumbs at your lip, his chest tugging at the way you look right now—cheeks tinted red, eyes big and pleading, like you're praying he won't be mad at you.

"What do you mean?"

"If you listen to audios when you miss me, then perhaps I should give you something to use while I'm away." He leans forward, his breath ghosting over your lips. "Would you like that, kitten?"

"Yes.."

"Good. If you want something, just ask for it." Sylus kisses you slow. "I'll give you anything you desire as long as you talk to me."

(BONUS)

Sylus spared no expense. He didn't just send an audio. He sent a video too—claiming it was for when your mind needed a little more stimulation.

The audio—that was a whole thing on its own—soft grunts and groans that made heat pool in your stomach and your legs squeeze together.

But the video?

The video made you think he missed his calling on some raunchy site with the way he worked himself over, deliberately slow at first, then faster, your name spilling past his lips like it's sacred.

Then came his text.

Sylus: Will that suffice?

Sylus: If you ever need more—of anything, not just this—say the word and it's yours.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Rafayel

Rafayel hasn't talked to you in 30 minutes. He's been sitting there with his arms crossed and his lips pursed in his signature pout.

Then finally, "Do you even love me?"

You let out a quiet breath. "Of course I do!"

"What does that faceless man have that I don't?" he presses, eyes narrowed in a way that makes guilt curl in your chest.

"Nothing, Raf..! I—I'm sorry.. I only listen to that type of stuff when I miss you.."

"You should call me if you miss me so much.." he mutters, the tension slowly bleeding out of his shoulders when he sees the way your frown deepens.

He can never stay mad at you too long.

Rafayel sighs, gesturing for you to come closer. When you do, he wraps his arms around you and holds you close. "So that's the kinda stuff you like, huh?"

"Not necessarily... I just—I picture you."

There's a beat of silence, then he pulls back to look at you. "You picture me?" he echoes.

You nod.

He smiles, briefly. Just briefly. Then it's gone again, like he's still trying to hold on to whatever semblance of a grudge that he can.

"But I can give you everything you need," he murmurs. "You don't need to look anywhere else."

"I know, I'm sorry. I won't do it anymore."

He seems to soften even more at that. Then quietly, with his lips pressing into your collar, he says, "We could make our own audios." His lips trail up your neck. "Together."

You practically melt into a puddle right then and there. "You'd want to do that?"

Rafayel nods, lips traveling higher now. "So we can both have something to listen to when we miss each other." His grip on you tightens. "Maybe we can make more than just audios."

Your heart beats wildly in your ears. "Now?"

Rafayel nods, slowly grabbing your phone from your pocket and handing it to you. "When else, cutie?"

(BONUS)

You didn't just make audios together, you made videos too.

Plural.

Videos.

Rafayel wouldn't admit how much it actually bothered him that you listened to another guy's voice just to... what? He didn't even ask what you used them for. But it bothered him.

So, you guys made lengthy videos together.

He didn't stop after that, though. No, he started making more audios just for you. You didn't ask, he just did it.

You had a full album's worth of them.

And after that, the only NSFW audios you listened to were his.

––

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tags: @exe-toby @seungkwansflower @floatinginaer @halfawakeblobbu @heartyluv @starryeyed-apple @asiatic-apple @walrusbreath @sylvieisoffline @awquaz @purpleamethyst25 @pinksaiyans @haleaf @politefawn @colonelpantysniffer @villainessobsessed @lioria @inlovewithsylus @tired7o7 @justwinginglife @itsmysmut @bitewiththis @littleboomerang @aenishas @inzayneforaj @opalesquegirl @sudenuryg @lamogliedizayne @rurushow @viviiswrr-d @rina-lidou @puppytruther @animegamerfox @00haru00 @thelittlebutton @lilacsandhysteria @syncaleb @meulilac @honeymoonfleur @stargirlygirl @peachlycheetea @calebsbabyapple @goochfiddler99 @lewdcifer778 @minivia @bidisasterforevermore @c-l-stinnett @thesevro @mindnumbed @alysaria @destinysrequiem @twilightsmissingfur

(some of u only wanted to be tagged for certain boys. do u still want to be tagged for these types of post where it's all lads boys? let me know 🫶🏻)

[gottencents]

Casual PT.5 - Yu Jimin

prev | casual masterlist | main masterlist | navi

paring. meangirl!karina x starsoccerplayer!reader

synopsis. After falling deeply in love, Y/N and Karina find themselves fighting to keep their relationship intact when insecurity, doubt, and emotional wounds threaten to pull them apart.

The morning light barely crept through the slats of Karina’s blinds, casting thin, golden lines across the bedroom. The world outside was stirring, but inside, it was eerily still. The only sound was the faint, steady rhythm of Karina’s breathing beside Y/N—a comforting noise that, once upon a time, could have lulled her back into peace.

But now, Y/N lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling. She had barely slept. Her mind refused to settle, circling endlessly around the jagged remnants of her insecurities, picking at them like an open wound.

Karina shifted slightly beside her, her arm slipping around Y/N’s waist, drawing her close. For a brief moment, Y/N let herself melt into the embrace, shutting her eyes and pretending the night before had been enough to fix them.

But it wasn’t. Not really.

She felt Karina’s lips press against the back of her shoulder, soft and sleepy. “You’re awake,” Karina mumbled, her voice still thick with slumber.

“Yeah,” Y/N whispered. She turned onto her side, meeting Karina’s half-lidded gaze. Her eyes were puffy from the tears she had shed last night, but somehow, Karina still looked beautiful—peaceful in her vulnerability.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Karina’s fingers traced absentminded circles along Y/N’s arm, her voice filled with concern.

Y/N forced a small smile. “Just couldn’t turn my brain off.”

Karina shifted, propping herself on her elbow so she could look at Y/N properly. “Hey…” she said softly, brushing a few strands of hair from Y/N’s face. “Are you okay?”

It was such a simple question. One that, before Yujin, Y/N could have answered without hesitation. But now, she didn’t know how to respond. Her throat tightened slightly.

She nodded. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Karina studied her for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly, but she didn’t push. She only leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to Y/N’s forehead, letting her lips linger there longer than necessary.

“Let’s stay in bed for a bit, hmm?” Karina whispered. “No rushing. No pretending. Just us.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath, her fingers curling into the fabric of Karina’s shirt, holding on a little too tightly. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to stay there forever, tucked away from the rest of the world, away from her own intrusive thoughts.

But she couldn’t.

Instead, she pulled back slightly, forcing a smile. “I should get going soon. I have a lot of stuff to catch up on.”

Karina’s face fell ever so slightly, but she recovered quickly. She sat up, her eyes searching Y/N’s face. “You don’t have to leave yet.”

“I know,” Y/N mumbled, already sitting up and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. “I just… I need to clear my head.”

The room was heavy with disappointment. Karina’s hand lightly brushed Y/N’s back, but her touch felt tentative, hesitant—like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to hold on.

“Okay,” Karina finally said softly, pulling her hand back. “I get it.”

But she didn’t. Not really.

And Y/N didn’t have the strength to explain.

The day blurred into meaningless distractions. Y/N went about her errands on autopilot, moving through the motions but feeling disconnected from her own limbs. She ran into people she knew—classmates, casual acquaintances—and forced smiles that barely reached her eyes.

But the weight in her chest never lifted.

By the time the sun began to set, she found herself walking aimlessly, unsure of where she was even heading. She wound up in a small park near her apartment, her hands shoved deep into her jacket pockets as she stared at the setting sun, its orange glow bleeding into the sky.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She didn’t even have to look at the screen to know it was Karina. The vibration felt heavier somehow, as if it carried the weight of their unsaid words.

She let it go to voicemail.

When she finally made her way back home, her apartment was dark and quiet. The moment she shut the door behind her, she exhaled sharply, leaning against it, letting the silence press in around her.

And then, the tears came. Slow at first, then harder. She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, trying to stop the flow, but she couldn’t. She slid down against the door until she was sitting on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest, shaking with the force of her sobs.

She should feel better.

They were okay now, right? They had talked. They had held each other.

So why did she still feel so broken?

The days that followed were filled with a strange distance neither of them addressed. Karina would text her good morning, but the conversations were brief. They still saw each other, but the easy affection they once shared felt stiff now—like they were holding on too tightly, afraid it would slip through their fingers.

Karina noticed it too. She could see the way Y/N pulled away at times, how she smiled less and avoided her gaze more. She could feel the way Y/N’s kisses seemed shorter, her touches a little less certain.

One evening, when Y/N came over, Karina stood in the kitchen watching her fumble with her phone, pretending to be distracted. The silence between them was suffocating.

“Hey,” Karina said softly. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

Y/N’s fingers stilled around her phone. She forced a chuckle. “Just tired, I guess.”

Karina’s brow furrowed slightly. She took a step forward, closing the space between them. “No,” she said quietly. “It’s more than that.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered up to meet hers, but they were guarded—wary.

Karina exhaled slowly. “Are you pulling away from me?”

The words hit Y/N square in the chest, knocking the breath from her lungs. She blinked, caught off guard. “What? No.”

“Then what is it?” Karina’s voice was quiet, but there was an unmistakable tremor of pain in it. “You’re here, but you’re not. You’re looking at me, but you’re somewhere else. I’m losing you and I don’t even know how to stop it.”

Y/N’s throat tightened painfully. She wanted to reassure her, to promise her that she wasn’t pulling away—but her lips wouldn’t form the words. Because she knew, deep down, that she was.

She was slipping, retreating into herself, keeping Karina at arm’s length—even though she didn’t want to. Even though she loved her.

“I’m scared,” Y/N finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared that even though Yujin is gone, what she did is still here. Still between us.”

Karina’s eyes shimmered with emotion. She reached for Y/N’s hand, gripping it tightly. “I know it’s still there. I feel it too,” she whispered. “But you’re still my person. You’re still the one I want. Do you understand that?”

Y/N shook her head, her voice trembling. “I want to believe you. But sometimes… sometimes I feel like no matter how hard I hold on, it won’t be enough.”

Karina squeezed her hand tighter. “Then let me hold on for you. Let me fight for both of us until you’re strong enough to fight with me again.”

Her voice broke slightly, but her eyes were unwavering—fierce and filled with devotion.

Y/N’s chest tightened painfully. She wanted to trust in Karina’s words. She wanted to believe that love alone could bridge the chasm between them.

But as she stood there, holding Karina’s hand, she still felt like she was standing on opposite sides of a widening fault line—praying that neither of them would fall through the cracks.

The wind was sharp against Y/N’s face as she walked along the cracked pavement of the unfamiliar neighborhood. She had no reason to be there—no destination, no purpose—just walking, letting the rhythmic scuff of her shoes against the concrete fill the silence in her head.

Her fingers were trembling slightly in her jacket pockets, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or the restless energy simmering under her skin.

It had been nearly two days since she had seen Karina.

They had exchanged texts—small, surface-level check-ins that neither of them seemed brave enough to deepen. The warmth and ease that once came so naturally had been replaced with short sentences and hesitant words.

And Y/N hated it.

She hated the way she could still feel the ghost of Yujin’s influence lingering in the spaces between them. She hated the seed of doubt that had taken root in her chest, sprouting and twisting into something ugly and suffocating.

Most of all, she hated how easy it was to fall into the habit of running away from Karina when she felt herself drowning—because she didn’t want Karina to see her breaking.

But she was breaking. Slowly. Quietly.

And she wasn’t sure how to stop.

Later that night, Y/N sat in her apartment, curled up on the couch with a blanket pulled around her shoulders. The television played some movie she wasn’t really watching. The characters moved across the screen in muted, blurry motions—just colorful noise in the background.

Her phone sat on the coffee table, face-down. She hadn’t checked it in over an hour. She knew there were probably unread messages from Karina, but she couldn’t bring herself to look.

Because if she did, she might answer.

And if she answered, she might have to lie again and say she was fine.

Her eyes burned with the threat of tears, but she refused to let them fall. Instead, she squeezed them shut and dug her nails into her palm, trying to will the aching from her chest.

But the knock at her door snapped her out of it.

Her breath caught in her throat. She wasn’t expecting anyone. For a brief, foolish second, she almost thought she was imagining it.

But then came the second knock. Soft, hesitant. Familiar.

She didn’t need to check the peephole. She already knew who it was.

Her fingers hovered over the doorknob for a moment before she slowly twisted it and pulled the door open.

There she was.

Karina stood there, arms wrapped tightly around herself, her face pale with worry. Her eyes, soft and searching, scanned Y/N’s face.

“Hey,” Karina said softly, her voice almost tentative.

Y/N’s throat tightened. She blinked once, twice, unsure of how to greet her. For a moment, she felt the urge to close the door—to run and hide.

But before she could react, Karina’s hand reached out, gently brushing along her wrist. The touch was featherlight, as if she were asking for permission.

“Can I come in?” Karina whispered.

Y/N nodded weakly and stepped aside.

The door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in the heavy stillness of the apartment. Y/N’s eyes flickered to the couch where she had just been sitting—where she had been falling apart alone only moments ago.

She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know where to begin.

But Karina didn’t speak right away. She simply stood there, taking in the sight of Y/N—the tension in her shoulders, the dullness in her eyes, the exhaustion on her face.

After a moment, she slowly reached out again, her fingers brushing over Y/N’s hand.

“You’re shutting me out,” Karina finally whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “I can feel it.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted painfully. She knew she should deny it, but she couldn’t. The words lodged in her throat like stones.

Karina’s fingers slid between hers, curling into a tentative grip. “Why?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. “Why are you pulling away from me?”

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, suddenly unable to meet Karina’s gaze. She could feel the heat of her tears threatening to spill over.

“I’m not,” she choked out weakly, but the words sounded hollow even to her own ears.

Karina’s grip on her hand tightened slightly. “Yes, you are,” she whispered, her voice cracking ever so slightly. “And it’s breaking my heart.”

Her voice was trembling now, and Y/N felt herself unraveling at the sound of it. She wanted to speak, to offer some kind of reassurance—but her throat was too tight, clogged with the sob she was fighting to keep down.

“Y/N, look at me.”

She shook her head weakly, still unable to meet her eyes.

“Baby, please,” Karina whispered, reaching up to cup her cheek, forcing Y/N’s eyes to meet hers.

And that was all it took. The moment Y/N saw the raw emotion swimming in Karina’s eyes—the hurt, the fear, the love—her composure shattered completely.

Her face crumpled, and before she could stop herself, the tears were falling. Hot and heavy. She let out a choked sob as Karina’s arms immediately wrapped around her, holding her as tightly as she could.

Y/N’s hands gripped the fabric of Karina’s sweater with trembling fingers, burying her face against her shoulder, her sobs breaking free in sharp, shuddering waves.

Karina pressed her lips against Y/N’s hair, murmuring soft, soothing words that neither of them really registered. She simply held her. Rocked her. Let her fall apart in her arms.

They sank onto the couch, with Karina pulling Y/N into her lap, cradling her as though she could shield her from the weight of the world. Y/N clung to her desperately, her tears dampening Karina’s sweater.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N sobbed brokenly, her voice muffled against Karina’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to push you away. I just—” Her voice cracked again. “I don’t know how to make it stop. I don’t know how to turn it off.”

Karina’s fingers threaded into Y/N’s hair, holding her even tighter. “Shh, shh,” she whispered against her temple. “You don’t have to turn it off. You don’t have to fix it by yourself. You have me. You’ll always have me.”

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head slightly. “But what if you get tired of this?” Her voice was barely a whisper, but Karina heard every word. “What if one day you wake up and realize I’m too much? What if you regret choosing me?”

Karina pulled back slightly, cupping Y/N’s face with both hands. Her eyes were red-rimmed, glistening with her own tears.

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice fierce despite its softness. “Listen to me. I will never get tired of you. Do you hear me? Never. You’re not too much. You’re everything. I want all of you. Even the broken parts. Even when it’s messy.”

Y/N’s face crumpled again, another sob catching in her throat.

Karina pressed her forehead to Y/N’s, her thumbs gently wiping away her tears. Her voice was thick with emotion, but steady—firm.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Karina whispered, her voice cracking slightly. “So stop trying to push me away. Please.”

Y/N’s hands curled into Karina’s sweater again, holding on as if letting go would make her disappear.

And for the first time in weeks, Y/N let herself be held without guilt. Without the need to pretend she was fine. She let herself fall apart in the arms of the woman she loved.

And even though the weight in her chest didn’t completely disappear, she could feel herself breathing again—if only just a little.

The morning light slipped through the blinds, casting soft golden lines across the rumpled sheets. The room was still. Too still. The kind of silence that felt heavy rather than soothing.

Y/N stirred beneath the covers, eyes half-lidded, weighed down by exhaustion. She was awake, but she didn’t move. Her limbs felt heavy, her chest even heavier. She stared at the sliver of sunlight on the wall, tracing its slow crawl across the faded paint.

She could feel Karina’s warmth beside her. The gentle rise and fall of her breathing. The occasional sleepy sigh. They were still tangled together from the night before, their limbs loosely entwined, but there was no peaceful comfort in the closeness—only a quiet ache.

Y/N turned her head slightly, her gaze falling on Karina’s face. Her girlfriend’s eyes were still closed, her lips slightly parted. Strands of dark hair fell across her face, and the soft morning light illuminated the faint smudges beneath her eyes.

She looks tired.

She looks beautiful.

She looks like she’s slipping away.

Y/N’s throat tightened, the familiar lump pressing against her windpipe. She wanted to close her eyes again. She wanted to disappear into sleep, just for a little while longer—to stretch out the fragile peace of Karina’s arms around her.

But she knew that the moment Karina opened her eyes, the distance between them would return. The same distance that neither of them could seem to bridge, no matter how tightly they held each other.

Because despite everything—despite the apologies and the whispered reassurances—there were still too many jagged edges between them. The splinters of Yujin’s lies still lodged too deep beneath their skin.

Later, Karina sat on the edge of the bed, her back to Y/N, slipping on a sweatshirt. Her movements were quiet but detached, and she didn’t turn around.

The room felt too big. Too wide. Too empty.

Y/N’s stomach twisted uncomfortably as she watched Karina pull her hair up into a messy bun, leaving her slender neck exposed. She wanted to reach out. To press her lips against the warm skin there. To pull her back into bed and bury herself in her arms again.

But she didn’t move.

Karina glanced over her shoulder, offering a small, hesitant smile. It didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m gonna make some coffee,” she murmured, her voice soft but distant. “Do you want some?”

Y/N nodded automatically. “Yeah. Thanks.”

But she didn’t really want coffee. She just didn’t want Karina to leave the room.

She watched Karina disappear into the kitchen, the quiet sound of cabinets opening and mugs clinking breaking the fragile silence. Y/N sat in the empty bed, staring at the spot where Karina had been moments before, her chest tight with an inexplicable sense of loss.

Her hands slowly clenched the blanket, holding it tighter against her legs. She tried to breathe through the tightness in her chest, but it didn’t ease.

Because this was what it had become—the hollow space between them. The way they tiptoed around each other, careful not to press too hard, to lean too much.

It was suffocating.

By the time Y/N made it into the kitchen, Karina was already sitting at the counter, nursing her mug with both hands. She was scrolling through her phone, her brows furrowed slightly in concentration.

Y/N leaned against the doorframe, watching her.

For a moment, she let herself pretend they were okay. That Karina was just reading something mundane—an email, a news article, some random social media post. That the slight crease between her brows meant nothing.

But when Karina noticed Y/N, she quickly set her phone down—almost too quickly. Her fingers curled around her mug a little tighter, and she offered a fleeting smile.

“Hey,” she murmured softly, as if she hadn’t just stiffened moments before.

Y/N tried to smile back, but it felt forced. She crossed the room and sat beside Karina, their knees barely touching.

There was a time when Karina would have automatically shifted closer. When she would have leaned into Y/N’s side or rested her hand on her thigh without a second thought. But now there was an almost imperceptible hesitancy—a small pause before her fingers grazed the back of Y/N’s hand.

She still reached for her, but the ease was gone.

And Y/N hated how she could feel the caution in Karina’s touch. The unspoken question in it. Do you still want this?

Y/N turned slightly in her chair, glancing at the phone Karina had set down. She caught the name at the top of the screen before Karina’s fingers subtly shifted the device away.

It was Naeun—one of Karina’s coworkers.

Y/N’s stomach twisted sharply. She bit the inside of her cheek and looked down at her mug.

She knew Karina worked with Naeun on some project. She knew they were in regular contact. She knew it was innocent.

But she also knew that her own brain didn’t care about logic anymore. Because Yujin had ruined that for her.

And the worst part? She hated herself for it.

She hated the way she suddenly wanted to ask who had texted her. She hated the way her throat tightened when Karina angled her phone slightly away. She hated the sharp pang of jealousy that made her chest feel too tight.

And she hated herself even more for not trusting Karina the way she once had.

Because she knew Karina would never hurt her. But the damage was already done.

Later that evening, the tension had settled back over them like a thick fog.

They were on the couch, but the space between them felt wide. Y/N sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the fabric of the blanket over her legs. Karina was on the other end, scrolling through her phone again.

It was quiet. Unbearably quiet.

Y/N’s eyes flickered toward Karina’s face. She looked tired. Her eyes were slightly hooded, her expression blank and far away. She was there, but she wasn’t.

Y/N stared at her for a long moment, her chest tight with a sudden wave of desperation.

“Rina?” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Karina’s eyes lifted from her phone. She blinked slightly, as if startled out of a daze.

“Yeah?” she answered softly.

Y/N’s throat tightened. She didn’t even know what she wanted to say. She just wanted Karina’s full attention.

“I miss you,” Y/N whispered before she could stop herself. Her voice cracked slightly, the vulnerability in it making her cringe.

Karina’s eyes softened immediately, and she set her phone down. She shifted closer, closing the space between them, her hand reaching out to cup Y/N’s cheek.

“Baby, I’m right here,” she whispered, her eyes filled with quiet tenderness.

But Y/N shook her head weakly. “No, you’re not,” she whispered brokenly. Her voice cracked again, and she hated herself for it. “I feel like I’m losing you, and I can’t—” Her breath hitched. “I can’t stop it.”

Karina’s face crumpled. She reached for Y/N, wrapping her arms around her, pulling her close. “Hey, hey, no,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “You’re not losing me. I swear. I’m right here. I’m right here.”

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut and gripped the fabric of Karina’s sweatshirt with trembling fingers. She buried her face in Karina’s shoulder, her tears dampening the fabric.

But even as Karina held her, pressing soft kisses to her temple and whispering promises into her hair, Y/N felt the gnawing ache in her chest—the sharp splinters of doubt that Yujin had left behind.

And no matter how tightly Karina held her, she couldn’t seem to pull them out.

The night pressed in thickly, the kind of heavy darkness that seemed to suffocate rather than soothe. The only light in the bedroom came from the dim lamp on the nightstand, casting a pale orange glow over the disheveled sheets and the two bodies lying in them.

Y/N lay on her back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Her hands rested limply over her stomach, her fingers occasionally twitching against the fabric of her sweatshirt. Her breathing was shallow, almost nonexistent. She felt too still—too brittle, as if any movement might shatter her into a million pieces.

Beside her, Karina was sleeping. Her soft breaths were warm against Y/N’s arm, her face barely inches away. One of her hands rested lightly on Y/N’s stomach, fingers curled slightly in her sleep. Her breathing was steady, slow, the occasional soft sigh escaping her lips.

And Y/N stared at the ceiling, feeling like she was suffocating beneath the weight of it all.

Why couldn’t she just be grateful?

She turned her head slightly, just enough to look at Karina’s sleeping face. The peaceful rise and fall of her chest. The slight parting of her lips. The way her hair fell messily over her face.

She was beautiful. So effortlessly beautiful.

And she was here. With Y/N. Holding her. Loving her. Choosing her.

So why the hell wasn’t it enough?

Y/N’s stomach clenched, her throat tightening with self-loathing.

You’re pathetic.

She’s giving you everything she has, and you’re still so goddamn needy.

She deserves better than this. Better than you.

Her eyes burned with the sudden prickle of tears. She clenched her jaw tightly and stared back up at the ceiling, willing the moisture in her eyes to disappear.

She didn’t deserve to cry.

Not when Karina was the one constantly carrying the weight of her insecurities.

Not when Karina was always the one left picking up the pieces of Y/N’s fragile self-esteem.

Not when Karina was the one who had to keep reassuring her over and over again.

And God—Y/N could feel it happening already.

The inevitable.

The slow unraveling.

The moment Karina would finally get tired of her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing in sharply through her nose. Her fingers curled into the sheets beneath her, gripping the fabric so tightly her knuckles ached.

She could already see it.

Karina, standing in front of her. The same apologetic look she always gave her when she was trying to be gentle but firm.

Her voice soft but steady as she whispered the words Y/N had been dreading since the moment she fell in love with her:

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Her throat closed painfully. She blinked up at the ceiling, trying to push the image from her mind. But she could feel it too clearly—the certainty of it—the inevitability.

Because she knew what Karina had been before her. The girl on top of the world.

Y/N didn’t need to imagine it—she remembered. She’d heard the stories.

The “mean rich girl.”

The golden heiress with blood-red lips and cold, calculating eyes.

The perfect, untouchable girl draped in designer labels and apathy.

She was effortlessly alluring. Dangerous. Distant. And completely unattainable.

Y/N could still hear the stories whispered about her—rumors of how Karina used to toy with people like it was a game.

How she could make or break someone with a single look.

How she dated people like it was a sport—for the thrill, not for love.

How she walked through rooms with her head high and her eyes deadened with boredom, just daring someone to be foolish enough to try and matter to her.

And then there was Y/N.

The nobody.

The girl Karina had somehow, for some impossible reason, chosen.

But Y/N knew she wouldn’t be enough forever.

Because girls like Karina didn’t stay with girls like her.

Girls like Karina got bored.

Girls like Karina moved on.

Girls like Karina eventually went back to their own kind.

And maybe it wouldn’t be tomorrow.

Or next week.

Or even next year.

But it would happen.

Eventually.

Inevitably.

And the thought of losing Karina made Y/N’s entire body ache.

She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt Karina’s hand shift on her stomach. Her eyes snapped shut immediately, her breath hitching slightly in her throat. She quickly pressed her lips together, trying to keep them from trembling.

She couldn’t let Karina see her like this.

Not again.

Not when she’d been doing this for weeks.

Not when Karina had already held her through too many nights like this.

But Karina stirred slightly, pulling herself from sleep with a soft, drowsy murmur. She shifted closer, her arms tightening around Y/N’s waist.

“Mmm… baby?” Her voice was thick with sleep, soft and warm. She pressed her face against Y/N’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Y/N clenched her eyes shut harder, cursing herself silently. She waited a beat, trying to steady her voice.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Just can’t sleep.”

Karina was still mostly asleep. Her hold loosened slightly, and she let out a soft hum.

“Hmm… come here,” she mumbled, her voice still slurred from exhaustion. She shifted, tangling her legs with Y/N’s. Her fingers ran lightly over Y/N’s side, tracing slow circles through the fabric of her sweatshirt.

And it hurt.

Because even now—even half-asleep—Karina was still trying.

Still holding her.

Still reassuring her.

Even when Y/N didn’t deserve it.

And she hated herself for it.

She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her face into the pillow, her breathing uneven, hot tears slipping quietly onto the fabric. She stayed perfectly still, pretending to sleep.

She didn’t move.

She didn’t make a sound.

She just let Karina hold her—pretending she wasn’t breaking silently inside.

The next morning, Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, Karina’s sweatshirt still clinging to her frame. Her hair was mussed from restless sleep, and her eyes were still swollen from crying.

Karina was in the shower, the faint sound of running water filling the apartment.

Y/N stared down at her hands. Her fingers were trembling slightly in her lap, curled loosely around the frayed edge of the sleeve. She stared at her nails, suddenly realizing they were bitten down again—a nervous habit she thought she’d outgrown.

She blinked down at them, feeling small. Weak. Pathetic.

The sound of the shower turned off. A few minutes later, Karina emerged, a towel wrapped loosely around her frame. Her hair was damp, dripping slightly onto the floor. She ran her fingers through it once, making no effort to dry it further.

She caught sight of Y/N sitting on the edge of the bed and frowned slightly.

“Hey,” she said softly, crossing the room. She sat down beside her, the towel still clinging loosely to her frame. “You’re quiet.”

Y/N’s fingers curled more tightly around the fabric of her sleeve. She stared down at her hands.

Karina’s brows furrowed slightly. She gently reached out, tucking a damp strand of Y/N’s hair behind her ear. “What’s wrong?” she asked softly.

Y/N’s throat closed immediately. She squeezed her eyes shut.

And then she broke.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely. Her voice cracked, and her hands began to tremble. “I’m so sorry. I’m—” Her breath hitched violently. “I’m such a mess, and I’m so… so fucking selfish.”

Karina’s eyes widened slightly. Her hand stilled. “Hey, hey, no—”

But Y/N shook her head frantically, her eyes brimming with tears. She squeezed Karina’s hand tightly, as if holding on could somehow stop the inevitable.

“You’re gonna get tired of me,” she choked out. Her voice was broken and raw. “And I can’t—I can’t lose you.”

And for the first time in weeks, Karina finally broke too.

Her eyes filled instantly, and her face crumpled as she reached for Y/N, pulling her into her arms.

“Baby, no,” she whispered brokenly, her voice trembling. “No. I’m not going anywhere. You hear me? I’m not going anywhere.”

But Y/N just clung to her, her sobs violent and desperate—because she couldn’t believe her.

Not anymore.

Not when she was already bracing herself for the day she would lose her.

The sun poured through the large bedroom windows the next morning, but its warmth felt intrusive. The golden light seeped over the disheveled sheets, illuminating the remnants of the night—the crumpled tissue by the bed, the sweatshirt Y/N had discarded at some point, and the faint red rim still clinging to her eyes.

Karina sat on the far edge of the bed, already dressed, her back partially turned. She was still brushing through her damp hair, methodical and slow, but her movements lacked their usual grace. Her eyes were distant, her jaw tight. She hadn’t spoken much since waking up.

The weight of the previous night still hung heavily between them.

Y/N sat up slowly, feeling the familiar ache settle deep in her chest—the same dull, gnawing sensation that had become her constant companion. Her limbs felt heavy, her head still clouded with the remnants of restless sleep.

She rubbed at her eyes, blinking at Karina’s turned back.

She should have reached for her.

She should have said something.

But instead, she just sat there, watching her in silence.

Afraid to speak.

Afraid of what she might say.

Afraid of the inevitable crack in her voice that would give her away.

She stared at Karina’s delicate hands as she carefully ran them through her hair, fingertips gliding over the dark strands with practiced ease. Her movements were fluid and elegant, like everything she did. Effortlessly beautiful. Effortlessly perfect.

And Y/N hated herself for how painfully out of place she felt in Karina’s world.

Because it wasn’t just the parties.

Or the designer clothes.

Or the effortless grace with which Karina navigated every room she entered.

It was the way Karina belonged there.

In a world of privilege, luxury, and perfection.

Y/N could still remember the first time she’d seen Karina outside the confines of their relationship—the untouchable version of her that everyone else knew.

The one with perfectly painted lips and a face devoid of warmth.

The one who smiled like she had nothing to lose, knowing she was the most dangerous person in the room.

The one who could glance over her shoulder and reduce someone to nothing with just a look.

And even now, with her back turned, Y/N could feel the distance.

The chasm between them.

Growing. Widening.

Her heart clenched painfully in her chest.

It’s already starting.

She’s slipping away.

Y/N’s fingers curled into the sheets as the suffocating thought tightened in her chest. She stared at Karina’s back, trying to memorize the curve of her spine and the delicate slope of her shoulders—as if she was already preparing herself to lose her.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

Finally, Karina glanced over her shoulder, meeting Y/N’s eyes. Her expression was careful, guarded.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice low. “You’ve been quiet.”

Y/N’s throat tightened instantly. She tried to offer a small smile, but it barely reached her eyes.

“I’m fine,” she murmured, the lie tasting sour on her tongue.

Karina’s eyes narrowed slightly. She turned fully, setting the hairbrush down. Her bare feet padded softly against the hardwood as she crossed the room. She sat down on the edge of the bed, facing Y/N, her eyes scanning her face.

She reached out slowly, cupping Y/N’s cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over the dark smudge beneath her eye. Her voice softened.

“You barely slept,” she whispered.

Y/N swallowed hard. She turned her face slightly into Karina’s palm, leaning into the warmth of her touch. Her eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, already feeling the familiar sting building behind them.

Why was it so easy for Karina to be so gentle?

So steady.

So unwavering.

Even when Y/N was falling apart.

She let out a shaky breath, leaning further into Karina’s hand. Her throat burned, and she suddenly felt so fucking tired of trying to hold herself together.

Her voice cracked softly when she finally spoke.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Karina’s brows furrowed instantly, her hand tightening slightly against her cheek.

“For what?” she asked softly, but her voice was already heavy with concern.

Y/N shook her head slightly. She opened her eyes, looking at Karina—her eyes glassy, her voice trembling.

“For making you carry this,” she rasped.

Her fingers curled slightly over Karina’s wrist, clinging to her.

“I—” Her voice broke. “I know I’m… a lot.”

Karina’s face instantly softened with a look of quiet heartbreak. Her hand slid to the back of Y/N’s neck, her fingertips curling gently into her hair.

“You’re not—” Karina’s voice cracked slightly. She shook her head, her eyes wide. “Baby, no. You’re not—”

Y/N shook her head frantically, cutting her off.

Her breath hitched violently, and the words came out like a flood.

“You are constantly reassuring me,” she choked out. “You’re always the one holding me together, and I’m just—” her voice wavered, splintering around the edges, “I’m just falling apart in your arms over and over again.” Her throat tightened violently. “And I know— I know you’ll get tired of it eventually.” Her voice lowered, barely above a whisper, “I know you will.”

Karina’s lips parted slightly, her eyes widening. She stared at Y/N in quiet disbelief.

Her hands shook slightly as they cradled Y/N’s face.

“I won’t,” she whispered fiercely, shaking her head. “I won’t.”

But Y/N’s voice was broken—fractured and raw.

“You say that now,” she rasped, blinking back the tears she could barely contain. “But one day you’re gonna look at me and you’re gonna hate me for making you feel like you have to carry me.” Her voice cracked painfully. “And you’re gonna leave.”

Her voice broke completely on the last word, and she hated herself for how wrecked it sounded.

But she couldn’t stop.

She couldn’t stop the spiral once it started.

“Karina, you’re… you’re everything,” she choked. “You’re perfect. You’re beautiful. You’re so far out of my league and I can’t—I can’t even—” her voice splintered, “I can’t even look at you sometimes without wondering how long it’ll be before you realize you deserve better.”

Karina’s face completely crumbled.

Her eyes immediately filled with tears, her lips parting slightly with a sharp, wounded breath.

“No—” she rasped, her voice breaking.

Her hands tightened on Y/N’s face, her fingertips trembling slightly.

“No, baby—no.”

Y/N’s voice was broken and desperate.

“You’re gonna leave,” she whispered.

Her voice was barely audible.

“And I’m—I’m already bracing myself for it.”

And that was it.

The words shattered Karina completely.

Her breath left her chest in a broken gasp, her face contorted with raw emotion.

“No, baby,” she sobbed, shaking her head violently.

Her voice was fractured with grief, her tears falling freely.

She grabbed Y/N’s face in both hands, pressing their foreheads together, trembling violently in her hold.

“No,” she whispered fiercely. “I’m not leaving you. You hear me?” Her voice shook violently. “I’m not leaving. I’m never leaving.”

Her hands shook against Y/N’s face.

Her eyes were wild with desperation.

Her voice was trembling and raw.

“I don’t care how messy you are.” She choked out a sob. “I don’t care how hard it gets. I don’t care how much you cry or how scared you are or how broken you feel—I’m not leaving you.”

Y/N’s face crumpled against hers, and she let out a strangled sob, clutching Karina’s shirt like it was the only thing keeping her alive.

And Karina just held her tighter.

Whispering broken promises against her skin.

Over and over again.

I’m not leaving.

I’m not leaving.

I’m not leaving.

Karina sat on the edge of the bed, her legs bent slightly at the knees, her bare feet pressed against the cold floor. The morning light seeped in through the wide windows, casting a golden haze over the room, but she felt nothing.

The world outside could’ve been burning and she wouldn’t have noticed.

Or cared.

Her eyes were heavy, still clouded with the remnants of tears that hadn’t dried properly. She rubbed her hands over her face once, twice, trying to shake the residual tightness in her throat.

It didn’t work.

The words from the night before clung to her skin, sinking deep into her chest like needles.

Y/N’s voice—broken, trembling—echoed in her head on a loop.

I’m already bracing myself for it.

For you to leave.

Karina closed her eyes briefly. Her breath caught slightly in her throat.

The sound of Y/N’s voice—so small. So wrecked. So sure—clawed at her like a cruel, relentless reminder.

And no matter how many times Karina had pressed her lips to Y/N’s temple, or how tightly she had clung to her, she could still feel it—the trembling in Y/N’s arms, the sheer desperation in her voice.

Karina had felt her fall apart in her hands last night.

And she knew she wasn’t done falling.

Not yet.

Her hands tightened slightly into fists, her nails biting into her palms. She opened her eyes again, her gaze falling to the side of the bed. Y/N was still sleeping, curled in on herself, buried halfway beneath the sheets. Her face was slack with exhaustion, lips slightly parted, her brows faintly furrowed even in sleep.

And Karina’s chest ached.

Because even now—even with her arms wrapped around her own body in a protective cocoon—Y/N still looked so damn small.

So fragile.

So heartbreakingly breakable.

Karina’s eyes burned as she stared at her.

What the fuck had she done to her?

What had she let happen?

How had they gotten here?

She was still haunted by the weeks Yujin had spent slowly chipping away at Y/N—prying her open, piece by piece, with such calculated cruelty.

Yujin had used every lingering insecurity Y/N had and drove them deeper, sharper, until they pierced through her skin.

And Karina had been right there.

Watching it happen.

Watching Y/N flinch and pull back and shrink herself smaller each time.

And she hadn’t stopped it fast enough.

Her throat tightened violently.

Because Y/N was still bleeding from it.

And Karina wasn’t sure how to make the bleeding stop.

Her gaze dropped slightly. Y/N’s hand was resting against the edge of the bed, her fingers slightly curled into the sheet. Even in sleep, she was holding on.

Clinging.

Afraid.

Karina felt her breath catch painfully in her chest.

Her throat bobbed thickly as she reached out slowly, brushing her fingers lightly against Y/N’s knuckles. She traced the familiar path, slow and reverent—like a prayer. Her fingertips trailed lightly over the ridges of Y/N’s hand, over the small creases in her skin, over the faint veins that ran just beneath the surface.

Her hand was so small in comparison.

So delicate.

And yet it had held Karina together more times than she could count.

Karina’s lips parted slightly, her eyes softening with something she didn’t know how to name.

She ran her thumb softly over Y/N’s knuckles once more, feeling her throat tighten with a familiar ache. The one that had been building for weeks.

She had to protect this hand.

She had to protect this heart.

She had to protect her.

Even if it was from herself.

A faint tremor ran through her fingers as she carefully brushed Y/N’s hair away from her face.

And she hated herself for the small, sharp stab of guilt that cut through her chest when she did.

Because she remembered.

She remembered what she used to be.

Before Y/N.

She stared at her own hand against Y/N’s skin—the same hand that had once held people at a distance, wrapped around champagne flutes in dimly lit clubs, rested on the arms of men and women she didn’t care about, and traced the seams of designer suits at high-end parties.

A hand that had only ever held things she could afford to lose.

And it didn’t make sense—that she had this.

That she had Y/N.

Someone so soft.

So tender.

So heartbreakingly kind.

And it terrified her that one day, Y/N would wake up and remember exactly who Karina had been before her.

Cold. Cruel. Detached.

She hadn’t always been the girl who cried into Y/N’s hair or whispered soft promises into her ear at night.

She had been the girl who didn’t give a shit about anything that didn’t benefit her.

And she could feel it now.

The way it clung to her skin like a stain she couldn’t scrub off.

The residue of who she used to be.

And Y/N—Y/N who had been holding her so carefully, so gently, from the beginning—would one day see the remnants of it all.

And she would leave.

Because why wouldn’t she?

Karina’s chest tightened violently at the thought. She squeezed her eyes shut.

You can’t lose her.

You can’t.

Her hands shook slightly as she leaned over, her lips trembling as she pressed the softest kiss to Y/N’s knuckles.

Don’t leave me.

She didn’t say it out loud.

But she could feel it heavy on her tongue.

The desperate plea she wouldn’t let herself speak.

Y/N stirred slightly under her touch, her brows knitting faintly in her sleep, like she could somehow feel the weight in Karina’s chest.

“Mm…?” she mumbled sleepily, her voice raw from the night before. She barely opened her eyes, her gaze still clouded with sleep, but the second she saw Karina’s face, she stirred slightly. Her fingers reached out instinctively, brushing faintly over Karina’s wrist.

“Hey…” she murmured, her voice low and barely coherent. “You’re awake…”

Karina stared at her, at the small, half-lidded smile she offered her—gentle, sleepy, and heartbreakingly beautiful—and she felt her chest seize violently.

She didn’t say anything.

She just leaned down and kissed her softly—slow, aching, and trembling.

And Y/N kissed her back with everything she had, curling her fingers into Karina’s shirt, holding her there—like she was afraid she would disappear.

Karina let her.

She let Y/N hold her.

She let Y/N cling to her like she was something precious.

Even though she didn’t feel like it.

Even though she didn’t deserve it.

But she let herself fall into her anyway.

Because she didn’t know how to be anything without her anymore.

And she knew that one day, if Y/N ever let go—

She would never be able to breathe again.

The early morning sun seeped through the sheer curtains, casting a faint golden hue across the room. The light was soft, filtered—gentle enough not to disturb—but still enough to remind Y/N that another day had come.

She stared at the ceiling, barely blinking, her eyes heavy with sleep she hadn’t really gotten. The night had been long. Too long.

Sleep had teased her but never stayed.

She had spent hours lying there in the dark, her thoughts pressing in on her from all sides. The same nagging whispers, the same ugly voice in her head, poking at every vulnerable seam, refusing to let her rest.

You’re exhausting her.

One day she’ll get tired of this. Of you.

She’ll leave.

Y/N’s chest tightened slightly. Her fingers fisted in the sheets, her knuckles whitening briefly before she exhaled slowly and forced them to relax.

She rolled onto her side, her gaze falling on Karina’s sleeping form.

God.

Even now—with her hair a mess, her face softened by sleep, and the faint remnants of exhaustion lingering in the creases around her eyes—she still looked so devastatingly beautiful.

Y/N’s throat tightened slightly.

Too beautiful. Too good.

Too much for her.

Her gaze lowered slightly, falling to the bare stretch of Karina’s arm, draped carelessly over the mattress.

Y/N stared at the familiar skin, the faint tan lines on her wrist where her watch usually sat, the subtle veins that curved beneath the surface, the slender elegance of her fingers.

And she ached.

Because she could still feel the phantom warmth of those hands—holding her, clutching her, grounding her—when she had fallen apart the night before.

Karina had held her like she was something worth keeping.

Like she was something precious.

Like she wasn’t—a burden.

Her chest squeezed painfully at the thought, her eyes stinging slightly.

She didn’t deserve to be held like that.

Not when Karina had to keep patching her up.

Over and over.

Her eyes burned as she carefully shifted in the bed, trying not to disturb her. She slipped out quietly, making her way toward the bathroom. The cold tiles under her feet startled her slightly, but she didn’t stop. She just turned the faucet on and splashed water on her face, her hands trembling slightly against the sink.

She stared at herself in the mirror.

Her eyes were dull, rimmed with tiredness, faintly swollen from the night before.

You look pathetic.

She let out a faint, humorless breath.

Because she felt pathetic.

Pathetic and guilty and selfish.

She knew Karina loved her. She did. With everything she had.

But Y/N hated herself for the part of her that still—even now—feared it wouldn’t be enough.

Because what if Karina got tired?

What if, one day, she woke up and realized she didn’t have it in her anymore?

What if she realized she could love someone easier?

Someone lighter.

Someone less breakable.

Y/N swallowed thickly, gripping the edges of the sink tightly, willing the thoughts away.

But they lingered.

They always did.

A soft knock at the door startled her.

Her eyes flickered to the side.

“Baby…?”

Karina’s voice was hoarse with sleep, barely a whisper.

Y/N shut her eyes briefly, inhaling slowly. She’s awake.

She exhaled quietly before pushing the door open.

Karina was standing there, her hair mussed from sleep, her eyes still puffy and half-lidded.

But the second she saw Y/N’s face, her brows furrowed faintly.

“Hey,” she murmured softly, reaching for her. “What’s wrong?”

Y/N opened her mouth to say something—anything—but nothing came out.

Her throat tightened violently instead.

And Karina’s eyes softened immediately.

She reached out, carefully brushing a damp strand of hair away from Y/N’s forehead.

“Hey… hey, come here.”

Her voice was so soft.

Too soft.

It made Y/N’s eyes sting all over again.

But she let Karina take her hand and gently guide her back into the bedroom.

They sat on the bed, Karina pulling her between her legs, her arms looping loosely around Y/N’s waist.

She rested her chin lightly on Y/N’s shoulder, holding her close but not tightly—like she was giving her room to breathe, if she needed it.

Neither of them spoke for a moment.

Y/N felt her heartbeat slowly begin to even out.

The warmth of Karina’s arms—so steady, so familiar—helped settle the slight tremor in her chest.

But it also made her eyes burn.

Because God, she was so fucking lucky to have this.

To have her.

And she was terrified she would lose her.

Karina’s fingers traced faint patterns over the inside of her wrist. Her lips brushed softly against Y/N’s shoulder, a wordless comfort.

And before she could stop herself, Y/N’s voice cracked softly in the quiet.

“I’m sorry.”

Karina stilled slightly behind her.

Her arms tightened faintly, instinctively.

“Hey…” she whispered softly, shifting to press a gentle kiss against the side of Y/N’s neck. “What for?”

Y/N hated herself for how small her voice sounded.

“For being like this,” she whispered. Her hands twisted slightly in her lap. “For being so… god, I’m just so—”

She let out a trembling breath, blinking hard.

“—I’m so selfish. For feeling this way. For making you have to keep—holding me together.”

Karina’s arms tightened around her.

Y/N didn’t see her eyes darken slightly.

Didn’t see the small, sharp flash of sadness cross her face.

But she felt the kiss Karina pressed just behind her ear—slow, lingering, and heavy with unspoken words.

“Don’t say that,” Karina murmured, her voice soft but firm.

Y/N’s throat tightened again.

Her hands shook slightly.

She hated that she was doing this to her.

Again.

“Karina…” she whispered brokenly.

Her voice barely made it past her lips, but Karina heard it.

She always did.

And she turned Y/N around without hesitation, cradling her face between her hands, forcing her to look at her.

Her eyes were warm.

Soft.

But unyielding.

Like she was staking her claim.

“You are not selfish for feeling this way,” Karina whispered.

Her voice was fierce and low and unwavering.

Her thumb brushed faintly over Y/N’s cheekbone.

“And you are not a burden.”

Y/N’s lip quivered slightly.

“You’re allowed to be scared,” Karina whispered, her voice cracking faintly. “You’re allowed to need me.”

Her eyes softened.

“And I promise you—I’m not going anywhere.”

Y/N let herself believe her.

Just a little.

Just enough to lean into her touch—to press her forehead into Karina’s shoulder and breathe her in.

They stayed like that for a while.

Just holding on.

Both of them still a little broken.

But still trying.

And maybe they weren’t whole yet.

But they were piecing each other back together.

Slowly.

Bit by bit.

Fragile hands holding fractured hearts.

taglist [OPEN] : @kimminjiissosjdirbidnsjje @goofymickeyr @yuyuy90 @dgybbvrcsacgswtcbkyv @spidrgamer @takuhg

[awakenedevildays]

「quarrels and sofas」 Art Donaldson x F!reader

TW: angst, smut (minors DNI), fighting, jealousy, insecurities

you can read the other parts here!

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Art knew it was a terrible idea to properly introduce you to Patrick right away, from the moment he saw how his best friend looked at you up and down he knew he was in for troubles. Even more when Patrick "kindly" offered to teach you how to play tennis while "your boyfriend was busy". 

You agreed happily almost immediately: with Tashi busy with her professional tennis career, and you with yours, you didn't have much time to see each other, and when you did you tried to disconnect from your jobs by doing other things and that resulted in not playing that much anymore, expect with Art sometimes.

"your girlfriend is really cute by the way, how come I didn't realize it when we met her years ago" he teased Art after you excused yourself to go to the bathroom of the restaurant. 

Art knew where the conversation was going, but decided not to respond to his best friend's taunts "you didn't realize she was cute? It's your bad I guess" he replied in a snarky way, his fingers playing with his glass "besides, she's been cute since forever, what are you even talking about?" Art asked.

Patrick snickered a little at Art's response, taking a sip of his glass while he kept his eyes on him.

"Oh don't play dumb with me. She's always been on the cute side, but come on... she's seriously gorgeous now. You're so lucky and you don't even realize it" he replied back, a mischievous grin on his face growing as he continued to tease Art.

Art felt anger rise in his body, why did he always feel like he had to compete against Patrick? 

Patrick could feel the tension between them and continued to push further "You should be glad she's still loyal to you. She could easily leave your ass if she wanted to, bet she has tons of men after her" he kept going with a smug smile, knowing fully well he was pushing Art to his limit.

"Yeah well, unlike you I know how to treat my girlfriend right" he bit back, his smile growing. 

Patrick's smile faded a little at the reference to his past relationship with Tashi, but he quickly regained his composure and a smirk formed on his lips "Oh please, I know how to treat women just fine. Tashi simply just couldn't handle me" he said with a laugh, trying to brush off the topic.

Art's frowned his eyebrows in fake confusion, his smile turning into a thin line "Oh... my bad, I heard it went differently, from what I know.. it was you who couldn't keep up with her". 

Patrick raised an eyebrow at Art's response, his smirk faltering slightly as he tried to keep his cool.

"You've heard wrong then. It was Tashi who couldn't handle my life as a successful businessman." he retorted with a hint of defensiveness in his voice, trying to deflect the truth with arrogance.

Art was going to answer but a voice interrupted him "excuse me, I'll leave you the bill" the waitress said leaving the small receipt holder on the table, both men smiled as she walked away. 

Art took his wallet to pay and Patrick didn't bother to stop the blond as he slid the money inside of the card holder before leaving it on the table for the waitress to take. 

Then, Art takes a sip of his beer, his eyes never leaving Patrick's "stay away from her Patrick, I mean it" he warned. 

Patrick rolled his eyes at Art's warning "Oh, come on Art. I'm just being friendly. What's the harm in that?" he replied with a smirk, clearly not taking him seriously. 

"I know what you're trying to do, I know you". 

Patrick leaned back in his seat, his smirk widening at Art's accusation. "And what exactly do you know, Art?" he asked with feigned innocence, though his eyes gleamed with mischievous intent.

"I know you can't stand seeing me happy while you're not" he replied immediately and Patrick couldn't help but scoff at Art's words. 

"Oh please, I'm perfectly happy in my single life. I don't need a relationship to make me happy" he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand, though there's a hint of bitterness in his tone.

Art leans on his chair "sure you don't, but don't try to ruin mine too" his smile didn't reach his eyes. 

"Ruin your relationship? Who said anything about ruining your relationship?" Patrick asked with a hint of sarcasm, feigning innocence once again. "I'm just being friendly, Art. I don't have any ulterior motives" he added, maintaining his smile but his eyes betrayed his true intentions.

Before Art could answer you are next to him again "sorry, what did I miss?" you asked innocently, Art's arm wrapped around your shoulder while his other hand takes your fingers in his to play with them. 

Patrick's gaze flickered from you to Art, observing the two of you with a subtle feeling of irritation before he plastered a charming smile on his face. "Ah, nothing much. We were just catching up, talking about old times" he replied smoothly, though his gaze lingered on your hand enclosed in Art's, a flicker of envy in his eyes. Art looked at you and smiled, "nothing important" he said, brushing off the conversation to shift his focus back to you. 

"we should go baby, we have to wake up early tomorrow" Art stood up, you mimic his action. 

"Oh yeah, that's right" you said, slightly puzzled but you quickly brushed it off and leaned into Art's side, giving him a soft smile. Patrick watched the two of you raise from your seats, his smile still on his face "alright then, it was nice catching up" he said standing up as well, giving Art a nod before his gaze went back to you. "It was really nice to see you again" he added, his voice carrying a hint of flirtation you didn’t seem to notice, but Art did. 

"It was nice seeing you too Patrick, I'll text you for that tennis lesson, ok?" Patrick briefly looked at Art and smiled "can't wait, good night". 

Art's grip on you tightened momentarily, his expression tense but he quickly regained his composure to give Patrick a curt nod in return. "Good night" he replied shortly before leading you out of the restaurant, his arm remained protectively around your shoulders. 

Now, a few weeks later, Art leans with crossed arms at the doorframe and watches you getting ready for bed. He can't stop thinking how Patrick looked at you during that dinner and he can't imagine what his eyes saw while you played together, how he probably glanced at your legs and checked you out.

"So how was your match with Patrick?" He hopes you don't hear the jealousy out of his voice. 

"it was good, how was your day baby?" you decide to ignore his jealous tone, you kiss his lips when you pass by him to go to the bathroom.

He kisses you back, smiling when your lips touched his but he can't help thinking of Patrick right now. 

"My day was good," he says "what did you and Patrick do after your practice?" He asks while he changes from his jeans to a jogging pants.

"he gave me a ride here" you shrug.

He tries to hold a neutral mimic by hearing that but his jealousy is too much to not say anything about it. 

"I could've picked you up, baby" he tells you while he sits down on your bed waiting for you to finish brushing your teeth.

"I didn't want to bother you, and we were already together" you explain to calm him down but it's not working as you hoped it would.

You can see his knuckles turning white "it's not about bothering me. It's about you and Patrick together, alone. I don't like him". 

You look at him shocked "what do you mean? he is your best friend Art" you exclaim incredulous. 

"he just has a thing for you and it's obvious and I don't like it" It's like you can touch his anger, it's filling the whole room.

He can't stop imagining how Patrick might have touched you when he wasn't there, how he looked at you... just thinking that he might have looked at you the same way he did during the dinner is making him crazy. 

"I don't want you to see him anymore" he states and his arms cross in front of his chest and you scoff. 

"you're being ridiculous Art, he didn't try to do anything" you say and finally look at him from the bathroom. 

He starts to raise his voice and you can see the veins on his forehead throbbing "don't you see he has a thing for you?! You think he's such a good friend helping you play better? He doesn't give a damn about that, and you're just too naive to see that. He's just waiting for a chance to be with you" he snaps and stands from the bed. 

"I'm sorry are you trying to say I'm cheating on you?" you ask and you really hope he's going to deny it. 

 "I'm saying I'm tired of seeing you give attention to every single male that flirts with you, I mean how much attention do you need, are you really that desperate?" he snaps and immediately regrets what he just said, your hurt expression makes him shut his mouth.

He sighs and walks towards you, but just as he arrives in front of  you take a step back, tears swelling in your eyes and Art's heart clenches in his chest.

How can he explain to you that there is a voice in his head that tells him, every time you look at him, that he doesn't deserve you? that you could find someone better than him? that what Patrick had told him had affected him more than he wants to admit and that he is as terrified of losing you as he is terrified of few other things in the world?

"you're being unfair Art, you know I didn't cheat on you" you defend yourself but your voice tremble and it's difficult for Art to hear you. 

"I know, I'm sor-" but you don't listen to him.  

"I never, ever, gave you a reason not to trust me," your voice raises, you feel so hurt by him right now, you thought his trust in you was stronger than this. 

"I know, I'm sorry you're right, it's just that... Patrick told me some thing last time at dinner and insecurities got the best of me! I'm sorry, I really am baby, its just that..." he tries to explain what he is feeling "every time I look at you I always think you are too much for me, that you could find someone better than me and that you could leave me at any given moment, I love you so much it makes me crazy... Please forgive me" he takes your face in his hands but you don't look at him,  you can't bring yourself to feel sorry for him right now, you're way more hurt than he is. 

"but this is not the right way to show me Art, what you are saying it's unfair, I never, ever gave you a reason to doubt my loyalty towards you and our relationship" you take his hands off of your face. 

You are right, he knows you are, but his thoughts just won him over this time. He gently pulls you closer by wrapping his arms around your waist, he starts kissing you on your jawline and down your neck but you don't hug him back. 

"I..am so sorry baby. You have every right to feel hurt by what I just said and did. Please forgive me, I really am sorry, look we're both tired, can we go to sleep? we'll talk about this tomorrow morning, how does that sound?" he gives you a small smile in hope to soothe you but you avoid his gaze and he realizes he had said too much this time, he swallows the lump forming in his throat.

"I'm sorry, I truly mean it" he whispers with a gentle voice. All he wants to do now is to kiss your pain away, but he know you won't let him this time.

"I think I'll sleep on the couch tonight" you say and slip past him out of the bathroom and the bedroom.

 He watches you leave the bathroom and the bedroom with his heart racing like crazy. You are going to sleep on the couch? No. No way. It hurt knowing that he made you feel bad enough that you would sleep on the couch instead of in your bed with him. His legs moves on his own and he follows you out of the bedroom before grabbing your wrists and pulling you close to him. "Baby please, don't sleep on the couch" he pleads and tries to press you against his body.

"Art I don't want to be close to you right now, I really need space to think" you pull your wrist back and Art feels his heart sink at your words as his head starts spinning. 

He tries to blink away the tears that were in the corner of his eyes, but he can't. So his hands slowly lets go of your wrists and he takes a step back. "Okay. If you want space then I will give you the space you need", he says with a cracked voice and looks down at his empty hands.

You smile weakly "thank you, night Art" but before you can turn again he surpasses you to sit on the couch before you can reach it "I'll sleep here baby, you take the bed" he says and lays there, his eyes never leaving your figure and the way he is looking at you makes you feel so damn guilty even though he is the one at fault.

You open your mouth to speak but nothing you think seems appropriate, you reclutantly nod and turn around to go back to the bedroom.

He watches you disappear in the dark bedroom. His thoughts are racing. The guilt that was already so heavy on his soul is getting heavier every second. But he knows that you need space now after what he said to you. The only thing that he can do now is to pray that in the morning everything will go back to being alright. So that's what he did before falling asleep after a long time of just simply staring at the ceiling.

You hand caressing his cheek softly stirs Art awake the next morning.

You can feel the you man’s body tensing up at first at the soft touch of your hand on his cheek, but he quickly melts into it. The warm feeling of your hand on his skin makes his heart flutter and he slowly opens his eyes to look at you. "Baby?" he whispers still sleepy from what you assumed was a bad night on the couch.

"Hi" you murmur and his hand come to rest on yours still on his cheek "I made breakfast, would you like to join me?" if it wasn't for the fact that Art slept on the couch and his burning eyes he would've thought that what happened yesterday was just a bad dream.

Art is confused, he is afraid to speak and ruin this moment, to push you away once and for all and lose you forever "Yeah I would love to".

You gave him a small smile before making your way to the kitchen and Art follows behind you. He still seems exhausted as if he barely got any sleep last night. His heart sinks once his eyes lands on the table. You made his favourite pancakes with maple syrup, but in contrast to all the other days you didn't made coffee this time, only milk.

You sit on your place but Art stands awkwardly at the doorframe as if he needs your permission to approach you. So you give it to him.

The both of you eat the food in silence. Art doesn't dare to say a word the whole time, the only thing that he can't stop doing is stealing a look at you every now and then when he believes that you won't notice it. He can't get over the fact that you were so kind and cooked him his favourite meal after what happened last night. But his heart stops when you suddenly put down your fork and clear your throat. He was so nervous that he can already feel the lump in his throat building up.

"I think we should talk about yesterday Art"

 His heart is beating out of his chest the second he hears that dreaded sentence. The dreaded talk. The talk that would surely decide how everything is going to be between you two from this point. He swallows loudly before nodding his head. "Okay. Baby, listen I-" his voice cracks and he feels pathetic, if only his voice stopped him from speaking yesterday he wouldn't find himself in this position now. 

The second he sees your hand going up to stop his rambling, he immediately shuts up and swallows hard again. The tension in the room is so thick it could be cut trough with a knife. He has no idea what to do or how to start this conversation, so he looks at you with his thoughts racing in his head and fear building up more and more.

"I'll talk first"

He felt the lump in his throat growing thicker, but he nods once to show you that he is listening. "Go ahead," and you nod.

"what happened yesterday was not okay Art, I'm sorry that you feel so insecure of our relationship but you have to talk to me about these things and not accuse me of things I never did and never will"

 Art takes a shaky breath at your words. Everything that you said makes sense and he knows it. He should have talked about his insecurities and doubts, but instead he lashed his pain out on you. He feels so stupid right know.

"You're right. You're right. I'm sorry for what I said and did yesterday", he mumbles while he reaches for your hand to hold it. "I just..I don't know what got into me, but I promise I will never do this ever again".

"I'm not done" you say but take his hands in yours to reassure him. 

He swallows hard as you tell him that you aren't done. So he sits there still, not moving a muscle but also not letting go off your hands while he waits for you to continue. His heart is beating in his chest so fast it feels like it could explode any second.

"If you really think that Patrick is flirting with me, I'll keep him away from me... from us. I don't want to know what he told you that night, I don't care, but I need you to know that I love you, I'll always love you and only you, nothing will change that and I will never cheat on you, and I won't tolerate you behaving or accusing me like you did yesterday". 

Your words hit Art in the heart. He squeezes your hand a bit to show his affection and he nods "I know, I know that you love me and only me and that I'm an idiot for ever doubting that. And I love you too. More than anything. I'll try and work on my self doubt and my stupid insecurities. I'm sorry." He can't believe that you are still sitting in the same room with him.

You get up from your chair and sit on his legs, your hands go to his cheeks and you can feel his breath hitch as he hurriedly wraps one arm around you. Slowly he starts to press his cheek into your hand, he loves feeling your touch on him and he lets his eyes slowly close.

"is Patrick really the only thing that is bothering you?".

Art hums softly as he gives your question a real thought. Is it really the only thing that is bothering him?

He slowly opens his eyes and looks at you when he realizes that there is one more thing that made him jealous when he thought about it. "It isn't only Patrick..." he mumbled.

"what is it then?" 

"It's you" he says truthfully "It's you and how many people find you attractive. Everywhere you go there are so many guys checking you out. I know that they're no threat to our relationship, but everytime I see them looking at you I can't help but wish sometimes to have you all for myself".

"it's your fault for choosing a hot girl as your partner" you joke to lighten the mood. 

Art chuckles softly at your joke. He can feel the corner of his lips slowly twitching upwards to a smirk at your words. It's just like you to try and lighten up the mood and he loved that about you. 

"That's not fair" he mumbled against your palm before he leaned in to press a soft kiss onto it.

"you think I don't feel the same about you? everywhere we go there is always some girls making heart eyes at you and it makes me crazy, have you ever noticed them?" he shakes his head, he never sees them, he only has eyes for you, "and in the exact same way I don't see any other guys that is not you." he blushes and you kiss the corner of his mouth "the fact that I am insecure as you are about other people finding you attractive doesn't mean I get insecure of your love for me or of our relationship, and you shouldn't either" you flick his forehead 

At this point he is simply stunned by what you said and you could literally see on his face, so you are jealous of him too?

Art doesn't know what to say at first so the only thing that he does is to tighten his grip on your waist while his cheeks slowly turns red. "I..I thought you didn't feel the same about..you know..." He trails off when he realized that there aren't any words that can express what is on his mind.

"about other girls finding you pretty?"

Art slowly nods his head. "Yeah..I guess so" he mumbles and looks down at his lap, embarrassed that he has those thoughts and doubts. "I just thought that it didn't bother you cause you never said anything. I thought I was being crazy" he mumbled and looked up at you with guilty eyes.

"I should've express my feeling about it sooner, maybe you wouldn't have felt this way about Patrick" 

"Maybe..." he mumbles while he slides his arm from your waist and gently brushes some loose hair behind your ear "I'm sorry for what I said about you and Patrick baby...I'm so sorry"

"I know you are... I'm sorry too" you murmur 

His eyes widens slightly and his head snaps up so that he can look at you. "What are you sorry about, sweetheart. You didn't do anything wrong" his thumb gently brushes over the skin on your cheek.

"about not expressing my insecurity sooner, for making you feel alone in this, we both could have handled this situation better" his heart starts racing in his chest when you lean into his hand and softly press your lips onto it. A small sigh escapes his lips while he keeps his eyes on you "I guess we both have to work on sharing our insecurities baby. Let's not keep anything from each other, alright?"

"sounds like a great deal to me" you whisper and kiss him softly on the lips and he comes alive under you.

He immediately leans into the kiss and presses his lips back onto yours. He feels like all the tension between you is slowly fading out and he cups your face with his hands to pull you closer.

He can't get enough of the taste of your lips. The way you are sitting on his lap kissing him passionately feels so right. It takes all his willpower to slow down the kiss and pull away from you to breath for a moment. His thumb gently caress your cheeks, while he watches you, flushed and looking absolutely wrecked.

You climb off his lap just to straddle him and rejoin your lips together, his hands fly to your hip to pull you closer. The feeling of your body pressed against his makes him groan and his eyes flutters for a moment, before he deepens the kiss again. His tongue licks across your bottom lip and he gently nips on it with his teeth.

you moan and grind your hips on his, the only things keeping your body separate are your short nightgown and his jogging pants. 

A breathy moan escapes his lips at the feeling of your hips grinding on him in such a sweet torture. He pulls you even closer if that's even possible and his fingers digs into the skin on your sides to hold you in place while his hips starts to move on their own. "Baby.." he gasps against your lips at the delicious friction of your bodies, he can't handle how hot you look on his lap.

"I need you Art, please"

-------

The second those needy words leave your lips something inside him snaps. The way you beg him makes him feel like he could explode in any second. "God, I love you" He gasps and pulls his lips from yours just to shower kisses along your jaw. "I need you too, baby." He moans against your skin and his hips rocks upwards to meet your movements.

you grind your hips on his again and again in circolar motions, his lips goes to your neck and lightly suck on it and his hands on your ass to help your movements. Your hands instead goes to raise his shirt to take it off and Art leans back against the chair to help you before going back to the same position as before.

Art groans in anticipation when you start to pull off his shirt that reveals his pale chest and abs to you. He shivers slightly when your hands roams over his bare skin and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He leaves wet kisses on your skin while he let his fingers sneak under the hemline of your nightgown to feel your skin. 

you take off your nightgown and throw it on the floor with his shirt before raising your hips to slide off his pants and boxer 

While you take the rest of your clothes off he can't stop himself from watching you. You look so divine and beautiful while undressing in front of him that he has to swallow hard and bite his lips at the sight of your body. After all this time you can still make his mind blank and speechless with your beauty. Slowly his hands roams up your thighs and over the skin on your hips while his eyes looks up at you, completely mesmerised.

"you look so beautiful baby" he says while you slid your panties to the side and sink down on his member, you let out a moan.

He keeps his eyes on you while you slowly let yourself sink down on him, his fingers gently grabbing at your hips to help you, while he feels himself becoming consumed in the feeling of you. "You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen" he manages to gasp before slowly kissing your lips. It felt like his mind was blank as he could only focus on every single sensation that you make him feel.

His breath hitches at the feeling of your insides wrapped around him and a moan escapes his lips in between the kisses. Art can't even concentrate on anything in this moment apart from you. He starts to move his hips in a steady rhythm with you in his lap.

"fuck, you feel so good baby, I love you" he moans and picks you up, a yelp come out of your mouth and your body trembles in his arms as his member slides deeper than before.

He picks up the pace when he hears you moan out loud, his mind completely blissed out at the feeling of himself buried inside of you while he continues to kiss you everywhere he can reach. 

His idea was to take you in your bedroom but you feel too good and his legs tremble from the pleasure, so he has no choice but to sit you on the table, him between your legs as he pick up his pace.

A surprised gasp escapes your mouth at the change of positions. He spreads your thighs further apart and his hips snaps against you and a groan escapes his lips.

You bring his face to yours and kiss him deeply, your tongues intertwined and your hands slide to his shoulders to dig your nails there and Art moans at the pain mixed with pleasure, one of his supports his weight off of you by resting on the table and the other finds your clit to rub it in circular motions to stimulate you further.

He moans into your mouth the second your tongue finds its way to his and his body presses against you while he does so. That action alone causes him to be deeper inside you and his eyes flutters close despite his best efforts to keep them open to look at you.

"Art- fuck" you moan and tremble against him, your chests pressed together before you let yourself lay against the table completely 

He stands back to look at your spread out body, you look so beautiful that it almost physically hurts him, he gets out of you to turn you around, you whine in response but lay against the table again without much struggle, he slips inside of you again

His pace now is slow and he stops your hips as they try to meet his, you whine in protest 

"Art please... go faster" you look back at him, your eyes pleading while your elbows support your weight, he lowers himself until his chest is pressed against your back and his mouth is close to you left ear "tell me you are mine" he orders while he bottoms out inside of you. 

The way he says that in your ear combined with how deep he is inside of you makes you whimper and shiver runs down your back. "I'm yours" you breathe and your eyes flutter by the feeling of him pressed so close against you. You feel like you're being wrapped up in Art and that feeling alone makes you feel so loved "I'm all yours, please..."

"I swear I'm only yours Art" you say again and his right arm goes around your neck while he brings you up with him in a straight position.

His hand tightens around your neck, making sure the pressure is light as his other hand slips around your stomach to hold you up against him. He then starts to move inside you with slow even strokes. "That's right you're mine..." he groans into your ear, "I love you so much..."

The new position makes his cock hit your cervix and you eyes gets watery from tears of pleasure, he picks up his pace "I'm going to cum Art" 

"me too baby" his hands goes to your clit again and your walls spams around his shaft "can I cum inside of you?" you nod furiously and turn your head to kiss him, when you cum your mouths are still joined and he slides as deep as he can as he reaches his climax too, his mouth now on your left shoulder and your hands wraps around both of his wrists. 

You stay still for a moment, your bodies joined together as your mouths lets out shaky laughs and breaths, he slide out of you delicately and turns you to sit you properly on the table again, his Hans on your thighs as they tremble.

Even in this moment you look the perfect combination of beautiful and wrecked to him. "I still can't believe how prefect you look all the time" he mumbles as he brushes some loose hair behind your ears softly.

You smile and pepper his face with sweet kisses that makes Art close his eyes in content, you slide off of the woodened forniture and take his hands in yours, "how about we take this to the bedroom, my love?"

He immediately nods in response and his eyes flutters when he feels your lips on his face. He feels like in this moment he could stand here and let you shower him with kisses forever. "Lead the way" he mumbles with a lazy tired smile on his face, his eyes follows you while you make your way to the bedroom.

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do not copy or repost.

[disneyprincemuke]

too young to know it gets better * fem!driver

there has to be someone out there that can snap her out of it, right?

pairings: oscar piastri x fem!driver, logan sargeant x fem!driver

notes: HI AFTER THIS THERE's one left and i promise that's not AS angsty as this one and i'm thinking of adding one or two more bonus chapters?? lolsie but idk we'll see!

(series masterlist) | (📂 2025: fall from grace)

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rockster has disconnected.

that’s the notification that had brought logan and oscar together some random afternoon. they stand in the confinements of the elevator in silence, not a single word uttered since they’d met one another in the lobby after sending a simple text out.

but they know what they’re here for.

logan hadn’t moved that fast in concern for her, dating back 3 years ago when mick had supposedly texted him about marrying his crush in vegas. he had sprinted 2 blocks from his apartment building to hers in the span of a couple of minutes.

and oscar had been running errands with lily prior to getting the notification. when she’d noticed her boyfriend staring down at his phone with distress all over his face, she’d immediately pushed him towards the exits to attend to the girl. she’s also a close friend, so she notices.

if you asked oscar, he’s been worried for months. but with her tendency to keep rejecting his initiation for small talk, it’s difficult to try and find the words to try and pry a confession out of her. but this disconnection from an application they’ve had for years raises red flags that they didn’t even know were possible.

“we’re not overreacting, right?” oscar mutters as they step out of the elevator at her floor.

logan nods, lips pressed into a thin line as he counts the steps he takes down the familiar hallway. “she dropped kidnapper off at my apartment like a week and a half ago. i haven’t heard from her since.”

oscar turns to him. “you’ve heard from her?”

“barely,” logan grimaces with a shake of his head, eyes trained on the hallway. “i invited her in for snacks but she declined and left immediately.”

“i haven’t seen or heard from her since the summer break began.”

“she hasn’t been picking up my calls either.” he turns to oscar. “that’s weird, right?”

logan almost wants to laugh at their conversation. if he didn’t consider that their best friend was the person at stake, he would have laughed the loudest he’s ever. they simply sounded like they were answering one another for copium in hopes that their best friend hasn’t lost her mind just yet.

when he unlocks the door to her apartment, they’re taken aback by the sight they’re immediately greeted with. and for logan, it’s whiplash — he’s only ever had fond memories of this apartment. to find it absolutely thrashed almost breaks his heart a little bit.

in his mind, he can hear the girl always scolding him for being messy when they were living together.

the curtains, typically letting the sun seep into the room, are drawn in to block the light out. the floor is littered with her things and there’s a chair toppled over on the ground. a picture frame on the entertainment system beneath the tv is faced down against the counter and if logan can recall perfectly, it’s their picture from when they were kids.

“what happened in here?” oscar mutters, stepping around the items of stray pieces of clothing on the ground. “should we call someone? do you think someone broke into her apartment?”

“let me call her and see if she’s alright,” logan sighs, fishing for his phone in his back pocket.

he hadn’t expected the situation to be so concerning. have they really let her run rampant on her own all this time?

he dials her number, just about to press the call button when a lock clicks and a door opens.

the girl, albeit slightly unrecognisable at first, steps out of her bedroom. she’s still in her pyjamas, cheeks wet and eyes puffy with her hair in a messy ponytail talling apart on her shoulder.

“who- rocky?”

she flinches back at the voice, catching her off-guard. she sighs tiredly as she pushes her hair out of her face, wiping her cheeks dry on the sleeve of her pyjamas. “what are you guys doing here”

“what are we- when did you get back?” logan tilts his head in confusion. he gestures towards the mess around them, “and what happened? have you been crying?”

she sighs again, eyes fluttering as she turns to look away from them. “you guys should really go. it’s not a good time right now,” she says softly, gesturing them towards the front door of her apartment.

“we can stay and help you clean everything up,” oscar mutters, mirror logan’s stare at the ground, “we’re just curious. you don’t typically let your apartment get this messy.”

“mate,” another sigh comes with her pinching the bridge of her nose, “it’s really not a good time right now.”

oscar’s head snaps up. “are you avoiding us?”

she stares at him tiredly. “what? no, it’s just-”

“you are, aren’t you?” oscar cuts her off, feeling an overwhelming wave of frustration takes over him. months of what feels like a one-sided friendship finally catches up to him.

every single rejection of plans reminds him how neglected their friendship has been, every time she’s ‘forgotten’ to look for an ice cream parlour makes his blood boil. it is such a one-sided friendship as of late and it feels like she’s no longer honouring the years of friendship they have.

“but why? did we do something? did we say something to upset you?”

she slouches her shoulders. she takes a deep breath to recompose herself. “please just go,” she croaks out, feeling a knot in her throat at the realisation of where this entire conversation might be heading. “not now.”

“but what is it? is it us?” oscar frowns. “at least tell us before you start ignoring us.”

she clenches her jaw as her patience runs thin. and she tries to hold on to the last string of patience she has. all these past months, she’s tried her damnest not to be this way to anyone that’s involved in racing.

just to save some face, to show that she’s not completely lost her mind. apart from the fact that they’re all practically colleagues, they’re also her friends.

but as oscar continues to edge her on for an explanation for her behaviour, it’s increasingly getting more difficult to keep her outbust at bay.

“rocky,” oscar calls out to grab her attention. “what is it? i’m so tired of you beating around the bush; if we did something to upset you, speak up. it’s not fair — what you’re doing. you’re cancelling plans, you’re bailing, you’re leaving us hanging… we’ve known each other half of our lives. you can’t just do this.”

logan shifts uncomfortable where he stands. “do you hate us?”

she tries to stop herself, really. but she should be allowed one outburst in her life.

“yes, yes, i actually do!” she admits, venom lacing her words as she starts to explain herself. “it sucks. i’m so fucking jealous of all of you right now. i’ve tried to feel happy for you guys but honestly?” a dry laugh passes her lips, tears falling out of her eyes. “i resent all of the success you’ve found this year.

because you’re doing great and i’m not. it’s annoying because i should be doing great too. because between every single one of us, no one’s worked as hard as i have to get to where i am today. you’re my best friends but i can’t get myself to be happy for you and i hate myself even more for it.”

oscar blinks blankly at her. her chest heaves as she finishes speaking, fists clenched by her side as she starts to cry a little harder.

she’s swallowed down every single drop of resentment she feels towards her friends, all doing well while she’d sunk deeper into the trenches of her own demise.

speaking ill of them that one time they achieved a podium without her haunted her for weeks on end. she couldn’t get herself to speak to them like she hadn’t spent 20 minutes speaking behind their backs about how much she hates that they’re on podiums without her.

“it was easier to avoid you than say things i can’t say.”

it was truly one of the last times she spend with them; the guilt of speaking on them ate her up. she’s apologise out of the blue and they’d have no idea what she was talking about.

admitting it now feels like their friendship would truly never be the same. like this is the one fight that’s been waiting to happen after their years of friendship and would lead to her eventual loneliness.

but she doesn’t expect oscar to start laughing. “are you fucking stupid?”

“excuse me, what?” she scoffs, throwing her head back slightly.

logan sighs next to socar. “come on, don’t be like that. she’s clearly having a hard time right now,” he mutters, putting a hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

oscar turns to logan, pointing a hand over to where the girl stand by her bedroom door. “really, logan? you don’t think she’s being so mind-numbingly stupid right now?” he glances at her then immediately looks away. “she’s so insensitive right now. the last thing she should have done is isolate herself but she’s gone ahead and done exactly that.”

oscar huffs and turns back to her with a frown. “you would think that she would fall back on the people who understand her the most. and you still don’t believe she’s being stupid?”

logan sighs again. “oscar.”

“you don’t fucking get it!” she screams.

“we’re the ones who don’t get it? out of everyone you know, we’re the 2 people who understand the most!”

he has a point, she starts to think. but it’s not the same — they’re not the same. their predicaments are different.

they never had to go through and be on the receiving end of words that tried to tear her down as she grew up.

“no, you don’t!” she says with slight amusement. “you’re oscar piastri. everyone’s kissed the ground you’ve walked on; you came into the sport and everyone’s been acting like you’re a prodigy changing the course of the sport. you don’t know what it’s like to be this way!”

“and you thought that pushing away every single person who wants to help you is the solution to your problems?” oscar snorts. then it hits him. “is that why i haven’t seen matt around lately? you drove him away? finally cracked, didn’t he?”

“you don’t know the half of it,” she scoffs. there’s no need for oscar to remind her of the cardinal sin she’d acted upon to drive matt away.

she lives with the repercussions of it every single day: coming back to an empty apartment. just an apartment, a shell of what used to feel like home.

“all of this over a bad couple races?” oscar rolls his eyes and another mean scoff passes his lips. he was unaware how bad it had gotten for her. “how immature. there’s more to fucking life than your position in f1.”

she sucks in a deep breath. “you’ll never understand.”

“oh, i do,” oscar points out with a small grin. “i grew up with you, rocky, i know how you operate. you break down the minute you’re not the best at something. you get scared and hide away when you don’t feel like you’re on the top of your game.”

“what do you know about what i feel?” she tilts her head with a small smile. “that’s so fucking pretentious of you to say so, oscar.”

“you’ve already made it to the top.” he picks his feet up and starts to walk over to her, shoving away logan’s hand that tries to stop him from threading any further. “it’s unnecessary that you’re still this hard on yourself. you’ve proved everyone wrong by making it this far. there are people on your side,” he jabs a finger into her shoulder and she stumbles back, “there are people who miss you- we miss you!

“do you even realise how lucky you have it right now? you’ve got sebastian helping to push your narrative because he believes in you. do you think everyone’s got that luxury?” he points back at logan. “do you think he had that luxury fight for his life in this sport? did that even cross your mind or are you just so far into your head?”

“oscar,” logan repeats. oscar glances back at logan who has his lips pressed into a thin line, unamused by the scenario he’s choosing to bring up. “don’t even go there.”

but oscar ignores him. oscar turns back to the younger girl and grabs her shoulders, squeezing them firmly as he draws a soft sob from her.

“i thought that because you weren’t entirely alone, it was okay that we take a step back and stopped meddling with your life. i thought you were going to be fine; i thought you knew ho to handle yourself and continue to keep your feet on the ground.”

she shakes her head, bottom lip pouted out. “you don’t-”

“i don’t understand?” oscar scoffs. “how far into your head have you gone to push yourself into a corner? do you realise that you’re in the trenches because you put yourself in there? have you looked in the mirror and actually,” oscar shakes her, “looked at yourself?”

and it seems that something finally clicked in her head. she stares blankly up at him, tears finally running down her cheeks. her chest heaves with constant sobs as she no longer can find the words in her head to prove her point.

“okay, that’s enough,” logan mutters, yanking oscar away from the girl. he shoves the younger boy towards the kitchen. “go and get some air and drink some water — you’re scaring her.”

oscar sniffles, wiping his eyes and stumbles towards the kitchen. he spares her one last glare before turning his back on her. “whatever.”

logan can only sigh when he looks down her head. she’s got her head in her hands as she sobs. she lifts her eyes to look up at him and scoffs. “what? do you have something to say to me? about how deranged i’ve gotten?”

“i don’t know what got into you to think we wouldn’t understand how you were feeling,” he says softly, tears flooding his eyes.

it’s difficult to watch someone you think is so strong be half the person you watched her grow into. he pulls her into his arms, squeezing her into a tight hug and rests his chin on her head.

“i’m sorry,” she cries in staggered breaths into his chest. “i’m sorry. i didn’t know. i didn’t-”

“it’s okay,” he mutters, squeezing her tighter. “we’re here.” he pulls away slightly and cups her cheeks, wiping her tears away with a small grin. “we’ve got you, okay? we’re here now.”

she nods through her tears, “okay.”

“we’ve got you, i promise,” logan hums, pulling her in again. he sways gently as he feels her sobs slowly dying out. “you’ll be okay.”

logan turns around at the sound of things shuffling about. oscar has a trash bag in his hand, picking up empty bottles on the ground and throwing them into the bag silently. she pulls her head back and watches oscar slowly navigate her littered apartment.

sensing their stares, oscar glances over his shoulder. “are you going to help me or are you just going to let me do this by myself?”

she glances up at logan with eyebrows raised and in return, he shrugs with a small smile.

for the next 2 hours, they clean up her apartment in silence. no music, not an utter of another word, just a heavy silence pushing down on their shoulders as they shift about her apartment like a well-oiled machine.

oscar throws his dirty piece of tissue into the bin right by the coffee table and sighs, leaning back into the couch he’s sat on. he’s in a single seater while logan and her share the bigger couch.

her apartment finally looks the way they all remember it. pristine with all her things neatly slotted into their respective slots.

oscar hasn’t spoken to her much since he’d gotten the bright idea to start helping her clean the apartment for her. he’d briefly asked her if she wanted pizza for dinner, to which she simply shrugged and said okay, then asked which toppings she wanted. then they returned to their silence.

he picks up her can of pepsi, popping it open before extending his hand over to her. she turns stiffly and looks at his offer with a blank stare. “oh, thank you.”

she takes it into her hands and glances over at oscar who turns away from her immediately to grab logan’s drink next. “i’m sorry,” she says first, just barely above a whisper. her head is dropped slightly, eyes trained on the slicer of pizza in her hands.

truthfully, she’s not very sure how to apologise for her behaviour. while she’s broken down over things said about her and her progress is a sport that barely had a spot for her, it’s never gotten this bad.

she hadn’t even realised that they still cared with their own lives now.

“no, i’m sorry,” logan says immediately, turning his head to her. “that we didn’t foster an environment where you felt like you could come to use and be honest about how you’re really feeling. you did it for me all the time when we first started out and i’m sorry i couldn’t do the same for you.”

“it’s not even your fault,” she sighs shakily. “i pushed away everyone who tried to extend their hands out to me to help. oscar’s right.”

oscar sighs audibly, sinking into his seat. he turns his head to look at her and purses is lips. “i’m sorry i called you stupid,” oscar says, “we grew up together… i just thought that if you didn’t feel right, we’d still be the people you know you don’t have to put up a facade with. be brutally, disgustingly and painfully honest with.”

“i really didn’t wanna worry anybody,” she frowns. “you have your own lives now, you know? i thought i could handle it on my own.”

“don’t even say that,” oscar turns to her with furrowed eyebrows, “you’re practically my little sister — i’ve driven you to the hospital after you writhed in pain from dislocating your shoulder playing volleyball. i’ve beaten up guys from school for you so of course you’ll always have a place in our lives.”

“i didn’t want you to know that i was a sore loser,” she shrugs with a small grin. she gestures towards logan. “he took our first 2 years in the sport so gracefully. it was embarrassing that i couldn’t do the same when it was my turn.”

“what?” logan scoffs. “you seriously think i wasn’t jealous seeing you guys being glorified by everyone? i felt like shit watching you guys get accepted in the sport with open arms and make new friends without me.”

he gives her a knowing stare when she turns her head to look at him. “i lvoe you, but i seriously despised you so much for being better than me at everything. i felt like the smallest man who’s ever lived when i was next to you. and dude… we were always together.”

she chews on the inside of her cheek. “i didn’t know that… i’m sorry…”

“but at the end of the day, you were always there for me,” logan frowns, poking her arm gently. “i’m sorry i couldn’t give you the same level of comfort to not spiral this bad. the only reason i hadn’t was because you were there for me all the time.”

“well i’m sorry that i was so mean to you,” oscar sighs. “but you know you needed it, right?”

“i know,” she shrugs, “thanks.”

“i don’t wanna be the one to bring it up, though,” logan hums as he reaches forward for another slice, “but what happened with matt?”

she chuckles with a soft snort. she lifts her head and puffs her cheeks out. “i wasn’t very nice to him when everything was falling apart,” tears flood her eyes, “he called for a break. but honestly, i think he wants to break up with me.”

logan raises an eyebrow. “he asked for a break, didn’t he? that’s not a breakup, mate.”

“you weren’t there. i wouldn’t want to be with me either if i had to endure what he went through with me,” she admits with a sigh. she wipes her tears away from her eyes and smiles slightly. “i think he’s just trying to soften the blow.”

oscar laughs. he laughs the loudest and heartiest he’s ever since he’d bolted from lily while they were running errands together. “do you seriously think that?”

she blinks at oscar. “i thought we were done being mean to me, mate.”

“we are!” oscar beams, forcing himself to falter with his laughter. “i’m sorry, i’m not trying to make you feel worse. but do you seriously think that matt — the guy who’s in your garage every single weekend, literally comes into the paddocks with ice cream for your entire team, texts logan and i to ask about things to surprise you with — wants to seriously break up with you?”

“well, you weren’t there,” she explains with a frown. “well, you were, once when i was crying in the paddocks. but i was so mean to him.”

“but a break isn’t a breakup,” oscar explains as he points at her knowingly. “you were arguably at your worst, i doubt that he wants to leave you when your mental was that bad. it happens, you know?”

“if he didn’t want to be with you, he would have broken up with you instead of asking for a break,” logan sighs, patting her on the shoulder. “just approach him.”

“i don’t know how to,” she admits, sliding down the couch to lie down slightly. “there’s no gesture big enough to makeup for the things i said… the way i treated him…”

“say you’re sorry,” oscar says with a small grin and a nod. “start there and i’m sure you guys can work it out from there, you know?”

“i’ll try.”

“okay, enough with this,” logan throws his head back with a grunt. “let’s go karting!” he stands up and smiles at her widely. “you sound like you need your edge back. i’ll even let you win this time.”

she scoffs, “as if i’d ever lose to you in equal machinery!”

“aw, she’s back! she’s fighting back now!” oscar cheers, hopping up as he claps his hands. “come on! then let’s get ice cream where we always get it! i haven’t been there in forever.”

“okay, okay!” she laughs, watching the 2 of them jump to their feet and start to clear out her table. she feels a warmth in her chest watching them in her living room. “just let me shower, okay? we kinda cleaned a lot tonight. i won’t take less than 15 minutes, i promise!”

there’s a chorus of heavy sighs and arms thrown in the air. “we might as well cancel karting.”

“but you take forever to get ready!” oscar jokes with a frown. “if you pass 15 minutes, you’re paying for ice cream.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @vellicora @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @33-81 @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @namgification @localwhoore @c-losur3 @notawc @sadg3 @kazuha-pista-badam @mellowarcadefun @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @woozarts @meadhbhcavanagh @2bormaybenot @a-disturbing-self-reflection @mclarengf @xoscar03 @nomie-11 @green-thots @tinyhrry @iwilleatyourgod @inejismywife @love4lando @louvrepool

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - implied non/con, nonconsensual drug use, obsessive behavior, and gn!reader.

It was starting to rain.

When you’d let yourself into Neuvillette’s office, the sky had been clear and blue, the sun shining so brightly that you’d had to squint whenever you were facing the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the wall behind his desk, but clouds had gathered since then, smothering the light and casting the world in a dull, grey hue – only interrupted by the occasional bolt of webbed lightening or crack of thunder. It hadn’t started to fall yet, but it would. You’d lived in Fontaine long enough to know that storms never stopped at just an overcast sky.

You tried to find a window, to check if you could see the haze of rain in the distance, but your body ached at the thought of moving, a sharp shock of pain running from the pit of your stomach to the back of your throat. With some difficulty, you managed to turn your head, but a gloved hand wrapped around your chin and dragged you back into place before you could so much as hope to check on the storm’s progress. You let your eyes drift back to Neuvillette, a small frown tugging at the corner of your lips, but he seemed unaffected, too busy rutting his hips against yours and groping at your waist to notice your disappointment. He was probably distracted. Even in his best moments, he tended to be more oblivious than his stoic demeanor would let on. You loved your job, treasured the opportunity to tend to such an extensive archive, but your boss could be airheaded, prone to burying himself in his work for days at a time and taking hours to do little more than admire the way the sea broke against the shore. Things like your petty, mortal concerns weren’t really worth his attention.

…it was Neuvillette above you, right? You were still in his office, splayed across one of his velvet-lined love seats, and you could remember sharing a cup of tea with him after you stopped by to drop off the case files he’d requested, but this didn’t feel like something Neuvillette would do, and it didn’t look like Neuvillette above you. You could recognize a few disconnected features – silver hair, fine clothes, porcelain skin – but they were all misplaced, all distorted to the point of complete unrecognizability. His hair was unbound, falling around you in thick curtains and casting the world around you in a bleary haze of ivory, and his clothes were in a similar state of disarray, silk and leather wrinkled and disheveled, his shirt and undercoat torn open to reveal his heaving chest. His skin was worst of all, stained with a dull pink flush and marred with sweat and drool. His lips were bruised, swollen, and you could see a thin line of azure scales creeping up the side of his throat, slowly infecting his—

That pointed, acidic pain ran through you again, but you tried to ignore it, to block it out, to think about other things. Things you could understand. Things like the rain. You could hear it, now – pattering against glass, creating a near-deafening fog of numbing white noise. In the absence of anything else to occupy yourself with, your mind turned backward, first to the strange, bitter taste of the tea he’d served you, then further, to when you started your work with Neuvillette and how comforted you’d been by his steady hand and gentle smile. Eventually, you uncovered a well-buried conversation you’d had with your neighbor when you first came to Fontaine, something about a saying her children liked to repeat to the point of nausea when the rainfall forced them inside. It was about a monster, or... was it a dragon? It was hard to remember. It was hard to think.

You felt something wet fall onto your cheek. A raindrop, you figured, even if you couldn’t imagine the Palais Mermonia ever springing a leak. There was another, then another, raining down freely until you managed to lift a hand, finding Neuvillette’s cheek. “Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon,” you mumbled, your voice rough, hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Please don’t cry.”

A hitched sob, a face buried in the dip of your shoulder, Neuvillette’s skin cold as ice against your own. You couldn’t bring yourself to care about the chill, the dampness, the throbbing ache now stitched into the fabric of your being, what little energy you still had waning until you couldn’t bear to keep your eyes open, until you were just some limp item underneath him. It was all you could do to hope that, by the time you woke up, the Neuvillette looking after you would be your own, that you’d be able to do more than blink and dream.

It was all you could do to hope that, by then, the storm will have passed and you’d be able to see the sun again.

[aylacavebear]

Bloodlines & Fate Chapter 8

Being Touched should have been a blessing—a mark of honor in your lineage, celebrated by your pack since childhood. But to you, it's always made you feel like an outsider, never really fitting in anywhere. Yeah, you had your best friend Jess, but for you, something always felt like it was missing. The land your pack runs on during the full moons brings you a sense of peace you don't fully understand, at first.

Paring: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader/You

Word Count: 5841

Warning: Angst, longing, some Fluff. Not much that I can think of. Although, you might need some tissues.

A/N: Professor Robert Zimmerman is based off of The Doctor from Star Trek Voyager, as I absolutely love that character. Alaric Saltzman is from The Vampire Diaries.

A/N: It's my first attempt with an A/B/O fic, be gentle, please. I hope you like it. Not sure how many chapters this will be yet.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 8

The city records office wasn’t exactly what Dean expected. Sure, it had the usual stale air and fluorescent lighting, but instead of towering shelves stuffed with dusty books, the space was clean and modern. Rows of filing cabinets lined the walls, each labeled with meticulous precision, and a few workstations sat along the far side, their monitors casting a dim glow against the neutral-toned walls.

Professor Alaric Saltzman sat at one of the desks, a thick file open in front of him. He glanced up as Sam and Dean settled in, his sharp gaze flickering between them. “I take it you’re here because of Y/N.”

Dean didn’t respond. He was already at one of the cabinets, flipping through files labeled Alpha—Touched. He wasn’t here to talk—he was here to find answers.

Sam, ever the diplomat, leaned against the desk, arms crossed. “Yeah. We need to understand what’s happening with him.” He nodded toward Dean, who was flipping through a file with his usual impatience, his fingers tightening around the pages every so often.

Saltzman exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple before shifting through a few files of his own. “I figured as much. And I assume this has to do with his wolf recognizing her.” Dean stilled for half a second, then kept reading. He hated how easily Saltzman saw through things. But then again, the guy was one of the experts when it came to Touched, alphas, and omegas.

Sam nodded. “It shouldn’t be possible, right? Given everything we know about Touched and how the mutation affects an alpha’s ability to bond with their wolf?”

Saltzman’s lips pressed into a thin line. “In my professional opinion, I think he could bond with his wolf, it’s just harder.” He tapped a finger against the open file in front of him. “Y/N asked about information on her pack’s Touched when she was fourteen. I didn’t think much of it at the time—plenty of young Touched are curious about their lineage. But now?” He turned his gaze to Dean. “Now I wonder if she was already searching for answers she didn’t know she needed.” Dean’s jaw clenched. He hadn’t known that. It shouldn’t have mattered, but somehow, it did, settling in his chest like a weight he couldn’t shake.

Saltzman slid a file across his desk toward Sam, his expression unreadable. “After that day, I went back through the records. The Touched of her pack? They only ever met their true mate when he was in wolf form. There are literally only three other cases of both having the Touched mutation.”

Dean’s grip on the file tightened a little, but relaxed the moment he saw Saltsman’s glare. He instantly felt like a scolded pup, with just a look, and carefully placed the file back in the filing cabinet. Now far more interested in what the professor had to say. “And?”

Saltzman leaned back in his chair. “And you might not be as disconnected from your wolf as you think,” He stated, studying Dean carefully. “Let me guess—you felt it, didn’t you? That bond she already has with your wolf.”

For the first time since they’d arrived, Dean looked up, something flickering behind his eyes—something raw, uncertain. But he didn’t say anything. He just turned back to the filing cabinet, jaw tight, shoulders tense.

Sam sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, what do you suggest?”

Saltzman leaned back in his chair, eyes still on Dean. “I suggest that Dean starts listening to his wolf. If it helps any, watch some documentaries on wild wolves and pay attention to how they interact with their pack. Then, pay attention to your wolf. We learn this as kids, but since Dean never did, he’ll need to start somewhere.”

Dean muttered something under his breath that probably wasn’t suitable for polite company as he pulled another file. Sam was the research guy. The documentary guy. Not him. “Come on, Sam, let’s go,” he grumbled, putting the file away and heading for the door.

It wasn’t the answers he wanted, but they were the answers he needed. And he swore that his wolf had huffed a laugh in the back of his mind the moment he stepped outside, breathing in the fresh afternoon air. 

The drive back was quiet. At least, on the outside.

Inside, Dean’s head was anything but.

He stared out the window, arms crossed, fingers twitching against his bicep. The truck rumbled beneath them, the steady hum of tires on asphalt filling the silence between him and Sam. Normally, Dean would’ve thrown on the radio, bitched about Sam’s taste in music, or at least had something to say. But now? Now, he couldn’t shake Saltzman’s words.

“The Touched of her pack? They only ever met their true mate when he was in wolf form.”

His wolf had met you first.

For three years, he’d been meeting you at that damn fence line, lingering like some lovesick pup. And for almost three years of that, you’d talked to him—just talked—pouring out your thoughts, your worries, your damn soul to him like he was someone who mattered. And for nearly a year of that, when he shifted back in the morning, no memory of the night before, your scent was there, all around him, both comforting and infuriating.

Dean exhaled sharply, jaw tight.

Sam noticed. Of course, he did. “You good?”

Dean scoffed, still watching the scenery blur past. “Peachy.”

“Right. And I’m a damn omega.” Sam tried not to chuckle at his brother’s predicament.

Dean rolled his eyes, but the usual snark wasn’t there. He couldn’t find it, not with this sitting in his chest like a weight he didn’t know how to carry.

“Let me guess—you felt it, didn’t you? That bond she already has with your wolf?”

He had. Shit, he had. He just hadn’t known what the hell to do with it. Still didn’t.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Sam said after a beat.

Dean frowned. “What thing?”

“The thing where you pretend you’re not thinking about something when it’s literally all you can think about.” Dean huffed a laugh, but it had no real bite. “Shut up, Sammy.” Sam didn’t push, but Dean knew his brother well enough to know that wouldn’t last forever. He already knew his brother was trying to find a way to help him with it all, from the moment he had stormed into Sam’s cabin after leaving your place. 

He shifted in his seat, rubbing a hand over his face. His wolf wasn’t helping, either. The damn thing had been restless since they left, pacing in the back of his mind, chuffing like it was amused.

Like it knew.

And maybe it did. Maybe it always had. 

Dean swallowed hard, watching the road stretch ahead of them. Because for the first time in a long time, he had something he hadn’t had before. You had sought answers, too. His mind drifted back, nearly ten years, to that one full moon where his wolf was more than restless in his mind. It had been so bad that he’d been pacing his room that morning, unable to relax. 

In that moment, no matter how terrified he was, he made a decision. He was not only going to get over this fear of bonding with his wolf, he was going to find a way to talk to you about it, and about that first night, nearly ten years ago. He had to know what had made him so restless and why you hadn’t come back.

—----------------------------

A sharp knock rattled the cabin door, followed by Jess’s unmistakable voice. “You better not be dead in there, ‘cause I will break this door down.” You groaned, barely lifting your head from the couch. “Go away, Jess.” The door creaked open anyway. “Yeah, no. Not happening.” Jess stepped inside, already zeroed in on you, sprawled out on the couch, your face half-buried in that blanket—the one you’d given to Dean. The one she knew was your favorite.  Her mind instantly putting the pieces together—it didn’t smell like you anymore.

Her eyes narrowed. “Seriously?”

You huffed. “What?”

Jess kicked the door shut behind her, arms crossing as she moved closer. “You’re just gonna lay here, lost in your head over this morning? Spill.” Her voice was firm, but not unkind—she knew you too well to let this go.

You groaned and blindly reached for the nearest pillow, lobbing it at her without much effort. She dodged with a smirk. “We didn’t talk. I somehow made him uncomfortable, and he left, alright?”

Jess’s expression shifted, softening as she took a seat near your feet on the couch. She hadn’t seen you after his truck pulled away, and when you never showed up at her place, worry set in. “What happened?” she asked, quieter now.

With a sigh that bordered on a whine, you rolled over, draping an arm over your forehead, feet resting in her lap. “I suggested he let me claim him… so he could bond with his wolf and get those memories back.” Your voice dropped slightly. “Then he just… left.”

Jess frowned, sympathy flickering across her face as she studied you. “I’m sure Sam’ll help him figure it out,” she offered. A pause.”He told me some stuff… but you probably already know.”

That caught your attention. You pushed up onto one elbow, curiosity momentarily overtaking the turmoil swirling inside you. “Like?”

Jess hesitated, shifting where she sat. You could see the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, the way she suddenly focused too hard on a crease in her shirt. “Well…” she exhaled, clearly debating whether she should say it. But you were his mate, like Sam was hers. The packs were family now. It should be fine. 

She glanced at you. “...Sam said that after that one full moon—the one you told me when you heard him answer your song—Dean got weird.”

Your brow lifted, curiosity outweighing hesitation now. “And? Come on, Jess, you can’t leave me hanging like this.”

Jess bit her lip, still fidgeting with her shirt. “Sam said it was like… his wolf lost interest in other omegas,” she mostly mumbled, like saying it was somehow betraying her mate.

The words landed like a gut punch, twisting guilt through your stomach where worry had just sat moments before. You had been fourteen, just following instincts, singing to the moon without knowing what it would mean. You hadn’t considered what it might do to him—how it might have changed things for him before either of you were ready. You’d only thought about yourself, about how you weren’t ready.

Jess saw it the second it hit. “Don’t do that,” she snapped, sharp but not unkind. “You were fourteen. It’s not like there’s a handbook on how any of this works.”

You looked away, curling in on yourself as you pulled your legs up to your chest, chin resting on your knees. “I hurt him, though,” you murmured. “Even if I didn’t know I was.”

Jess didn’t bother moving the blanket as she slid closer, wrapping her arms around you. “Just… talk to him. I know I keep saying that, but…” She sighed, squeezing you gently. “He’s your true mate. I don’t think he’s capable of hating you.” You sank into her warmth, closing your eyes against the whirlwind in your mind. Why did life have to be so damned unfair? Was that enough, though, being true mates? Could it fix this? The questions kept coming, nagging, refusing to let you go. 

Eventually, you pulled yourself out of it. You packed up the last of the turnovers you’d made for Dean that morning and shoved them into Jess’s hands, finally convincing her to leave you alone for a while. You needed space—needed to get your head straight.

So, you wrote.

First, in your journal, spilling every tangled thought onto the pages in a desperate attempt to quiet them. Then, on your laptop, fingers flying over the keys as you poured everything out—the weight of living with this mutation, the loneliness, the questions that haunted you since childhood, and the answers you wished someone had for you back then.

You wrote as if you were speaking to someone, though you weren’t sure who. At the time, it was just for you, a way to process it all. But years from now, these words would become part of something more—a book meant for others like you, like Dean.

Dean never came back that day. Or the day after. Or the day after that.

You buried yourself in writing, in distractions, in preparing for the celebration on Winchester land. Sam had stopped by to visit Jess the day before, letting you know it would be casual—nothing like the formality of the Winter celebration. A different world, a different kind of gathering.

Briefly, your thoughts drifted to Dean, seeing that blanket on the other end of the couch. Does he even want to see me? You shook your head, pushing away the doubts that tried to take root. He’d said it wasn’t goodbye the other day, so that was what you held onto, even if you hadn’t heard from him.

—--------------------------

The day of the celebration arrived with the crisp scent of the promise of autumn lingering in the air, only a month away, mingling with the unmistakable aroma of bonfires and roasting meat. Winchester land had been transformed for the occasion, the clearing filled with long wooden tables draped in deep red and earthy brown fabric, lanterns strung overhead casting a warm, golden glow.

Laughter and the hum of conversation wove through the space, the energy thick with anticipation. This wasn’t just any gathering—this was a rare, once-in-a-lifetime event. The mixing of the bloodlines. Two packs who had never crossed, now linked together through two Winchester alphas and two Winter omegas. 

Dean stood at the edge of the clearing, bottle of beer in hand, watching as his pack moved easily around him. He should’ve been mingling, should’ve been reveling in what this night meant, but his thoughts were a tangled mess he couldn’t unravel. His wolf paced just beneath the surface, agitated and restless, like it was waiting for something. Or someone.

Sam’s voice cut through the din, low and knowing. “You’re thinking too much.” Dean huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he took a pull from his bottle. “Yeah? That what your fancy degrees tell you?”

Sam rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite to it. “Nah, that’s just basic observation. You’ve been like this for days.” Days. Ever since they’d gone to see Saltzman.

Dean clenched his jaw at the memory. The old professor had laid out the truth of things in a way Dean wasn’t sure he was ready to face. The bond between you and him wasn’t rare—it was something entirely different, something that had only happened three other times in the history of the records.

The way his wolf had reacted to you, the way your song had called to him all those years ago, had changed things before either of you had known what it would mean. And now, the more time he spent away from you, the more it gnawed at him.

“She’s here, you know.” Sam’s voice was gentler now, less teasing, more understanding. “Has been for a little while.” Dean exhaled slowly, nodding. Of course, you were. His senses had told him long before Sam had. For a brief second, his mind drifted to the blanket. The one he’d left with you three days ago. Maybe it was stupid, his hope that you’d brought it with you. He’d told you he would come back for it. So, it was probably still at your cabin, probably sitting on the couch in the same place you had picked it up from the night you gave it to him.

The documentaries hadn’t helped much. If anything, they’d only annoyed him. He knew all that stuff—that wild wolves had no doubts when it came to their mates. They followed. They protected. They claimed. And then there was how they interacted—loving, tender, caring, and no aggression with pack members. Dean wasn’t some damn animal, but his wolf sure as hell didn’t agree with that assessment.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Dean admitted, voice rough, barely audible over the classic rock and chatter. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, Y/N, turns out I’ve been half-feral for years ‘cause my wolf imprinted on you when you were a teenager.’”

Sam shook his head, leaning against one of the long tables. “I think she deserves to hear it in your own time, man. But you gotta talk to her at some point.” Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on you. You stood near Jess, the two of you caught up in conversation, the firelight playing off your features, making you look like something out of a dream. His chest tightened at the sight, and his wolf howled in his mind.

You looked happy. Relaxed.

And then, as if sensing his stare, your gaze lifted, locking onto his. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Then, slowly, tentatively, you offered him a small smile.

It wasn’t much. But it was enough to make something inside him settle, even for a moment.

“Start with that,” Sam said, nodding toward you. “See where it takes you.”

Dean exhaled sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stepped forward. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe this night wasn’t about having all the answers—just about taking another step toward finding them.

You had chosen a comfortable pair of jeans and a simple blue tank top, layering it with the red flannel Dean had given you that first night. You left it unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up. The fabric worn soft from use. The evening air was warm, so you’d only pulled your hair back into a ponytail, keeping it easy, effortless—though your thoughts were anything but. For the past hour, you’d kept an eye on Dean, even when you told yourself not to. He stayed at a distance, his presence a constant weight just at the edge of your awareness. So, you respected that space, choosing to keep away as well.

The Winchester pack had been welcoming, their kindness genuine, even as you made sure to stay downwind to lessen the effect of your scent. The adults, especially, were gracious—though you didn’t miss the way some of them flinched just slightly before smoothing their expressions. 

When Ellen had come over and handed you a beer, she’d cleared her through a little too deliberately. You caught the briefest flicker of discomfort before she masked it with a warm smile. You could only return it with an apologetic one of your own, murmuring a quiet thanks.

Still, no matter how much you tried to focus on anything else, your thoughts kept circling back to Dean. Every time you caught a glimpse of him—leaning against a table, nursing a beer, gaze fixed somewhere that wasn’t you—it hit you all over again. He was avoiding you.

Jess had tried to reassure you. He’ll come over. He’s probably just overthinking. Sam said he does that a lot. Maybe she was right. Maybe he would. But after the first hour had passed, you weren’t going to let yourself hope anymore.

“Jess?” Bobby’s voice cut through the chatter, drawing your best friend’s attention.

She turned, brow raised. “Yeah?”

“Need you a sec, kid,” he said, tipping his head toward one of the tables where a few of the pack’s older members had gathered.

Jess hesitated, looking at you as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave you alone, but you gave her a small smile and a reassuring nod. “Go ahead. I’ll be fine.” With a reluctant glance, she stepped away, leaving you by the fire’s glow.

A few moments later, you felt someone settle beside you, the movement quiet but intentional. This was the closest anyone had gotten to you all night. You turned and found Mary Winchester, her expression soft, eyes warm with understanding.

“You doing okay, sweetheart?” she asked, her voice gentle, but weighted with something more—like she already knew the answer.

You swallowed, glancing toward where Dean stood, still at a distance, his brother beside him. “I’m fine.”

Mary hummed, unconvinced, following your gaze. “My son can be stubborn. Always has been,” she said, taking a slow sip from the drink in her hand. “Gets in his own way more than he should.”

You let out a breath, looking down at the beer bottle you held. “I don’t know what I did wrong.” The words came quieter than you intended.

Mary shook her head, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, honey, you didn’t do anything wrong.” She nudged your arm lightly, her touch grounding. “Dean’s always been the kind to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, even when no one asks him to. And when something—or someone—means too much to him, his first instinct is to protect. Even if that means keeping his distance until he figures out how.’

Your fingers tightened around the bottle as you processed her words. “So, what do I do?”

Mary’s smile deepened, something affectionate in her gaze. “Be patient. Let him come to you when he’s ready.” She reached out, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear, a mother’s touch. “He’s already yours, sweetheart. He just needs to catch up to the fact.”

Warmth bloomed in your chest, unexpected and comforting all at once. You met her eyes, finding nothing but certainty there. She already saw you as part of this family—whether you and Dean had claimed each other or not.

You hesitated, chewing your bottom lip as you wrestled with the questions that had haunted you for days. Just the fact that she remained so close, offering steady reassurance with her presence alone, made you feel a sense of belonging you hadn’t realized you’d been craving. 

“I… I had offered to claim him,” you admitted, voice quieter than you intended. “So he could get those memories back, and bond with his wolf.”

Her gaze flicked toward her sons, an almost knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “Sam’s been keeping me updated, without Dean’s knowledge, of course.” 

You blinked at that, watching the way she watched them. Love radiated from her in a way that made your chest ache, but there was something beneath it, something you couldn’t quite name. You wondered if your parents ever looked at you like that—like they already knew the path you were meant to walk, even when you didn’t.

“Roughly six months after Dean presented, something in him changed after that full moon,” Mary murmured. “No one in the pack could help him. John and Bobby even tried following his wolf during shifts, but his wolf is smart, always giving them the slip.” 

She turned to you then, hand resting gently on your shoulder. “I’m pretty sure that has something to do with you.” Her voice softened. “Dean’s scared. Even if he won’t admit it. A mother always knows.”

Guilt twisted in your stomach, a slow, gnawing ache. You dropped your gaze to the ground. “That was the first full moon where I sang,” you whispered, the words barely escaping. The memory pressed against you, sharp-edged and heavy. “I… I didn’t—”

Your breath hitched. A tear slipped down your cheek just as Mary pulled you into a warm embrace.

“Shh,” she soothed, holding you tightly, her hand moving in slow, comforting strokes down your back.

The dam broke. You clung to her, unable to hold back the sobs, unable to put words to everything you felt. For the first time outside of your own pack—outside of Dean—you were being held. No expectations, no judgment. Just comfort. Just understaninding..

Your arms instinctively wrapped around her as you cried into her shoulder. Even if you had wanted to, you wouldn’t have been able to speak through the tears, to give voice to the ache twisting inside you.

A shift in the air.

Dean’s head snapped up the moment a light breeze carried your scent to him. His wolf reacted before he did, instinct sharpening, muscles tensing. His eyes locked onto you, curled into his mother’s arms, your distress unmistakable.

His feet moved before he could think. The beer in his hand was forgotten, left sweating on the table as he crossed the space of the celebration. Sam barely hid his knowing smirk.

Jess had turned, too, already halfway to her feet before a firm hand landed on her shoulder. 

“Dean’s got this, kid,” Bobby murmured, nodding in Dean’s direction.

She hesitated, watching, torn between instinct and trust. With a quiet sigh, she sank back into her seat, though her grip on the bottle in her hand tightened.

“If he screws this up, I’m gonna break his nose,” she grumbled before taking a long swig of her beer.

Bobby chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re gonna fit in fine around here.”

You felt his presence before you saw him. Mary pulled back just as Dean reached you, giving you space but not stepping far. You barely had time to wipe at your face before he turned you, careful but firm, pulling you against his chest. 

His arms locked around you. Warm. Steady. Safe. 

“M’sorry, mega,” he murmured against your hair, nuzzling his cheek against yours. The word slipped from your lips in a whisper before you could stop it. “Wolf.” 

It wasn’t just surprise—it was recognition. The nuzzling was something his wolf did with you, even through the fence.

Dean didn’t fight it this time. Not like he had been. The distress in your scent had unsettled him in a way he didn’t have words for—an ache in his chest, sharp and unrelenting. 

The problem was, he had no clue how to comfort you. 

But his wolf did.

Gently, he led you away from the celebration, his arm over your shoulders, keeping you close. He paid attention, watching how his wolf interacted with you—how it took the lead when he didn’t know how. It was protective, but not possessive. Gentle, not demanding. It just wanted to keep you near, to soothe you. Nothing more. And that puzzled Dean. 

There was no aggression. No need to snarl at anyone or tuck you away from the rest of the world. No blame, no frustration. Just this instinct— an unwavering need to comfort you.

“I’m sorry,” Dean murmured as he finally stopped, leaning against a tree. He let his wolf guide his movements. His hand slid down your arm, the other finding your hand, slowly pulling you closer so you were against him again. Holding you.

He rested his chin on your head. “I’m scared,” he admitted quietly, knowing you were listening. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you if you claim me.”

Your head rested against his chest, one hand on his side, the other near your cheek, his racing heartbeat beneath your touch. For a moment, you said nothing, searching for the right words. 

Then, softly, as if it was the simplest truth in the world, you whispered, “Your wolf won’t let you hurt me.”

And somehow, you knew that. No doubt, no hesitation—not after this.

Dean let out a shaky breath, trying to see past the fear tightening in his chest. “I’m afraid to take that chance,” he admitted, barely above a whisper.

“I’m not,” your voice was quiet, but confident.

His wolf preened at the sound of them, all but purring with pride.

Slowly,  you shifted in his arms, looking up at him. Gingerly, you reached up and cupped his cheek, letting your thumb brush away the tear that had slipped down. When his eyes met yours, the breath was knocked from his chest. 

Your expression was so soft, so tender, but the conviction in your eyes took him by surprise. His wolf howled as another tear slipped down his cheek, proud of his mate. You gently wiped that one away as well, smiling up at him.

“He needs his mate, just as much as you do,” you whispered. “I’ll be there, when you’re ready, and every day after.”

Dean couldn’t say anything, too choked by emotions he typically never let anyone see. He buried his face in your neck, holding you close and breathing you in. Yeah, he still had questions he wanted to ask you, but in this moment, he just needed you to ground him, keep his head above everything swirling inside that threatened to drown him.

“Thank you,” he finally whispered once the lump in his throat had diminished. Dean just couldn’t find any other way to say it—hoping you understood just how much those two words held.

You gave him a gentle squeeze, then just held him close. Slowly, the tension eased from his body, his wolf guiding him—guiding this bond it shared with you. A bond Dean almost envied, like he was missing out.

When he finally let out a shaky breath, letting his body relax completely, he pulled back to look into your eyes. It still took his breath away with how you looked at him, like he meant something to you, not just his wolf. Again, he let his wolf guide him, slowly leaning closer, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly over your skin. 

He gave you plenty of time to pull away, but you didn’t. Instead, you leaned up on your tiptoes, meeting him halfway, closing your eyes as his lips met yours. It wasn’t one of those desperate kind of kisses. No. His wolf guided him, slow, tender, loving. Something else he paid attention to was how you returned the kiss—a bit hesitant, a bit unsure, confirming that you really hadn’t been with anyone before, putting him at ease. His wolf, on the other hand, let out an amused huff in his mind.

This is gonna take some time getting used to.

After a few tender moments, he pulled away, realizing just how much having you in his arms eased not just his turmoil, but his wolf’s restlessness too. “We should get back,” he murmured, still letting his thumb rub over your skin. 

The celebration carried on around the two of you as you and Dean made your way back to the gathering, the steady thrum of voices, laughter, and music filling the night air. The scent of the bonfire mixed with the aroma of roasted marshmallows, the occasional crackle of burning wood punctuating the sounds of the pack. It should’ve felt the same as it always did—familiar, comforting.

But something had shifted.

Dean felt it in the way his wolf settled as soon as you walked beside him. He didn’t have to force himself to keep his stride slow, didn’t have to remind himself to match your pace. His wolf did it naturally. Instinct. Just like Saltzman had said.

He nearly scowled at the thought. Damn it, he hated when that bastard was right. Dean almost wanted to argue with it, shove it down like he always had. But the truth settled in his chest like a weight he couldn’t ignore. Ignoring it meant ignoring you, and for some reason, that didn’t sit right anymore.

But it wasn’t just the professor’s words creeping in. It was his own awareness—of you. Of how his wolf reacted to your presence, how it no longer clawed at him the way it always had. How had he ignored it for so long? Dean let out a breath through his nose, resisting the urge to scrub a hand over his face. He wasn’t ready to fully unpack that, not here, not now.

Beside him, you stole glances his way, observing. Not in a way that felt heavy or expectant, but rather… thoughtful. Like you were piecing things together, the same way he was.

And, you were.

You noticed how, before, Dean seemed to fight his instincts—how he tensed when his wolf pushed to the surface. But now, there was something different. He was letting it guide him, even if reluctantly. It was in the little things: how he adjusted his pace, the way his hand rested on the small of your back, his thumb brushing once, just barely, before retreating. The way his wolf rumbled in contentment, so quietly that no one else would hear it.

It wasn’t possessive. Wasn’t demanding. It was simply… present.

You held onto that realization, even as the two of you stepped back into the glow of the firelight, where curious eyes followed you. Glancing across the fire to Jess, sitting with some of the older Winchester pack members, you gave her that promising smile. The one that said you were good.

“About time,” Benny smirked around a bottle of beer, his knowing gaze flicking between you and Dean. “I was startin’ to think you two got lost out there.” Dean shot him a flat look but didn’t pull away when you leaned slightly into him.

Charlie, perched on a log near the fire, nudged Jo with her elbow. “Okay, but did you see that?” she muttered under her breath, though not nearly quiet enough.

Jo huffed a small laugh, arms crossed as she watched them with an appraising look. “Oh, I saw.”

Dean sighed, shoving a hand through his hair. “You guys got nothin’ better to do?” Charlie grinned. “Nope. Don’t worry. We’ve been picking on Sam, too.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, but the amusement in your eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

Garth, passing by with a plate stacked high with food, gave the two of you a thumbs-up. “Lookin’ good, lovebirds.” Dean groaned, tipping his head back toward the sky. “I swear to—”

You finally let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “They’re just being affectionate.” 

He wasn’t used to being the one those sorts of remarks were aimed at, even if he had tossed a few similar ones out over the years at other newly bonded couples. Instead of griping about it, or letting the amused huffing of his wolf get to him, he wrapped his arm around you, his hand resting comfortably on your waist. 

Unbeknownst to you or Dean—or even to Sam and Jess—your parents, her parents, and the brothers’ parents had slipped away from the celebration, drawn to a quieter area. There were things to discuss, pack matters that, while not urgent, carried weight. Sam’s bond with Jess was already certainty; by the time they left for college in the fall, he would have claimed her, and their packs would officially be one.

That meant changes—like finally taking down the dividing fence. But their conversation wasn’t just about Sam and Jess. Quietly, without pressure or expectation, they spoke of making the place where their Touched had met her soulmate. Even if you and Dean hadn’t claimed each other, even if no plans had been made… some things were worth honoring.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 9

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[globlingoober]

Jimmy is a very well written terrible abuser character. He really has no redemption and his thought process being “I’m the captain I’m the best I’m in charge” vs “I’m terrible and everyone knows it” is so interesting because that’s the thought process that creates many bad people with abusive behaviors.

All of the characters are well written I think because the game really relies on the key technique of show don’t tell which is the number one rule that takes place in good media. Especially a phycological horror. That’s from a general media fan’s standpoint anyway.

Stuck in space is such a good troupe I’m in awe that the game took that and made it terrifying like a proper phycological horror by having all the real threats human made while making the player feel insane and questioning what’s real. such as “are there real monsters on this ship?” And the answer is yes but the monster isn’t the visions of creatures it’s the abuser’s mind whom others let fester and evolve into thinking his actions were excusable therefore making them devolve into more bad extreme actions.

Playing from said abuser’s point of view gives the player connection to him and start the game with an almost defensive mindset up until they have to face the realization they are the problem and do everything they can to disconnect from Jimmy something they cannot escape from without turning off the whole game and just ignoring those actions. You have to face it. And as well as that mentality Jimmy has is portrayed we really only see his and some of curly’s perspective (two of the main causes of both the abuse and the crash) playing Curly makes seeing him dehumanized later on far more difficult as your forced to shove meds down his throat.

Anya, Swansea, and Daisuke are pov’s we never see and there could be several reasons for that and I find that so interesting. But we are not the victim in this game. As much as we hate to face it Jimmy is the main character and the main story is his and Curly’s experience. Because you play them you can’t ever completely be the victim. If “your worst moment” really “doesn’t make you a monster” then many repeating worst moments do. You can’t just say sorry you have to improve and change. Sorry is just another word.

You have to “take responsibility” for what you’ve done while still being limited to the actual actions Jimmy takes. Despite however you feel about it you still pushed the buttons. You still played out those actions. The game forces you to face it putting the player in the most humanly uncomfortable and uncommon position of all, the abuser. Many times in our lives will we be forced to tread the thin line of taking responsibility and wrongly placing blame (on ourselves or others) while of course our situations may never be as severe as the situations presented the game warns you of the consequences of- NOT your choices but the responses to those actions. It’s a big test of how the player responds to the characters actions that they contributed to.

I adore that the idea was to make the player face their own pain and hurt. That’s passionate. People relate to the crews cast plenty but the scariest part of this horror game is relating to the perpetrator!!!

“like you ARE the abuser. You have to realize that abusers are just people. People you thought were good before. They could be anyone they are some evil 3rd force. It could literally even be you” -My friend @willowwhirll

Feel bad. feel guilt. but manage that guilt. Don’t let guilt make you worse, use it to change your actions. As badly as I, the player, and the audience want to disconnect from Jimmy being able to find traits to connect to allows you to acknowledge you can and sometimes are a bad person. It’s a fluctuating thing.

Horror that teaches you a lesson. Fricken beautiful.

[whenikissedthegiyuu]

nine - oh so he’s kiyoomi now

sakusa kiyoomi x reader

masterlist

dark mode - reader pov & light mode - sakusa pov

a/n - second half is written, it kind of got out of my hands… apologies in advance.

warning: suggestive content

“Why am I not surprised you’re late?”

Iwaizumi’s voice reached my ears, making me halt as I reached for the door. I glanced over my shoulder just as his hand landed on my lower back to gently push me away from the door so he could open it.

“Why, thank you, kind sir.”

I didn’t miss the roll of his eyes before I turned back around and headed into the restaurant, letting the host know a table was already waiting for us before I walked in the direction of our group’s usual table.

“I don’t get why you’re chastisin’ me when you’re just as late as me.” I added as I rounded the corner and found the rest of our friends sitting at the table hidden near the back. I squealed as I dropped my purse on the table and ran over to hug Akaashi. He stood up and hugged me tightly as I pressed my lips to his cheek. Next was Kenma, who was just sitting down finishing a text he had been writing when I came in as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders.

Kuroo stood up, pulling out the chair beside him. “Are you sure your boyfriend allows you to hang out with us?”

I slapped his arm playfully before wrapping my arms around him. He hugged me right back, slightly lifting me up.

“I already told ya we ain’t really dating.” I sat down once he let me go and pushed my chair in.

I had barely sat down before the waitress was waved over to the table and a round of drinks was ordered for Iwaizumi and I. Only half an hour had passed before Kuroo, always the bad influence, ordered shots as if we were out clubbing instead of a restaurant.

My phone vibrated on the table after I knocked back the drink. Kuroo glanced at it with a raised eyebrow, as if asking if I would answer. I grabbed it with the intention of texting whoever was calling that I’m busy, but Sakusa’s name on the screen made me pause. I hesitated for one more second before pressing the green button to accept his call.

“Are you home?” He asked before I could even say hello.

I grinned. I had no fucking idea why. I was getting more tipsy than I expected, that would explain the weird feeling in my stomach.

“No hi, hello, good evenin’, how are ya?”

He cleared his throat. “I’m in Tokyo.”

My eyes widened. Yeah, the way my heart was racing definitely was not due to the alcohol. Why was I acting like this if Atsumu had already told me?

“I can be home in 20.” I said, already reaching for my purse, but his words made me pause.

Kuroo raised an eyebrow and pointed at my phone, “Is that Sakusa?”

Iwaizumi stopped mid sentence whatever he was telling Akaashi and his head swirled around. “Sakusa?”

“Don’t abandon your friends for me. It’s my bad for not calling earlier.”

“Is he in Tokyo?” Kenma asked from beside Kuroo, who gasped when I nodded and told me to invite the raven haired man to the restaurant.

“Well, darlin’, it seems like my friends want ya to join us.”

A pause, then he chuckled. “Darlin’?” He repeated.

“Are ya gonna come here or not?”

“Where even is here?”

“Hold on,” I murmured, pulling my phone away from my ear to send him my location. “There. How far are ya?”

“Not far. I’ll let you know when I’m outside.”

The call had barely disconnected when Kuroo was speaking again. “Not dating, my ass.” He laughed, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “You’re finally smiling over a guy. I never thought I’d see the day.”

I shook my head and pressed my lips into a thin line when I realized I had been smiling. “Shut up.” I slapped his arm away. “I ain’t smilin’ ‘cause of Kiyoomi!”

“So he’s Kiyoomi now?” Iwaizumi teased from across the table. He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at me as he leaned back in his seat.

My cheeks flushed as the waitress came with another round of drinks and collected the empty glasses on the table. Akaashi ordered appetizers to share between us, then let her know we would need an extra chair.

Sakusa arrived just as the waitress started bringing the food. I excused myself to meet him outside, linking my fingers behind my back to hold back from touching him once I stood in front of him.

“Hi.” I breathed out as he pocketed his phone and shortened the distance between us. He raised an eyebrow. “Ya came just in time for the food.” A nervous laugh escaped me.

He pressed his lips to my forehead through his mask, making me short circuit. “Hi.” He murmured once leaned back, but not leaving much space between us. He’s just acting like this in case someone sees us, I’m sure. He was speaking again before I could even say anything, “Which friends am I meeting, again?”

“Uh, ‘s just Kuroo, Akaashi, Kenma, which ya probably already know from high school volleyball, and I don’t know if y’know ‘bout Iwaizumi, he’s from Miyagi.” I answered. He hummed, reaching for my hand behind my back. I glanced at our hands as he linked our fingers together. “They know we ain’t… y’know.” I gestured between us with my now free hand, avoiding saying it out loud in case someone heard us. “And our table’s pretty secluded, so no need to pretend with ’em.”

“Noted.” He simply said as he held the door open for me and trailed after me as I headed toward the table, his hand still holding onto mine.

I heard the guys laughing loudly before we even rounded the corner. It subsided once they realized we were standing there. I could almost feel the exact moment Sakusa regretted coming here, his muscles tensing as he slipped his free hand into his pocket. I tugged at his hand to lead him to our seats as the guys greeted him.

I settled down beside Kuroo again, and Sakusa’s hand landed on my thigh once he sat down beside me. Kuroo wasted no time pushing a glass of whiskey in his direction. Sakusa seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then he tucked the mask under his chin and grabbed the drink.

I glanced at Akaashi across the table. “Kei, your friend never called me. Which one was it again that got engaged, Kaori or Yukie?”

“Ah,” He nodded once. “It was Yukie. Apparently she broke up with her boyfriend not long after, I forgot to tell you.”

Iwaizumi hummed, taking a sip of his drink before speaking up. “She was dating that physician from the National Team, right?”

Akaashi leaned forward and lowered his voice. “She told Kaori and I that he was a good guy and she was happy with him, but that she didn’t know if she could marry someone who couldn’t even make her finish.”

Kuroo nearly spat out his drink, failing to hold back his laughter. Iwaizumi was not doing any better. Men truly were worse gossipers than women. Even Kenma was pressing his lips together to hold back a smile.

“Hold on, hold on.” I let out a soft laugh, clearly the only one sober enough at the table to control myself. “So she said yes to his proposal, but then she broke up with him? Because he couldn’t make her come?”

Kuroo slapped his hand down on the table, unable to hold back his hyena laugh, even though all I did was repeat what Akaashi said.

Akaashi ignored him, “She didn’t want to embarrass him. It was a public proposal. Don’t know many details, but once the excitement of the proposal wore off she had, like, an epiphany? I don’t know, I didn't understand most of her girl talk with Kaori.”

“They probably had sex that night and she remembered that he can’t even find the clit.” Kuroo murmured between snickers as he wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes.

“You shouldn’t have told us that. I don’t know how I’ll be able to look him in the eye now.” Iwaizumi shook his head and gulped down the rest of his drink.

Sakusa was eerily quiet beside me, a faint smile on his lips, his fingers still splayed on my thigh. I glanced at him, tuning out the conversation between the guys for a moment as I reached for his wrist and gently squeezed. His eyes darted to me, eyebrows slightly furrowed together. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Kuroo spoke up before I could get the chance to ask him if he wanted to leave.

“So, what are you doing in Tokyo, Sakusa?”

I glared at Kuroo. Sakusa tapped his fingers on my thigh before answering, “My sister was in a car accident. A woman ran a red light and rammed into the passenger side where she was sitting.”

“I hope she’s out of danger now.” Akaashi commented.

“Thankfully she is. She kicked me out of her room because she said I was worrying too much, so here I am.” The corners of his lips twitched as he glanced at me, then his eyes fell on his glass as the guys started talking amongst themselves again.

I leaned toward him, resting my hand on top of his. “How’s the baby?” I lowered my voice to keep our conversation between us only.

“She lost a lot of blood. They had to do an emergency c-section.” His hand turned in mine, his fingers lacing between mine. “He’s doing pretty well despite being born prematurely. He just has to stay at the hospital for a few weeks, but the doctors have high hopes that he will be able to breathe on his own soon.”

I squeezed his hand in reassurance. His gaze softened as he met my eyes again. My other hand onto his wrist, my thumb rubbing his skin, furrowing my eyebrows when I felt small bumps on his forearm.

I looked down at his arm. “What’s this?”

He tugged his sleeve down and gently pushed my hand off. He rolled his eyes when he realized I was pouting. “Just hives. It’s already healing.”

But he glanced away as he spoke, as if he couldn’t meet my eyes. I pressed my lips into a thin line and decided to drop it if he obviously didn’t want me asking about it.

“Wanna get out of here?” I asked after a moment in silence.

He couldn’t hide the way his shoulders relaxed immediately at my words even if he tried. He nodded, then let go of my hand so I could reach for my purse. We said goodbye to the guys before he led me out of the restaurant with an arm around my waist, ignoring their suggestive remarks and teasing laughs.

He walked me to my apartment. His cheeks had flushed when I invited him in, he walked in behind me after a moment of hesitation.

“Tea?” I asked as I dropped my things on the table near the door and headed into the kitchen. I felt his presence behind me as I opened the cupboard and reached for the mugs at the top shelf. It slipped from my fingers, but Sakusa was behind me in a second. He gently placed it on the counter before reaching for the other one.

My heart stopped the moment I felt his chest pressing against my back. I held onto the edge of the counter, my eyes fluttered shut when he stayed there even after he had closed the cupboard.

“Thanks.” I forced myself to say, to stir him– us out of it. He hummed softly under his breath in acknowledgment, then he slowly stepped away from me until I could no longer feel the warmth of his body. I released a breath I didn’t even realize I had been holding in and reached for the kettle.

It started to rain outside. I glanced at the drops hitting my window, letting out a soft sigh. At least we got here before it started pouring.

I didn’t turn back around until the two cups were filled, and even then I grabbed mine and turned right back around to keep watching the rain falling outside.

“Is your hotel far from here?” I found myself asking him as I sipped my tea. The rain didn’t show any signs of stopping anytime soon.

“I was supposed to stay at my parents’, but I could go to my aunt’s instead. I was hoping that they would be less… unpleasant, with my sister in the hospital and all. It seems that they just don’t have an off switch. My mother, specifically.” I felt his footsteps as he shortened the distance between us until he was standing beside me, my shoulder brushing against his arm. “I think it’s one of the reasons why I accepted helping you. I know what it’s like to deal with difficult parents and struggling to enforce boundaries just because they’re your parents.”

I shrugged. “My parents seem like saints compared to yours. At least my mom’s only worried about my love life because the first and last time I was into someone, I got my heart broken.” I glanced at him, letting my eyes linger on his profile for a moment since he was staring out the window too. “I’m sorry ya have to put up with that when you’re home.”

“It’s not like it’s your fault.”

I gestured to the hallway. “I have a guest room.” I blurted out before I could realize it.

“I wouldn’t want to be a bother.” He immediately declined with a shake of his head.

“You’re never a bother, Kiyoomi.” I went to reach for his hand, but then I let my hand drop back to my side. “The guys leave clothes here all the time, I’m sure you can find something that fits you. Same goes for soap and shower gels. If you don’t like those 3 in 1 soaps they use and you don’t mind smelling like coconut, I can let you borrow my shampoo and conditioner.”

He was quiet, making me pull my bottom lip between my teeth as I chewed on it nervously. I put my cup down, still half full but the tea had grown cold already, and turned to face him.

“You don’t have to stay here. Sorry I offered. Probably already have your own routine and products given how careful you are with your hygiene. I’ll pay for your ride back to your parents’ once it stops raining, ‘s my fault anyways ya came all the way he–“

Sakusa cupped my cheeks and leaned down, effectively cutting me off mid sentence as our lips pressed together.

I stood frozen, eyes wide open. He pulled back after a moment, eyes slowly fluttering open until I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his again. My hands remained on the edge of the counter as he caged me between it and his body.

He leaned back just enough for our lips to disconnect and an involuntary whimper escaped me when I tried to kiss him again but he held me back. He grabbed my hips and hoisted me up onto the counter. My legs parted to give him space to stand between my thighs.

“I’m trying so hard to be a gentleman here.”

I rested my palms on the counter and leaned back, staring at his half lidded eyes and kiss-swollen lips. He leaned into me as I moved, his hands closed into fists beside my thighs.

“Don’t want ya t’ be a gentleman, Kiyoomi.”

His breath brushed over my lips. His eyes fluttered shut as he took one slow, deep breath. He started leaning back, away from me.

Well, that just won’t do.

My hands moved to the front of his shirt and fisted the fabric between my fingers until he had no choice but to lean forward. Our lips met once again, only that this time it seemed different– it was different. It felt for a moment as if time had stopped moving around us.

His fingers were cold when they returned to my cheek, a soft laugh shared between us when I jumped. He slightly tilted my head to the side just as his other hand found my waist. My fingers slowly uncurled from his shirt until my palms were pressed flat against his chest. I could feel his heart beating against my palm, just as fast as mine was. The fact that he was as affected as me shouldn’t have made me feel this warm inside… and between my legs.

His tongue hesitantly licked my bottom lip, but then he pulled me further to the edge and it slipped into my mouth when I gasped. I could feel his hardness digging into my inner thigh now, I could feel his chest heaving against mine. It should be embarrassing the way I arched into him and tilted my chin up to adjust the angle. The taste of the whiskey he had been sipping at the restaurant invading my senses.

It should definitely be embarrassing how I moaned into his mouth when his hand moved to the back of my head and grabbed my hair. He tugged me back until our lips were forced to part. My heart slammed against my ribcage, nearly skipping a beat when my eyes opened and found him already staring at me.

“I can’t–“ He cut himself off when his voice cracked, clearing his throat before speaking again. “I can’t stay here. We can’t do this.”

My eyebrows furrowed together. He untangled himself from me and grabbed our forgotten cups of tea from the counter to leave them in the sink. I closed my legs, pressing my thighs together in embarrassment, even though he turned his back to me.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you in the first place. I’m sorry.”

Oh.

I closed my eyes, unable to look even at the back of his head.

“I made a mistake.” His voice lowered. “This isn’t right.”

Each word felt like he was stabbing a knife into my chest. Of course, why would he want me? I’m just his teammate’s best friend who roped him into this fucking mess of pretending to be dating because, just like he said, I’m afraid to set boundaries with my parents.

When I opened my eyes he was still standing in front of the sink, his head lowered and his hands gripping the edge of the counter.

I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up.

“Listen, I’m not the best at explaining myself–“

“Ya said plenty, Sakusa.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of his last name. It just didn’t feel right calling him Kiyoomi in private, not after he called our kiss a mistake. A kiss he initiated.

“Just leave.” I hated how small my voice sounded, how it carried all the hurt I was feeling right now. “Please.” I added after a moment.

He nodded once, looking at me like he wanted to say something else, but then he just walked to the door. I was left sitting there on the counter, not allowing a single tear to leave my eyes until the door clicked shut.

being single was not exactly a choice on her part, it was more of a consequence of her demanding job as one of the best wedding planner in tokyo. her parents asked constantly if she was at least speaking with anyone romantically and when she would give them grandchildren. they pressured her to the point that she lied to them about having a boyfriend so they would leave her alone, only for them to say they want to meet him at her best friend’s wedding. time to come clean! or… find a fake boyfriend to keep her parents happy?

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[avatarofthearchives]

Magnus Archive Appearance Headcanons.

John - Every one of John's features are downturned and sunken, making him look older, relentlessly tired, and kind of like a Tim Burton character. He has dark brown hair that almost looked black before he started greying, and the hazel eyes he once had were replaced with a bright, nearly unnatural green after the coma. He used to have a professional style, overdressing to the office everyday like he had a speech to give afterwards. Yet, that style rapidly degrades over the series, and by season 5 he's wearing a hoodie and jogging pants that don't even match. In the end, the only thing that stays the same with his appearance is a beauty mark sat beside his left eye. He used to think it didn't suit him, but after everything, it seems weirdly fitting.

Martin - Martin has a soft face with features that make him look slightly younger than he is, adding to the first impression most people get that he's a naturally welcoming. Granted, people also tend to think that because of his cozy-business casual style that makes him just look like the type person who likes to makes tea for others, but it's mostly his friendly face. He has orange-red hair and dark blue eyes that are a shade uncomfortably close shade to Peter's.

Tim - There's not a feature on Tim's face that doesn't compliment the others. He looks like a carefully crafted doll, or a mannequin made of wax. He has pitch black hair and dark eyes that look like a starless night, features that contrast vividly with his colorful preppy-business casual style, and the bright tattoo of mountain on his wrist that he got with his brother in better days.

Sasha - Sasha's features could be best described as "warm." Her lips seem like they're meant to be curled in a smile, her eyes seem like they're supposed to have wrinkles in the corner from laughter, and her nose seems like it should be buried in a book. She has dark black hair and amber eyes that shine like the sun under light, and the dark freckles on her face stand out like stars on a canvas. Her vintage thrift-store style is just as cozy, making her look like a librarian from a children's fantasy novel.

Melanie - Melanie's features are intense. Her eyes are sharp like knives, and her lips naturally sit in a way that looks a bit like the start of a scowl. Granted, her punk style doesn't make her look any less intimidating. Or her blue hair that is naturally pitch black underneath the dye. Or the slit in her eyebrow that she tells everyone was a style choice, but was really earned trying to pet a stray cat. Her only soft features are her brown eyes that are the same color as the bark of a tree.

Basira - All of Basira's features are soft, from her soft heart-shaped face, to her naturally rosy cheeks, to her light brown almond eyes that seem meant to track a subject for miles. In fact, she even dresses like an investigator, having a business casual style that always makes her look ready for a low stakes-meeting with her boss, which is is unfortunately not the types of meetings she has, but, hey, dress for the job you want, not the job you have.

Daisy - All of Daisy's features are strong, from her strong jaw line to her wide eyes that seem meant to be locked on her prey. She has dark blonde hair that's the same color as the middle of a daisy, and green eyes that are the same color as grass on a spring day. She has a very athletically rugged style that always make her look ready for a run, or a bar brawl, at all times.

More Undercut

Peter - All of Peter's features manage to be slightly unnerving. His eyes are just slightly too wide, his nose is just slightly too short, and his lips are just slightly too thin in a way that makes him look a bit...disconnected from being a person, despite the fact that on paper, he looks like your typical grandfather. He has dull grey hair and dark blue eyes that match the sea, and the formal-cozy style he has that ends him up in a lot of sweaters and turtle-necks doesn't do anything to make him look younger. Nor does the thick beard that consumes his face like sea foam.

Elias - Elias has a sharp face with very mismatched features. None of them seem quite like they should be on the same face, and he almost looks like he was put together from a Picasso painting. He has dark green eyes and dark red hair that is usually slicked back in a way that suits his extremely professional style.

Gertrude - Gertrude has a very average and non-descriptive face. Not one of her features stand out, and it's easy to forget what she looks like while you're staring at her. She always thought that was a good thing since it lets her move under the radar more effectively, that is, until she started getting described as "the old women" due to her grey hair which is far more noticeable than her pale green eyes. She keeps her clothes just as non-descriptive, wearing only natural colors and plain styles that leave there with nothing to say.

Gerard - Gerard has a sharp face with distinctive features. He has upturned eyes and a long nose that takes up a large portion of his face, along with a very thin upper lip and a very thick lower lip. On the right side of his face, a few moles trail down near his check. His natural hair color is a little less distinctive than his face, being a chestnut brown that pairs well with his dark brown eyes that seem almost the same color as his dyed hair and gothic attire.

Michael Shelley - Michael has a sharp face that has even sharper features. He most resembles a fox, but his personality makes it easy to perceive his face as a bit softer than it is. He has golden blonde hair and light blue eyes that seem to illuminate under bright lights, features that don't seem as notable as they should be compared to his bright, hippie, style. He also has a noticeable tooth gap.

[letterful]

❝ “Columbia now nine times the speed of sound.” “Roger that, Dan, I’ve got a solid TACAN locked on, uh, TACAN twenty-three.” “The, uh, tracking data, map data and pre-planned trajectory are all one line on the block.”

These authentic samples of communication between NASA and astronaut Dan Brandenstein on the space shuttle Columbia place us in orbit around our planet. Kate has said of “Hello Earth,” “…this is the point where she’s so weak that she relives the experience of the storm that took her in the water, almost from a view looking down on the earth up in the heavens, watching the storm start to form - the storm that eventually took her and that has put her in this situation.” Our narrator is having another out-of-body experience but this time it’s not nearby, on terra firma, but literally out of this world, and it seems to be final. She is high up above our earth, looking down, and there is a shocking sense associated with that as so few human beings have ever left our world to look back on it. There is a disconnection from what is common, known. I am reminded of The Overview Effect, the very real psychological and cognitive shift experienced by astronauts and cosmonauts—anyone who has left the planet and gone a sufficient distance to look back and perceive our planet not as a familiar home, but as a tiny, fragile ball, barely protected by a thin membrane of atmosphere. This awed feeling is described as one of ultimate compassion and understanding of the imperative to preserve and safeguard the planet.

After the NASA samples, we join our narrator floating in space like the Star Child in “2001: A Space Odyssey,” of the earth, but no longer attached to it, in fact freed from it. The tether has been cut. She is detached from her life and its meaning: there is an innocent, bemused approach as she plays a little game. She is so far from home, she can hold up one hand and block the planet from her field of vision—the earth is a toy. And we shift place, time, and point of view (as Kate so often does in her music) to our narrator driving home in a car at night, looking up at the sky, her loved one asleep on the seat beside her (a sweet, gentle, highly cinematic image, and all the more moving when we understand where our narrator currently is and the loss ahead), when she sees something bright streak across the sky. As she watches it shoot through the stars, she sings, amazed, “Just look at it go!” And what is “it?” Shooting star? Satellite? Space shuttle? A “little light?” If all time is simultaneous, has she glimpsed her own soul shooting past the planet? It is her own little light, a mind-boggling and heartbreaking idea—the cry in her voice when she sings this line indicates that she understands the meaning of this object, and its finality.

At this point, something very unexpected happens. An ethereal, arresting male choir sing a passage based on a traditional Georgian folk song from the Kakhetian region called “Tsintskaro.” It is a shocking transition, one that makes us hold our breath so as not to disturb this sudden, delicate, transcendent moment. Kate on the men’s chorus: “They really are meant to symbolize the great sense of loss, of weakness, at reaching a point where you can accept, at last, that everything can change.”

Our narrator, in full Overview Effect at this point, watches storms form and move to threaten the lives she sees below. She cries out to them in vain, all of them, the sailors, life-savers, cruisers, fishermen, anyone on or near the sea, to protect themselves. We hear in this section a few of the Irish instruments, bringing in echoes of meaning from the previous song “Jig of Life.” Here I am reminded of the idea of the Asian goddess Kuan-Yin, or the Buddhist idea of a Bodhisattva, a human who has attained ultimate awareness (Buddhahood) but motivated by compassion, refuses to leave this plane of reality for the benefit of all sentient beings. Our narrator, moved by the end of her own life, is now able to perceive the ephemeral nature of all creation. Everyone can be exposed to danger, everyone can suffer, everyone can—and will—die. This truth is universal. But she is unable to prevent or stop this truth. No one can.

She then sings a passage that is full of several meanings. She says she was there at the birth, out of the cloudburst, the head of the tempest. This could be the storm that took her, or it could be, from her newly widened perspective of awareness, the start of life itself, the start of the universe. We were all there, we are all made of the matter from a singularity—we are all star dust. The murderer of calm is this physical reality itself. All that is born must die. Entropy exists. She understands this and cries out, “J’accuse.” Hence the ultimate compassion for this tiny little blue ball.

The piece ends with whale song, sounds of radar, and a very mysterious, arcane passage spoken in German which, when translated into English, means “Deeper, deeper, somewhere in the deep there is a light.” In German, the word “tief” can also mean “profound,” and I am reminded of the Latin phrase at the beginning of the Christian Psalm 130 “De profundis clamavi ad te:” “out of the depths I cry out to you.” In the depths of sorrow, in the endless well of suffering, there is a light. Compassion is the light. ❞

via: (x)

[kangaracha]

DAYBREAK; chapter 3

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pairing lee know x reader

genre smau, dystopia AU, angst, hurt/comfort, slowburn romance, hope/hopelessness, life goes on, ordinary life during extraordinary times

summary independant entertainment doesn't make money, everyone knows that - not dancing, not boxing. not without a company's name attached to it and the soul ripped out of it so that it can only sit on the stage bleeding. you knew you never should have agreed to get involved in his studio, that the bills would pile up and the income would run dry, that the government would come knocking telling you to shut up and sit down...but it makes him so happy, to be able to dance. it gives him a reason to stay. you don't know what you'd do without that.

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COMMUNITY NOTICES

SPIRITECH STRIKES REACH TWENTY DAY MARK RUNNING INTERFERENCE ON PHONE SURVEILLANCE IS ACTING AGAINST THE LAW! If you see conversation in lieu, report it! STAND WITH THE PEOPLE DON’T TAKE SPIRITECH JOBS WANTED: Work of any kind. Middle aged man, handy at everything. Call or text. REPORT THE DISCONNECTED Remember: it is illegal not to carry a Level 4 certified communications device, connected to the national network, at all times. Report all suspicions of peoples disconnected from the network to the Department of Security. Room for let in 2br apartment downtown TONIGHT AT THE BASILICA: STAR ENTERTAINMENT debuts new idol group FREEDOM

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Eunchae finds you waiting by the noticeboard at her bus stop, idly scanning the flyers pinned across it and definitely not counting the minutes until you’d both be late for work.

“Don’t tell me you’re reading those adverts,” she says, appearing so suddenly from the crowd with a hand on your shoulder that it makes you jump.

“Only the government notices,” you answer dutifully and allow her to tug you out of the crowd gathered around the bus stop and towards the hospital that sits on the corner just down the street.

"Did you see the work lines this morning?" Eunchae asks as you walk, her arm looped loosely around yours.

The memory of what you’d seen flashes through your mind - crowds of desperate people outside the doors, clamouring to be seen or heard, to be picked from the masses to earn a wage for the day. It was bottom of the barrel work, back-breaking labour and breathing thick smoke from sunup to sundown, the last chance for a meal and a night off the streets for the most desperate - once you left the lines, only the chain gangs were left, the work camps for criminals and debtors that took them out of the city and away from trouble.

"No," you answer, swinging sideways to avoid running into a man that passes right through you as if you aren't there. 

"Don’t you walk past the factories every day?" she says in disbelief. "I heard Antel fired three people yesterday, and there were people camped outside overnight for those jobs."

"I didn't really look," you say honestly, and you don't include the rest of the sentence; it makes no difference anyway.

"Do you just glue your head to the ground while you walk?" Eunchae says. "I swear you never notice anything interesting."

"Is the job crisis interesting?" you question lightly, despite the heavy weight that settles on your chest - you'd only just forked over the money from your last fine, and this topic was straying far too close to-

"Yes," Eunchae's eyes roll towards the sky. "Maybe not to you, but you know I love to stickybeak. It's all that there is in life."

You can see it in her face the moment she realises she's made the mistake you were just stepping warily around, the clench of her jaw and the fade of that joviality that had lit up her eyes. "Except for work," you add quickly, trying to salvage the situation, "and community and the profit of the nation."

The old government line echoes hollow from Eunchae's mouth in return, the thin press of her lips never once curving back into that smile. "Work, community, profit, and gossip," she jokes weakly, and then you both pause as if you'll be given a score on your bullshit immediately - but of course, she'll only find out in a few days if the fine comes.

"You talk so much rubbish," you sigh on a deep breath that is supposed to relieve some tension. "We don't even have gossip to share. What have we got going on that's interesting?"

Eunchae looks at you incredulously, her worries immediately forgotten in the face of her outrage. "Excuse me?" she says. "You have a random guy living on your couch and you're trying to tell me we have nothing to talk about?"

You wince at the reminder. It had become so normal that you'd almost forgotten. "That’s been going on for over a year," you point out. "You haven't gotten anything new since then?"

"A year ago, and he's still here," Eunchae presses. "And you still haven't told me what goes on in that one bedroom apartment."

"Because nothing goes on."

"And I'm telling you again, that is a dismal situation. Only you would pick up the prettiest, loneliest man in the city off the streets and never lay a hand on him."

"And his cats," you add mutely, though you know you're only adding fuel to the fire. 

"And his cats!" Eunchae crows. "Honestly, I would have said 'give me his number' six months ago, but I don't know how you afford the cats."

We don't, you nearly say, but you refrain, still wary from the slip you'd had just moments before. "They’re my cats too," you remind her. "And he’s not random either. He was my friend before he moved in."

"Your friend that you paid to hang out with you," Eunchae says, waving you away. "I guess if you think about it, you were wasting money on him anyway."

"Whatever keeps you alive, right?" you quip back to avoid the ire that rises like a hot iron in your throat.

"I can think of something else you could do with him that'll keep you alive," she says relentlessly.

You shake your head, disgusted, and look up at the squat, rambling building that houses the hospital. "I'm just saying," she insists. "If you’re not going to get rid of the cats, you might as well go all in."

"I’m not getting rid of the cats," you say defensively, deliberately avoiding the conversation she really wants to have.

"Two for one deal, then," she suggests cheekily, and then turns to look at the road as a factory worker limps across between cars, held upright by two other men.

"That's about to be our problem," you sigh without moving to follow them. Your feet are tired, your legs rooted to the ground even though whatever the man is here for is clearly serious, if the factory has let him go. You see so much of it that sometimes it is hard to remember that you still care, over the lure of standing out in the sunshine for two more minutes, away from the unending chaos of that building.

What a horrible thing to say, you think, and you start the slow walk towards the main doors, compromising on a casual amble.

"I hate this place," Eunchae says, throwing the words carelessly to the wind. "I feel like I never leave."

"You could always get a job somewhere else," you suggest mildly. "Go join the factory lines or something. Or Spiritech."

"And get the shit beaten out of me by the picket lines?" she throws back. "Didn't you see that guy that came in yesterday? The Spiritech people aren't playing."

"I forgot about him," you admit. Not that there had been anything to remember, his face so beaten that there were no features left to recognise and his chest caving in on itself. He hadn't been your patient anyway, so you'd been too busy to pay much attention to him, and he was forgettable, just another in a long list of victims of street violence and the strike lines protecting what’s theirs. Striking for better conditions only worked, after all, if no one was willing to fill the positions they’d left vacant by standing out on the street day after day.

"I wish I could forget," Eunchae says. "He's on my ward today."

"I'm surprised he's still alive," you say mildly.

Eunchae shakes her head, her mouth opening and closing again like she doesn't want to talk about it. "There's got to be a better job than the factories," she says instead after a moment.

"You could finally come to the studio and learn how to dance," you suggest mildly, already bracing for the answer.

As expected, Eunchae snorts. "So I can audition for an entertainment company?" she questions. "At least being a slave here, I'm helping people."

Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous. Helping people run up unpayable debts, you go to reply - but that's dangerous too - you sew it to the back of your mouth, down in the shadows of your throat where no one will hear it. 

"You should audition," she continues, ignorant of the cold ice that crackles in your chest, the fear that creeps up your spine. "You'd love that life, wouldn't you? And you’d be able to see all those shows you can’t afford to go to."

"Maybe," you say, pushing the door open instead of answering.

The hospital lobby is quiet compared to the emergency room to the side, only a few scheduled visitors waiting their turns on the old plastic chairs. Helena sits behind the desk, her head buried in a computer screen to avoid the buzzing lights that flicker over her head. Her little radio plays on the shelf beside her, spouting out tinny music that becomes clearer the closer you walk, the end of a drum signalling the finale of a song.

Her head rises as your shadows pass her by, intending to walk straight on through. "Oh!" she says, with a wide-eyed kind of surprise that your presence wouldn't normally attract, one hand reaching out to dim the radio. "Hey! I didn't think you guys would be here yet."

"We saw someone coming in outside," Eunchae replies, pausing like she thinks Helena is being weird too. "Figured they would be paging."

"Page was cancelled," Helena says, and doesn't elaborate past the feeling of doom that pervades the air of the room. "Come here. I need someone to listen to this and tell me I'm not crazy."

Curiousity stops you in your tracks, despite the disregard for what she had been saying just a moment ago. It's not just the cryptic offer she makes that piques your interest - it's the adrenaline in the whites of her eyes, the way her heart nearly hammers through her chest and the jerky motions with which she reaches for her phone. Like she's gotten a fright, or she's excited about something; you can't decide which.

"Listen to this," she says, bringing up an audio recording that shows a timestamp for ten minutes ago. 

As soon as it starts, music from the radio playing directly into the phone's microphone, you have the crawling feeling down your spine that this is trouble, of the kind you cannot afford. 

---

RADIO TRANSCRIPT

JCRS1 LUNCHTIME HITS WITH SEUNGWON AND CHAEMIN

[CHORUS]

Let's runGo anywhere that isn't suffocating, run (Run, run, yeah)Hide all your immaturity, runRunning on the highwayI don't want to choose a destinationIs there a place on earth where I can rest?I just run with both feet aimlessly, keep running

CM - Welcome back! You're listening to Station One, and you just heard Midnight by Kim Hee, followed by-

SW - Followed by 'Run' by HAN, a new one that has been shooting up the charts! Up 97 places today to number 3, and expected to reach number 1 tomorrow.

CM - Yes, the fastest climb of a track on day one in history, it's quite impressive.

SW - We only just acquired the track ourselves! Chaemin, what was your first impression of the song?

CM - I thought it was...interesting. I'm just trying to bring up the name of the company involved-

SW - I believe HAN is an independent artist.

CM - That's very unusual, isn't it?

SW - Yes, it is - here we are. HAN is an independant artist with twenty six credits to his name, including songs such as 'Annihilation' and 'Alibi'. Of his twenty six records-

SW - Fifteen are prohibited content.

CM - Choosing to remain independant comes with those sorts of risks though, doesn't it?

SW - Yes, it does. That's what makes company-owned artists much more reliable sources of music, and the reason that companies are so large in the first place.

CM - I couldn't imagine going through all the cost and stress of getting your song made just to have it prohibited for unsanctioned lyrics.

---

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @keepswingin @rylea08 @puppysmileseungmin

@thatonedemigodfromseoul @bokkiesplace @amyyscorner @dearly-somber @kayleefriedchicken

@realrintaro @estella-novella

[subsequentibis]

i've had this thing for a little while where i'm like. fuck! a lot of the artists i look up to have really thin, precise lineart. i need to start using thinner lines so i can get the accuracy and detail and realistic, correct anatomy, and it makes you have to get better at colors because the color has to carry the piece more when the lines give them more space between, and it's made me a lot more critical with my work because i instinctively go for big thick linework, and my usual strokes look sloppy and disconnected when i use thin lines.

and then i realized it was also making me miserable and not want to work on anything, which was really getting in the way of doing art in the first place. so i cranked that brush size back up and it just feels good and easy and flowing again, and like. yknow. there's working towards improvement and then there's stalling yourself out because you're too focused on arbitrary measures. i think i'm gonna be happy with my thick lines for a bit.

[chaifootsteps]

During her SVA days and after, her art was really cute especially she’s always been good with expressions and I know her color choices and over shading and thin lines have always been criticized but it makes the art pop and pretty to look at

HH pilot artstyle is very whimsical and stretchy and they used smear frames which the show desperately needed, it’s too stiff and the characters just don’t have any fluidity or bounce when they move. It’s makes action scenes very flat, that’s probably why the camera moves so damn much you’re not getting any movement for the characters to be impactful Glitch X was really something not only is viv so disconnected with the same community she got her success from but also disconnected with other indie creators and animation and only shows interest when they have the same level of success as her, like Goose. She was kissing goose’s ass so hard and acting like goose was her idol when I wouldn’t be surprised if viv cut contact with goose after HH got picked up by a24 and is know pretending to be friends since she saw how successful TADC became.

It was great seeing Tracy and goose get along glitch shouting out every indie creator anmd trying to build hype for their shows, especially Ashly and Dave just solidarity and than there’s viv, who justs so fake and performative it’s honestly embarrassing and sad because she wasn’t like that on the hunicast, she was having fun and laughing like genuinely laughing with the crew it’s hard to doubt any of it and think for a minute she would backstab all these people

I remember those days. I certainly never saw it coming, and from the sounds of it, neither did the Hunicast crew.

It's tragic, but Viv discarded her ties to that indie community, and she's lucky that these people are more professional and courteous to her than she is to them.

[ndrv3expert1]

Why I Love Tenkaemaki

Hello I’m back from the dead I’ve been busy but I’m back with more Dr rants.

And I promise after this it will go back to the normal rants unless you guys like this form of content.

I fucking love Tenkaemaki that’s it that’s the whole post.

They’ve been my ot3 for a while after I stopped really hardcore shipping Tenmiko and Tenmaki became my otp and ughhhh! they’re just so ahhhhhh!

Like of course I can say that they’re cute and Maki has two loving girlfriends that will treat her like the princess she is and Kaede gets two strong girlfriends to simp over and Tenko gets two girlfriends she can protect from degenerate males even though they don’t really need her to but…

It’s also Maki having two overly affectionate girlfriends and being like affectionate ugh what is this give me more it’s Kaede not having to carry a burden by herself it Tenko caring and being cared for in return and finding true strength in leaning on others and not putting herself in danger time and time again because even though it’s a nice gesture to put yourself on the line to protect someone she has people who love her waiting for her at home.

It’s all of them not asking for help and caring for others without caring for themselves and having acts of service as a love language.

It’s Kaede sitting up all night pacing around her room waiting for her girlfriends to come back from their very dangerous jobs/ talents ready with tea and cuddles and comforting words. It’s Tenko and Maki forcing Kaede to take a break because she’s been wearing her self thin focusing on the class’s well being.

It’s all of them definitely pondering committing crimes for each other.

It’s them not having to say I love you they know in every touch every action every gesture.

It’s Maki’s bluntness and Kaede’s gentle Tenko’s hyperactive.

It’s Tenko and Maki both being so disconnected from their childhood due to their upbringing and Kaede giving them those gentle nice things they never got just so they know they deserve it and that they’re allowed to have nice things.

It’s Maki and Kaede stopping Tenko from being to hard on herself and over working herself it’s them correcting her how ever many times that it takes after she claims she’s not pretty enough not talented enough not good enough.

It’s Maki still not being used to affection after being tackle hugged for years but comfortable enough that she lets herself be hugged without retaliation and even reciprocates or initiates the affection.

It’s Kaede kissing Tenko and Maki’s scars.

It’s the group wondering how emotionally closed off cold and blunt Maki got two girlfriends.

It’s the fact they can make each other better and help each other grow in the best ways.

It’s the fact that they’re all independent and strong but have this mutual protection where no one is truly the “weak” one, but they all fall into that role for each other at times.

It’s rotating cycle of tough love and tenderness where each one of them refuses to rest until the other two do first.

It’s the “I’m hurt but you’re hurting more so I’m going to take care of you first but I know when you’re better you’re going to be pissed.”

Each of them keeps thinking they’re the burden, while the other two are the ones who truly deserve love and rest. So it turns into this heartbreaking relay race of:

“You’re always protecting us. Let us protect you.”

“You always listen. Let us listen to you.”

“You always take care of things. Let us take care of you.”

TenKaeMaki is amazing they’re so good and I just want the best for all my girls dammit all three of them deserve the world.

[hermitsdump]

ok so fuck it, this can read as a one-shot even if it will be like ch.100 of this stupid fic.

pov 1st person for whatever fuckass reason,

it's basically reader (gets hypothermia) x satosugu.

word count 2k

canon divergent, Sugu's long recovered by now.

anime-only friendly

The air feels, it smells like snow.

the soft lining of this jumpsuit has me break a sweat by the time i climb into a tree house and wait for it to fall from the sky.

The song changes with the seasons, it changes with the weather. Something is always different about it.

I'll have time to sketch the area before and after it's covered in snow.

What just happened? Exploding head syndrome? I never really got that before. There was a voice, telling me something… To get out? Something like that.

I go to rub the sleepiness from my eyes, but feel nothing against them. Arm too heavy, disconnected.

Managing to pry my eyelids open, one thing is obvious. Exploding head syndrome wasn't it, that kind of thing is when you're falling asleep, not waking up. Outside of the treehouse, everything is white. Flakes make their way in, coating everything in a thin layer like dust.

My feet, my thighs are numb. The jumpsuit’s zippers rattle as my body shakes. If it's too hard to move my own limbs, then I'll just have to grow more. Branches from my shoulders, reaching the ground pulling my body out of the shelter. I must look like a horror villain NPC, walking on stilts while my feet hang and sway above the ground, glitching.

I get a brief feeling, like Hanami was here, or one of our kids. It's like a passing of deja vu, a memory of a dream already forgotten.

The forest floor is painted white, but shallow compared to the rest of the ground. I fumble a few times, branches bending wrong and barely catching themselves. The snow is still falling– no, that's too gentle of a word. It pelts into my eyes, the wind cutting through, pushing the hood away from my head.

It falls through my clothes, why did I have to fall asleep with it still unzipped? I just didn't want to sit in my own sweat.

The world around me becomes soft. Warm, even. I feel fine. No, nothing has changed, except for my own body, giving up on shivering and feeling drunk instead.

If I lose the will to move forward, it's over. Hypothermia is so peaceful and euphoric at the end.

Maybe it isn't the depth of the snow, maybe it's me that's struggling. Snow shouldnt feel like walking up a dune of thick, loose sand.

If I could seal in my body heat, whatever is left, that would help, right? Or would trying to shelter myself just be a waste of energy, not enough?

Hanging by the shoulders, all I see in front of me is white. Just white like static, and darkness creeping in from the edges, pulsing inward. I close my eyes for a moment… Just to keep the flakes out….

“Hey.” this voice, through my numb ears, is real. isn't it? Satoru's chest is dry, even warm. In his arms, no trace of my branch legs. they must have broken off. or I'm still hanging from the shoulderblades, or maybe dropped face-first to the ground. He sprints back smoothly, infinity giving us a snow globe view.

“suguru!” he calls, bursting through the door.

I try to kick my shoes off, out of habit. But still no motion. Satoru is the one who pulls them off. He unzips my jumpsuit the rest of the way, peeling the wet icicle away from my body.

I try to help out, but can't even keep my head up. Patches of grey, purple across my legs… But vision like this puts everything through a bruise filter.

“shhh, it's okay,” he lifts me up, like a bug leaving its old skin behind. Was that all I had on me?

“mmy nobook,” I slur, scanning the floor. Its pocket is empty.

“I don't think you should be worrying about books right now,” he answers softly.

“plea. Itssj, just paper.”

Satoru sighs. “reversed curse technique wouldn't hurt, if you can manage it.”

He hands me off to Suguru, my head falling on his shoulder, sleep creeping in.

“so? What happened?” he strips the rest of my clothes off, just in boxers himself.

“um, I fell asleep,” I mumble, still surprised that it happened, still disoriented from it. Did I fall asleep in the seconds it took to reach the bed?

“you were up in the tree again, weren't you?”

I hum into his chest as he pulls the blanket over us.

Geto sighs, but he doesn't scold me. With his skin against mine, the quilt over my eyes, I have nothing left to try.

Satoru's voice stirs me back to consciousness. Pressed between their bodies, mine shivers uncontrollably.

“Are you sure this is okay?”

“Yes. it's a good sign actually.”

I nuzzle my head into someone's chest, hoping to alleviate its splitting.

“Oh, are you awake?”

I hum back and notice a hand on my jaw, to keep teeth from breaking against each other. I wouldn't blame anyone for thinking this was a seizure.

“It's just the comedown.”

We are a tangled mess of limbs, but some of this sweat is definitely mine, despite feeling so incurably cold. And my joints ache. Being cuddled so close by them… Somehow it's still uncomfortable. I want to ask how long, how much longer this will last. But could I get that out, whether restrained or thrashing?

Satoru sighs, “i wish Shoko were here.”

Right. Maybe I can do that now. RCT is so useful, how could I forget?

I can do it now. Spreading out from my head, to the ends of fingers, reaching out to every space.

It does help. I think. But god, I am still so tired. I don't have the six eyes now, and perception may still be warped. basing my judgement on feeling alone, when it feels like a grey blur. maybe that was all the focus I had, and it did nothing anyway…

“I feel better, now that you've done that,” Satoru's voice cuts through softly. “really chose the best time to make us worry, huh? shoko's out god knows where with Utahime, Yuuta's visiting his family now that Rika isn't trying to kill them, and… and I still haven't managed to share my reversed curse technique…” his ramble trails off, the sound of it comforting all the same.

I must have dozed off again. no memory of the last minutes, or of the tremors subsiding. it doesn't feel that great though, a pathetic groan leaving my throat as my arms pull the body in front of mine even closer. or try to. Just sniffle into his sternum, unable to push the pressure out of my head with it.

Suguru's voice is quiet behind me, no words coming through.

Satoru sits up and shifts us around so my back is leaning against his chest, his legs resting over mine.

“how are you feeling?”

“everything aches,” the complaint muffled in my hands as I try to rub it out of my face. at least they're working again.

“you'll feel better when you eat something.” when my eyes focus, the first thing they notice is Suguru holding a cup of soup. at the very least, a less raw throat sounds promising.

“thank you,” I whisper, praying to my hands not to spill it on the blanket.

satoru places his over mine, feeding me like a puppet. it's kind of funny, kind of nice, kind of pathetic. why did I fall asleep outside? and now that's all I've done today. Just. nothing.

“it's okay to need help sometimes.”

“I'm sorry,” I whisper, uncertain whether I'm repeating myself or if Suguru said that unprompted.

now that my throat isn't so dry and on fire, the pain in my head is taking all the spotlight.

“Satoru… do you have an extra blindfold?”

“hmm… no, sorry,” he murmurs into my hair, pressing one hand flat against my forehead. “this good enough?”

“you might have avoided frostbite,” Suguru starts, “but it took a lot of energy. you'll need to stay hydrated and eat enough to make up for that.”

“sorry, I shouldn't have fallen asleep out there. and now we're all sticky with sweat…”

“that's not your fault… so did we.”

the shape of Satoru's grin pressing through my hair tells me they had a post-coital nap around the same time. that it isn't solely my fault that we all need to shower and wash the sheets.

hot water pounding against my back never felt so good. the steam and mix of scented soaps make the inside of my face feel clean. even with 3 people, this shower doesn't feel small. a remnant of Satoru's need for personal space.

“you guys… don't you want to go somewhere? together, for the holiday.”

“we can't,” Satoru answers automatically.

“I'd stay with the cats, should probably be on house arrest anyway…”

he laughs this time. “no, I was the sacrifice, remember? all my students can get the holidays off, if I stay behind to take missions.”

“going out on December 24th would feel like bad luck to him, anyway,” Suguru adds, stepping out of the bath to towel off.

house arrest throuple, then.

“are you done here?”

“hmm?�� it takes a second to process the words on Satoru's breath in my ear. “yeah. I'm sorry, I… even imbued with the strength of a special-grade spirit, I'm still…”

“still need koala time?” his grin flashes in the moonlike light as the water shuts off.

“well, as long as you're having fun…” I dry myself off as much as I can before standing up, leaving a knee on the bench for support.

“hooking up with a spirit doesn't make you the honored one. besides, it's nice to be humanized for my strength.”

we've lived very different lives, haven't we?

it feels more sloth than koala, hanging onto Satoru like a tree while stiff and wintering myself, plant-like mobility aids all but abandoned. he doesn't seem bothered, maybe even elated, dropping down to join Suguru on the basement couch.

He must have thrown these blankets in the dryer before washing the sheets. and made tea, and…

“something wrong?”

“how did you have time for all of that?”

“they're just leftovers, from earlier.”

I stop frowning at the stacks of French toast and bowls of sliced fruit. Satoru digs in as if he hadn't left food wrappers all over the bed by the time we got up.

“you know I'm not mad at you, right?” Suguru asks, glancing my way as he makes a second plate after handing me one. afraid that his caretaking actions might feel controlling.

“I know,” I whisper, turning my eyes to a strip of sweet bread. he really is an angel. and I don't mean to retreat into myself. it's just… “it just feels like I'm hibernating.”

“I can work with that.” his fingers lace through my free hand. I lean into his shoulder, stabbing a strawberry wrapped in French toast.

“are you going to pick the movie?”

even if he enjoys and volunteers to do so much domestic work, it's still a lot that adds up to be a pain. not to mention that if Satoru had the remote, then we'd be subject to nightcore videos or the most unhinged asmr ever seen.

I don't have a single thought in my head, no attention to promise it. Suguru lands on an ocean documentary. the deep blues and gentle narrating voice feel right.

“don't fall asleep yet.”

[maxwell-grant]

Reverse Unpopular Opinion: Noriaki Kakyoin

I really like that he's a bastard, might actually be my favorite thing about him. He's designed to be "the thin and sensitive one", he's made to be pretty and attractive to an extent the others aren't, and of course he's given a very sympathetic and tragic backstory and death, but a lot of the time the spotlight's on him, he's kind of a mean jerk but in a really understated fashion that makes it funny. There is a line of succession among Araki's pointedly villainous heroes that starts with B.T and is embodied in the current protagonist Jodio, and I think Kakyoin is in there, predating the likes of Rohan and Giorno. It's not for nothing that he is our first villain Stand user, and why they make a point of contrasting his charming honor student personality with his horrible gross tentacle puppet power.

I also like that this ties into his prideful personality, and the reasons why he's tagging along to defeat DIO. He's a guy who's grown used to being disconnected from people and ostracized and self-reliant (much of what I love about Death 13 retroactively is that it's hitting Kakyoin hard with this before we understand why this is a personal button for him, and it's not a beat that would work with the other Crusaders), having maybe the closest bond with his Stand that we see among the Crusaders, and his dynamic with DIO is interesting to me because he blames himself for falling victim to DIO more so than he blames DIO for it. It comes up more prominently in the D'Arby fight and the finale that he's pushing through not just a deep fear, but also a form of self-hatred whenever he thinks about what DIO did to him. He feels ashamed and humiliated and even abused, even knowing about DIO's power and the flesh buds and having seen others in his situation, seeing what happened to Polnareff and Enya, and it doesn't really dissuade him from this thinking.

It's that whole speech he gives to Jotaro in his debut about how evil is determined by who wins and who loses: people tend to forget it because he's being brainwashed, but the flesh bud doesn't alter personalities like that, Polnareff refutes this in his first encounter. That wasn't the fleshbud, that was Kakyoin talking, and he'd come back to that sentiment later. He lost to DIO, nothing else mattered, he was the loser and thus the evil one. And so he wants to make up for it, to stand up to DIO again and not give in, to be freed from him. He's constantly putting his friends first during the journey but at his most personal, when he's steeling himself, he thinks back to that and swears to overcome it. People talk a lot about how Kakyoin was a mega hit with the female demographic because he's pretty and charming in a way the sweaty buff men aren't and because he makes a good pair with Jotaro, and okay sure that's part of it, but I think the fact that his arc being that intimate, that tragic, and panning out into a story about overcoming abuse and standing strong in the face of your abuser, even if all you can do is save others from him, that was the secret ingredient. Intentionally or not, that stings pretty deep.

But mostly I like him because he is a bastard, and he's the character who's not supposed to look or act like one, so the fact that he is makes it better. "Tricking your friends into feeding a baby his own shit" is not a beat that would work with the others, or even something you could land, no matter how evil the baby was, if the guy doing it wasn't capable of selling it as a cool and funny and karmically satisfying thing to be doing.