#reminds me of fall 2017

[chalamet-chalamet]

boyfriend

[inafever]

We saw brilliance when the world was asleep / There are things that we can have, but can't keep

One More Light - Linkin Park

[roe-and-memory]

do you think sometimes lightning was lulled to sleep by the hum of jake brakes on the trucks around him . its a nostalgic sound for him, from the days when he was 15, after he ran away and lived in the truck with mack, when mack would drive late into the night and lightning was too tired to stay up and chat. do you think he’d lay in his bunk with his plastic glow in the dark stars taped to the bottom of macks bunk above him, with his walkman in his hand and his headphones half off, just listening to the sounds of bustling life around him.

the car honks, the air compression brakes lifting, the jake brakes humming as the trucks come to a stop, the warm streetlights filtering in through the windshield and windows . do u believe that for the first time in years he finally started sleeping, comforted by the presence of mack, who might as well be his older brother, and the active life around him, moving and breathing just like him .

he still had his nightmares, but he had someone there to keep him safe . and that was enough for him.

[spacetrashpile]

every long term fiction podcast fan has that one podcast that was deeply formative for them that they’d also never wish upon another living soul and i think that’s beautiful

[to-thelakes]

IT JUST OCCURED TO ME SPOTIFY WRAPPED SEASON IS NEARLY UPON US

[sceletaflores]

come on into my bed with me (i know you want to)

pair: old man!logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, some sad vibes because i can't function without them, large age gap (but isn't that obvious by now? mid 20s/old as fuck), established relationship but only kind of, falls in the logan 2017 timeline but very loosely, LONGINGGGG, gratuitous nickname use (kid, baby, honey, ect), nasty dirty talk cause he's old and gross, not so dry humping, JUST THE TIP RAHHHH, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: this was heavily inspired by imogen heap's 'i am in love with you' because that song fucks so hard and it really gave me lots of old man logan vibes. i was just so overcome with nasty thoughts that the beat possessed me and i blacked out and listened to it on a constant repeat while i wrote this instead of doing my a&p work. kisses!

dividers by angel @saradika-graphics!

you can't sleep, logan left his door open...

Rain pelts at the smudged glass of your window, drops trailing down the span of the panes that you follow with your eyes.

It's been raining nearly all week, a rare thing in Mexico, especially somewhere as dry as Sonora.

You used to love the rain. You felt a special kind of comfort anytime night would come and there'd be a certain chill swirling through the air, that familiar scent of damp soil and wet stone rising as the first drops hit the ground.

In Sonora, rain is supposed to be a gift—a reprieve from the unrelenting heat, a chance for the dry earth to drink.

It should feel cleansing, like a reset of sorts, and maybe it would have a few months ago.

Now it just feels heavy, oppressive. Each raindrop splattering against the glass feels like a reminder of everything that's stuck, unmoving.

The soft noise of it was almost enough to lull you to sleep, but it was still no match for your wandering mind.

You’ve been finding yourself here a lot recently, shrouded in the scratchy sheets of your bed in the quiet dark encompassing your room, mind racing.

It was raining the first night he touched you.

You've been with Logan and Charles for nine months.

A runaway hitchhiker turned caretaker after you fled from the meaningless scraps of your life back in Texas.

Logan found you on the side of the highway coming back from a shift in El Paso. One stop with the hazards on and a hasty conversation through a rolled down window later, you were throwing your bags in the back of his limo and climbing into the front seat.

You didn't realize until much later that he never truly asked you to stay, or to care for Charles alongside him.

It was only supposed to be a temporary arrangement, a roof over your head in exchange for your help. Watch over his ailing father for a few days while he went out to get him more medicine, that's what you settled on.

Yet somehow, here you are, nine months later.

You cook meals in a dusty kitchen that always smells faintly of motor oil, listen to Charles’ stories about a world you’ll never fully grasp, and watch Logan patch himself up in grim silence after he’s returned from whatever trouble found him this time. 

It's strange how the days seemed to stretch endlessly, but the weeks have slipped past like a blink. You carved out a routine in this crumbling house in Sonora, built something that resembles a life even if it feels borrowed, like a second-hand coat that never quite fits right.

At first, you weren’t sure what kept you here. Maybe Charles. 

You warmed to him almost immediately, drawn in by his gentle demeanor and the way he seemed to see right through you without a hint of judgment. 

Even when his mind faltered, slipping into tangled memories or distant fragments of a life long past, he treated you with a kindness you hadn’t felt in years.

You’d come to think of him as a king, regal and noble. A king stripped of his castle, yet still wearing a crown, if ever so skewed—a king nonetheless.

You still aren’t sure, but you can’t shake the sense that leaving now would be like tearing off a scab—painful and unnecessary.

And then, one night, the rain came.

You remember it vividly, a torrent so sudden and unrelenting. The downpour soaking the dry dirt surrounding the plant. 

You couldn’t help yourself from wandering out, stood barefoot on the porch as the cool air nipped at the skin of your arms and legs.

“You’re gonna catch a cold standin’ out here.” Logan said from somewhere behind you, his voice rough and low after the silence of a long shift.

You hadn’t moved, hadn’t even glanced his way. “I like the rain.”

There was a beat of silence before he stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating against your back. His hand had been hesitant at first, a brush of calloused fingers against your arm. 

You didn’t pull away.

The heat of his palm felt scalding, causing goosebumps to pebble along your damp skin. His thumb swiped across the circular scar just above your elbow, a cigarette burn, one of many.

He didn’t say anything as he turned and walked back into the house. You learned quickly that Logan’s not the type to fill silences with empty words, but you both knew something shifted.

He came into your room later that night. The squeaky mattress of your bed dipping under his weight as he slid his hand down your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts, a silent question.

He didn’t kiss you, but the rain pattering against the tin roof was enough to swallow your soft moans and gasps.

You settled into something undefined—a constant push and pull of need and silence. Logan touched you when he needed to, and you let him because you wanted to.

It wasn’t love, not then. It wasn’t even comfort. But it was connection. A tenuous thread in the quiet storm of your lives.

You figured that was enough.

The rain hasn't slowed. If anything, the howl of the wind is stronger than before.

The soothing rhythm of droplets hitting your window turned aggressively sharp, like darts thrown against a worn cork board.

The boom of thunder is nearly in sync with the pulse of your core, aching and insistent in its need.

It’s been weeks since Logan touched you last, his endless cycle of guilt stronger than it's been before. He’s never outright said it, but you know it’s there.

The silence between you both has stretched longer than you'd like to admit, a quiet that isn't comfortable anymore.

You know he’s got it in his head that he’s somehow taken advantage of you. A perverted old man falling weak to the pretty, young thing taking up space in the bed two doors over from him.

The thought stirs something deep within you, a mix of frustration and confusion. He’s not wrong, not exactly—but he’s not right either. You aren’t a child, and you aren’t helpless. You knew what you wanted, what you needed.

And that hasn’t dared to change.

You shift in bed, the sheets tangling around your legs as your body hums with a restlessness you can’t shake. The air in your room feels thick, charged, and suffocating, a mirror of the space between you and Logan.

He doesn’t understand that you want him too, that you weren’t some helpless thing to be protected or shielded from his darkness. It eats at you until your skin is practically buzzing with it, buzzing with the need to show him.

There’s only so much silence you can take before it becomes too loud to ignore. 

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the hardwood cool against your bare feet. You know it’s late, but you don’t care.

You walk through the dimly lit hallway, the creak of the floorboards quiet under you as you make your way to Logan’s door. It’s cracked open, a yellow glow spilling through to guide you like a lighthouse guides its ships to shore.

When you reach the beat up wood you don’t hesitate, you push it open the slightest bit, peering through the widened gap. 

He’s there, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge you, but you know he knows you’re there.

You cross the threshold, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you pull the door shut behind you, leaning your back against it.

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice rougher than you intended.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he runs his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. The lamplight catches the sharp planes of his face, a familiar weariness etched into his features.

His fingers flex at his sides, and for a moment, you think he’s going to tell you to leave—to go back to your room where it’s safe, where you won’t make things more complicated than they already are. You almost brace for it.

But then he speaks.

“What’s wrong, kid.” His voice is nothing but a deep rumble, like gravel crunching underfoot.

You shrug noncommittally, hands messing with a stray thread hanging from the edge of your shorts. “Can’t sleep.”

Logan sighs long and slow through his nose, hands pressing into his thighs. “Thought you liked the rain.”

You smile faintly at the irony, chest swelling with something dangerous. 

You take a step further into the room, pushing yourself off the closed door. The familiar scent of him invades your senses. It’s a mixture of leather, earth, and something raw—something undeniably him. 

You stand there for a moment, letting the silence stretch thin and taut before you finally speak.

“Can I stay?” The words come out barely above a whisper, but they land like a crack of lightning.

You feel your heart thud painfully in your chest, not from fear, but from the sudden vulnerability that makes your skin burn.

The room feels smaller now, the walls pressing in as you step forward, each movement slow and deliberate. You stop at the edge of his bed, the sheets pressing against the bare skin of your thighs.

Logan’s gaze flickers over his shoulder, meeting yours briefly before he looks away again, like he’s trying to convince himself that the ache in his chest isn’t real.

“You should go back to bed,” he says, voice gruff. “It’s late.”

“I don’t want to go back.” You shake your head even though he isn’t turned around to see it.

Without thinking, you crawl onto the bed, the comforter making soft shushing sounds under your hands and knees. You reach out, fingers brushing the back of his neck, the muscles there tight with strain.

Logan flinches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away, and that’s all the permission you need.

You shift closer, pressing your chest against his back, and letting your hands settle on his shoulders. The heat between you is electric, charged with something unsaid, something raw and undeniable.

“Please,” you whisper, your lips brushing against the back of his ear, your voice a mixture of defiance and desire.

Logan stiffens, but this time, you feel the shudder that runs through him, the way his body responds despite the walls he’s built around himself.

You know he’s torn, that he wants to fight this. You feel it in the tension that radiates from him, in the way his body seems to be fighting against the instinct to turn toward you.

But you don’t care anymore. You’re done with silence.

Your fingers slide down his back, feeling the rough fabric of his shirt against your skin as you press yourself closer. Your breath is hot against his neck now, and you can feel the rapid pulse in his veins beneath your lips as you hover just above his skin, waiting.

“Logan…” Your voice is softer now, almost pleading. You don’t know what you’re asking for, but you don’t have to.

His hand comes up, brushing against your wrist as if testing, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t.

Instead, you lean into him further, your lips brushing the curve of his neck, whispering into the tension that still hangs heavy between you. “Please.”

The last shreds of Logan’s resistance snap under the cloying weight of your touch.

He’s moving before you can even register what’s happening, rearing up with heavy hands that land on your shoulders to push you backwards.

You fall back onto the bed with a soft gasp, bouncing on the mattress once, twice, before Logan follows. His body settles over yours like a warm blanket, thick forearms braced on either side of your head to support his weight.

"Why couldn't you sleep, honey?" he asks, dark eyes boring into yours intense enough to get your stomach churning. The green of them is deeper than normal, like fresh moss growing over stone.

“I was thinking,” you whisper, breathless. Your pulse races beneath your skin, you wonder distantly if he can hear it too.

“Thinkin’ about what?” he presses, breath fanning over your lips temptingly. 

Your brows furrow, a soft noise escaping you. You can't help but tell the truth. “About you.”

Logan hums, eyes trailing along your face slowly. He slots a knee between your thighs, groaning softly at the wet heat that seeps through to his jeans.

You gasp, hips bucking down instinctively. Your pussy aches desperately, leaking arousal into the cotton gusset of your panties.

His jaw clenches at the sound, muscle ticking just beneath the grey of his beard. “Is that right? You been layin' in that bed, thinkin' about me, gettin’ all worked up?"

Your face burns under his scrutiny, but you don’t shy away. You arch your back, pressing yourself as close to him as possible, letting the heat of your body speak for you.

“Yeah,” you breathe, the confession trembling on your lips. “I need you, it hurts.”

Logan exhales sharply, like the words knocked the air out of him. His hands slide from your shoulders, rough palms gliding down the skin of your arms before settling right under the swell of your breasts.

“Where’s it achin’, baby?” he asks softly, words almost getting lost in the dark of the room. “Show me.”

You let out a soft breath, reaching down to take his hand in yours.

Without breaking eye contact, you guide his hand down your trembling body until his palm rests over the apex of your thighs, where the damp fabric of your shorts clings to your swollen folds.

“Here,” you whisper, voice barely audible above the rain pounding against his window.

A low growl rumbles from deep in his chest, and his fingers press more firmly against you, feeling the slick heat that’s soaked through the thin cotton. His eyes darken further, the green almost swallowed by the black of his pupils.

Logan’s thumb drags over your clit, slow and deliberate, coaxing a needy whimper from your lips.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice thick. “You’re drippin’ for me, aren’t you? Didn’t even need to touch you, and you’re already so fuckin’ wet.�� 

You whimper softly, bucking your hips against his hand, desperate for more.

"I've been like this all night," you admit, your voice going high and needy. "Thinking about how good you make me feel. How much I want you."

Logan’s eyes lock onto yours, and there’s something new swirling through them, something you’ve never seen before.

A beat passes—too long—almost agonizing. His free hand lifts from your hip, gently cupping your cheek, fingers brushing against your skin, like he isn’t sure if he has the right to touch you like this. 

His thumb brushes your lip, his gaze flicking to your mouth before returning to your eyes, asking for permission, even though neither of you had ever really needed it before.

"Logan," you say, the sound a little breathless, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift, but he doesn’t keep you waiting.

He closes the distance in a heartbeat, lips crashing into yours with a ferocity you didn’t expect.

It’s like the world around you falls away, leaving only the warmth of his lips, the taste of him, and the pressure of his body against yours. The raging storm outside dulling until it’s nothing but fuzzy background noise.

His kiss is rough, deep, urgent, but there’s something more in it, a slow unraveling. Like he’s trying to carve himself into you, a permanent mark, a reminder that he was here, even if he never says it out loud.

Logan tastes like rich smoke and whiskey, the sharp edge of him mixing with the sweet burn of need. It sends your head reeling, arms coming up to circle around his neck.

You can’t find the words to describe it, not with the way his fingers slide through the wetness gathering at your entrance, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

Your hips thrust upward, begging for more, your body hungry for the release he’s just out of reach of giving.

“Want you inside me, Logan,” you moan desperately, slick lips brushing his with every word. “Please.”

Logan's body stiffens against yours at the sound of your pleading, his grip tightening on your cheek like he's trying to anchor himself in the reality of what you're asking.

“Shit,” he growls under his breath, his forehead pressing to yours as he closes his eyes. His chest heaves, the tension in his body palpable. "I—" he pauses, struggling to form the words, but you can see it in his eyes. He's conflicted, desperate, yet still hesitant.

You move against him, your body restless, your need undeniable, feeling the rigid outline of his hard cock pressed firmly against your thigh. A thick plane of heat that has your pussy clenching around the tips of his fingers.

You don’t want to push him, not anymore. But you’re past the point of waiting for permission.

Your lips meet his again, softer this time, coaxing, until he finally gives in, groaning against your mouth as he kisses you back with an intensity that steals your breath.

“I want to feel you,” you whisper, your hands trailing down to the hem of his shirt, pushing it over the swell of his pecs. 

His skin is hot under your fingertips, rough and familiar. Your fingers trail lightly across his chest, nails scratching through the salt and pepper hair dusted across his skin as you urge him closer.

“Just the tip,” Logan mutters under his breath, barely above a whisper. His voice hoarse, like he’s bargaining with himself. “Just to make you feel good, but that’s it, understand?”

You bite your lip, the edge of frustration gnawing at you. It’s not everything you need, not everything you want, but it's something. And right now, it’s enough.

You nod your head, hands already moving to the front of his jeans. You undo the button with shaking fingers, tugging the zipper down and pushing the worn denim away. 

His cock springs free, already hard, leaking with the same desperation you feel. You run your fingers along his length, feeling the heat of him, the steady throb of his pulse.

Logan peels down the thin layer of your shorts, cursing under his breath when he finds you completely bare underneath, your slick pussy shining under the dim light.

You watch him, chest heaving, as he stares down at you—his eyes dark and full of something primal, something raw.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the outline of your wetness. He groans low in his throat, his thumb circling your clit once before moving down, dipping inside you just barely. “You’re perfect, baby.”

“Logan,” you whine, thighs spreading in a clear invitation. You patience is running exceedingly thin, your whole body alight with the feeling of a raging forest fire

“I know,” he mutters, placating. He takes the throbbing length of his cock in his hand, swiftly settling between your legs. “I know.”

The thick head drags through your folds, smearing pre-come along your skin and adding even more to the mess between your legs.

A quiet moan passes through your swollen lips, your muscles tightening as he slides himself along your clit. A slow back and forth movement that sends sparks shooting up your spine.

Logan grits his teeth, his breath shallow, as he finally aligns himself with your clenching hole. 

The air around you feels charged, a taut thread stretched between anticipation and restraint. You shift your hips slightly, just enough to encourage him, your eyes locked on his as you beg him silently with your gaze.

Then, with a low growl that vibrates through you, he pushes forward, just enough to make you gasp in relief, the head of his cock sliding home in your entrance.

And though it’s only the tip, the sensation of him inside you is enough to set your world alight. 

You can feel it, deep in your bones—the simmering, searing heat that makes everything else fade into the background.

Logan presses his lips to your forehead, his breath hot against your skin as he keeps his movements slow, deliberate, his hands holding your hips steady. "This is what you wanted, huh? Got you begging for it, honey," he growls softly. "Even if I’m only givin’ you a taste."

His hips roll languidly, staying true to his word and never sinking deeper than the thick head of his cock. His hand grips the base tightly, his fist fucking slow strokes over the length of himself to where he’s spreading your pussy open.

His scarred knuckles bump against your clit with every stroke, fanning the fire building in your lower stomach.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, honey,” he groans into the skin of your neck, the pace of his hips speeding up ever so slightly. “Feels like heaven.”

You claw at the skin of his back, touch wild and desperate. It takes everything in you not to shift your hips down, to sheath the rest of his cock deep inside your and lock your ankles around his back so he can never leave again.

Logan’s lips find your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he shifts against you. “Tell me you want this,” he says, his voice low, almost a command, yet laced with something tender. “Tell me you want me.”

You meet his gaze without hesitation, your voice steady despite the tremble in your chest. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.” 

The words come out without thought, raw and honest, and you see something in his eyes shift—a flicker of relief, of something deeper than lust.

Logan groans like he got shot, his body shuddering above you as a low growl tears its way from his chest. He fucks into you faster, short, quick thrusts that steal all the breath from your lungs.

Sparks go off behind your closed eyes, bright white and glittering. You can feel yourself getting closer, your body trembling as you grind up against him, meeting him halfway, needing more, needing release.

“Logan,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders harder, nails digging in. “I’m so close. Please—”

“Let go,” he growls, his pace increasing, his body pressing harder against yours. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

With his command, you unravel, the world spinning around you as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless, gasping for air, your body quivering beneath him as he holds you through it.

Logan follows, tearing himself from the tight grip of your pussy with a sharp jerk of his hips, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he shoots thick ropes of come over your slick folds.

Your body shakes at the feeling, a breathless whimper pulled from your slack lips at the sticky warmth of his release.

He collapses onto the mattress next to you, his body shuddering enough to match your own. The room falls into a deep silence, the only sounds your mingling breaths and the distant sound of thunder.

A sick sort of dread bursts through the sweet afterglow of your hazy mind, settling in your stomach like a lead weight. You think that this is the moment where Logan will realize what you’ve done, that he’ll retreat back into himself and send you away.

Send you back to your own room and leave you to lay in the cold aftermath of your own recklessness.

You brace for it, the instinct to pull away, to protect yourself from his withdrawal, but it never comes. 

Instead, you feel his strong arm slide over your waist, pulling you closer, his body heat a stark contrast to the chill creeping in from the window.

His breath is warm against your neck as he shifts, his fingers tracing absent circles on your skin in a move that’s so endearingly human it has your chest aching.

"Stay here tonight?" he asks, his voice rough, almost a whisper.

Your heart clenches, tears burning at your waterline at the vulnerability of his tone. It breaks the dam inside you, relief and something dangerously close to love flooding your body in a bursting rush of water.

“Of course,” you murmur, your voice shaky.

Logan’s hand tightens around you, his thumb brushing over your ribs. He presses a soft kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder, settling onto the mattress with a slow breath.

You drift to sleep more relaxed than you’ve felt in years, even with the knowledge of the slow journey that lies ahead of you. It won’t be easy, it never is with Logan. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

Because even though the rain falls, the desert doesn’t bloom overnight. 

And neither do you.

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[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 7.4k (shorter chap woop) tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

Year: 2017

He hasn’t been answering your phone calls. Or your texts. A growing sense of anxiety and worry forms in your gut. You've trained yourself to push down the more insidious thoughts that threaten your already deteriorating relationship. It’s been a long day for you. From work, to your annoying mother, and now to your M.I.A boyfriend. You wanted to relax at home with a movie and soothing music, maybe even food. However, it’s been hard to eat for the past few weeks. 

The last place you wanted to be was at some house party with snobby people who probably never have realized the true meaning of a dollar. The music is loud and the blue lights do nothing but further annoy you, reminding you of just how much you hate parties. Pushing through the throngs of people, either too drunk to high to give your rudeness a huff. 

It’s not hard to spot him, but the sight makes you dig your nails into your palms. Feeling bile rise in your throat when a girl—one you’ve never seen before—is getting too close and personal with your man. And worst of all? He’s not even pushing her away. He’s obviously drunk. Still, you assumed he would have that much decency to push back flirting advances from random girls. He always did.  

But things have been changing recently, slowly but surely. Ever since that happened. 

Your feet work quickly, forcing yourself to stay determined and not break down and cry right now. You’ve been doing too much of that. “Satoru.” You call out, voice loud and firm enough that he swivels his head to meet your eyes on just the first try. The girl does so also, head tilting in a scrutinizing way that you hate. “Are you drunk?”

The tint on his cheeks is proof enough. But so is his lazy grin. “What do you think?”

The girl giggles, leaning into your boyfriend’s arm. Watching her do so sends a wave of fury down your spine. You would have stepped in if it weren’t for Satoru finally being a decent man and pulling away from her. “Sorry, you gotta go.”

“Excuse me?” The girl huffs, scowling in disgust. “For what? I thought we were having a good time.”

So, they were together the whole night, huh? They probably would have stayed together if you didn’t make an appearance. What if they would have taken things further? What if Satoru imitated something? You can already feel the familiar tingle at the back of your throat, turning around and heading back for the door. He follows, grabbing your arm in an attempt to stop you. “Y/N—“

“Don’t.” You grit, yanking your arm away and pushing your way back out to the front of the large house, ignoring some of a drunken couple’s protests as you ruin their make-out session. When you make your way onto the sidewalk, you feel a more insistent tug at your wrist that causes you to face him fully. Meeting his glazed-over eyes with your own teary pair, biting down on your quivering lip. “Why didn’t you answer your phone? Why are you ignoring me?”

He sighs, running a hand down his face when he lets go of you. “I’m not ignoring you, Y/N. I’m sorry, I should have told you I’d be out. But it was last minute.”

A scoff falls from your lips. “Last minute, huh? Is that what you call it? Hanging around some random girl and acting like you don’t have a worried girlfriend waiting for you?”

“Y/N—“

“Did you cheat on me?” You ask, voice cracking. Your tears now flow freely down your face, eyes red. The expression you adorn does nothing but break his heart. He hates seeing you cry, he always has. And the small, sober part of him is cursing at himself for being such a jackass tonight. But the dominant, drunk side wants no part of an argument tonight. 

“No, I didn’t. I’d never.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Y/N.”

“I want you to be a good boyfriend for once!” You croak out, pushing him back by his shoulders. “Y-you know what I’m going through, you know how hard it’s been. And what do you do? You go out and party, you don’t tell me, and I find some random girl all up on you. And then you smiled like it was funny. D-do you know how much you’re hurting me even more, Satoru?” The trembling of your voice pokes at his heartstrings. 

Satoru stares at you, his expression faltering. For a moment, you think you see guilt flicker across his face, but it’s quickly replaced by something colder—defensiveness. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, alright? I was just...blowing off steam.”

“Blowing off steam?” you repeat, your voice rising as fresh anger bubbles in your chest. “You call this blowing off steam? Ignoring me? Letting some girl throw herself all over you? You’re unbelievable.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, frustration clear in his movements. “What do you want me to do, Y/N? Stay at home and sulk all the time? I can’t—” He stops himself, biting his lip, but you know what he was going to say. 

“You can’t what, Satoru?” Your voice cracks again, but this time it’s laced with more rage than sorrow. “You can’t deal with me? With everything I’m going through? You promised you’d be there for me. You said we’d get through this together.”

“I am here for you!” he snaps, but the slight slur in his voice takes the edge off his words. “But you’re acting like I can’t breathe without you questioning every little thing I do. I’ve been going through shit too, Y/N.”

You suck in a shaky breath. “That’s not fair,” you whisper, your fists clenching at your sides. “You know it’s not. If I didn’t care—if I didn’t love you—I wouldn’t be here, trying to fix this.”

He exhales heavily, his shoulders slumping. “I didn’t cheat on you, Y/N. I swear I didn’t. But I—” He hesitates, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I don’t know how to handle all of this, okay? It’s a lot.”

Your breath hitches, his words cut deeper than he probably intended. “You think this isn’t a lot for me too?” you ask, your voice trembling. “I’ve been trying so hard, Satoru. To hold on. To be strong. For both of us. But you’re slipping away, and I don’t know how to bring you back. I know how to handle things just as much as you do.”

He looks up then, his blue eyes clearer now, filled with something that looks almost like regret. For a brief second, you think he might apologize—might say the words you so desperately need to hear. But instead, he shakes his head and says, “Maybe we just need some space.”

The world tilts beneath you. His words echo in your mind, louder than the music still blaring from the house behind you. “Space?” you repeat, barely able to say the word. “You want to take a break?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, his voice quiet, almost defeated. “I just...I think we’re both hurting each other more than we’re helping.”

You laugh bitterly, wiping at the tears streaming down your face. “No, Satoru. You’re hurting me. You’re the one who stopped trying. You’re the one who’s giving up.” He flinches at your words, but he doesn’t argue. And somehow, that hurts even more. You shake your head, stepping back from him. “If space is what you want, then fine. But don’t expect me to be here waiting when you figure yourself out.”

You turn and walk away, your heart shattering with every step. This isn’t how you imagined the night would go. It isn’t how you imagined your relationship would go. But as you leave him standing there on the sidewalk, you can’t help but wonder if this was inevitable all along.

The same song begins to play. Because soon,  his arms are wrapping around you before you even know it, shoving his face into the side of your neck. “No, no, I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m drunk, okay? Please don’t leave, please. L-let’s just go home, my parents aren’t there. Please, Y/N. I’m sorry.”

And like a broken record, you give in. Because the broken part of you still craves him. His touch, his comforting hugs, his words. His everything. You feel like a puzzle with pieces too big or small to fit, some pieces lost. But with Satoru, he makes them fit. He finds those pieces of you; the ones you can’t find yourself. In a way, you know things are failing and falling apart. 

But you’re laying back in his bed, feeling the constant vibration of your phone. Texts from your mother and you have no doubt she’s blowing up your phone about the way you snuck out and demanding to know where you are. It’s interesting, you’re twenty-one but she treats you like a kid. All because you still live with her. 

Your heart feels heavy, your stomach twisting with nausea and you’re not even the drunk one. His hands hold your teary cheeks, meeting your gaze with watery ones of his own. Combined tears wet his pillow until there’s no more to give out. He’s been crying with you, but sometimes it feels fake. 

“Did you cheat on me?” You ask again, whispering in a shaky tone. 

His lips purse and he shakes his head. “…no, I didn’t. I told you, I’d never.”

You search his face, looking for cracks in the foundation of his words. His sorrowful eyes, flushed cheeks, and trembling hands—all of it feels sincere, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Not so much anymore. “You’re sure?” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. 

“I’m sure,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “I swear to you, Y/N. I’d never do that to you. Never.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear on your cheek, and for a moment, the warmth of his touch almost convinces you.

Almost.

You close your eyes, exhaling shakily as his hands cradle your face. You want to believe him. You need to believe him. But the doubt lingers like a shadow, clawing at the edges of your mind. “Then why do I feel like I’m losing you?” you ask, your voice breaking.

Satoru flinches, his hands momentarily faltering before steadying again. “You’re not losing me,” he says quickly, almost desperately. “I know I’ve been...different lately, but it’s not because I don’t care. I just—” He pauses, his gaze dropping as if searching for the right words. “I don’t know how to handle this, Y/N. I don’t know how to be what you need right now. There’s so much and I…” his voice trails off, fearing he’s saying too much and it’ll only make you feel worse. Make himself feel worse. 

Your chest tightens, his confession cutting deeper than you expected. “I don’t need you to have all the answers, Satoru. I just need you to try. To be honest with me. To stop shutting me out. You…you’re the only one—you’re all I have right now.”

“I’m trying,” he insists, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “I swear I’m trying. But it feels like...like no matter what I do, it’s not enough. And I hate it. I hate that I’m hurting you.”

The rawness in his voice pulls at something in you, making it harder to keep the walls around your heart intact. You open your eyes, meeting his gaze. For a moment, the vulnerability in his expression mirrors your own. “I don’t want to lose you, Satoru,” you say softly. “But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep feeling like I’m the only one fighting for us.”

“You’re not,” he whispers, his hands tightening slightly on your face as if afraid you’ll slip away. “You’re not, Y/N. I know I’ve messed up, but I’ll do better. I promise. Just...don’t give up on me. Please.”

The plea in his voice, the tears in his eyes—they’re enough to make the broken pieces of your heart shift, trying to fit back together even if they don’t quite align. Against your better judgment, you nod, letting out a shaky breath. “Okay,” you whisper. “But this is your last chance, Satoru. I mean it.”

“I know,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t mess this up. I promise.” But Satoru isn’t the best at promises. He’s only good at making them for others, not keeping them for himself. 

As he pulls you into his arms, holding you as if you might vanish, you can’t help but wonder how many more promises you’ll let him break before there’s nothing left of you to give. But for now, you let yourself sink into his embrace, hoping—maybe foolishly—that this time will be different. Because he’s all you have. All you know. He knows you inside and out—the way your voice wavers when you’re holding back tears, the way your hands fidget when you’re nervous, the way you laugh like it’s the only thing keeping you from breaking. And you know him just as deeply. Every freckle on his skin, every scar that tells a story, every mole you’ve discovered in moments of intimacy. You’ve memorized him like a favorite book, reading him over and over until the lines blur but still feel familiar.

You two are like each other’s canvases—painted with touches, kisses, and shared memories, even the messy ones. Every fight, every tear-streaked night, every whispered “I’m sorry” adds another layer to the masterpiece that is you and him. But lately, it feels like the colors are running, bleeding into one another until the picture is unrecognizable. And you don’t know if you can fix it, or if you even should. Never did you think that things would change so much, and all because of one failed situation. 

What a weak body you have, what a weak person you are. 

He holds you tighter, his fingers threading through your hair as if grounding himself in your presence. “You’re everything to me, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice so quiet you almost don’t catch it. “I know I’ve been a mess, but I swear I’ll fix this. I’ll fix us.”

But his promises feel like paint on a waterlogged canvas—fading, smudged, and far too fragile. Still, you nod, letting the comfort of his warmth lull you into silence. Because no matter how fractured you feel, no matter how much the doubt weighs on your chest, he’s all you have. You can’t handle the thought of facing everything alone now, can’t handle the thought of not having someone to hug you when you burst down in tears. 

You hate the way things are now, but you��ve sunk too deep into him. And him the same. Over time, you feel like he will retract his hold from you before you do so yourself. You can almost feel it coming, one way or another. It’s why you’re holding him tighter, pressing your body deeper into his. Because you know you wouldn’t be able to do it yourself. Awaiting the inevitable hurts so bad. Knowing that no matter what, your end is visible. You can see the finish line just a few yards away. It’s like a race, and you’re letting Satoru win. Envisioning him running his long legs to the checkered line with a smile on his face like he’s happy—relieved. You don’t want to hold him, that’s the last thing you want to do. However, you’re being as selfish as you can be right now. Before every privilege is stripped from you in a cold manner that will leave you shivering for warmth. But his presence is something. And for now, that’s enough to keep you here and sane. 

Little did you know, you'd win that race before he did. You just needed that little push. He's the hare, and you're the tortoise.

You stay in his arms, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek a constant reminder of the closeness you’ve always shared. It feels almost like an illusion, the peace between you both. But underneath, there’s a tension that hasn’t quite loosened, a thread pulled tight between the two of you, holding you close but threatening to snap at the slightest tug. His grip tightens, his fingers threading into your hair, pulling you closer as if trying to fuse your two worlds together. The quiet hum of the room feels almost suffocating now. Your phone continues to buzz with your mother’s increasingly frantic texts, but you can’t bring yourself to care about that right now. Not with Satoru’s breath warm on your neck and his hands gently caressing your skin. Not when it’s easier to let him hold you in this fragile moment of peace. 

You close your eyes, your fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt. The quietness stays for a long moment, But when he speaks, it’s almost a whisper, like he’s afraid of the truth that might spill out.

“I’ll try. I’ll be here for you, Y/N. I swear it.”

You wonder if you can truly believe him this time. If you can let yourself hope that things might really change. But the doubt is a familiar companion, lingering in the shadows, waiting to remind you of the cracks in his promises. Still, for tonight, you let it go. You let yourself sink into him, giving into the small piece of comfort he offers, hoping that maybe, just maybe, this time will be different.

You wake up in a cold sweat, dried tears staining your cheeks. Your stomach feels sensitive, nails already digging into your palms so hard that the skin is growing red and prickly. Every emotion you felt from that dream—nightmare—whatever it was feels ten times more real. You don’t know why you’re having these weird dreams about something from years ago. 

But it still hurts all the same, nonetheless. 

You still feel hollow, drowned, and ready to pour your heart out into your pillow. But it’s morning and time to get up for bed. Christmas Eve is in three days and you’re just counting down until when you won’t have to go into work.  Going through your routine, getting Koji ready for the day, opening the door for Sana. Leaving your place of solitude, it feels like you barely even lived through this morning. 

The chill of the morning air hits your skin as you step outside, tugging your coat tighter around you. The weight of your dream lingers, like a fog that refuses to lift. You keep telling yourself it was just a dream, just a memory from a time you’ve tried so hard to bury. But it clings to you like a ghost, whispering doubts into your ear, even as you force yourself to move through the motions. you can’t help but glance up at the sky, the gray clouds reflecting the heaviness in your chest. Christmas Eve is in three days, and you can’t wait to take a break from not just work—from everything.

If only escaping your past was as easy as flipping the calendar to a new year.

Satoru texts you around the 2-hour mark that he’ll be going over to your place soon to see Koji and bring the gifts he got. You let Sana know of the change, she replies back with a simple ‘okay!’

You sigh, willing yourself to forget about the drama your life entails, and focus on your work. 

However, another thought is creeping in through the door, and this time—it’s not such a bad one. You feel a fluttering sensation in your gut, holding back a peal of stifled laughter as the memory of last night makes its presence known. After the whole shirt incident, Suguru stayed. He kept his word about not making anything weird, and you two ended with a simple chat and a movie. It felt nice.

Of course, there were hints of lingering peeks, that strange tension tossed up in the air that neither of you fully addressed. But it’s fine, it didn’t mean anything at the end of the day. Although, when it was time for him to leave, you did have a second of hesitation about whether you should hug him or simply say goodbye. He decided for you when he carefully opened his arms up, you followed suit. 

Inhaling his scent felt heavenly. Manly, but also feminine at the same time. An earthly scent that felt like hints of incense. The memory of his embrace lingers like the faintest trace of his cologne, warm and comforting. It wasn’t just the way he held you—it was the way he made you feel. Secure. Understood. Like you weren’t just surviving, but living, even if just for that moment.  

You haven't hugged a man in so long. You forgot how good they hug. 

You shake your head, a small smile pulling at your lips despite yourself. It wasn’t anything. It shouldn’t be anything. Suguru’s always been like that—gentle, kind, and just a little too perceptive for his own good. He knew exactly when to stay and exactly what you needed without you even having to say it. Still, you can’t ignore the way your heartbeat picked up when his arms wrapped around you, the way your cheek brushed against his shoulder, and how your fingers had almost lingered a little too long against his back. It felt natural, but also entirely new. 

Suguru’s presence was so easy, so effortless. It felt like slipping into an old favorite sweater, soft and familiar but with a spark of something you couldn’t quite place. You’d been so wrapped up in keeping everything together, in pushing through every day for Koji’s sake, that you’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be seen.  

You wonder if Satoru holds the same longing you do. 

You shake the thought away as quickly as it comes. Don’t think about him. There’s no point in overthinking any of this.  

“Hello, you must be Koji’s father.” Sana greets Satoru who stands in the doorway. With him, two armfuls of gifts. Even more on the floor next to his feet. 

Simply nodding and looking over her shoulder to see Koji eating his lunch. “And you’re the babysitter.” Without much else, he carefully pushes past her, bringing in the gifts. “Mind getting the rest? Thanks.”

She nods, grabbing what was left on the floor before bringing it in, closing and locking the door. When she turns back around, Koji is in his father’s embrace. She smiles at the scene. “Ms. Y/N told me you’d be coming. He’s been good so far, he’s just eating his lunch now.”

“That’s good to hear,” Satoru replies, pulling away from his son. Doing a quick scan of the place before his eyes land back on the young woman. “How long have you been watching my son again?”

“A couple of years.”

He hums, walking closer to her. “And you’re how old?”

Sana blinks, surprised by the question. "I'm twenty," she says cautiously, her polite smile wavering slightly under his scrutiny.  

Satoru raises an eyebrow, his gaze sharp but unreadable. "Twenty, huh? Pretty young to be taking care of kids."  

“I’ve been babysitting since I was sixteen,” she replies, straightening her posture. “I’m studying early childhood education, so it’s not just a job to me. I care about Koji.”  

His expression softens a fraction, and he glances back at his son, who’s happily munching away at his sandwich. “He does seem to like you,” Satoru admits, his tone less probing now.  

“He’s a great kid,” Sana says warmly. “Very smart, just like his mother.”  

That earns her a faint smile. “Yeah, just like his mother.” He crosses his arms, leaning casually against the counter. “So, Y/N told you I’d be stopping by today?”  

“Yes, she mentioned it when I got here this morning.” 

Satoru nods, tapping his fingers against his forearm thoughtfully. “Good. Thanks for helping out today. I know it’s probably not easy juggling school and babysitting.”  

“It’s manageable,” Sana replies, sensing a subtle change in his demeanor. “Koji makes it worth it.”  

Satoru’s gaze lingers on her for a moment longer before he straightens up. “I’ll take over from here. You can go ahead and clock out early if you want.”  

“Oh, are you sure?”  

“Yeah,” he says, waving her off. “Enjoy the rest of your day. I’ve got this.”  

Sana hesitates briefly, glancing at Koji, who’s still blissfully unaware of the conversation. “Alright then. Have a good evening, Mr. Gojo.”  

As she gathers her things and heads for the door, she feels his eyes on her. It’s not hostile, but it’s assessing. Like he’s trying to gauge something about her. She doesn’t dwell on it, though—whatever it is, it’s not her place to question. “Oh!” She turns around as if she just remembered something. “Ms. Y/N leaves a list. It’s taped to the—”

“I don’t need a list to take care of my son.” He cuts her off smoothly, his one eyebrow raising. “Thanks again, have a good day.”

She falters, once again caught a little off guard. This is her first time meeting him, and while she’s of course seen the articles and comments about the drama surrounding the small family, she has no bias. In fact, she sympathizes greatly with you for going through all this alone. As she’s leaving the apartment, she can’t help the small opinion of Satoru that he’s already given her. 

He’s so intimidating!

After she leaves, Satoru focuses back on his son—this shitty apartment. He hasn’t explicitly voiced his opinions out to you—of course you already know what they are. And as you said before, it’s all you could afford, and Koji’s happy. However, he can’t stop himself from grimacing at the so-called ‘decorations’. This place needs some serious revamping. 

“Hey, buddy?”

Koji looks over, wiping his mouth. “Yes, Papa?”

“When you’re done eating, want to help me with something?” And Koji doesn’t need to be told anymore. He loves helping—especially his mother and father. So he nods excitedly, practically scarfing down the rest of his sandwich. Bubbling with giddiness only a child could have. 

Satoru chuckles at his son’s behavior, heart warming. This is the first time he’s doing something festive with Koji. The bitter part of him tells him that he could’ve had more chances to do so if it weren’t for your cowardness. But he shoves that away, focusing on the jolly joy the holidays can bring. 

Today was more tiring than usual, with the cafe gaining more attention, there’s been rush after rush after rush. You can handle it, but that doesn’t mean it won’t wear you down by the time you clock out. And your day isn’t even done yet. Slugging your way to your front door, lazily opening it with your key. Tossing your coat on the nearby rack, your bag with it. 

“I’m ba—”

You sniffle. One. Twice. 

A pinecone-y scent fills your nostrils. Which is strange because you know you have no candles that house that aroma. Confusion, but wariness takes over your senses. Following the sound of laughter down the hall until you’re standing in the living room. 

The sight you see is more than startling. 

Your eyes dart around in a frenzy, landing on one new thing after the next. The small, simple Christmas tree you’d put up last week? Replaced by a towering, impeccably decorated monstrosity with shimmering lights and a star that looks like it came straight out of a luxury catalog. It barely even fits in the room. Luckily, the small picture ornament of you and Koji is still there. But it looks so out of place.

The garlands you’d strung across the walls? Gone, swapped for lush, sparkling ones adorned with oversized ornaments. Even your modest stockings have been replaced with personalized velvet ones embroidered with gold thread, hanging perfectly above a faux fireplace setup that definitely wasn’t there this morning.

It’s like a winter wonderland exploded in your living room, and you’re not sure whether to laugh or scream.

Koji is sitting on the couch, giggling as Satoru playfully pretends to tangle himself in a string of fairy lights. Your son’s laughter is contagious, but you can’t shake the growing irritation bubbling inside you. When Koji notices you, his eyes brighten even more. Gaping and rushing over to your leg, hugging it. “Mama! Mama! Look what Papa and I did! It’s so pretty and there are so many presents!”

There is. There’s a lot of presents. Practically stacking on top of one another under your refurbished tree. Hidden somewhere in the splurge are the gifts Suguru got for you and Koji. 

Gulping, you feel your throat tighten. You feel nothing but overwhelmed. But in the face of your son, you can’t exactly show that. You force a smile as you ruffle Koji’s hair, trying to push down the irritation clawing its way to the surface. “Wow, it’s… definitely something,” you say, your voice strained but managing to sound somewhat amused for Koji’s sake.

Satoru, now untangled from the lights, looks up from the couch with that boyish grin of his. “Do you love it or do you love it?” he asks, gesturing to the extravagant decor like he’s unveiling a masterpiece. 

You blink at him, incredulous—but still attempting to keep yourself calm.  “What… what happened to the decorations we already had?”

“Oh, those?” He waves a dismissive hand. “Let’s just say they weren’t really up to par. I mean, come on, Y/N. That tree you had? It was like something out of a Charlie Brown Christmas special. I couldn’t let Koji’s holiday spirit suffer like that.”

Your jaw tightens, the forced smile threatening to slip. “So, you just… decided to replace everything? Without asking me?”

He stands, brushing off invisible dust from his jeans as if the weight of his decision is nothing. “You were busy, and I figured you’d appreciate coming home to something nice for once. Besides, look at Koji—he’s thrilled!”

Koji tugs at your sleeve, his wide-eyed excitement piercing through your annoyance. “It’s so cool, Mama! Look at all the shiny ornaments! And Papa let me pick out the star!” Your son runs over to show off a few of the many, many presents he has. Showing extra excitement for the heavier and larger ones. “Papa says it’s magical. I want to have a magical Christmas every time, Mama.”

The words, innocent but heavy, almost make you physically kneel down. You feel your chest tighten, your throat closing up even more. The lump that forms is difficult to swallow down. The implication of Satoru’s and your son's words feels a bit degrading. And you don’t blame it on Koji, he means nothing malicious. But for some reason, being faced with the physical line of difference between you and Satoru, watching your son’s face light up in a way that you’ve never seen before…

It reminds you that your enough has never been enough. Each Christmas, it’s dull. Your Christmases aren’t magical.  Your life isn’t. 

You feel the weight of it all crashing down like the oversized star on the new tree is pressing on your chest. Satoru's extravagance, Koji's innocent excitement, and your own feelings of inadequacy swirl together into a storm you’re barely holding back.  

Your forced smile falters, but you quickly kneel to Koji's level, brushing his hair away from his glowing face. “It’s beautiful, sweetheart,” you say softly, voice trembling but steady enough to reassure him. “I’m glad you had fun with Papa.”  

Koji beams, and for a moment, his joy is a balm to your frayed nerves. “It’s pretty, isn’t it, Mama?”  

You bite the inside of your cheek. “So pretty.” Standing slowly, your hand lingers on Koji’s shoulder. “Really pretty,” you repeat quietly, not committing to anything. You can feel Satoru watching you, his casual demeanor only adding to your irritation. The worst part of it all is that it seems like he genuinely has no idea what he did wrong. 

In hindsight, maybe he didn’t. It wasn’t his intention to make you feel like a shitty mother, but Satoru is good at pointing out the differences in his own ways. 

When Koji bounds back to the pile of gifts, you finally let yourself meet Satoru’s gaze. “You really didn’t think to talk to me about this?”  

His grin fades just a fraction, replaced by a look of confusion. “What’s there to talk about? I wanted to do something special for Koji. And let’s be honest, Y/N—this is special.”  

“It’s not about the decorations, Satoru,” you snap, your voice low but sharp. “It’s about you making decisions without considering how I might feel about it. Again.”  

He tilts his head, the glower returning, though it feels sharper now. “You’re overthinking this. It’s just Christmas decorations, Y/N. Look at Koji—he’s happy. Isn’t that what matters?”  

You clench your fists, the tightness in your chest threatening to spill over into something you can’t control. “You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t just about the decorations. It’s about you coming in here and acting like everything I do is subpar. Like I’m not enough.”  

The words hang heavy in the air, and for a moment, Satoru’s expression falters. But he recovers quickly, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning against the arm of the couch. “Y/N, no one’s saying that. You’re reading too much into this. I just wanted to make things nice for Koji, that’s all.”  

Your laugh is bitter, and it catches even you off guard. “Right. Because your version of nice is always the right one. I’m just the placeholder until you decide to step in and fix everything, aren’t I?”  

Satoru’s eyes narrow slightly, the playful spark he had with Kojidimming. “That’s not fair.”  

“Isn’t it?” you counter, your voice breaking despite your effort to stay calm. “You swoop in with all your money and your grand gestures, and I’m supposed to just smile and be grateful. But do you even realize how hard I’ve worked to give Koji a Christmas he’ll enjoy? How much I’ve sacrificed just to keep things normal?”  

His silence stings more than any retort could.  

Koji’s laughter in the background feels distant now, muffled by the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. He’s too distracted with the tree, his presents, everything. You inhale deeply, trying to steady yourself, before forcing a calmness you don’t feel.  You won’t fight in front of him. 

“I’m going to get changed,” you mutter, not waiting for a response.  

As you leave the room, Satoru calls after you, his voice softer but no less exasperated. “Y/N, come on. Don’t make this into a bigger deal than it is.”  

But to you, it already feels like a chasm. One that grows wider with every passing second.

You shut your door, leaning against it with your forehead. Breaths coming in short, hands trembling slightly. Biting your quivering lip, you maneuver your body to change into your uniform. All the while, tears are getting on your hands and clothes. Accidentally, you let out a small, broken whimper. 

 Quickly, you place a palm to your mouth, stifling and quieting your soft cries. Once you’re done changing, you fall back onto the bed. Curled up with knees drawn to your chest, as the burden of your own self-consciousness rains down on you. The room feels suffocatingly small, your emotions clawing at your throat, demanding to be let out.

The tears come harder now, soaking into the fabric of your uniform as you press your hands to your face, muffling the quiet sobs. You hate this—how easily Satoru gets under your skin, how he makes you feel insignificant without even trying. You thought you were past this. Past him. But somehow, he always finds a way to remind you of all the ways you’ve fallen short. Or at least, all the ways he makes you feel like you have.

There’s a soft knock on the door.

“Y/N?” His voice is muffled through the wood, quieter than usual as if he’s trying not to disturb you. “Are you okay?”

You don’t answer, biting down on your lip to keep from making another sound.

“Look,” he continues, his tone hesitant. “I know I upset you. I didn’t mean to. Can we just… talk?”

For a moment, you consider staying silent, letting him stew in his own discomfort. But the tension is too thick, and you know Koji is just down the hall. With a shaky breath, you push yourself to your feet, wiping at your face in a futile attempt to erase the evidence of your tears. Wiping your face and straightening your clothes, you open the door. “I have work.” You mutter, expertly enforcing a placid emotion. “Will you watch him?”

Without waiting for a response, you walk past him. But he grabs at your wrist, instinctively you pull away. “Stop, just stop, okay? Let’s not fight. We’re adults, we can talk this out. I don’t mean to make you feel less than, I just wanted to make Koji happy.”

“And do you think he’s not happy with me?” You snap back, looking up at him. Feeling your vision already beginning to blur. “Do you? Do you think he’ll be happy with you? I-Is that it?”

Satoru’s eyes widen slightly at your outburst, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. The air between you feels like it could snap under the weight of everything left unsaid. His hand hovers near his side, as if he wants to reach out again but knows better now. “No,” he says softly, his voice steady but lined with regret. “That’s not what I meant. Koji is happy with you. He loves you more than anything.”

“Then why do you keep acting like what I do isn’t enough?” you whisper, your voice trembling as you maintain eye contact with him. “I’ve been doing this alone, Satoru. Every scraped knee, every fever, every night when he cries because he’s scared of the dark—I’m there. Not you. Me. So don’t you dare come in here, throw your money around, and act like you can just fix everything with some… Christmas wonderland.”

“But you didn’t let me come in sooner, Y/N.” He replies, exasperation in his voice. 

“I know that, and I’m sorry. I know I fucked up…”

“Then stop getting mad at little things.”

Your fists ball up, your expression growing firmer by the second. But so is the need to cry again. He’s right, everything he says is right. It’s your own fault that you’ve been forced to handle everything alone. But, don’t your feelings matter just a little bit in this situation? Is he allowed to just come in and fix up everything you have? What he thinks is a mess, it’s something that holds significance to you. What he thinks is a little thing, it’s a big one in your eyes. 

So while this scenario is blowing up into something bigger, your decorations are something you have control of. You only have control over so many things in your life. 

He exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not trying to take anything away from you, Y/N. I swear. I just… I wanted to give him something special. Something I never had growing up.”

It makes you feel even more guilty. You can’t find it in you to say anything else, turning back around and walking to the living room. “Goodbye, Koji. Mama will see you later.” Giving him a brief hug and kiss, you hurriedly grab your coat and purse, exiting your apartment just as fast as you came. 

Unbeknownst to you, Koji is left staring at the closed door. His head tilting in curiosity, while a frown pulling at the corner of his lips. He looks up at his father when he enters the living room again, the two owning matching guises. “Why’d Mama leave so fast? I wanted to show her the drawing we did.” The white paper in his hands pictures three figures. Each one smiling, the smaller boy in the middle holding hands with his two parents on either side of him. He even drew blue snowflakes. 

There’s a red heart around them with the words My family! at the top. 

Satoru stands there, staring at the door you just closed, feeling the weight of Koji’s innocent question settle on his shoulders. He sighs, running a hand through his hair as he glances down at his son, whose big, curious eyes are filled with disappointment.

“She’s just tired, buddy,” Satoru replies, crouching down to Koji’s level. His tone is softer now, more measured, as he tries to mask the turmoil bubbling under his calm façade. “She’s been working really hard, you know? Grown-up stuff.”

Koji’s frown deepens, his little brows furrowing. “But we worked hard too! We did the tree and the presents and everything!” His tiny hands gesture to the decorated room, his frustration clear. “Mama’s s’posed to be happy.”

Satoru feels his chest tighten at the words. He places a hand on Koji’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “She is happy, Koji. She just… needs some time, that’s all. Grown-ups can be funny like that.”

Koji looks down, fiddling with his fingers before glancing back up. “Is it my fault?”

Satoru’s heart aches at the question, and he immediately shakes his head, pulling Koji into a firm hug. “No, not even a little bit. You didn’t do anything wrong, Koji. Don’t ever think that, okay?”

Koji nods slowly against his father’s shoulder but remains quiet. Satoru pulls back, cupping his son’s face in his hands. “Mama loves you so much, Koji. More than anything in the world. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Okay…” Koji mumbles, still not entirely convinced. He inhaled deeply, then spoke again. “Do…does Mama love you too?”

The question catches him off guard, putting an even bigger weight on Satoru’s shoulders. He should’ve expected it, Koji is a curious kid who still doesn’t completely grasp the complexities of his parents’ relationship. Satoru smiles faintly, kissing Koji’s cheek. “Mama has a lot of love.”

The answer satisfies Koji. For now. 

Satoru ruffles his son’s hair. “How about we finish that drawing? We’ll save it for her when she gets back.”

Koji perks up slightly, nodding. “Okay! But you gotta color inside the lines this time, Papa.”

Satoru chuckles, relieved to see even a small smile return to Koji’s face. “Deal. But only if you promise not to make fun of me if I mess up. I’m sensitive.”

Koji giggles, taking his father’s hand to lead him back to the small table. As they sit down to continue their drawing, Satoru steals a glance at the door again, his smile faltering for just a second.

He’s trying—he really is. But he wonders if it’ll ever be enough. It’s like no matter what he does, you don’t like it; and vice versa. He’s being as understanding and nice as someone in his situation can be. At times, he feels he’s being even too nice to you. He knew things wouldn’t be easy, but he wants to spend time with his son. Make up for all the lost time, and even the littlest moments. It’s almost a little bit unfair of you to throw the fact that he has money and you don’t in his face like that. He didn’t ask to be born rich. Just like you didn’t ask to be born…like that. You’re the adults in this situation, there’s a kid involved. So truly, he wishes he could just have a single conversation with you that doesn’t feel anger-surged or bitter. Of course, it’s hard because of what has happened before, but there’s a time and a place, is there not? 

Whatever. He’s more than happy to color with Koji and do whatever the little boy asks while you have your own moment. Satoru knows best of everyone else you like having space. And while many years have passed and his feelings for you have grown less than savory, he stills wants to respect your wishes after an argument with him.

He can’t help but think the obvious, though. Is it even worth attempting to mend whatever little shards of semblance there is left with you?

Probably not. Because after all, he’s here only for Koji. 

Right?

taglist is now closed

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[faffreux]

The recent Gravity Falls resurgence has me reminded of the time in 2017 I worked a national park job in the middle of absolute nowhere, Alaska and upon moving into a tiny one room cabin look up and am greeted with this:

[thelovehypothesis]

Promises and Patterns

Pieces of us - masterlist

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summary: You meet Harry sparking the beginning of an unexpected relationship amidst his rising career.

The Beginning of Everything

February 2017 

It was the first time you met Harry Styles. It was his birthday, and the air was crisp, the London streets alive with celebration as Harry’s 23rd birthday party unfolded in a cozy venue tucked away from prying eyes. You were invited to this party, one that would mark the beginning of what you never expected to become a whirlwind of a relationship by a mutual friend, someone who thought you’d get along with the man of the hour. The room was filled with his closest friends, industry people, and a handful of others he considered important. But amidst the chaos, the laughter, and the clinking of glasses, it was in the quiet moments between the crowd that you first locked eyes with him.

You'd heard the whispers, the stories of his charm, his wit, and the way he made everyone feel seen. What you didn’t know, however, was just how quickly you’d fall into his orbit.

He wasted no time introducing himself, his charm as effortless as the curls framing his face. “Hi,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m Harry. And you must be the most beautiful person in the room.” You laughed, brushing off the compliment with a playful roll of your eyes. “You’re too kind. Happy birthday.”

That night, Harry stuck close, asking questions about your life, your interests, your dreams. He listened intently, hanging on to every word as if you were the most fascinating person he’d ever met.  He was magnetic, and there was something about the way he spoke to you—like he actually wanted to know you, not just the person he saw across the room. 

You remembered that first flash of doubt you had—when he looked into your eyes and said, “So, what if I just asked you on a date? Would you say yes then?” You’d laughed it off, turned him down…gently. 

“I don’t think you’re ready for someone like me,” you teased, half-joking, half-serious. You had your own career and life that needed attention. And honestly, you knew how demanding Harry’s would be. You couldn’t help but friend-zone him. It was safer that way. “I’m not someone who does long distance,” you’d told him. 

He looked genuinely crestfallen, but he didn’t give up. Instead, Harry persisted, patiently settling for friendship, texting you the next day and every day after that.  Slowly but surely,  you became close—so close that he started calling you his best friend.

April 2017

There was the time he flew back to London after weeks of promoting his first solo single. He’d barely touched down when he called you, asking if you could meet him for coffee. You agreed, only to find him sitting nervously at the corner table, his heart practically on his sleeve.

“I’ve missed you,” he admitted, his voice soft.

“I’ve missed you too,” you replied, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. But when he leaned in and said, “I think we should give this a shot,” you shook your head.

“Harry, I can’t. You’re about to release an album. Your life is about to get even crazier. And I… I can’t do long-distance. I can’t be in a relationship where I barely see the person I’m with.”

He’d tried to argue, but you’d stayed firm. He deserved someone who could match his energy and keep up with his whirlwind lifestyle, and you didn’t think you were that person.

Harry Styles wasn’t someone who took rejection easily, and yet, you knew that he respected your boundaries. By June, however, Harry had proven you wrong. Despite the chaos surrounding his debut album release, he made time for you. Late-night phone calls, surprise visits, and little notes reminding you that he hadn’t forgotten about you. Slowly, he wore down all your defenses. So when he asked you out again, you said yes.

The first date was magical—a quiet dinner in a tucked-away restaurant, where he made you laugh until your belly hurt.  You didn’t want to admit it, but your heart was beginning to soften, and the idea of being with him, despite all the chaos his life came with, started to appeal to you.

By July, you were officially a couple. But as you both knew, your relationship had to remain private. The media would never let you live it down; you'd both seen what fame could do to relationships, and neither of you wanted the scrutiny, and Harry wasn’t ready to make such a big commitment public, given how intense the press could be. You understood. For once, your relationship felt like it was just between the two of you, something sacred. You were happy, and Harry was happy. It didn’t matter if anyone else knew; it felt right, and that was all that mattered.

For a while, it was perfect. Harry balanced his burgeoning solo career with his newfound relationship, always making you feel like a priority. You’d supported him wholeheartedly, cheering him on from the sidelines, even when it meant late nights and long stretches apart.

2018, the first cracks in your perfect world began to show. You started to feel the growing distance between you two. At first, it was small—Harry being an hour late to a date because of studio sessions. It wasn’t his fault; he’d warned you, texted you beforehand, apologizing profusely, and when he arrived, he brought flowers and your favorite dessert. You’d brushed it off, understanding the demands of his career.  

But as time went on, it started happening more often, the delays became longer, and the dates were cancelled altogether in favor of studio sessions, filming or  last-minute interviews. Then it upscaled, postponed weekend plans because of unexpected flights to LA. Each time, Harry would apologize, and for a while, he’d try harder—planning elaborate dates, sending thoughtful gifts. But the pattern always repeated. You tried to understand, you really did. But the pattern always repeated. “He was living his dream”, and you never wanted to be someone who held him back. Still, it stung when you realized you were no longer a priority.

A breaking point came in July, when he booked a last minute second date Madison Square Garden show on your birthday. He’d promised to spend the day with you, but when his team convinced him to add another date to the tour, he couldn’t say no. You’d spent the day alone, trying to convince yourself it didn’t matter. But it did. When he called that night, his voice full of apologies, you’d let the doubts spill out. 

“I feel like I’m always second, Harry. Like I’m just something you fit in when it’s convenient.” 

He tried to make up for it in small ways, with heartfelt messages and plans for a private celebration later on, but deep down, you felt hurt. You’d always been supportive, but it felt like you were constantly at the back of the line, always waiting for his attention, always trying to make him see your point of view.

From that point forward, whenever you tried to talk to him about it, his response was always the same: 

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” “I’ll do better. I promise.”

 He’d be extra sweet for a week, making plans, giving you more of his time. But soon enough, it would all return to the same old rhythm—studio, tour, press. It was the life he chose, and though he never once tried to hide that, you couldn’t help but feel like you were never truly the center of it.

2020

When the pandemic hit, everything changed. Suddenly, there were no tours, no press junkets, no studio sessions. For the first time in a long time, Harry was home. The schedule that had kept him running non-stop, chasing deadlines, planes, and more deadlines, had evaporated.The world had come to a halt, and in a way, you finally got Harry back. The quiet moments you’d been craving—the long talks into the night, lazy weekends with no interruptions—suddenly became your reality.

The feeling of him being with you, without distractions, without the weight of his career hanging over him, was nothing short of blissful.

You had time to talk. Really talk. No more rushed dinners or quick check-ins between rehearsals. It was late-night conversations that stretched for hours, discovering new things about each other, about your dreams, your fears, your goals. It was time spent on the couch, watching movies in silence, content simply to exist in the same space. And it was as though all the doubts you had about your relationship, the moments when you felt like his career had overshadowed everything, simply melted away. You knew Harry had always meant well, but the pandemic gave him the chance to prove it.

You began to talk about the future in ways you never had before. You talked about the future you wanted to build together getting married one day, he’d asked you about your thoughts on having children, Harry even began to mention settling down somewhere quieter, somewhere he could escape the media frenzy that came with his fame, truthful the idea of a quiet life outside of the constant spotlight was all you craved for. It felt like everything was falling into place. Harry was there. He was there, in ways he hadn't in a long time. The love you had for him, and the love you saw in his eyes, was real. It was during this time that you began to imagine a life with him, where music and fame didn’t take priority over the simple moments you two could share. It felt like a dream. You’d always known Harry had the ability to be incredibly thoughtful and loving, but seeing it in action, hearing him talk about wanting a family with you, made everything feel possible. For those few months, there was a sense of peace, an understanding between the two of you that no matter what the future held, you'd be able to face it together.

2021

But as the world slowly reopened, so did Harry’s desire to get back to his music, you saw the familiar gleam in his eye. He wasn’t the same man he had been during the pandemic. He still loved you, you could see it in his eyes, but his work, his love for his music, the very thing that brought him so much joy and fulfilment was calling for him again . The tours started up once more, and the press interviews were back in full force. The late-night studio sessions, the time away, the missed dinners—they all came flooding back. You watched the man you had fallen for slip back into the rhythm that had once made you feel like a distant memory . The promises made during the quarantine seemed like distant echoes. Harry tried to reassure you that things were different this time, that he’d be better, that you were still his priority. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all too familiar. 

The Final Straws

By the end of 2021, Live on Tour was in full swing, and Harry had promised you that once the tour wrapped in 2022, things would finally slow down. You both dreamed of 2023 being a year where you could truly reconnect, free from the endless cycle of travel and late-night texts. The idea of Harry being home more often, of finally having the time you’d both been craving, filled you with hope. You envisioned quiet dinners, lazy weekends, and slow mornings without the distraction of tour schedules or constant rehearsals. It was a vision of life outside the chaos—a dream of what could be when his career didn’t come first.

But when Harry announced Harry’s House in early 2022, he also revealed that he would be extending Love on Tour into 2023. Your heart sank. You tried to keep a brave face as he explained the plans, but inside, a knot of dread started to form. It wasn’t the music you minded. You had always supported his career, always admired his passion and dedication. But the truth had never been clearer: no matter how much Harry loved you, no matter how many promises he made, his career would always come first. What you’d thought would be the end of the grueling schedule was now just another chapter in an endless cycle. You came to understand that no matter how much he wanted things to be different, his career would always come first

The realization broke something in you. No matter how much you loved Harry, you couldn’t keep putting yourself last. And as you sat alone on another canceled date night, the doubts that had once crept in now felt impossible to ignore.

And that realization stung in a way you hadn’t expected. Every time he promised things would be different, every time he said, "This time will be different," you’d hoped for a change. But deep down, you knew the pattern. Harry had always been honest about his love for his career, but you’d started to see it for what it was—a love that overshadowed everything else in his life. Even you.

The dream of a quiet life together, of weekends away, of holidays without work looming on the horizon, felt like it was slipping further and further away. And no matter how much you loved him, no matter how much you wished for a life beyond the headlines and the tours, you couldn’t ignore the reality anymore. Harry’s world would always come first, and you had to face that truth, even if it meant letting go of the hope you’d been holding on to for so long.

—The End—

a/n’s: Sorry for the loooong wait! Kind of got unmotivated but this is a timeline of the begging of their love story, I will be wring shorter blurbs of them during this era, but of now that all!

-Lots of love, Em.

[brunettecosette]

Dear body

I am very and truly sorry for hating you for so long

For taunting you with ugly names

For never drinking water

For hurting you with poison and knives

For the violators I couldn’t fight off

I am especially sorry for starving you

And not just once or twice

But for almost half my life

You silently witnessed as

I tested my endurance of pain and deprivation

The pain of your healing reminded me constantly what forgiveness feels like

But then when I did decide to leave you behind in this life

I almost did it too

But you are strong

When I am weak

Secretly I really, really like to sleep

So I never used to do it if I could help it

Sleeping is like death without the commitment

And You know how scared I am of that

But then I remember that

Every single time I fall asleep

You are my good morning

For my whole entire life

I have woken up with you

A patient fulfillment of my obsession

With proof

And I am sorry as even now I dig my nails too deep

I am sorry for not realizing sooner

You are the only home that’s mine to keep

S.M.C.W. 2017

[requiemforthepoets]

first encounter ⟢ CL16

⟢ part two of you’re the closest to heaven that i’ll ever be

𖤓 series masterlist ⟢ playlist ⟢ part three ☽

PAIRINGS: charles leclerc x celestial!reader

SUMMARY: all thanks to leo, charles finally got the chance to meet you—the celestial being who has consumed his every waking thoughts, and managed to find out new things.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: bible angel names references, some people may find this fic offensive, concept of divine beings and heaven & life and death, no use of y/n, angels and devils, mentions of papa leclerc (beginning is set in 2017) and jules bianchi, fluff, falling (literally & figuratively) in love, named side characters, angst but with a happy ending, purely written fic, a little bit of world building (concepts), mentions of death, bad/evil people, cursing, not proofread, and typos.

WORD COUNT: 5k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this fic may not be some people’s cup of tea, if you don’t like it, don’t read it. sorry it took me a LONG time to post the part 2 of this series, i already have this on my drafts but never got the time to check on it bc i’ve been working on my other series (fa14 series), but finally, here it is! the part 3 may take a long time to be posted again 🥲 but you don’t have to worry bc i intend on finishing this series. taglist is open for this series, so just comment or message me if you want to be tagged. your comment/reblog is highly appreciated, and i hope you’ll enjoy this second part of the series!

It was a warm late afternoon in Monaco, and Charles had finally pulled himself out of his apartment, hoping that some fresh air and Leo’s cheerful company might turn off the constant thoughts running through his mind. Since that night in Singapore, you had been all Charles could think about—the image of you standing before him, looking at him as though you knew the secrets he hadn’t even dared to ask himself. Charles had barely gotten a word in before you disappeared, leaving him with nothing but more questions.

The park was mostly empty, allowing him and Leo to stroll without the usual flood of cameras or people hoping to get a quick word with him. Charles enjoyed these rare quiet moments, watching Leo run through the grass, capturing photos of him mid-leap, his ears flapping, and his tail wagging in pure delight. For a while, it was peaceful—that is until Leo began barking persistently, his gaze fixed on something in the distance.

“Leo, calme-toi.” Charles called, trying to soothe his normally docile dachshund.

Leo rarely barked at nothing, and Charles couldn’t see what had him all stirred up. As he looked past Leo, his heart skipped. There you were, standing at the edge of the park, just as he had remembered you, dressed in black, untouched by the brightness of the world around you, as if you had stepped from a different realm entirely. Slowly, Charles walked over, kneeling beside Leo, who was still barking.

“Can you see her too, buddy?” Charles asked softly, but Leo only turned his head back towards you.

His barks began shifting into a delighted whine, tail wagging as though greeting an old friend. To Charles’ amazement, Leo took off towards you, bounding across the grass with uncharacteristic excitement. You bent down on one knee as Leo reached you, his small body pressing happily against your touch. Charles just stood there and watched, captivated by the whole sight, how your hand moved over Leo’s fur, and how the dog responded, oblivious to the fact that what he felt was something beyond the ordinary. You then looked up at Charles and smiled, a gentle, knowing expression on your face.

“Hello, little one,” you murmured to Leo, reaching out to stroke him. Your gaze followed Leo’s figure as he trotted back toward Charles. “He’s a beautiful soul. It’s clear how well you take good care of him, he is very happy with this life.”

Charles swallowed, taken aback by the warmth of your words. He felt a huge wave of relief washing over him, and somehow, you were not a figment of his imagination. You were in front of him, speaking to him, your voice soft but firm, grounding him in the reality of your presence.

Noticing a bench nearby, you gestured, “shall we sit?” Charles nodded.

He followed you as you walked, though he kept glancing around as if worried that someone might catch him talking to thin air. The two of you sat side by side, your gaze focused on Leo as he scampered around, while Charles couldn’t seem to look anywhere but at you. The silence between you felt almost sacred, deafening, thick with all the unspoken questions he longed to ask.

“I know you have many questions,” finally, you broke the silence. Your voice was gentle. “Especially as to why you can see me, when others could not.”

Charles let out a shaky breath, nodding. “I—I don’t understand. I’ve seen you before, but you keep on disappearing, and no one else…they never see you.” his voice was a soft murmur, filled with confusion and wonder.

“Our kind, like myself, we’re not meant to be seen by human eyes. We’re here to watch and guide, but only from afar. Most humans only sense us as a passing feeling, a presence.” you softly said, as you studied him with a faint smile. “But in your case, you see me. Truly see me.”

“Why, though? Why am I able to see you?” Charles’ brows furrowed, his gaze intent on yours.

You turned to look at Leo, who was now sitting a short distance away, watching the two of you with a curious tilt of his head, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Leo.

“It’s rare, Charles. But sometimes, there is a connection between our kind to your kind that goes beyond the veil. I’ve thought about it myself, and though I don’t have all the answers, it’s clear that there’s a reason you and I keep crossing paths.”

Charles’ heart raced. The way you spoke, as though fate had woven an invisible thread between you had left him reeling. He glanced around the park, reminded of how strange this conversation must look to anyone passing by, but he did not care at all. The need to understand, to know you, outweighed any risk of prying eyes.

“Maybe…maybe we should go somewhere less public?” Charles suggested, his voice low.

He did not want this moment to end, he couldn’t let you disappear on him again before he had the chance to understand this kind of connection. You looked at him for a long contemplative moment, then nodded.

“All right, lead the way.”

Charles led you quietly through the streets of Monaco and up to his apartment. He hadn’t said much on the way, clearly lost in thought, yet there was an unspoken understanding between the two of you. When you entered his apartment, you immediately noticed how it held an essence of him. Warm, understated, and filled with memories. The walls were decorated with framed photographs spanning his life from childhood karting days to podium celebrations in F1. Trophies were all lined up on the shelf, and each piece seemed to carry a story of its own.

You were drawn to the photos, especially those capturing his relationships, the warm smiles he shared with his family, playful moments with his friends, and candid shots of him and his brothers. Then your gaze settled on one particular photograph, and a bittersweet feeling bloomed within you. It was a younger version of Charles, perhaps in his teens, standing alongside a man whose face you recognize. Jules Bianchi.

Charles noticed the direction of your attention as he finished filling up Leo’s dog bowl, and he stepped over to join you, his expression softening as he saw the photograph. Jules had been so much more than just a mentor to him. The man in that photo had shaped parts of his soul and his dreams. You could feel the weight of Charles’ emotions lingering in the air, a tender ache mixed with recognition.

“You knew him?” Charles’ voice was quiet as he stood beside you.

You nodded softly, your own voice taking on a gentle tone. “I was there in his final moments. I was the one who guided him when he was ready to go, helping him crossover.”

Charles’ face was a mix of expression, caught between surprise and disbelief. For a second, he seemed unable to respond, the information settling slowly. You watched him intently as he took a deep breath, grounding himself.

“You…you spoke to him?” he managed, his voice strained with a mix of sorrow and longing.

“Yes,” you said, your voice steady but tender. “I spoke with his soul as he lingered between here and the afterlife. It was…peaceful. He was calm when I arrived, almost as if he knew he was not going to stay.”

You paused, “I then asked him about his life, what his favorite thing about life was.”

”He told me that his family meant everything to him. He then mentioned being a godfather, and his dreams for his protégé, a young man named Charles.” you added.

“He said that?” he whispered, breath hitched as he instinctively reached up to touch the frame, his fingers resting just over the image of Jules’ face.

“He spoke of you with such pride, with hope that you would go on to achieve everything he had dreamed for you. Jules saw himself in you, Charles. His last thoughts were with his family and you.” you looked at him softly. A quiet rage simmered in Charles’ eyes as he turned to look at you, his voice tinged with frustration.

“But why? Why couldn’t you let his family speak to him, too? They waited for so long, hoping he’d wake up, to say goodbye properly.” the raw pain and anger in his voice were unmistakable.

Charles had not meant to question your intentions, but the loss of Jules had carved a wound that had never fully healed, and in his grief, he momentarily forgot you were not human. You looked at him with a soft, understanding smile, letting the weight of his sorrow wash over you. You had witnessed this kind of reaction before, how those who are grief-stricken often felt deprived of closure.

“I understand, Charles. If I could have done differently, I would have,” you replied, your voice gentle but firm. “But it wasn’t his body I spoke to, it was his soul. Jules was already watching from the other side, beyond the reach of the physical world. In those moments, he wasn’t in his body anymore, he was seeing all of you from a place where time no longer held sway.”

Charles looked down, processing your words, the anger fading slowly as he tried to keep his emotions steady. He tried to reconcile his emotions with the reality of what you had just shared. He ran a hand through his hair, gaze fixed on the floor as he took in a shaky breath.

“So he…he was watching us all along?” he whispered.

“Yes,” you assured him. “He was with you. Every tear, every moment spent beside his hospital bed, he saw it all, even if he himself couldn’t respond in a way you wished for it to be.”

“Souls don’t always leave the way we want them to. They transition gently, often lingering just to be close to the people they love.” you added. Charles’ shoulder slumped slightly, and he let out a shaky sigh, nodding as if finally accepting what had once seemed unimaginable.

“It…it makes sense,” he murmured. “Jules was always calm, even in the most difficult moments. Maybe he knew it would be easier this way.”

There was a peaceful silence that settled between the both of you, the only sound being Leo’s soft footsteps as he padded over to sit by Charles’ feet. Charles looked at you again, the sorrow in his eyes tinted by a glimmer of gratitude.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, a sincerity in his words that touched you deeply. “For…for being there with him, and for telling me.”

You gave him a reassuring nod, feeling the depth of his appreciation. “He is proud of you, Charles. More than you know. You are honoring his legacy every time you step onto the track.”

Charles closed his eyes briefly, absorbing your words, a new sense of peace settling over him. He knew that the ache would remain, but perhaps now, with you there to share this part of Jules’ journey, it would be a little easier to carry.

Eventually, you found yourself seated on the barstool, observing how Charles moved around the kitchen, gathering ingredients as he prepared a dish called pasta, and noting the way he moved with a quiet confidence. He seemed at ease, but you could tell by the occasional glance he cast your way that he was still processing everything. The strange connection he had with you, a Celestial he could see but others could not. As he stirred the sauce on the stove, he broke the silence, glancing over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow.

“So…what exactly are you?” Charles asked, attempting to sound casual, though his curiosity was clear. “Are you like an angel of death or something?” his brows furrowed slightly as he added.

“No, Charles. I’m not here to take you away,” you assured him, tone gentle, and couldn’t help but smile at his suspicion. “Think of me as a guide and a protector. My duty is to help souls cross the afterlife, to make sure that they are not alone and lonely when they cross the other side.”

“So, you’re…you’re not here for me?” he asked, his voice tentative. You could see the worry in his eyes, as if he had been half afraid that he might be speaking with the very spirit that would one day guide him out of this life.

“Not at all,” you replied. “I’m here because, somehow, we have this connection. I was there in the hospital room, with your father, when you saw me for the first time. It was a natural part of my duty, I was waiting to guide him. Just as I was there for Jules.”

“So you only appear when…someone’s close to death?” Charles’ gaze dropped to the countertop, and he nodded slowly, as if piercing it all together.

“Typically, yes,” you replied. “Humans are not meant to see me. They may sense it, a presence, calmness, or even a cool warmth when I’m near, but that’s usually all. So, I could not quite understand why you could see me. It isn’t common.”

“But I can see you.” he said, almost to himself, as if still trying to grasp this phenomenon.

“Exactly.” you looked at him thoughtfully. “Over time, as I have watched over you, you’ve somehow become aware of me. It’s as if the bond between us allowed you to see me when others can’t.”

You let the words hang, hoping it answered the mystery that had puzzled him for so long. Charles turned back to the stove, his movements slower, as if he were allowing himself time to absorb what you had just said. After a moment, he turned to look at you again.

“Back in Singapore…I kept thinking of you, wondering if you were real or just in my head.” he hesitated, then continued. “And you appeared, it was like you sensed me or something.”

“That’s precisely what happened,” a gentle smile crossed your face as you saw the gears turning inside his head. “I could feel your thoughts, your longing to see me, and so I came to you. Your thoughts, they called to me.”

“But why do you always disappear?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and exasperation. “Every time I think I already have you here, you’re gone the second I look away.”

“It’s not by choice, Charles.” you met his gaze, understanding his frustration. “My presence here beside you is not permanent. I have duties beyond just watching over you, it is my duty to guide other people as well. My duty is to help those souls cross peacefully into the afterlife, which means I’m often called away. That’s why I can’t always be here, even if you want me to be.”

“I understand,” he said softly as he looked down, absorbing your words. “It’s…strange, but it does make sense.”

A comfortable silence fell between you and Charles as he took out a plate and transferred the pasta dish on it. You could still feel the wheels turning in his mind as he processed everything. After a moment, you spoke again.

“If you want me to be with you, well, there is a way.” you said.

He looked up at you, now intrigued. “A way?”

You nodded. “Yes. If you light a match or a lighter and call for me, then blow it out, I’ll hear it, and I’ll come to you.”

“Why a match?” Charles’ brows furrowed as he considered it.

“Fire.” you explained. “It is a symbol of transition. It’s an ancient element that is used to connect realms, to call forth spirits, and to bridge the distance between worlds. When you light a match or a lighter, you are creating a momentary flame that connects you to my realm, and when you blow the fire out, it becomes a message—a summons. I’ll hear it, wherever I am.”

“So, I just…call out to you, light a flame, and you’ll come?” Charles’ lips curved into a small smile.

“Yes.” you returned his smile, feeling the warmth in his gaze. “As long as you need me, Charles. Wherever you are, I’ll always find a way to be there.”

Charles looked at you with a mix of gratitude and something deeper, a newfound comfort that seemed to settle over him. In that quiet moment, Charles reached for his fork, but his gaze lingered on you, a newfound clarity softening his features.

“Thank you.” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

He then placed a plate of pasta right in front of you, and you tilted your head, looking at the dish with sheer curiosity and slight confusion. Charles noticed your expression, stopping mid-motion as he raised his own fork.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gentle but genuinely concerned.

“I don’t…eat,” you explained softly, gaze flickering between him and the plate, offering him a small, apologetic smile. “Celestials don’t have the need for food, so I don’t know what it’s like to taste something, let alone pasta.” you could see a flicker of surprise and something that almost looked like offense pass over his face.

“What? You’ve never tasted pasta?” he asked, shocked, as he looked down at his beloved dish, looking genuinely horrified. “Pasta is…it’s comforting, it’s warmth and tradition. It’s something everyone has to try.”

“Okay, imagine this—it’s soft and a little chewy, warm and…kind of like a hug, but for your mouth.” he added, grinning at you with his eyes lighting up. “And with this tomato sauce, its got this balance of sweet and tangy, a bit salty too, it just…makes everything feel better.” his expression softened.

You watched Charles as he spoke, entranced and touched by his earnest attempt to describe something so familiar to him yet so foreign to you. Spending this time with him, watching his animated expression, hearing his heartfelt explanations, you begin to understand why his father and Jules had spoken of him so warmly in their final moments. Charles was not only passionate, but genuinely kind and unpretentiously funny. There was a gentleness to him that touched your heart, even if it couldn’t beat the way a human’s did.

Hours slipped by so fast, and you both found yourselves seated on his living room couch, talking quietly, the evening light fading around you. Charles asked questions after questions, fascinated by your world and by what you do. You answered each one as best as you could, and with each answer, his awe seemed to deepen. You shared stories of guiding other souls, moments of peace and love you had witnessed. He listened, hanging onto each word, and you could see a newfound calmness in his eyes.

While you were in the middle of telling him a story about guiding an elderly woman who had waited until all her children were by her side before letting go, you heard a soft sound. Glancing to your right, you found Charles with his head tipped back against the couch cushion, his breathing steady and calm. He had drifted off, exhaustion settling over him like a soft blanket. For a moment, you just watched him, studying his peaceful face. Charles’ long lashes rested against his cheeks, and a gentle warmth seemed to radiate from him, a stark contrast to the chill you carried with you.

A quiet yearning tugged at you as you lifted a hand, your fingers hovering near his face. You wanted, just once, to feel the warmth of human skin, to know what it was like to truly touch, but you know better. If you let your fingers graze him, he would only feel a cold wisp of air, a reminder that you didn’t belong to this world in the same way as Charles did. So, reluctantly, you lowered your hand and simply looked at him, memorizing the moment.

You had spent nearly the entire day with Charles, and though part of you longed to stay, you knew it was time to leave. Quietly, you stood up from the couch and made your way to where Leo was resting nearby. You knelt down beside the little dachshund, who lifted his head to watch you with those soulful eyes, tail giving a soft wag, and you reached out, your fingers ghosting over his fur.

“Leo, I know that your past life was not kind to you and had been cut short, but you’re safe now. In this life, you’re well taken care of and so loved.” you spoke softly, as Leo seemed to tilt his head, like he understood every word you say. “Charles is a good man, he will love and take care of you, always.”

As you straightened up, Leo continued to watch you, his eyes filled with a sense of understanding. You turned to take one last look at Charles, still asleep on the couch, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. A soft smile crept over your face as you watched him, there was a wave of warmth washing over you, even without a heartbeat to drive it.

With a final, quiet glance at Leo, who looked back at you with trusting eyes, you let yourself disappear, and slipped back into the unseen world that had always separated you from the people you guided. Yet, for a short moment, you knew you had left a part of yourself with Charles and Leo in that Monaco apartment.

Charles woke up with a dull ache running through his neck, reminding him of the night he had spent sleeping on the couch. He rubbed the sore spot, groaning slightly as he tried to stretch out the stiffness. For a moment, he just sat there, gathering his thoughts, until the memories of last night’s memory surfaced. The conversation, quiet moments, and then the emptiness when he realized you had left. He sat back on the couch, staring at the ceiling as a sense of longing settled over him, a quiet ache that wasn’t so easily stretched away.

A small bark drew his attention to Leo, who was sitting nearby, watching him with an endearing tilt of his head, and noticing Charles’ contemplative state. He smiled and reached out, calling Leo over.

“What do you think, Leo? It was one strange night, huh?” Leo padded over gently, wagging his tail as Charles scooped him up, holding him close.

For a few minutes, Charles simply enjoyed and basked in the warmth of Leo in his arms, the familiar comfort that Leo offered in the midst of all the strange, unexplainable things that he was feeling. Last night had been a fever dream for him, but he knew that it was real, that it happened.

“Do you think it’s strange? Wanting to see her again?” he added. Leo just responded with a quiet, comforting look and nestled close to Charles.

After a while, curiosity began to gnaw at him. Charles could not shake the desire to know more about you, as to why he felt this pull, this connection that seemed impossible and yet so real. He padded into his bedroom, grabbed his laptop and settled in, typing Celestial Angels into the search bar. Countless articles, myths, and even fiction flooded his screen. Charles sifted through several pages, skipping over anything that seemed overly romanticized or far-fetched, until one article caught his eye.

The article spoke of Celestial Angels who formed deep bonds with their humans, describing how they acted as protectors, watchers, and guides. It mentioned the rare connection that could occur, a phenomenon where an angel might become so deeply intertwined with a human soul that they developed a sense of longing or even love, something that was both a blessing and a curse for the Celestial. As he read further, Charles could not help but wonder if this was what he had experienced, if this was the reason he kept seeing you, why he felt such a pull toward you.

Charles then stumbled upon a book: The Celestials by an author named Celestine Williams. The cover featured a faint, ethereal image of a figure wrapped in light, the silhouette barely discernible, much like he imagined you, and the description noted that it explored the stories and folklore surrounding Celestials and their interactions with humans, a deep dive book. The reviews were glowing, a few feedbacks talking about how the book shed light on the mysteries of these beings and the unique connections they could form. Without a second thought, Charles clicked buy, hoping the book would give him a glimpse into your world, something that might help him understand you much better.

Charles then returned his attention back to the article. But his focus kept drifting, thoughts of you had surfaced in his mind unbidden, wondering where you were right now, what you might be doing, if you were watching over someone else or wandering through some hidden place unknown to humans. The pull to see you, to call you, was growing stronger by the second, becoming a quiet ache that settled deep in his chest.

He set the laptop aside, exhaling as he mulled over the idea. Charles remembered what you had told him when he needed you—that he could call you by lighting a match or a lighter, a summon that would draw you to him. He doesn't know if it would even work, or if you would even come, but the need to see you was already overriding any doubts that he has. So he then grabbed a small lighter that he kept somewhere hidden in his kitchen and went to his living room, sitting down on the couch with Leo curled up beside him.

Charles knew it was kind of absurd, like it was something straight out of a fairy tale of a late-night ghost story, but last night, you had told him that if he wanted to see you, all he had to do was light a flame and call out to you. A part of him, the rational side, wanted to shrug it off as nonsense. But then the other part of him had witnessed things that were impossible and felt that strange connection to you, urging him to at least give it a try.

“Am I really fucking doing this?” he murmured, looking down at Leo for approval. But Leo just looked at him, with a face that said ‘what’s the harm in trying?’ “Ah, fuck it.”

Finally, with a deep breath, he flicked the lighter on, watching the tiny flame flame dance as he whispered out to you, a barely audible plea for you to return. The flame flickered as he called out to you, then he blew it out gently, his eyes lingering on the wisp of smoke that rose and faded. His heart was pounding, unsure if should expect an immediate response or if he had simply made a wish to the empty air.

A hush settled over the quiet living room, and for a moment, nothing really happened. Charles felt a pang of disappointment, even a touch of embarrassment at how eager he was and had hoped. He let out a disheartening chuckle, letting out a quiet sight right after, and lowering the lighter, thinking that maybe he had been mistaken or that the depth of the bond he felt was just his pure imagination.

Just as he stood up, about to return the lighter back into the kitchen, Charles felt a shift in the air, a delicate, almost undetectable shimmer, like a faint breeze brushing across his skin. He looked up, and there you were, standing in the soft morning light, an almost imperceptible glow framing your presence. The world seemed to pause, the weight of the day fading away as he took in the sight of you. You stood there, a soft, otherworldly light around you, the faintest hint of warmth in your eyes as you looked at him. Charles felt his breath hitching, he had not realized how much he missed seeing you until now. He began feeling a strange mix of relief and happiness.

“You called for me?” you asked softly, your voice like a distant melody.

Charles nodded, suddenly feeling a little bit embarrassed, but unable to look away at you. “I…I did, I hope it’s okay. I just…” he paused, fumbling over his words. “I wanted to see if it works, and to see you again. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“You’re allowed to call for me, Charles. That’s why I told you how you can reach for me.” you smiled gently, a warmth in your expression that seemed to reach him despite your distance.

“I’ve been reading about Celestial Angels, trying to understand.” he let out a soft chuckle, placing his hands inside of his pockets, feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I came across all these stories about angels who…form connections with their humans.” Charles looked down, collecting his thoughts.

“I guess I just wanted to understand what we have. Why do you keep on appearing, and why does it feel like I know you, even though I don’t really.” he added.

“The connection between an angel and their human isn’t something that happens every day. It’s rare, something beyond explanation.” your expression softened, and took a slow step forward, closing the gap between you. “We’re not supposed to form attachments, but sometimes, it’s as if the universe allows it, just for a moment.”

“So…it’s real, then? I’m not imagining it at all?” his gaze never leaving you, but filled with curiosity.

“No, Charles,” you shook your head. “You’re not imagining it. It’s real. You were always different, even from the first time I saw you.”

“I don’t know what this all means, but I want to understand.” he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, voice quiet, and a raw honesty was lacing his tone as he held your gaze.

“Sometimes, understanding isn’t possible, not in a way humans desire. Some things simply are.” you said quietly.

You then placed a hand near his, close enough that Charles could almost feel your presence, but not quite touching. The silence stretched, rich and weighty, filled with words left unsaid. Finally, he managed a faint smile.

“Thank you. For you know, for coming.” Charles said softly.

“For you, I always will.” you replied, smiling at him.

taglist : @charlesgirl16 , @chloes-book-corner , @wierdflowerpower

[maybe-im-dark]

Logan’s Hair: A Subtle Indicator of His Emotional State

Okay, hear me out—what if Logan’s “kitty ears” (those iconic tufts of hair that stick up) are more than just a quirky design choice? What if they’re a visual indicator of his mental and emotional state?

Think about it: when Logan is feeling confident, strong, and compassionate—when he’s embracing both his humanity and his primal nature—those hair tufts are standing tall. They’re as much a part of his persona as the claws and the snarl. But when Logan is lost, depressed, or burdened by guilt, the kitty ears vanish. His hair falls flat, almost like his inner self is dimmed.

Let’s break it down:

The Wolverine (2013): Sure, he had long hair, but no kitty ears. Why? Because Logan was consumed by guilt over Jean’s death. He wasn’t the Wolverine here; he was a man in hiding, drowning in regret and self-loathing.

Logan (2017): Sick, hopeless, and carrying the weight of a world he no longer believed in. He didn’t care about his appearance, and his kitty ears were nowhere to be seen. He was a man waiting to die.

Deadpool & Wolverine: Logan starts off looking tired and broken again, but there’s a spark, since his kitty ears are there. By the time Logan finds himself again, with the help of Wade they are much more prominent and wild. Why? Because Wade reminds him of his strength—and of the joy in being himself.

The kitty ears are more than just a stylistic choice. They’re a symbol of Logan’s journey—of the balance between man and beast, of strength and vulnerability, of despair and hope.

[thirstkanaphan]

ATEEZ FIC RECS (Hidden Gems)

I think it’s easy to find good fic in this fandom no matter your preference, but I am here to provide recs for underrated, perhaps under-appreciated stories that really clicked with me. 

About Me: I have been in fandom and reading fic for YEARS. YEARS!! My tastes are wide-ranging and omnivorous, so I will try anything and everything before I develop certain preferences. I enjoy some ships more than others, but I love a rare pair and I especially love when an author has a non-traditional vision and commits. So you’ll certainly see the government ships, but maybe not always in the ways you’re anticipating. 

Canon-Compliant/Adjacent/Divergent

Here are fics that really capture the angst, thrill, struggles, and joys of finding your soulmate in a fellow idol.

In Mars, There’s Stars by jonnijoongi [Hongjoong/Seonghwa, 140k, Rated M]

Seonghwa thought that Hongjoong hated him. And well, he might as well hate him back. Except, he didn't hate Hongjoong. He could never hate Hongjoong. And maybe, just maybe, Hongjoong didn't hate him either.

This was one of the first fics I read when I got into the fandom, and it remains one of the best canon Matz fics we have. Just reminding us of our roots!

You're My Iron Man by jonnijoong [San/Wooyoung, 78k, Rated M]

Wooyoung was curious about San: the boy who was a shadow. Who liked to act like a duck. And was far too polite. But maybe was actually pretty cool? And cute?

The companion/prequel fic to In Mars, There's Stars, focusing on WooSan from 2017-2018. Delightful and sweet, featuring our boys being confused and falling in love.

Loyalty series by Yeonni [San/Wooyoung, 559k, Rated E]

Part 1: Follows Woo and San through 2018-2020 and their friendship developing into something else, but what? Part 2 Woosan is a top tier ship, unbeatable. After a difficult 2020, San confessed he's in love, and Woosan enters 2021 trying to figure out what they are now. Part 3 Woosan is a top tier ship, unbeatable. After San confesses, and Woo deals with some trauma over the first half of 2021, Woosan have struggled from friends to lovers and had 100 days of relationship drama.

This is, hands-down, the best WooSan story I’ve ever read. However, this story is not an easy read and the author will not spoon-feed you romance. Mind the tags. I've never been more stressed out about the success of a fictional relationship based on real people, but I've also never rooted harder for two crazy kids to make it work. Their happy ending is hard-earned, and by the end of this series I felt like I had completed a marathon.

I'll quote the author: "I [have] a special interest in human psychology and group dynamics, and that's my secret juice. I overthink a bit but not terribly, rather, I love to analyze behavior I see between other people, down to every flick of the wrist." If you want compelling drama, complicated and sometimes toxic relationship dynamics, unreliable narrators and unsympathetic characterizations, and for a story to rewire your brain, then please enjoy!

Sleep Paralysis by idrilka [Hongjoong/Seonghwa, 77k, Rated M]

After they split dorms, Hongjoong starts sleeping in Seonghwa's bed from time to time. Neither of them ever mentions it in the light of day.

There is no better Matz writer than idrilka. Their fics are grounded in realism and filled to the brim with the tension, angst, and restraint that comes with YEARS of pining over your best friend and fellow idol. Thankfully, there are multiple installments in this series, each one based on actual canon Matz events that seem almost lifted from the mind of a fujoshi.

camera obscura by idrilka [Hongjoong/Seonghwa, 29k, Rated M]

Given very little say in the matter, Hongjoong accompanies Seonghwa to Jinju for an impromptu vacation. The four days they spend there prove particularly illuminating.

Another banger from my favorite Matz writer, who puts us in Hongjoong's shoes as he pathetically yearns for Seonghwa in this sweat-drenched, hazy summer vacation of a fic.

Tell them I'm Yours series by Anonymous [Yunho/Mingi, 23k, E]

It's just sex, it doesn't really mean anything. And Yunho's straight anyway.

Hi, do you want to feel super depressed? The thing about canon!Yungi is that nothing is more compelling than their actual IRL story. By the same token, when I read canon!yungi fic, I often gravitate towards the more angsty end of the plausible scenarios for two people who obviously love each other but will probably never get it together (because of the Yunho of it all). Enjoy this heaping spoonful of bittersweet angst and know that there is a sequel and another installment on the way that promises more heartbreak.

Can I Keep You by jasperKjones [Hongjoong/Seonghwa, 62k, M]

They chat lightly for a little while more before Maddox gets around to his real reason for calling; he wants to see if Joong is still doing okay, and to be updated on what he terms the ‘Seonghwa Situation’. “I’ll be honest, dude, when you didn’t call me begging me to break you out of there by day three, I started thinking maybe you’d tossed yourself in the lake.” He pauses. “Or that maybe Hwa tossed you in and you just… sort of let him, like a lovelorn assclown.” “That’s a good album name,” Hongjoong replies dryly. “You should write that down.” “Avoidance,” Maddox notes, “and attitude. You’re down bad. You’re not fucking him again, are you?” Hongjoong winces guiltily. “No.” “But you’re gonna.” It’s not a question.

A great scenario where Hongjoong and Seonghwa start the story as somewhat bitter exes (but can you be an ex if you never had a relationship?) who rekindle their feelings during a KQ songwriting bootcamp in the woods.

Let me also recommend the Wooyoung/Mingi sequel

Genre Fic

While I appreciate and enjoy all the pirate/mafia/royalty AUs that populate this fandom, here are some stories that really felt inspired by genre fiction and feature excellent world-building and prose.

Place Your Heart On the Scales by Yeonni [Yunho/Mingi, 41k, M]

Something is stalking Yunho. Yunho and Mingi have a casual friends with benefits thing, going two years. Lately, Yunho has felt like something watches him from the shadows. Silly, right? But when Mingi discovers what is hunting Yunho, his efforts to protect him opens Pandora's box on the supernatural – and Yunho and Mingi's relationship.

A thrilling, suspenseful romance set in the urban fantasy genre. Yunho and Mingi find out their love transcends death, and it may be the one thing that will save both their lives. Part of a larger series that is followed by:

In Every Life by Yeonni [Jongho/Yeosang & Yunho/Mingi, 127k]

Yeosang is finishing up his police training when he runs into dropouts Yunho and Mingi, and their friend Jongho, a musician. Very soon Yeosang discovers that not only do werewolves exist, but they also in rare cases have soulmates, and he's apparently Jongho's. Together they're flung headfirst into the city's supernatural politics, while figuring out their relationship and the complicated balance between wolf and human. Yunho and Mingi's presence has stirred up the longstanding peace between werewolves and vampires, and the tension is set to blow.

"There's a million ways to live, but the only one I have any fucking interest in, is the one with you."

Fantastic world-building, complicated relationships, morally-gray characters, thrilling action set-pieces, and ROMANCE!! I bought into the soulmate bond as easily as Yeosang did in those first couple of chapters. And the YUNGI of it all!! As with their canon-compliant WooSan series, Yeonni has the powerful ability as a writer to make me shift between anger and defense of a character within one scene. Everyone fucks up, but they all have clear motivations and characterizations that make you understand WHY they do the things they do, even when you want to scream at them. I think about this fic constantly.

Complete, with a WooSan sequel in the works!

The Aurora Society for Paranormal Investigation by quickfixon (obarad) [Hongjoong/Seonghwa, San/Wooyoung, Yunho/Mingi, Jongho/Yeosang, 276k, Rated M]

Yunho is between writing gigs. His mother offers him a killer deal: move into the house she recently inherited and renovate it to sell. It'll bring in some money, if he can get the electricity to stop flickering. Or the heater to actually warm the place up. Or silence whatever is making that scratching noise in the walls. Meanwhile, a small group of men in town have gotten bored enough to begin a project, one they don’t want folks in town to know about. It’s a dead town, people say, one that will disappear in another generation, since everyone who’s anyone moves away the first chance they get. These leftover boys, though, the ones that stayed - they think the “dead town” name has more to it. They think there are ghosts. And they are determined to prove it. With a little luck, Yunho meets The Aurora Society for Paranormal Investigation. Before he knows it, his life gets tied in with all seven of theirs, and tied into the town itself. Will they ever catch proof? Who knows. But they’ll have each other to scream with along the way. Or:

The one where Ateez is a group of small town guys turned ghost hunters and have absolutely no clue what they have gotten themselves into.

This fic feels like a Stephen King novel. Small town, childhood friendships, hauntings and horror, second-chance romance, family trauma...everything you could ask for. I had to read parts of this fic with my hands over my eyes, it got so spooky.

vibrant, violent purple by lackadaisycalb [Yunho/Mingi, 20k, M]

Mingi stands frozen at the threshold of the bathroom, eyes unblinking as he watches the bright purple petals swirling in the toilet bowl, disappearing from sight like the secret it was meant to be. Yunho is looking at him with something like disdain in his teary eyes as he slowly reaches up to wipe at the corner of his mouth. "Knock next time," he says, voice thick and wavering and then goes to wash his hands in the sink. Mingi still doesn't move, just tracks the others movements with his eyes. Yunho washes out his mouth with water and splashes some on his face. Then he grabs the towel that's hanging just a few inches to the left of Mingi's arm and buries his face into it, leaning on the bathroom counter with his hip and groaning.

I love a good Hanahaki disease fic, it's such an underrated trope. This one gets extra praise because it's somewhat non-traditional: Yunho starts the fic suffering from the disease because he loves someone else and not Mingi, the guy he hooks up with occasionally.

ATEEZ in Christmasland (Krampus Night) by KaderinHall [Yunho/Mingi, Wooyoung/San/Yeosang, Hongjoong/Seonghwa, 154k, Rated M]

ATEEZ jet-set to Germany for what they believe will be an easy gig – shooting promotional content inside a brand-new amusement park, “Christmasland.” But after the sun sets, the once-cheerful park transforms into a place of nightmares. Their group was lured to Christmasland under false pretenses by a mysterious man who intends on using them as part of a pagan ritual, offering them up as sacrifices to the demon Krampus. Krampus, leading a motley crew of mythical monsters, embarks on his annual Wild Hunt with a singular mission – to capture the naughty members of ATEEZ and drag them down to hell. However, one lone member has managed to earn a place on Santa’s Nice List this year, making him the only one whom Krampus and the other creatures can't touch. As the last hope for his imperiled group, it's up to him to rescue them all before it's too late. Get ready for a rollercoaster ride of fear as ATEEZ fights to survive a terrifying Christmas tale like no other!

I am so glad I gave this fic a try. I can't believe it actually works. I love that this author committed to the the most bonkers premise and wrote something legitimately thrilling, engaging, and - yes -romantic. I have yet to try their Cabin in The Woods fic, but that's on my list.

And who's gonna be standing at the end? (No one knows) by gvvdlilboy [Yunho/Mingi, Hongjoong/Seongha, 211k, Rated M]

“Come to my gym.” Seonghwa blurted out, “Let me train you properly and show you what boxing is all about, you have the right spirit and the right mindset. This is a golden opportunity.” Mingi’s eyes widened, his mouth fell open and his eyebrows arched before the same confused, “Huh?” He let out when Seonghwa first approached him found its way out of his lips, “Excuse me, what?” He added and rushed to stuff his mouth with chips once again, “Am I already wrecked to the point of hearing things?” Seonghwa snorted, leaving the chips to the younger and leaning to snatch a Pepero from the small pack Hongjoong was holding, “Come to my gym and I’ll turn you into a pro boxer, I’ll give you all the fame and the money you deserve, you’ll climb the ranks.” He promised, Pepero between his lips, “And you know who stands above those ranks?” “The Captain.” Mingi whispered, eyes fixed on Hongjoong who was placidly listening to the conversation. Or: Mingi was an underground boxer until he wasn't anymore. All he needed was for retired boxer, Park Seonghwa, and current middleweight champion, Kim Hongjoong, to spot his abilities and offer him a golden opportunity.

This Boxer AU really rewards your time and attention. The prose may throw you off initially; it's written in a very mannerist style that (imo) elevated this story about rookie boxer Mingi finding his place in the world into something almost Shakespearian. As his journey unfolds, you get fantastic world-building for this boxer universe and really excellent backstories and characterization for the other members. I love Ming in this fic, who is naturally gifted but struggles with anxiety and doubt; I also love his slowly-developing relationship with Yunho and how their progress and setbacks mirror the more action-focused boxer plot. They have one of the more compelling dynamics I've seen in a Yungi-centric fic.

Is it Hot in Here?? 🔥🔥

Smut with plot, smut without plot, kinks, lemons, limes, etc...

HONDA BABY by sugamins [Yunho/Mingi, 121k]

Yunho has a thing for cars. Mingi has plenty of toys to play with.

HONDA BABYYYYY!!!! THE FIC OF ALL TIME!! This fic gets referenced every other day on atiny twt and for good reason. It will rewire your brain. I can't go into detail; you have to experience it for yourself.

Soda Pop Soda Pop by dryad [Yunho/Mingi, OT8, 14k, Rated E]

Mingi just thinks that when one of your boyfriends stares at you in a schoolboy outfit constantly, the very rational, logical conclusion is a uniform kink that requires you to shove yourself into a skirt and thigh highs. Wooyoung makes things better-worse, and Yunho would really like his princess to understand something called real Yearning.

Obsessed with Yunho being obsessed with Mingi in a uniform, which Mingi completely misunderstands to sexy and comedic effect. The smut is so good in this fic, but the ending packed a really sweet and tender wallop to my emotions. This is also my favorite kind of polyteez scenario, where they all love and screw each other but Yungi are in love and everyone is cool with that.

Demystification (San And Mingi Make A Polycule) by ImNotSorryImThirsty [San/Mingi, Yunho/Mingi, OT8, 8k, Rated E]

While rooming with San on tour, Mingi finds out that San and Wooyoung are in an open relationship. San is happy to share his experience with Mingi, and Mingi is an enthusiastic learner. And since San is in love with Wooyoung, he doesn't mind that Mingi's in love with someone else, too.

Another great polyteez fic that leads with the understanding that they're all kind of horny for each other but respect that some members are in love with each other. Part of a larger series, but this is my fave.

I know you ain’t a drug (but you get me so high) by milkocaine [Seonghwa/Hongjoong/Mingi/Yunho/San, 15k, Rated ]

“I can help you.” Hongjoong’s hands rest on top of his, but they don’t move otherwise. Seonghwa’s laugh is strained. “I’m—I’m okay. I still don’t know if this is a good idea.” Hongjoong chuckles, but there’s an edge to it that raises alarm bells in Seonghwa’s head, skin prickling with goosebumps. “That’s not the kind of help I’m offering.” “T-then…?” It takes Seonghwa a few seconds to realize that maybe he shouldn’t have asked for clarification. Hongjoong’s eyes darken, head tilting just a bit, hands constricting down on his own just a little bit harder. “I’m asking if you want us to help you get off, Seonghwa.”

Nothing to see here, just raunchy, canon-compliant polyteez smut but with an undercurrent of something genuine and loving in the way Hoongjoong pays attention to Seonghwa's needs and gives him exactly what he wants. I'm a sucker for dom!HJ and this fic delivers.

Pleats and Thank you by size8font [Yunho/Wooyoung, 22k]

It’s just practice, Yunho tells himself from where he’s sat white-knucking his seat at the top of the tiered seating of the university gymnasium. It’s just practice. Routine. It’s raining outside, they have a game soon, so they’re practising. Yunho’s sure Wooyoung’s also mentioned something about a competition in the not-too distant future too, so it really all makes sense, but Yunho’s brain is currently working at about five percent capacity. If that. It’s drawing snickers from next to him where Mingi is sitting, or, more accurately, folded in half because he has weak core muscles, or finds Yunho’s current predicament hilarious. That is, Yunho suffering from ‘sudden-onsent can’t close his fucking mouth because the new cheer uniforms came in and Wooyoung obviously chose violence insomuch as he’s wearing a skirt.’ AKA: The Wooyoung in a skirt fic that spiralled into 22k of Horny Yunwoo.

YunWoo is an underrated pairing and inspires some of the filthiest smut, so please enjoy.

Honey, Look Who's Talking! by Syster [Yunho/Mingi, 8k]

“We need to fuck,” Yunho says, eloquently, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth once he gets the last word out. Mingi just stares at him, his lips pursing, and Yunho continues before Mingi can say no, or worse, say yes. “Because of my dick,” he motions towards his crotch and, then, realizing what it sounds like, clarifies, “My talking dick. It’s, uh, a metaphor, or something.” “For us fucking?” Mingi says, brow furrowing. or: in a world full of magic, yunho wakes up one morning with a talking dick. he has to go on a quest to figure out how to make it stop before it ruins his career, or worse, his friendship with Mingi.

I LOVE crack treated seriously, and this story actually got me emotional over Yunho's talking dick. Just trust me.

(touch) starved by thanks_its_versace [San/Yeosang, 5k words]

Yeosang peels off his damp clothing and finds that at some point in the night his body has turned to gasoline. And the look in San’s eyes that meet his somewhere in the back of the changerooms, as he strips off his own clothing and Yeosang forces himself to look away, to not take anything that hasn’t first been offered - The look in San’s eyes is a housefire.

This writer gets what makes me so feral about SanSang. It's canon-compliant too, and knowing what we know now about Yeosang's struggles with receiving physical affection from the boys (San in particular) despite welcoming their advances...just enhances the flavor.

Omegaverse (with a twist)

I don't typically read omegaverse as I don't always enjoy how reductive the stories sometimes are about gender and sexuality; HOWEVER, I really do love non-traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics in fic. To be blunt, it feels more queer!

ricochet, misfired, but the bullet hit me anyway by pixiegold [Yunho/Mingi, 23k]

Yunho gets sent into rut early, and Mingi, unprepared and fighting with his unrequited feelings, helps him. It goes about as well as expected. A/B/O alpha x alpha AU

Pixiegold is my favorite Yungi author. They just nail the co-dependent, mutually obsessed, emotionally-stunted dynamic that draws me to this pairing IRL but also writes the filthiest, raunchiest smut for them (mind the tags). Has a sequel!

i never blamed you for loving me the way that you did by pixiegold [Yunho/Mingi, 26k]

Mingi wakes up disgustingly hungover. He squints at the body lying in the unfamiliar bed next to him, taking in the long limbs and sliver of naked back. OR: Mingi, a beta, tries to navigate having feelings for an alpha that was supposed to just be a one-night stand whilst battling his own insecurities.

Another fave by pixiegold, who has a real knack for writing sex scenes that add to the emotional storyline.

i'd walk into these flames if it's for you by pixiegold [Yunho/Mingi, OT8, 17k]

When Mingi finally presents as an alpha, he is twenty-one years old. Not only is his presentation over three years late, but it's also excruciatingly, horrifically painful. He sweats into the bedsheets, crying in pain and Yunho smells strongly like distress and worry, which only makes him sob harder. All he wants is to lie down and never get up again, hating every second of the horrible, itchy, hot feeling that his rut causes, hating what he’s presented as, hating being an alpha. OR: Using bitching as an allegory for transness. (It's fluffier than it sounds).

I LOVE the concept of this fic, which uses the established structures of the omegaverse to delivery a story about trans!Mingi and the lengths Yunho will go to help the man he loves.

a comprehensive guide to unrequited love by Vitexy [San/Yunho, 35k]

San can’t think of a more disappointing moment in his life than the moment he presented as a beta. Betas don't release pheromones. Betas can't imprint. Betas can't even properly mate. Basically life is stacked against San from day one until he meets an alpha who changes his mind.

Another great story that probes at the systemic restrictions and biases that emerge from the omegaverse. San and Yunho make for such a sweet couple!

flora in your lungs by honeyl [Yunho/Wooyoung, Hongjoong/Seonghwa, San/Mingi, Jongho/Yeosang, 101k]

“Move in with me,” Yeosang says carefully, and Wooyoung’s world screeches to a halt. “What?” Wooyoung feels his mouth mumble out. “Just until you can get a new apartment,” Yeosang hurries to say, but he’s kind and there's a note of desperation in his voice that makes Wooyoung’s head spin, “Move in with me and my pack,” it's insistent but not pushy, as if Yeosang is trying to gently coax a stray kitten into safety. or Wooyoung sees kindness' extended hand and takes a leap of faith

This is a fantastic found-family (pack) narrative that centers several interesting romantic, sexual, and platonic dynamics between different pairings. It was really rewarding to see Hongjoong and Wooyoung grow to trust their new pack and form deep attachments. Yunho makes me swoon!!

Hard to Categorize

Like Sun to the Darkest Days by Marauderette [Gen, 305k]

Seonghwa and Hongjoong are already proudly parenting their five foster/adoptive children when their social worker calls. They can't possibly take in another boy, can they? Or: the foster kid AU that stars Seonghwa and Hongjoong as super parents and Wooyoung as their newest ('temporary') arrival. Deals with some really heavy topics, please heed the tags. Romanticisation of fostercare

I really wasn't sure about this fic at first, but it turned out to be one of the highlights of my year. This is a deeply empathetic and beautifully-written story about a family. Hongjoong and Seonghwa's relationship and parenting is so full of love, trust, and care, which allows them to navigate some truly upsetting plot beats surrounding Wooyoung and the circumstances that led him to their home. The author does a terrific job making the other members recognizable and their dynamics feel familiar, even transposed into this new setting.

That's it for now! Happy Reading! Feel free to let me know your thoughts on any of the fics I recc'ed!

[mashkdemss]

Parallels between Byler and the canon couple from "Anne with an E"

Warning, there are a lot of spoilers here! And I apologize in advance if you find mistakes in the text, I'm still learning English O_o

Hi everyone!! Last month, I watched the series "Anne with an E" for the second time, and during my second viewing I decided to approach the romantic line of the main characters from a different angle. After many analyses of Byler, I learned to analyze relationships in cinema, and this case really surprised me on the good side! Let's talk with you about the parallels between Mike and Will with Ann and Gilbert, which help to make sure that Byler will soon become a canon :)

"Anne with an E" is a Canadian TV series, the first season of which was released in 2017 (8 months before the release of season 2 of Stranger Things). The main role in it was played by actress Amibeth McNulty, who also played the role of Vickie in season 4 of Stranger Things. And this is not the only important connection of this series with ST! At the end of the first season, Hopper was reading a book to Sara in the hospital, and that book was "Anne of Green Gables" (the Netflix series was based on this book)

Then in episode 3 of season 2, he reads the same book for Eleven.

The main romantic line in "Anne ..." develops between Anne and Gilbert over the course of 3 years (13-16) and it is narrated through such tropes as: from friends to lovers, slowburn, a love triangle, and a trope in which both characters think that their feelings for each other are unrequited, although in fact this is not the case. All of these relationship constructions are also applicable in the case of the Byler.

Direct parallels can be drawn between the characters:

Will = Anne

— Creative and sensitive teenagers from medium-income families who were bullied by their peers. They both talk a lot next to people they feel comfortable with, both have a self-built little castle in the forest where they retire during a difficult period and can feel safe without fear that someone will judge them (and later these castles were destroyed at both). There is a scene where Anne runs into her wooden house and cries there, very similar to Will's scene after a fight in the rain.

Ann and Will both told their mothers (in Anne's case, the foster mother) that they are "not going to fall in love" although the line of their romantic attachment to Gilbert and Mike is already developing according to the idea of the plot. Another interesting correspondence between these two characters is that they both helped people dear to them with their romantic relationships, while they themselves did not want it. Anne read the letters that her foster father's old friend had sent him, and without telling him about it, she decided to send her answers on his behalf because she thought they were deeply in love, and her father "just didn't know what to say". As a result, her father found out about it and talked to her about how he hadn't read his friend's letters because he didn't want a relationship with her, he just wasn't in love with her anymore and wasn't ready to change his life. Does it remind you of anything? Will also used Anne's "tactics", revealing his feelings to Mike on behalf of El, only he used a painting and not letters.

And one more take.... Anne's so-called mentor was aunt Josephine. They were in a good relationship and she gave her advice about her life and love. Josephine was also a lesbian. I want to say that this is also a possible parallel, because in the fifth season we are definitely waiting for the interaction of Will and Robin.

Mike = Gilbert

— curly black-haired guy from a more affluent family, who often acts as a leader and has some authority as a smart student. He liked Anne as soon as she joined their school and he tried to win her attention, but Anne knew that her friend liked him, so she carefully avoided Gilbert (although she also liked him). This gives us another coincidence: Anne, like Will, believes that she does not deserve love and avoids her feelings in order for other people to be happy. The main similarity between Mike and Gilbert is that they both stand at the center of a "love triangle."

Due to misunderstandings that have occurred between him and Ann, Gilbert begins to think that his love for her is not mutual and decides to marry Winifred (represents El in our case). Winifred is a girl from a rich family whom he met quite recently, and if Gilbert marries her, then her father will give him the opportunity to study at a prestigious medical college, which he has long dreamed of. Everyone around him approved of the idea of him and Winnie getting married, everyone expected it from Gilbert. Their wedding, unlike a relationship with a village red-haired orphan girl, could have brought him social approval, just as Mike and Eleven's relationship could have brought Mike social approval and entrenched his image of a "normal heterosexual".

But Gilbert doesn't love Winifred the way she loves him. Therefore, shortly before their wedding, he confesses to her that in fact his heart will always belong to Anne and that for this he is ready to give up his dream. And although their breakup was sad for Winnie, Gilbert explained the reasons to her as tactfully as possible, saying that she deserved someone much better than him. All of this also goes well with Willelmike.

To declare his love to Anne again, Gilbert writes her a letter and leaves it in her room while no one is at home. He writes that he and Winnie are not getting married, that he has always loved only Anne, and at the end he signs "Love, Gilbert." LOVE, GILBERT. Where have we heard this before? That's right, Mike's letters... If anything, I absolutely believe in the Lettergate theory, and that's also one of the reasons I'm confident in it.

Then there is confusion, Ann thinks Gilbert is mocking her feelings, and tears up the letter, and Gilbert goes to a less prestigious medical college. Now they are both sure that their feelings are not mutual, and even resigned to their failure, BUT! Anne meets Winnie, who tells her that she and Gilbert broke up and that he confessed his love for Anne to her.

Meanwhile, Gilbert meets Anne's best friend on the train, who loudly told Gilbert everything she thinks about him and "opened his eyes." She also mentions a love letter that Anne left some time ago, in the same way Gilbert left in her room later. Anne's letter was also unread, and the phrase "What letter, Diana, what letter?" appears. Don't you think it's very similar to a possible scene from s5 of ST with "What painting?"

In general, they ended up running to each other and touchingly reunited, after which there was a sensual kiss that the audience had been waiting for for so long. Unfortunately, the series ended there, but according to the canons of the book, they lived happily ever after, married and had many children, as befits such old love stories.

The main plot is not about Anne's love story, but about her growing up, other problems and events in their village (as in the case of Stranger things), so this line between the characters unfolds slowly and throughout the series, and Anne with Gilbert open up about their feelings and kiss only in the last minutes of the last episode.

It seems to me that there are too many coincidences to be coincidences. All of this inevitably leads to Byler endgame, if you look at everything from a cinematic point of view. Absolutely the same techniques were used: framing, phrases, lighting, musical accompaniment. When watching "Anne..." viewers have never denied the fact that there are feelings between Anne and Gilbert, although they were not revealed directly until last season. And all because Anne and Gilbert are a heterosexual couple, and such couples unfortunately turn out to be more pleasant and understandable to the average viewer. But they turned out to be a really good ship, and I'm even glad that the Duffer brothers were inspired by this setting.

So if the Shirbert is canon, then Byler will soon become canon!

[cityofmeliora]

Terzo + poor balance + falling ⚠️

this awesome fan art by @pomidaea reminded me i've been wanting to make a post about Terzo falling.

Terzo fell down while performing 3 times:

the first time Terzo fell down during a concert was while singing 'From The Pinnacle To The Pit' at Beach Goth festival in 2015. he tried to kick a giant beach ball and completely missed, which caused him to lose his balance and fall.

hilariously, he fell at the exact moment he sang the word "falling".

Beach Goth festival - Santa Ana, California, USA (October 24, 2015)

'Mummy Dust' is a notoriously dangerous song for Terzo. he fell off the stage while singing it twice.

the first time was in Denmark in 2016, and Terzo got seriously injured.

Herning, Denmark (June 21, 2016)

the second time was in England in 2017.

Leeds, England (March 28, 2017)

Terzo always toughs it out and continues the show. he even joked about falling during 'Mummy Dust' at the show the day after his second fall.

PAPA EMERITUS III: So we're gonna do a song now that is so heavy that even… not even I can fucking stand on my feet for this one. Glasgow, Scotland (March 29, 2017)

Terzo just seems to have really poor balance. one time he even lost his balance while sitting down 😂

Kansas City, Missouri, USA (September 30, 2016)

he doesn't fall every time though. nice save, Terzo 👍

Baton Rouge, Louisiana, USA (April 27, 2016) / gif via slavghoul

[joshfutturman]

'bound to please' 18+

oneshot - reader puts those leather cuffs that joosh owns to good use, showing him his place. (2.7k words) pairing - joosh futturman (future man 2017) & gn!reader tags - erm i got a bit filthy with this one oops, leather restraints, handjob, good boy mention, established relationship, dom!reader, sub!joosh, whimpering, tiny bit of choking, grinding, condescension, teasing, riding (reader rides joosh), creampie, mutual orgasm.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

he pulls at the restraints, the leather causing the skin around his wrists to sweat. oh, how joosh loves the fact that you have him wrapped around your finger. he is such a little bitch for you.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

your hands come up, checking the restraints are on tight, giving them a gentle tug, earning a soft grunt from him. something flashes in your eyes, excitement? joosh isn't sure, he can hardly focus with how hard his dick is throbbing, arching high and waiting for you.

when you first noticed the restraints in his bedroom, you wondered how many times he had lain there alone, begging pathetically in pleading whispers that no one would hear into his empty bedroom, begging for someone to tie him up and fuck him as he pumped his dick into his fist. when you offered, his eyes widened, glittering with arousal and eagerness.

"you're driving me fucking crazy here," he groans, brows furrowing as he gives you that signature pissed-off look. he couldn't scare you, in fact, you wonder if joosh has ever scared anyone in his life. those puppy dog eyes surely could never serve him any good in threatening situations, but they do look good rolled back and watering as he begs to cum.

"patience," you remind him, tutting as you settle down on his bare thighs, "always so impatient, aren't you?"

he grits his teeth, the way you speak to him ignites a fire in the pit of his stomach, it always does. he just needs to feel you, just a little bit - your tight hole wrapped around his cock, or, or. . . maybe your mouth. but he can't let you know he's that desperate yet.

you watch as his chest rises and falls in shuddering breaths, sweat already beading across his freckled skin. his heart is probably pounding by now, you think to yourself.

ignoring his twitching cock, you instead place your hands firmly on his stomach, your fingers splaying out across his fuzzy skin as you lean forward. "it almost feels too good having you at my mercy like this. . ." your eyes flick to the restraints and then back to him.

"this isn't a game," he whines, pulling at the restraints that are oh so cruelly depriving him of being able to touch you, to be able to grip your hips and plunge into you. his legs squirm slightly at the thought.

you smirk, "isn't it?" your hands snake up his chest, brushing past his piercing causing a gasp to escape him as your hands find their home around his neck.

it always amuses you, how such a rich and 'successful' man like joosh would always be reduced to a quivering mess below you any time you wanted. outside the bedroom, his rough persona (that no one believed anyway) was in such stark contrast to the whimpering mess he was in the sheets for you.

hands tightening around his neck, he shifts his hips up to try and achieve any sort of friction, but you quell this with a sharp buck of your hips against his thighs, pushing him down.

"can't i just-"

you grip his throat tighter, promptly shutting him up, "babe, shut the fuck up. it's my turn tonight."

his brows lower further and his dick aches at your words, precum coating his begging tip, "fucking hell, okay." joosh hisses, pretending like you scolding him doesn't turn him on.

"are you gonna be good so i can fuck you?" you ask, your hands moving back down to his chest, nails dragging lightly across his skin, "i want you to be good, joosh, can you do that?"

he swallows hard, head swimming, "yeah, sure, whatever, fine." he mutters in his usual gruff, fake voice, body betraying his uncaring tone as his dick twitches once more.

you roll your eyes, he was always this difficult, always this insistent on keeping up that stupid fucking persona of his. but it's fine. you'll make him act like the little bitch he is soon enough. he'll remember his place. he always does eventually.

shifting forward, your hips rest against his length and he moans, eyes growing distant. you can't help but grin, he could probably cum just like this.

"that's what you want, isn't it?" you whisper, rolling your hips against him slowly, "you want me to take care of you?"

moans are spilling from his lips, eyebrows curved as his lips quiver with every sound. can't even talk, he's so cute. your eyes trail up to watch his hands clench into fists against the restraints instinctively.

"aw what's wrong, you wanna touch me?" you tease with a smirk.

he nods quickly, panting softly, fingers twitching.

"too bad," tilting your head, you bite your lip, "i think i like you better like this, craving me, taking what i give you, yeah?"

a whine slips from his lips, arching up his hips to meet your slow grinding against him.

"you'll take what i give you?" you ask, almost condescendingly. it's less of a question, more of a statement.

"anything. . ." he whimpers.

and you chuckle, pressing your splayed palms against his stomach as you grind, feeling that delicious friction driving him closer to breaking point. you slide a hand down, pressing his length against you a little more firmly before taking him in your hand. slowly, so slowly, you begin to pump him as you grind against his dick.

his mind is blank, cock throbbing in your hand as you shift against it, the combined feeling of your hand and your heat - it's too much, too much.

"oh, f-fuck. . . baby please. . ." joosh whines, swallowing hard in an attempt to stop more moans from escaping him. he wonders why he ever tries to resist you, ever tries to play dominant. "need it so bad. . ."

and it would be so easy, to make him cum just like this. but that's not what you want, and you know it's not what he wants from the way he's shifting his hips, eyes hazy as he focuses all his efforts into not cumming all over his own stomach.

you ask, "what do you want-"

"to fuck you." he replies, almost too quickly, before you even finish your sentence.

stilling your movements against him, you reply, "hmm, no. good try, but that's not the answer i want. try again."

shit, he knows what you want him to say. he inhales shakily, ". . .want you to fuck me."

"that's it. . . good boy," you push up and hover over him, watching as his eyes widen, a silent plead for you to sink down on him. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, like he's preparing mentally to not be a whimpering mess in about three seconds.

slowly, you ease down on him, and the sound he makes. . . oh fuck the sound. a high-pitched whimper as he feels your hot, tight hole envelope him so perfectly. his head falls back against his pillow, eyes fluttering closed as they roll back. joosh pulls at the restraints, the leather creaking under his effort.

your hips connect with his as he settles deep inside you and you sigh softly, feeling contently full. his size wasn't anything to write home about, but that didn't bother you, he felt just right.

"so tight. . ." he gasps out, aching at your stillness, silently pleading for you to move.

a smirk creeps onto your lips, clenching once, causing him to gasp sharply. he wouldn't last long like this, and to be fair, with his inexperience he never did last long anyway. you'd hear him on mic with his friends, bragging about all the people he's 'fucked' while touring with his esports group. dirty little liar. the only thing he's ever fucked is that pathetic sex doll of his, his own hand, and you - when you'd let him.

you lean down, peppering his jaw in soft kisses as you keep your hips still, making him wait for it. he's throbbing, mind desperate to think of anything but the fact that he's tied up at your mercy while deep inside of you.

making your way up along his jaw to the back of his ear, you whisper, "is it nice and tight and hot for you baby?"

he moans, a weak and pathetic one, tone curving upwards at the end. and he begins to moan again, but stops abruptly as you begin to bounce on his length without warning.

joosh is stunned into silence, feeling his cock ease in and out of you in a rhythmic fashion as he lays there and takes it. his hands go limp in the restraints, only able to focus on the overwhelming feeling of being buried inside of you.

you decide to tease him, easing out to only take his tip, bouncing there before slamming all the way down against his hips with a satisfying smack. his bed creaks at the pressure, and he squeaks too.

"oh that's it, isn't it?" you coo, panting softly as you inch up and then slam down again, "you want it hard, don't you?"

holy fuck, how did you know exactly what to say to send him reeling? he can't think, can't do anything but take it. over and over, your sweet rhythm driving him higher and higher, those lewd smacks filling the room with a growing intensity.

you can't lie, he feels fucking good, your eyes focusing on his face as it contorts in pleasure. he finally lets out a loud, rumbling groan that he's been holding back, signalling that he's given himself to you completely.

he wants to touch you, wants it so bad, wants to run his hands along your sweet body and grip and pull and grab and slam you down onto him, as if he could go impossibly deep if he tried hard enough. the restraints whine against the pressure he's putting on them, desperately pulling against them towards you. and you simply laugh, mouth open as you chase your own pleasure.

"gonna use you to get off. . ." you grunt with each bounce, "you gonna make me cum, pretty boy?" - you don't need to ask if he wants to cum, you know he does. plus, it's fun to pretend to not care about his pleasure, he needs put in his place.

"h-holy fuck!" he groans, hips bucking into yours to meet you mid-air. he's throbbing harder now, and you can feel it, feel the way he wants to explode inside of you. you're riding him so good, too good, your hands gripping at his plush hips to give yourself leverage as you take him, squeezing his flesh between your fingers.

"feels good, hm?" you pant, loosening your grip until your hands are snaking back behind you to his thighs, changing the angle. and that's it, that's the angle you need, the angle you both need.

he moans in sync with you in response to the angle and he watches through hooded lids as your head dips back. joosh thinks it a crime that you're splayed out on top of him, spread wide, and he's not allowed to touch you? what sort of bullshit is that? he pulls at the restraints more as if they'll magically give way this time.

"oh fuck, fuck, fuck. . ." you curse in a whisper, feeling his hardened length slip in and out easier and easier as you loosen up around him, feeling your climax approach.

joosh can feel it too, the way you begin to flutter around him, causing him to see stars. the bed creaks, his bed frame making contact with the wall at each bounce, causing his stupid fucking 'sin' sign to shake dangerously above the two of you.

"cum in me," you command breathlessly and suddenly, looking down at him, "wanna feel it nice and deep baby, can you do that?"

he whines and his hands ball into fists, thighs tensing.

"know you wanna touch me, but you can't. just cum, give it to me," you practically growl, "now."

you tilt your hips backwards slightly to get a better angle, and it's all over, happening in slow motion. the new angle causes your next combined thrust to send his cock deep, hitting that sweet spot inside you, immediately causing you to clamp down on him. each following thrust has him hitting it again and again, and he can tell he's hitting it from the way your tight hole is desperately trying to milk him dry, tightening around his sensitive cock.

you're cumming, fuck, you're cumming all over him before he can - but in a split second, he empties deep into you, feeling his white hot cum pour into your spasming hole. he can't take it, can't handle it, it's too intense, how could he possibly hold back when you're writhing like that, clenching like that and moaning like that? riding him to ecstasy like he was a toy for you to use.

and fuck, it's so good. he writhes in his restraints, the combined sounds of your moaning and wet slapping of skin on skin from both your releases pooling against your bodies echo in his bedroom, the intense almost brutal pace causing you both to scream out. your orgasm rips through you, sending ripples up your spine and across your stomach. his movements are faltering, unable to speak, hardly able to move as your hole throbs in a fading rhythm around him.

the thrusts begin to subside, slowing, small twitches, jerks and gasps shared between you as you come down from that euphoric high. your hips settle and still against his as you slump forward, catching yourself as your hands prop yourself up at either side of his head.

he's still panting too, eyes squeezed shut as his hands go limp on the leather restraints once more, spent. words escape him.

leaning in, you capture his lips in a sloppy, tired, messy kiss, tongue playing lazily against his as he groans, aftershocks causing him to jerk up against you slightly, dick tensing. you hum into the kiss, continuing like this for a few minutes until you're both breathing softly, calm.

you pull back, pulling at his bottom lip as you do. he groans at you, eyes fluttering open to find yours.

"see? wasn't so bad, was it?" you smirk, glancing at the restraints.

joosh rolls his eyes, but a faint smirk curls on his lips, "okay, it maybe sorta wasn't completely terrible to be the one tied up. but if you tell anyone. . ."

"yeah yeah, reputation ruined, kicked out of your league, banished forever, doomed to a life of solo fortnite games, blah blah blah. . ." you grin and mimic his eye roll.

"shut up," he lowers his eyebrows and practically growls, it's pathetic, but there's still that faint smirk on his lips. he bucks his hips against you in protest, but it only serves to make himself whimper.

you laugh, he's a fucking mess. "whatever, jfutz." you roll off him, raising up so he slips out, earning a soft sigh from you both, the sensitivity apparent. "i'm gonna go get cleaned up." your feet find the edge of the bed and you stand, stretching slightly.

"yeah, run, go." his eyes trail up and down your body, pausing at your ass. fuck, he wants to grab it.

looking over your shoulder, you grin and head towards his door, giving him a teasing wave as you disappear towards the bathroom, aiming to take a looooong shower.

once you're out of sight, joosh sighs and relaxes against his sheets, eyes closing. he can't wipe the satisfied smirk from his face.

that is, until he's suddenly aware of the leather still strapped tightly around his wrists. his eyes snap open, widening. you'd left him tied up deliberately. pathetically and in futility, he fights against the restraints. "babe!" he calls out, struggling with soft grunts, "you fucker- babe!" joosh calls louder.

you pretend not to hear him, but he hears the water start to run and grits his teeth knowing how you like your lengthy showers. and all he can do is lay there, fucked out, spent and frustrated in his own bedroom as he tries not to grow hard again, imagining you washing the remnants of his release from between your legs as you enjoy your time, smirking, knowing he's stuck waiting for you just a wall away.

. . .

shit.

he's hard again.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.