#this ended up way longer than I expected it to

[sleepycelestialprincess]

Urgg! I see this e v e r y w h e r e!

I work a lot with art and photographs, I'm an artist, I work as a picture framer, and I also have a lot of experience with the history of photography and photo scanning and retouching.

Something that I see a lot is the expectation that old photographs will look low quality because they are old and new photographs should look good. This is entirely opposite in most cases. There are all kinds of limitations that may cause the quality of a photograph from any age to look good or bad and I'll get into some of those later.

Early photography was typically a daguerreotype or tintype. These are both images that are made directly on the surface that you look at. Meaning that there was no intermediate negative or copy made. The image you see was left there by light that came from the subject, through a lens, and hit that surface. The clarity of that image is limited only by how well the photographer focused the lens. If well made, there is upwards of 4000dpi (dots per inch). If you have a 2"x3" image that is approximately equivalent to at least a 96MP (megapixels or million pixels) image. If its a 4"x5", it'd be 320MP. This far surpasses any of today's highest end digital cameras. There are obviously other factors to consider in the overall quality of an image but these photographs from the mid 1800s if in good condition, look great by today's standards.

I'm not going to go into all the photography formats and sizes from the last 175+ years but I'll mention a few. When your great grand parents had their 5 wedding photographs taken, it was probably with and 8x10 or 4x5 inch large format film. Film of that era was grainier than today but at those sizes, even with making a print, will hold great tonality and detail. I would estimate between 400MP – 200MP in resolution for 8x10 or 4x5 respectively.

When 35mm film was introduced in the 1910s, it was largely criticized as not having enough resolution to make an acceptable image. It didn't really take off until the 50s when film got more detailed, and finer grained. Great improvements were introduced over the decades bringing the resolution from about 10MP (very rough estimate) to today's finest films being equivalent to about 34MP with very smooth grain.

I really don't know what they were thinking pushing out digital cameras when they did. Photographs never looked worse! Even a cheep point and shoot camera with 24mm film (APS film was 2/3 the area of 35mm film) produced images far far better than any digital camera for many years. Many early digital cameras were between 1/3rd of a MP up to maybe 3MP. And they were way noisier than even early film was grainy. Even when digital cameras became acceptable in quality if you had the budget for a good one, they still had limitations below that of film. I feel like the crossover was no earlier than 2005. I could go into detail but this post is getting too long.

Then of course phone cameras entered common use not long after and set us back again to utter trash being petaled as anything worth using for anything. This further lowered people's expectations of what an image should look like. What once would have been scoffed at by anyone, became the average common image. Family's memories being reduced to images not worth even looking at.

Luckily things have gotten quite a bit better again, digital cameras of any larger variety look decent. But I think its a real shame that most family's have completely lost about 15 years of photos because of the onset of digital cameras. I fear that may end up longer for many people, if social media sites ever loose someone's photos, many people will have nothing.

—

I didn't even get into photo and art printing. But many things were very high quality in the past, then got much worse, and hopefully have gotten a bit better again. But a lot of things right now are at their lowest yet, like buttons.

Historical context is of course very useful for important things like Politics and Science and everything, but will also open your eyes to things like, uh... the way the clothing/textile/crafting industries try to use the word "natural" as an excuse to sell shoddy and bad quality goods and make you think that's normal.

God knows there are worse things going on in the world, but it really pisses me off when I see companies advertising "Real Shell/Pearl buttons!" like that's supposed to be some upscale selling point, and the buttons in question are the thinnest, roughest, most crudely-made buttons in existence... 🙄😒 "But they're made from Natural Materials! You can't expect Natural Materials to look refined and consistent like synthetic ones!" They are lying to you. THEY ARE LYING TO YOU! And I know this because I've seen "real shell buttons" from 100 or even 50 years ago. And most of them are sturdy and smoothly polished, of a consistent thickness, and sometimes even finely carved. The buttons on nice men's dress shirts? Those are the cheap, plastic IMITATIONS of what people expected actual mother-of-pearl buttons to look like! "Natural" isn't an excuse! Your product is cheap and badly and lazily made! And I'm so sick of this, because I see it EVERYWHERE. "Linen-look" has become shorthand for "coarsely woven fabric with visible slubs" and that drives me CRAZY because do you KNOW what kinds of linen I have seen??? Antique linen so light and fine and smooth you can't even SEE the weave unless you magnify it!!! A fragment of a linen damask tablecloth so smooth and glossy, it looks like SILK? 😭 (On that note, "dupioni silk" is so roughly woven that it would have been considered hardly fit to sell a century ago) "This fabric is woven of Natural Materials, so imperfections will be inevitable!" 🙃 No! 😀 You just made it cheaply and sloppily, and that was your choice! 😊

[vettelsvee]

I'M SORRY, JULIET | Mick Schumacher

Mick Schumacher x Secret Girlfriend Vettel!Reader

SUMMARY: You're secretly dating Mick, both of you hiding it from everyone in your families until you get so happy about him getting his first points in Formula 1 that your father, Sebastian, ends up finding out

WORD COUNT: 2404

WARNINGS: Curse words, mentions of teen pregnancy (age 17 from Seb and Hanna), angst. Settled on 2022 British GP

VEE'S NOTES: I missed so much posting about Mick so I had to bring him back... even that means Seb is the "bad guy" here. Hope you like it and thanks for reading! I'll be waiting for your opinions <3 ↳ TALK TO ME / REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

You hadn’t attended a Formula 1 race for longer than you could remember, and truthfully, you never thought you would again until Mick Schumacher started turning your world pink.

The boy had known you since you were a child, back when you would occasionally attend races hand in hand with your grandfather, Norbert. Your relationship deepened every time you saw each other in the paddock or at family gatherings, and despite the age difference between you, you grew closer and closer until you eventually fell in love with each other.

Even before your relationship began, you were both fully aware of the obstacles in your way. It wasn’t just the fact that Mick was six years older than you, but also that you were the children of two drivers who weren’t just former rivals and friends, but also were like family.

All of that, combined with the inevitable pressure from the press if they ever found out about your relationship, mattered little to Mick. One afternoon in mid-June, when the Schumachers and the Vettels had gathered together, he had decided to confess his feelings for you. At first, you were completely in shock, hearing from the lips of the very boy you had loved for years that he loved you too.

So, of course, when Mick asked if you wanted to be his girlfriend, you didn’t doubt to say yes.

Neither of you cared what others might say because, for now, no one knew about your relationship.

And there you were now, standing in the Aston Martin garage alongside your mother and your three younger siblings, watching the race with great enthusiasm as Sebastian drove the emerald-green car.

To the outside world, it might have seemed like you were simply there for one of the most important days in your father’s career since it was his 35th birthday. But in reality more than watching your father, you wanted to see your boyfriend.

Hanna noticed the tense expression on your face. Smiling warmly and without taking her eyes off Emily and Matilda, who were playing tag nearby, she stepped closer to you.

“Are you okay, Y/N? You seem like you’re in another galaxy.”

Your body tensed at the question, something that happened every time someone in your inner circle mentioned directly or indirectly your secret boyfriend. You tried to hide what was on your mind, but the combination of your mother’s presence and your nerves made you say more than you actually wanted.

“I’m nervous because I want dad to finish in the points,” you said with as much conviction as possible, though it wasn’t enough to convince Sebastian’s wife. “And well… I’m also worried about Mick.”

Hanna raised an eyebrow, curious, but not pressing. She had once been seventeen too. More than that, she had gotten pregnant with you at that age, and she knew that your concern for Mick went beyond simple friendship. Mothers developed a sixth sense when it came to their children, and she knew you too well to be fooled.

“Mick? Why would you be worried about Mick?” she asked, making sure not to pry too much or reveal how much she already knew.

“Well… he’s having a really good race today,” you replied, lowering your gaze to the floor. “I’d like him to get a high position,” you explained, “even though with the piece of crap car he has we can’t expect much.”

Hanna nodded understandingly, reading between the lines of your words.

“I get it, sweetheart. I was the same way with your dad when he started racing,” she said, deliberately choosing her words to make you overthink. “Mick has a lot of talent, but he’s not in a team that helps him shine, so I understand why you care so much.”

“If you ever need to talk about Mick you know you can trust me, right?”  Hanna added,

You appreciated your mother’s words, though you remained cautious just in case she was digging for something that might expose your relationship. How naive you were to think she didn’t already know you were dating one of Sebastian’s best friends’ sons.

When the checkered flag waved and the twenty cars crossed the finish line, your eyes remained glued to the leaderboard. Not only had Carlos, one of your best friends, taken his first victory, but both Mick and Sebastian had finished in the points, placing eighth and ninth respectively.

Your father earning two points on his birthday was amazing. Your boyfriend earning three? Even better, especially since it was his first time scoring points in Formula 1. Saying you were emotional was an understatement, and no matter how much you tried to hold it in, a few tears escaped down your cheeks. You wiped them away quickly to avoid drawing attention.

Hanna, still by your side as she fed the youngest member of the family, noticed you approaching with a hesitant expression, as if you wanted to ask something but were afraid to.

“Can I go to Mick’s garage to congratulate him?” you asked cautiously. “It’s his first time scoring, and I’d like to say something to him in person before we leave for Switzerland.”

“I know you’re excited for him,” your mother said while burping the baby, “but I think it’s better if you stay here. It’s your dad’s birthday, and honestly? I doubt Haas would even let you see Mick.”

You nodded, though sadness crept in. You looked at the monitors, seeing the top three drivers already celebrating on the podium. Even from your location, you could hear the Spanish national anthem playing over the speakers.

“Mum,” you tried again, “come on, let me go congratulate Mick. I’ll be back quickly, and I’ll be here by the time dad gets back!”

Your exaggerated gestures and the way you waved your arms were too adorable, and Hanna couldn’t help but see herself in you. She remembered how she had felt when she started dating Sebastian, wanting nothing more than to see him every chance she had. As much as she tried to be the responsible mother, sometimes she just couldn’t help it. This was one of those moments, one where she gave in to the charms of her eldest, the spitting image of her father.

“Make sure you come back as soon as possible,” she relented with a small smile. “I don’t want your father calling me a bad mother for letting his baby do grown-up things.”

“Thank you, mum!”

With that being said, you sprinted off, weaving through mechanics, fans, and celebrities scattered around the paddock. You checked your phone to see if Mick had texted you, but there was nothing. That only made you hurry toward the Haas garage. Seeing it empty, you quickly turned around and headed toward the hospitality area, which was further away. While dodging anyone in your way, you sent Mick a message telling him you were on your way and that you had to be quick before your father returned.

When you arrived, the first thing you saw was Mick soaked in champagne, holding a bottle in his hand. The Haas team members, including Guenther, were celebrating. You felt out of place and your insecurity crept in, making you want to turn around and leave. But then Mick saw you, and the moment your eyes met, you knew you had made the right choice.

Mick immediately broke away from the group and rushed to your side, hugging you tightly. He wanted nothing more than to kiss you, even if just a quick peck, but his rational side reminded him that now was not the place.

“Congratulations, Mick!” you exclaimed, your excitement taking over you. “Oh my God, oh my God! I’m so proud of you!” you squealed, throwing your arms around his neck.

“I finally get to see you, princess. You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to,” he murmured playfully. “Although, I’d love to do a few other things with you.”

Your face turned bright red, something you had grown used to ever since you started dating Mick and were used to hear his endless compliments.

“How was the race?” he asked. “Did you like it, even though I probably looked like an idiot who doesn’t know how to drive?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mick!” you scolded, lightly hitting his arm. “You scored points for the first time. If that’s being an idiot, then I don’t know what that makes me.”

“That makes you the love of my life.”

Mick pulled you even closer, and just as he was about to kiss you, completely ignoring the risks, a voice interrupted.

Or rather, someone did.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Mick Schumacher?!”

As soon as you heard your father’s shouts, you and Mick pulled apart. You stood frozen, your face turning completely pale as Mick began cursing himself. How was he supposed to explain to the man who was like a father to him in many ways that he was dating you, his daughter?

You didn’t stay silent. You, who had a temper as strong as the man who had given her life, stepped between Mick and your father, trying to ease the tension that had formed over a simple show of affection.

“Dad, stop! It’s not what it looks like!” you exclaimed, nervous but determined.

“What do you mean it’s not what it looks like?” Sebastian scoffed, unwilling to believe your words. “Come on, Y/N, you were about to kiss him!”

“Yes, because Mick is my boyfriend,” you stated without hesitation. “We’ve been secretly dating since last month because we didn’t want to say anything just yet,” you explained without caring about the consequences. “So don’t act like this and use your fucking head and be reasonable for once.”

The Aston Martin driver was stunned, unsure how to react to the news that his daughter had a boyfriend, and that it was none other than the son of the man he considered his best friend, who had once been his mentor.

Mick watched as Sebastian looked at you in disbelief before shifting his gaze back to you, focusing all his attention on you.

“Y/N, this is insane… Mick,” he gestured toward him, “isn’t just any driver, he’s the son of—”

“I already know, Dad!” you interrupted, your tone sharp. “And? Does it matter? I don’t care who his father is, or who mine is, or the relationship between you two,” you tried to keep your voice steady. “We love each other, we take care of each other, and that’s the only thing that should matter to you.”

Mick alternated his gaze between father and daughter, finally mustering the courage to say something. But, before he could even open his mouth, Sebastian raised his right hand, silencing him immediately:

“Stop trying to fix this. You’ve fucked up, Mick,” he muttered as he stepped closer, his voice low enough that not even you could hear it. “My daughter is too young, and you know you could get into serious trouble if this gets out,” he added before stepping away and moving back toward you. “ I just sort of saved you from shit talks about you, so consider yourself lucky.”

“You can’t blame Mick for this, Dad,” you interjected defiantly. “We’re adults, and we can make our own decisions, so just leave us alone already.”

“You are not an adult, Y/N Vettel, you’re still a kid,” Sebastian snapped, his voice filled with unfiltered anger. “Stop acting like you are, because all you are is a reckless little girl.”

“Let me remind you that when you were 17 you fucked mum and you got her pregnant.”

You threw it out without thinking, and immediately, you regretted it, placing your hands over your mouth as if that could fix what you had just said. You knew you had been the most beautiful mistake your parents had, but you didn’t think about the impact it could have in their lives, especially in your father’s.

"I'm sorry, Juliet," the older driver began, trying not to let his anger and, especially, the pain he felt from your comment show. "But it's time to leave."

"Dad..."

"Not 'dad' or anything, Y/N," Sebastian said, raising his voice and making it sound harsher than he had intended at first. "Do you think it’s funny for me to see my daughter rubbing herself up against the one I consider my son?"

Mick paled as he heard his mentor’s words, feeling completely awful because he knew Sebastian was right. You threw him a look, but didn’t have the strength to answer. You were so in shock that you didn’t know how you hadn’t just left yet.

"And you, Mick," he said now, shooting a penetrating look at the young man, "I thought you could show a little more respect for our family and everything we’ve built together all these years."

Having said that, Sebastian took you by your shoulders carefully and started walking back to where the rest of your family was, not giving you or Mick a chance to say goodbye.

"We don't choose who we fall in love with, Sebastian," Schumacher blurted out, still frozen in place.

Your father and you turned around. The look of disappointment on Seb’s face made Mick feel a thousand times worse than he ever thought he could, but it was the sight of your tears falling rapidly that made him start crying.

"I expected you, more than anyone, to agree with this," he continued, pointing at you and himself, "because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that your daughter deserves someone good who can make her life the best it can be. If I can’t be that person because you won’t let us..." he pointed at himself, "...then I’ll be okay with it being someone else."

Vettel swallowed hard, not knowing what to say to the German’s words.

"I just want Y/N to be happy," the boy said again, "and if I have to let her go for now until you can accept and see that I’m really in love with your daughter, and that she’s the love of my life, I’ll be willing to do so."

With that, the young man turned around, trying not to look back, hoping to hear some words from those he had considered his family for so many years.

But, unfortunately for him, you and your father didn’t.

[gottencents]

Causal Pt.3 - Yu Jimin

part one | part two

pairing. mean girl!karina x star soccer player!reader

synopsis. at Changryeo University, Yu Jimin or just Karina is the ultimate “mean rich girl” — popular, wealthy, and always seeking ways to stay on top. After setting her sights on Sunghoon, the charming soccer captain, Karina shifts her focus to Y/N, an up-and-coming soccer star with an unexpected breakout season. Unlike the polished Sunghoon, Y/N is more of an outsider who got by on talent but doesn’t fit the typical college elite mold. Realizing that Y/N is the only one who doesn’t care about the social hierarchy, Karina proposes a deal: they’ll fake date so Karina can boost her popularity, while Y/N gets protection from relentless attention. Reluctantly, Y/N agrees, and the two navigate a world of social manipulation, only to find that their fake relationship might lead to something more real than either expected.

The transition from pretending to be Karina Yu’s girlfriend to actually being her girlfriend was… surprisingly seamless.

At least, on the surface.

Y/N had already grown used to Karina draping herself over her in public, the stolen sips of her drinks, the way Karina would slip her hand into Y/N’s like it was second nature. The world still watched them with fascination, whispering about how the fake couple had somehow become real, but the difference was that now—when Karina pulled her closer in crowded hallways or leaned in just a little too much when whispering in her ear—Y/N no longer had to remind herself not to flinch.

Because this was real now.

Or at least, it was supposed to be.

Y/N was still trying to wrap her head around it.

There was no grand confession, no cinematic moment where they looked at each other and decided this is it. Instead, one night, after an exhausting practice, Y/N had found Karina waiting outside the locker room, arms crossed and an unimpressed look on her face.

“You’re avoiding me,” Karina had said, skipping past any pleasantries.

Y/N had blinked at her, still toweling off sweat. “I just had practice?”

Karina had huffed. “You know what I mean.”

And Y/N had known.

She knew that ever since the gala, ever since Karina had let slip that she liked being around Y/N—not just for the act, not for the attention, but for real—something had shifted. And Y/N hadn’t known what to do with that shift, so she’d done what she always did: kept moving, kept distracting herself, kept running.

But Karina had cornered her that night, standing her ground with a determined look in her eyes.

“I like you,” she had said, like it wasn’t the scariest thing to admit. “And I think you like me too.”

Y/N had swallowed. “Karina—”

“No,” Karina had interrupted, stepping closer. “Don’t overthink it. Don’t overcomplicate it. Just… be mine.”

And Y/N, for once, had let herself stop running.

She had let Karina take her hand, let her pull her into something softer, something neither of them had planned for but both of them had somehow ended up in anyway.

Now, weeks later, Y/N was still adjusting to the weight of belonging to Karina Yu.

“You’re staring.”

Y/N snapped out of her thoughts to find Karina watching her, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips.

They were in Karina’s dorm, curled up on her bed. Karina was scrolling through her phone, Y/N was pretending to study, but in reality, she had spent the last five minutes just… looking at her.

“I wasn’t staring,” Y/N lied, flipping a page in her textbook.

Karina hummed. “You were.”

Y/N sighed, shutting her book. “Okay, maybe I was.”

Karina grinned, setting her phone aside. “Admit it, you’re obsessed with me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I just… I don’t know. You’re kind of nice to look at.”

Karina blinked, her usual teasing demeanor faltering for a split second. Then, quieter, “Oh.”

It was rare for Karina to be caught off guard. Y/N found herself holding her breath, watching as Karina tilted her head slightly, studying her in return.

Then, with a self-satisfied smirk, Karina leaned in, barely closing the space between them. “You know,” she murmured, her voice low, “if you wanted to kiss me, you could just do it.”

Y/N’s heart stuttered. “Who said anything about kissing?”

Karina chuckled. “You always think about kissing me.”

“Wow. Cocky much?”

Karina simply raised an eyebrow.

Y/N exhaled, feeling warmth creep up her neck. “Okay. Maybe I do.”

Karina’s smirk softened into something more genuine. “Then stop thinking so hard.”

Y/N didn’t. She just leaned in.

And for the first time, kissing Karina didn’t feel like a game or a performance. It just felt like them.

Falling into a relationship with Karina Yu wasn’t like flipping a switch. It wasn’t instant. It wasn’t easy.

It was something Y/N had to learn.

Because Karina wasn’t just the confident, untouchable queen of Changryeo University that everyone saw. She was sharp, yes—always teasing, always in control—but she was also infuriatingly particular. She had routines, quirks, and a certain way of doing things that Y/N hadn’t noticed before.

And now, being her girlfriend, Y/N was seeing all of them up close.

Y/N learned quickly that Karina was not a morning person.

Despite the effortless way she carried herself, Karina hated waking up early. She had an alarm set for 8:00 a.m. that she never obeyed. Y/N, who had early morning practice most days, would sometimes return to Karina’s dorm only to find her still buried under her blankets at 10 a.m., hair messy, refusing to acknowledge the existence of the outside world.

One morning, after practice, Y/N nudged her shoulder. “Karina, wake up.”

A groggy groan. “No.”

Y/N sighed, leaning over. “You have class in an hour.”

“I’ll get up in five minutes.”

“You said that twenty minutes ago.”

Another groan. Karina reached up blindly, wrapping her arms around Y/N’s waist, and dragged her down onto the bed.

Y/N yelped. “What the—Karina—”

“Stay,” Karina mumbled into her shoulder, voice still thick with sleep.

Y/N blinked, body stiff for a moment before relaxing. “…You’re impossible.”

Karina hummed, the smallest smile playing at her lips. “And yet, here you are.”

And just like that, Y/N lost the battle.

Being Karina Yu’s girlfriend in public meant attention.

Y/N thought she had gotten used to it, but she was wrong.

Because Karina had no problem with public displays of affection. If anything, she enjoyed it. The subtle way she’d link their fingers when they walked together, the way she’d tuck Y/N’s hair behind her ear in the middle of a conversation, the casual way she’d sling an arm around Y/N’s shoulders in the cafeteria like it was second nature.

Y/N, who wasn’t as accustomed to being openly affectionate, had to adjust.

One afternoon, they were standing outside a lecture hall when Karina suddenly leaned in, whispering, “Your collar’s messed up.”

Y/N barely had time to react before Karina’s hands were on her, smoothing out the fabric of her shirt.

Y/N felt warmth crawl up her neck. “I can fix my own collar, you know.”

Karina smirked. “But then I wouldn’t have an excuse to touch you.”

“Karina,” Y/N hissed, feeling the stares of passing students.

“What?” Karina said innocently, though her hand lingered against Y/N’s collarbone for a second too long before finally stepping back.

Y/N let out a breath. “You like doing this to me.”

Karina’s eyes glimmered with mischief. “Maybe.”

Y/N shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

But she didn’t push Karina away.

And Karina knew that.

Nights were different.

If Karina was difficult in the mornings and affectionate in public, then at night, when the world was quiet, she was something else entirely.

That was when Y/N got to see the Karina that no one else did.

The Karina who curled up against her while they watched a movie, tracing lazy circles against Y/N’s wrist with her fingers. The Karina who sometimes got lost in thought, staring at her phone like she was carrying the weight of something she couldn’t put into words.

The Karina who, despite all her confidence, had walls that Y/N was still learning how to climb.

One night, as they lay side by side on Karina’s bed, Y/N broke the comfortable silence.

“You’re quiet tonight.”

Karina glanced at her, then back at the ceiling. “Just thinking.”

Y/N turned onto her side. “About what?”

Karina hesitated. Then, softer, “About how weird this is.”

Y/N frowned. “What do you mean?”

Karina shifted, finally meeting Y/N’s eyes. “Us. This. I wasn’t supposed to—” She stopped, exhaling. “I didn’t plan for this.”

Y/N felt something tighten in her chest. “Are you saying you regret it?”

Karina’s eyes widened slightly. “No. Not at all.”

Y/N searched her face. “Then what are you saying?”

Karina sighed, rolling onto her side so they were fully facing each other. “I’m saying… I don’t know how to do this. I know how to flirt, how to play the game, how to keep people at a distance.” A pause. “I don’t know how to be with someone. Not really.”

Y/N swallowed. “Then we figure it out together.”

Karina blinked.

Y/N reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers. “We don’t have to be perfect. We just have to be us.”

Karina exhaled, her grip tightening slightly.

“…Okay.”

And in the dim light of the dorm, with only the quiet between them, Y/N realized that falling in love with Karina Yu wasn’t going to be some grand, dramatic event.

It was going to be a thousand small moments.

And Y/N wanted to be there for all of them.

Y/N had always been good at adapting.

On the field, it was second nature—adjusting to a last-minute change in formation, reading an opponent’s movements before they even made a play. She thrived in the unpredictability of the game.

But dating Karina Yu? That was an entirely different kind of challenge.

Karina was unpredictable in a way that made Y/N’s head spin. One moment, she was teasing, effortlessly confident, making Y/N flustered in the middle of the cafeteria. The next, she was closed off, keeping her thoughts to herself, like she wasn’t sure how much she was willing to share.

Y/N wasn’t sure how to navigate that yet. But she wanted to.

Because the more time she spent with Karina, the more she realized—beneath the confidence, the charm, the perfectly put-together image—Karina wasn’t as untouchable as she made herself seem.

And Y/N wanted to be the one who saw her. Not the Karina Yu that everyone else admired from afar, but the one who had walls and hesitations and insecurities, just like everyone else.

She just had to figure out how to get through to her.

It started with coffee.

Karina had developed a habit of waiting for Y/N after her morning practices, often showing up with an iced americano in hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Did you eat yet?” Karina asked one morning as she handed over the drink.

Y/N took it, raising an eyebrow. “Are you trying to parent me now?”

Karina smirked. “I prefer the term girlfriend duties.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at her lips. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know.” Karina gave her a pointed look. “But I want to.”

That part still caught Y/N off guard sometimes.

How effortlessly Karina fit herself into Y/N’s daily life. How she made herself present in the smallest ways—stealing Y/N’s hoodie when it got too cold, adjusting Y/N’s backpack strap as they walked together, sending a simple Good luck text before every game.

It wasn’t loud or dramatic. But it was intentional.

And Y/N was starting to realize that when Karina cared about someone, she didn’t do it halfway.

They sat in a corner of the café, the warm scent of coffee filling the air, as Y/N absentmindedly scrolled through her phone. Karina, on the other hand, was focused on stirring her drink, expression unusually thoughtful.

Y/N noticed immediately. “What’s up?”

Karina hummed, still looking at her coffee. “I was just thinking.”

Y/N waited, but Karina didn’t continue.

That was another thing she was learning—Karina wasn’t the type to spill her thoughts easily. If she hesitated, it usually meant she wasn’t sure if she should say something.

So instead of pressing, Y/N nudged her foot under the table. “Thinking about what?”

Karina finally glanced up, her lips twitching in amusement at Y/N’s persistence. “How you handle attention so well.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

Karina leaned back, crossing her arms. “Ever since we made this official, people have been watching us more. Talking more.” She tilted her head. “It doesn’t seem to bother you.”

Y/N thought about it for a moment. “I guess I’m used to it? Soccer games get pretty intense sometimes, and there’s always a crowd.” She shrugged. “It’s just noise to me now.”

Karina nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”

Something about the way she said it made Y/N pause.

She studied Karina for a second before asking, “It does bother you, though.”

Karina exhaled, her fingers tapping against her cup. “It’s not the attention itself. I’ve had that my whole life.”

Y/N listened quietly.

Karina hesitated, then continued, “It’s just… different now. Because it’s about us.” She frowned slightly. “People aren’t just talking about me anymore. They’re talking about you, too. About us together.”

Y/N considered that. “And you don’t like it?”

“I don’t like that people think they know us,” Karina admitted. “That they think they understand what this is—what we are—when they don’t.”

Y/N felt something warm in her chest at that.

Because Karina wasn’t just talking about herself anymore. She was talking about them.

Y/N reached across the table, fingers brushing against Karina’s hand. “You know it doesn’t matter what they think, right?”

Karina’s gaze flickered to their hands before settling on Y/N’s face. “…I know.”

It was quiet, but it sounded like she was still trying to convince herself.

Y/N squeezed her hand once before letting go. “If it ever gets to be too much, tell me, okay?”

Karina’s lips parted slightly, almost like she hadn’t expected that.

“…Okay.”

And just like that, something between them shifted.

Y/N was starting to lose track of the number of nights Karina spent in her dorm.

It always happened naturally.

Karina would come over to “hang out,” which usually turned into her stealing Y/N’s bed while Y/N sat at her desk, finishing up assignments. Then, at some point, Karina would claim she was too tired to move and would just conveniently end up staying the night.

“Do you just not like your own bed?” Y/N asked one night, raising an eyebrow as Karina stretched out across her sheets like she owned them.

Karina smirked. “I like this bed.”

Y/N shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, you let me stay,” Karina teased, rolling onto her side to look at her.

Y/N sighed, glancing at the time. “You’re impossible to kick out.”

Karina hummed in amusement but didn’t deny it.

They settled into a comfortable silence, the soft glow of Y/N’s desk lamp casting a warm light over the room.

Y/N, sitting cross-legged on the floor, stretched her arms above her head. “You’re stealing all my blankets again.”

Karina peeked over the edge of the bed. “Do you want me to share?”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Do you actually mean that, or are you just going to wrap yourself in them tighter if I try?”

Karina grinned. “What do you think?”

Y/N groaned. “I should just sleep on the floor.”

Karina patted the empty space beside her. “Or, you could just come up here.”

Y/N hesitated.

It wasn’t that they hadn’t shared a bed before. But this was different. They were together now. And something about that made Y/N’s heartbeat pick up in a way she wasn’t ready to acknowledge yet.

But Karina just watched her, patient, waiting.

Finally, Y/N sighed and climbed in. “If you hog the blankets, I’m kicking you out,” she muttered.

Karina chuckled, adjusting the covers so Y/N had enough. “Noted.”

And as they lay there, close but not quite touching, Y/N realized something.

Maybe figuring out this whole relationship thing wasn’t about getting it perfect all at once.

Maybe it was about moments like this.

The quiet in-between.

The warmth of knowing that, no matter how complicated things got, they were figuring it out together.

Y/N wasn’t a morning person. At all.

So, when she walked into the campus café at 7:30 AM, groggy from practice and barely awake, the last thing she expected was to see Karina already sitting at their usual table, scrolling through her phone like she hadn’t just woken up fifteen minutes ago.

“You’re too awake for this time of day,” Y/N muttered, dropping into the seat across from her.

Karina smirked, sliding a cup of coffee toward her. “You’re just too grumpy.”

Y/N took the coffee without question, sipping it and sighing as the warmth spread through her chest. “This is the only reason I tolerate you.”

“I’ll take it,” Karina said, unbothered.

They fell into an easy silence, Karina focused on her phone while Y/N tried to force herself to function.

Then, Karina’s voice broke through the quiet. “I have a dinner thing next month.”

Y/N cracked an eye open. “Dinner thing?”

“My parents,” Karina clarified, tapping her nails against her cup. “They want to meet you.”

Y/N blinked, suddenly much more awake. “Wait. Like—actually meet me?”

Karina nodded, watching her carefully. “I said yes.”

Y/N stared at her, processing. She and Karina had only been officially together for a little while, and they were still figuring things out. Meeting Karina’s parents felt… big.

“I—” Y/N hesitated, rubbing the back of her neck. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

Karina arched a brow. “Why?”

Y/N sighed. “Because you know how I am with people. And you know how people usually react to me. What if they don’t like me?”

Karina didn’t answer right away. Instead, she set her phone down and leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “What if they do?”

Y/N let out a breath, shaking her head. “That’s not—”

Karina reached over, flicking her forehead lightly. “Stop overthinking.”

Y/N scowled, rubbing the spot. “I’m not—”

“You are,” Karina interrupted, smirking. “Look, I’m not saying you have to go. But if you do, I’ll be there. You don’t have to impress anyone, just be yourself.”

Y/N exhaled. It was easier said than done.

But Karina was looking at her like she already had her answer.

“…I’ll think about it,” Y/N finally said.

Karina smiled, satisfied. “Good.”

And just like that, the conversation shifted.

Later that week, they found themselves in the library. Y/N was buried in her textbook, half-listening as Karina absentmindedly scrolled through her laptop beside her.

“I don’t know why you even pretend to study with me,” Y/N muttered, highlighting a sentence.

Karina hummed. “Because you’re cute when you’re focused.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but felt her ears heat up. “That’s not productive.”

Karina turned her laptop screen toward her. “Fine. Want to help me pick an outfit for dinner?”

Y/N glanced at the endless tabs of designer dresses and suits. “You’re stressing about this more than I am.”

“I like to be prepared,” Karina said, as if that explained everything.

Y/N smirked. “And here I thought you just wanted to impress me.”

Karina’s lips twitched. “Do I need to impress you?”

Y/N shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “Wouldn’t hurt.”

Karina held her gaze for a moment before she closed her laptop and leaned forward, her voice lower. “Then tell me, Y/N. What would impress you?”

Y/N swallowed, caught off guard by the sudden shift in energy. It was moments like these—when Karina’s usual teasing softened just enough to make Y/N wonder if there was something deeper beneath it—that made her heart race.

“…Just be yourself,” Y/N said, repeating Karina’s own words back to her.

Karina blinked before a slow smile spread across her lips. “You’re getting better at this.”

Y/N shrugged, pretending to focus on her textbook again. “I learn from the best.”

Karina chuckled, and even though they went back to studying, the air between them felt warmer than before.

For all of Karina’s confidence, she wasn’t particularly good at waiting.

She had never needed to be. People bent around her, shaped themselves to fit her world. She dictated the pace of things—social circles, conversations, relationships. She decided how close people could get and when they had to step back.

But Y/N didn’t work that way.

She wasn’t something Karina could push and expect to move. She had her own rhythm, one that Karina had to learn to match.

So, she waited.

Not always patiently, but she tried.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

Y/N’s voice broke through Karina’s thoughts. They were walking through campus together, Y/N balancing her bag over one shoulder while Karina strolled beside her with her hands in her pockets.

“Like what?” Karina asked, tilting her head.

“Like you’re waiting for me to do something.”

Karina smirked. “Maybe I am.”

Y/N shot her a wary glance. “What, exactly?”

Karina didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached for Y/N’s arm, stopping her just outside the entrance to their next class.

“You’re still thinking about the dinner with my parents next month,” she said, watching Y/N carefully.

Y/N hesitated, shifting her weight. “I said I’d go.”

“That’s not the same as wanting to,” Karina pointed out.

Y/N exhaled through her nose, looking away. “It’s just… meeting parents is a big deal, you know? And you—” She glanced at Karina, then shook her head. “You have a certain image to maintain.”

Karina rolled her eyes. “You think I care about that?”

“You care about a lot of things you pretend not to.”

That made Karina pause. She blinked, caught off guard by how easily Y/N had read her.

“…Maybe,” Karina admitted after a moment.

Y/N looked at her then, and Karina recognized the expression—the careful calculation, the way she was holding back just enough to protect herself.

Karina sighed, letting go of Y/N’s arm. “You don’t have to prove anything, you know.”

Y/N looked at her for a long moment before nodding. “I know.”

Then, without another word, she walked into class.

Karina watched her go, the space between them feeling heavier than usual.

They were getting used to each other in new ways.

Y/N still needed her space sometimes. Karina had learned to recognize the signs—when Y/N tensed at too much attention, when she hesitated before answering a question, when she stayed quiet longer than usual.

Karina, for her part, still enjoyed pushing just enough to get a reaction. It was how she operated, how she kept people on their toes. But with Y/N, she had to be more careful, more deliberate.

Like now.

They were sitting on the couch in Karina’s dorm, Y/N flipping through her notes while Karina scrolled through her phone. It was one of those rare, quiet moments where nothing needed to be said.

And then Karina, because she could never resist, nudged Y/N’s leg with her foot.

Y/N barely looked up. “What.”

Karina smirked. “You’ve been here for almost an hour, and you haven’t kissed me yet.”

Y/N let out a slow breath, not even bothering to hide her exasperation. “I was supposed to?”

“Yes,” Karina said matter-of-factly. “That’s how this works.”

Y/N sighed, setting her notes down. “You’re impossible.”

Karina simply raised a brow.

And then, much to Karina’s surprise, Y/N leaned in, pressing a brief, warm kiss to the corner of her mouth before pulling back.

Karina blinked. “That was—”

“Now shut up so I can focus,” Y/N muttered, picking up her notes again.

Karina sat there, momentarily stunned, before a slow grin spread across her face.

Maybe waiting wasn’t so bad after all.

For all the ways they were learning to be together, there were still habits neither of them had figured out how to break.

Y/N wasn’t used to letting people in too easily. She was comfortable with the closeness that came from the soccer team—teammates slinging arms over her shoulders, shoving her around in celebration—but outside of that, personal space was something she guarded carefully.

Karina, on the other hand, was the opposite. She existed in other people’s spaces like she belonged there. She had no problem invading Y/N’s, touching her casually and often, making it feel like the most natural thing in the world.

But there were things Karina kept to herself, too. Things Y/N was only starting to notice.

“Stay over.”

It wasn’t really a request. Karina had said it casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like it was already decided.

Y/N, however, hesitated. “I have practice in the morning.”

Karina, lying on her bed in an oversized hoodie, gave her a look. “So?”

Y/N shifted her weight. “So, I’ll have to wake up early.”

Karina rolled her eyes. “You wake up early anyway.”

“Yeah, but—” Y/N sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “I don’t usually stay over at people’s places.”

Karina sat up slightly, resting her weight on her elbows. “You stayed over last week.”

“That was different,” Y/N muttered.

Karina tilted her head. “How?”

Y/N didn’t answer right away. The truth was, she had been exhausted that night—mentally, physically. It had been easy to fall asleep in Karina’s room when she was already drained. But doing it intentionally, knowing Karina wanted her to… that felt different.

Karina, watching her carefully, smirked. “Are you nervous?”

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

Karina sat up fully, scooting to the edge of the bed. “You are.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but Karina was already reaching for her wrist, tugging her closer until she stood between Karina’s legs.

“You know,” Karina said, her fingers brushing lightly against the hem of Y/N’s hoodie, “most girlfriends would love to stay the night.”

Y/N exhaled slowly. “You’re assuming I’m like most girlfriends.”

Karina hummed, resting her chin against Y/N’s stomach as she peered up at her. “No. You’re different.”

Y/N felt her face heat up but said nothing.

After a moment, Karina sighed dramatically and let go. “Fine. I won’t force you to stay.”

Y/N let out a quiet breath of relief. “Thank you.”

Karina flopped back onto her bed, stretching her arms over her head. “But I’ll make you eventually.”

Y/N shook her head, grabbing her bag. “Yeah, yeah.”

But as she walked out of the dorm, she wondered if Karina was right.

Maybe she would stay.

Eventually.

Y/N didn’t make a habit of hanging around campus when she didn’t have to. She was either on the field, at her dorm, or occasionally studying in the library when the team got too rowdy.

Karina, however, seemed to exist everywhere at once.

Y/N wasn’t sure how it happened, but their schedules had started overlapping more and more. Karina had a habit of showing up at Y/N’s practice with an iced coffee, sitting on the bleachers like she had nothing better to do.

“Don’t you have classes?” Y/N had asked once, jogging over to her during a water break.

Karina had simply smirked. “I make time for important things.”

Y/N had scoffed, but she hadn’t told Karina to leave.

Still, there were moments where Y/N felt the weight of it all—the sudden attention, the way people watched them, how her world had shifted ever since Karina had walked into it.

She still wasn’t used to people asking about her personal life. She wasn’t used to waking up to texts from someone who wasn’t her teammates.

And she definitely wasn’t used to the way Karina could throw her off balance so easily.

It was nearing midnight when Karina called.

Y/N had been half-asleep, her body sore from practice, but she picked up anyway.

“Why are you awake?” she mumbled.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Karina said. “So, entertain me.”

Y/N sighed. “That’s not how this works.”

“It is now.”

Y/N rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “You’re impossible.”

Karina laughed softly, but then there was a pause.

“I meant it, you know,” Karina said after a moment.

Y/N blinked. “Meant what?”

“When I said I liked being around you.”

Y/N didn’t answer right away. She wasn’t sure how to.

Karina rarely said things like that without a teasing edge. But right now, in the quiet of the night, she sounded… sincere.

“…I know,” Y/N finally said.

Karina hummed. “Good.”

Neither of them hung up.

Y/N could hear Karina shifting in bed, the faint rustle of sheets. It was oddly comforting, knowing Karina was there, even if they weren’t speaking.

Eventually, Karina’s voice came through, quieter this time. “You don’t have to figure everything out right away.”

Y/N exhaled. “I know.”

Another pause.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“…Goodnight, Karina.”

And when Y/N finally fell asleep, she dreamed of someone pulling her closer, fingers brushing against hers, warmth lingering even after she woke.

For all the time they spent together, there were still moments when Y/N felt the space between them.

It wasn’t that things were bad—if anything, their relationship was moving forward, just at a pace neither of them fully understood. They spent time together, texted at odd hours, and somehow, Karina had managed to make herself a fixture in Y/N’s routine without her even noticing.

But there were still parts of themselves they didn’t know how to share yet.

Karina, for all her confidence and control, still disappeared sometimes. She was used to keeping things on her terms, deciding when and how people got access to her. Y/N had learned not to question it.

And Y/N—well, she wasn’t exactly great at talking about feelings.

So, they hovered somewhere between comfort and uncertainty, both of them waiting to see who would push first.

Y/N had barely gotten three steps into the cafeteria before she spotted Karina sitting at their usual table, scrolling through her phone.

She hesitated. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to sit with Karina, but something about seeing her outside their usual late-night conversations or practice visits made it feel different. More real.

Karina must have sensed her pause because she looked up, catching Y/N’s eye before smirking. “You’re thinking too hard again.”

Y/N sighed, running a hand through her hair as she approached. “I just woke up. Let me have a moment.”

Karina rested her chin on her hand, watching her. “Rough night?”

Y/N dropped her tray onto the table with a small thud. “Practice ran late.”

Karina hummed, eyes flickering over Y/N’s face. “Did you eat?”

Y/N frowned. “What?”

“Last night,” Karina said. “You were exhausted. Did you eat after practice?”

Y/N hesitated, which was answer enough.

Karina clicked her tongue, pushing a plate toward her. “Here.”

Y/N blinked at the plate—toast, scrambled eggs, and some fruit—before looking back at Karina. “Did you—?”

Karina smirked. “I figured you’d forget.”

Y/N wasn’t sure what to say to that. She wasn’t used to people noticing things like that.

So, instead of making a big deal out of it, she just muttered, “Thanks,” and started eating.

Karina watched her for a moment before returning to her phone, a small, satisfied smile playing at her lips.

Later that evening, they found themselves in Y/N’s dorm, the TV playing some random movie in the background while Karina scrolled through her phone and Y/N stretched out on her bed.

It was comfortable, easy in a way that should have felt strange but didn’t.

“You’re quiet today,” Karina said suddenly, not looking up.

Y/N, lying on her stomach, propped herself up on her elbows. “I don’t talk just to fill space.”

Karina smirked. “I know. But usually, you at least complain about something.”

Y/N huffed. “You want me to complain?”

“I want you to talk to me.”

Y/N frowned, shifting onto her side. “I do talk to you.”

Karina finally put her phone down, resting her head against her hand as she looked at Y/N. “Yeah, but not about real things.”

Y/N felt herself tense slightly.

It wasn’t like she was trying to hide anything. She just… wasn’t used to talking about herself unless it was necessary.

Karina must have noticed the hesitation because she leaned in slightly, voice softer now. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. But I want to know you, Y/N. Not just the parts you show everyone else.”

Y/N exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling. “…I’m not good at this.”

Karina’s gaze didn’t waver. “I know.”

Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Eventually, Karina shifted closer, close enough that their shoulders brushed.

“You don’t have to figure it all out at once,” she murmured.

Y/N turned her head, meeting Karina’s gaze.

There was something in her expression—something patient, understanding, but also quietly stubborn. Like she wasn’t going anywhere.

And for the first time, Y/N thought that maybe, just maybe, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

Y/N wasn’t blind to effort—not when it came to Karina.

She noticed the way Karina adjusted her schedule just to match hers, how she made a point to show up for things that weren’t remotely interesting to her, like standing around in the cold after Y/N’s practice just to hand her a water bottle. She noticed how Karina paid attention, even in the smallest ways—reminding her of due dates she had barely glanced at, fixing the collar of her jersey without saying a word, making it look so effortless, like she was built to be the kind of person who always knew what to do.

And Y/N?

She wasn’t sure if she was putting in the same effort. Or if she even knew how.

It wasn’t that she didn’t care—because she did, maybe more than she wanted to admit. It was just that Karina made things seem so easy, and Y/N wasn’t used to… trying like this. Not in relationships. Not in ways that required thinking about someone else constantly, not in ways that meant adjusting her habits to make room for another person.

But she figured if Karina was willing to do so much for them, then the least she could do was try.

The only problem was that she had no idea where to start.

Y/N had been paying attention. She knew Karina had a habit of drinking coffee at the same time every day—one in the morning before class and another in the afternoon when the exhaustion started creeping in. She never complained about it, never acted tired, but Y/N saw the way her fingers tapped idly against the desk, the way she zoned out when she thought no one was looking.

So, on impulse, Y/N decided to bring her coffee. It wasn’t a big deal—just something small to say she was thinking about her.

What she hadn’t accounted for was that she had no clue what Karina actually drank.

Standing in line at the campus café, she stared at the menu like it would magically give her an answer. Karina seemed like the type to like something smooth, maybe sweet, but not overwhelmingly so. Definitely not black coffee—that didn’t match her at all.

By the time she got to the counter, she hesitated before blurting out, “A vanilla oat milk latte.”

It felt like the safest option.

She found Karina in their usual lecture hall, already seated, scrolling through her phone. Y/N slid into the seat next to her and placed the cup on the desk without a word.

Karina glanced at it, then at Y/N, a knowing smirk forming on her lips. She picked up the cup, examining it like it was some kind of rare artifact.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she said, but there was something amused in her voice.

Y/N shrugged, playing it off. “It’s whatever.”

Karina took a sip, then raised an eyebrow. “Vanilla oat milk latte?”

Y/N tensed. “Is that not what you drink?”

Karina tilted her head, expression unreadable for a second, before she smiled. “No, it’s exactly what I drink.”

Y/N exhaled, relieved. Karina just laughed under her breath before turning her attention back to the front of the lecture hall, sipping the coffee like she was savoring it more than usual.

Y/N wasn’t great at words. She wasn’t the type to come up with things to say that made people feel special, and she wasn’t naturally affectionate. But she was good at paying attention.

So, when she saw that Karina’s phone charger was barely holding itself together, she bought her a new one. When Karina left her laptop charger behind in the library, Y/N plugged it in before she even realized it was low.

She never pointed it out, never made a big deal about it. Maybe Karina didn’t even notice.

But Y/N liked the idea that even if she wasn’t sure how to say things properly, she could still show them.

The two of them sat in Y/N’s dorm, Karina curled up on the bed with a book while Y/N absentmindedly scrolled through her phone. It was a comfortable silence, not awkward, but Y/N could feel something lingering beneath it.

Karina had never asked her to change. She had never demanded anything from her. But she had given so much—of her time, her patience, her effort.

And Y/N had never really acknowledged it.

Setting her phone down, she exhaled. “I appreciate you.”

Karina looked up from her book, eyes flicking to Y/N with mild amusement. “Oh?”

Y/N cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably. “I mean, you do a lot. For us. And I just—I don’t know. I don’t say things like this, but I wanted to.”

Karina’s smirk softened into something quieter. She closed her book, setting it aside before leaning in just slightly. “I know.”

Y/N frowned. “You do?”

Karina nodded, watching her closely. “You think I haven’t noticed?”

Y/N wasn’t sure what to say to that. She had spent so much time worrying about whether she was doing enough, whether Karina felt like she was the only one making an effort. But now, sitting here, seeing the way Karina looked at her—not with expectation, but with quiet understanding—she realized that maybe trying, even in small ways, was enough.

Karina reached out, her fingers brushing against Y/N’s wrist before gently lacing them together. Her touch was light, like she was waiting to see if Y/N would pull away.

But Y/N didn’t.

“You don’t have to figure everything out right away,” Karina murmured. “I like you as you are.”

Y/N swallowed, looking down at their hands, then back at Karina.

“Yeah,” she admitted, her voice quieter. “You too.”

Karina’s lips quirked up just slightly before she gave Y/N’s fingers a small squeeze.

“Good.”

And somehow, in that moment, the space between them felt just a little smaller.

The days that followed felt like the space between them was slowly getting smaller. It wasn’t anything drastic—there were no big, bold gestures, no fireworks—but it was enough. Enough for Y/N to realize that she didn’t need to rush into figuring out everything with Karina. Not everything had to be perfect, and she didn’t have to have all the answers.

It was the little things. The glances shared when they were in class, the way their hands brushed when they sat side by side in the library, the moments where Karina would give her a small smile that seemed to say, “I get you.” There was no pressure to be anyone other than who they were—no grand declarations or expectations. It felt natural. Real.

But there were still moments where Y/N felt a little lost.

Karina was effortlessly confident, always certain of herself, always the one who knew exactly what to say, what to do. Y/N, on the other hand, was still learning—still figuring out how to be in a relationship without feeling like she had to play catch-up.

It was late one night when she found herself lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Karina was sitting on the edge of the bed, her phone in hand as she scrolled through something, her hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. There was a comfort in the silence, but also a lingering tension. Y/N wasn’t sure what it was, but it was there.

Karina must’ve felt it too, because after a moment, she put her phone down and turned toward her.

“You okay?” Karina asked, her voice softer than usual.

Y/N blinked, momentarily startled by the question. She had been so caught up in her thoughts that she hadn’t realized how quiet the room had gotten. She nodded, but Karina’s eyes weren’t fooled.

“I’m fine,” Y/N said, not quite meeting Karina’s gaze. “Just thinking.”

Karina didn’t press further, though Y/N could feel the weight of her attention. She knew Karina could tell when something was off. It was one of those things about her—Karina was perceptive, always noticing things that no one else did.

“Wanna talk about it?” Karina asked after a pause.

Y/N hesitated, unsure if she even had the words to explain what was on her mind. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “I think I’m just… trying to figure out how to be this person you need me to be. You know?”

Karina’s expression softened, and she moved to sit next to Y/N, her presence close but not overbearing. “You don’t have to be anyone other than who you are,” she said quietly. “I like you the way you are.”

Y/N glanced at her, meeting her gaze for the first time that night. “But I don’t want to disappoint you,” she admitted.

Karina reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear. “You’re not going to disappoint me.”

The simple touch was enough to calm the nervous flutter in Y/N’s chest. There was something about Karina—something that made Y/N feel like she could breathe, even when she felt uncertain.

“I’m just…” Y/N started again, unsure how to put it into words. “I don’t want to be the one who’s always just… waiting for you to make things happen. I want to show up for you too.”

Karina smiled softly. “You do,” she said, her voice warm and reassuring. “You’re showing up right now.”

Y/N didn’t know if she could find the right words to explain how much that meant to her. All she could do was reach out and take Karina’s hand, intertwining their fingers, feeling the warmth of her touch. It wasn’t some grand gesture, but in that moment, it felt like the most important thing.

“Thanks,” Y/N said quietly.

Karina didn’t respond right away. Instead, she gave her hand a gentle squeeze, her eyes soft but knowing. There was no need to say anything else. They understood each other in a way that didn’t require words.

And as they sat there in the quiet, Y/N realized that sometimes, just being with someone—being present—was enough. It didn’t have to be perfect, it didn’t have to be fast. It could just be them, figuring things out together, one small step at a time.

That was the kind of love she could learn to trust.

The next day, Y/N found herself outside of the library, waiting for Karina, as usual. The sun was starting to set, casting a soft glow over the campus, and Y/N leaned against the brick wall, tapping her foot idly as she checked her phone.

She didn’t notice Karina approaching until she was right beside her.

“Hey,” Karina greeted her casually, her voice easy and smooth as always.

Y/N looked up, offering a small smile. “Hey.”

“I was thinking,” Karina started, her tone a little more thoughtful than usual. “We haven’t had much time just to hang out. Like, just the two of us, no distractions, no obligations.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “What are you proposing, then?”

Karina shrugged, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “I was thinking about grabbing dinner. No fancy places. Just something simple. You know, like a date.”

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat. She wasn’t used to the idea of dates, of planning out things like that—especially not with someone like Karina, who had always seemed like she was in control of everything.

But there was something about Karina’s offer that felt easy. Natural.

“Okay,” Y/N said with a small nod. “I think I can do that.”

Karina’s smile softened, her eyes gleaming with something unspoken.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. And right then, that was enough.

As they walked side by side, talking about nothing and everything all at once, Y/N realized that this—this quiet, slow pace of getting to know each other—was exactly what she needed. It wasn’t fast, it wasn’t flashy, but it was something that felt like it could last.

And for the first time in a long time, Y/N wasn’t worried about what came next. She was just happy to be right there, with Karina by her side.

The evening had arrived much sooner than Y/N expected, and as she stood in front of her mirror, adjusting her outfit for what she told herself would just be another casual dinner, she couldn’t shake the sense that something felt different. Karina had been hinting at this dinner for days now, and although Y/N had convinced herself it was just another one of Karina’s spontaneous plans, she had the nagging feeling it meant more than that.

The plan had started simple enough: Karina suggested they grab dinner after their classes. Nothing fancy, just something to take a break from the hectic rhythm of university life. But somehow, the dinner turned into something Y/N had come to see as a rare and special opportunity—an opportunity to understand more of what was between them, and to figure out how they worked together in this growing, awkwardly comfortable relationship.

Y/N finished adjusting her shirt and reached for her phone to check the time. 7:15 PM. Karina was supposed to be here in 15 minutes, and yet Y/N found herself with a familiar anxiety, even though the night had started off as nothing out of the ordinary. She paced around her room, trying to keep her nerves in check.

When the knock came at her door, Y/N didn’t expect the slight jolt of excitement that went through her. She straightened herself out, trying not to look too eager as she swung the door open.

Standing in front of her was Karina, as effortlessly stunning as always. Her outfit was casual but looked effortlessly put together, and her hair framed her face with an air of soft carelessness. She smiled when she saw Y/N, a small, knowing smirk playing at the edges of her lips.

“Ready?” Karina asked, her voice light and teasing.

Y/N nodded, trying to hide the flustered feeling rising in her chest. “Yeah. You’re on time.”

“Of course,” Karina replied, stepping inside. “I wouldn’t dare be late for our dinner.”

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat. There was something in the way she said “our,” something casual but intimate, as if they had been doing this for years.

The night air was cool as they made their way to the restaurant. Karina kept the conversation light, asking about classes, joking about professors, and making Y/N laugh in that effortless way she always seemed to manage. Y/N couldn’t help but notice how comfortable they were, and yet, a part of her still felt like she was walking on eggshells.

When they arrived, the restaurant was warm and inviting, with soft lighting and the kind of ambiance that felt both private and casual. It wasn’t too fancy, but it wasn’t just any place either. Karina had picked this spot carefully, and Y/N appreciated the effort. They were led to a cozy corner booth by the window, where the world outside seemed distant and irrelevant.

As they sat down, Y/N caught herself stealing glances at Karina. There was something different in the air tonight—a kind of tenderness that Y/N wasn’t entirely used to.

“So, what’s this really about?” Y/N finally asked, the question slipping out before she could stop herself.

Karina raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her seat. “What do you mean?”

Y/N shrugged. “You’ve been acting kind of… different lately. Not in a bad way,” she quickly added, “Just, I don’t know. Thought maybe there was something else going on.”

Karina’s lips curled into a slight smile, her eyes glinting with something Y/N couldn’t quite place. “I guess I’ve been thinking a lot. About us. About what we’re doing here.” She paused, taking a breath as though deciding how to continue. “I want you to know that I’m putting effort into this. Into us. And I don’t want you to think I’m taking it lightly.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in Karina’s voice. She wasn’t used to hearing her speak this way—so open, so vulnerable. It was like a different side of Karina was showing, one that Y/N hadn’t really seen before.

“I don’t think you’re taking it lightly,” Y/N replied quietly, her gaze softening. “I just… I guess I don’t always know how to keep up.”

Karina tilted her head, her expression softening. “I get it,” she said, her voice gentle. “I know I’m not easy to keep up with. But I don’t need you to be anything you’re not. I just want to be with you, however we figure this out.”

Y/N looked down at her menu, trying to focus on something other than the fluttering sensation in her chest. She felt conflicted—there was a part of her that wanted to lean into this, to let herself be swept up in the idea of what could be. But another part of her—one she had buried for so long—was cautious. Protective. She was used to handling things on her own, to keeping people at arm’s length.

“I’m trying, you know?” Y/N said, her voice quieter now. “It’s just… I’ve never really done this. Let anyone in like this.”

Karina reached across the table, her fingers brushing Y/N’s lightly. The gesture was small, almost casual, but it carried an understanding that made Y/N look up.

“You don’t have to do anything alone anymore,” Karina said softly. “You don’t have to figure everything out right away. I’m here.”

Y/N felt the weight of her words, and for the first time in a long time, she felt a sense of relief. There was something comforting about knowing Karina wasn’t asking for perfection, wasn’t asking for all of her—just the pieces Y/N was willing to share.

The waiter arrived to take their orders, and for a while, they settled into a more familiar rhythm—conversation flowing easily as they ordered their food and shared small moments of laughter. The tension from earlier had melted away, replaced by an easy, comfortable silence that felt more like understanding than anything else.

As the night went on, Y/N found herself enjoying this side of Karina, the softer side that she had always tried to keep hidden behind her confident exterior. She hadn’t expected Karina to be so… patient. So real.

By the time dessert arrived, the two of them had relaxed into a comfortable silence again, occasionally exchanging glances and small smiles. They didn’t need to say much to communicate. It was the kind of unspoken understanding that spoke louder than any words could.

As the evening came to a close, Karina stood and offered her hand to Y/N, her usual playful smirk back in place. “Ready to go?” she asked, her tone teasing but with a hint of something warmer beneath it.

Y/N smiled, taking her hand without hesitation. “Yeah, I think I’m ready.”

The night wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t need to be. In this moment, it felt enough. The quiet understanding between them was more than enough. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N realized she didn’t have to figure everything out. Not right now. Not tonight.

And with that, as they walked out of the restaurant, hand in hand, Y/N felt like they were both figuring it out together.

The weeks continued to pass in a blur of routines and moments that felt, in hindsight, far more significant than they initially appeared. Y/N’s relationship with Karina had begun to take shape in a way that felt natural, though it was far from perfect. There were still times where Y/N would retreat into her old habits, times when the walls she had built around herself would rise up without warning. But Karina always seemed to understand, always patient, always giving her the space to breathe, to find her footing.

That Saturday, Karina invited Y/N to join her at a nearby park. It wasn’t a fancy dinner or anything extravagant—just a simple walk through the paths lined with trees. Y/N didn’t know what it was about the invitation that made it feel different. It wasn’t something big, but there was something comforting about it. A sense of quiet intimacy that felt more real than any of their previous dates.

Y/N arrived a little early, walking up to the park’s entrance and taking in the peaceful atmosphere. The sun was just starting to dip below the horizon, casting a soft golden glow over the park, the air crisp but not too cold. She found a bench under a large tree and sat down, checking her phone for messages, but mostly just killing time. There was something about the stillness of the park that calmed her, a place where her thoughts could settle in the quiet.

Karina appeared a few minutes later, her familiar figure walking down the path with her usual confident stride. When she spotted Y/N, her face lit up, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“You’re early,” Karina remarked, stopping in front of the bench.

“Guess I was excited to get out of the house,” Y/N replied, her voice light, though there was a quietness in it too. The words felt like a little bit of honesty slipping through.

Karina raised an eyebrow. “You? Excited? That’s a first.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the smile that tugged at her lips made her words feel lighter than they usually did. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it.”

Karina sat down next to her, close enough that their arms brushed. There was no immediate rush to speak, no tension in the air. They both settled into the quiet together, the sound of leaves rustling in the wind filling the space between them. It was moments like this, small and simple, that made Y/N feel like she could just… be.

“What’s on your mind?” Karina asked, her voice low, but not intrusive. It was the same gentle curiosity she always held, as if she truly wanted to know.

Y/N hesitated for a moment. She hadn’t realized how often she had been avoiding her own thoughts lately, or how much she had been holding back in this relationship. But Karina’s presence made it harder to ignore the things that weighed on her, and tonight, it felt like she could at least start to voice them.

“I guess… I’ve been thinking a lot about us,” Y/N admitted, glancing over at Karina. “And how we’re doing. How I’m doing.”

Karina didn’t say anything at first, just nodded as if giving Y/N the space to continue, her expression calm and unreadable.

Y/N swallowed, gathering her thoughts. “I’m… not used to this. Not used to having this, you know?” She gestured between them, feeling a bit self-conscious. “Having someone to be with. Someone who actually wants to be with me.”

Karina’s gaze softened. She shifted closer, leaning slightly in Y/N’s direction. “You’re not alone, you know? Not anymore.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat at the quiet sincerity in Karina’s voice. Her first instinct was to push it away, to doubt the words. But somehow, hearing them from Karina felt different. For the first time, she let herself consider that maybe she didn’t have to keep everything locked away.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Y/N confessed quietly, her fingers curling around the fabric of her jacket as if grounding herself in the moment. “I don’t know how to just… be with someone, without trying to protect myself or run when things get too close. I don’t know how to trust like this.”

Karina was quiet for a moment, as if processing Y/N’s words, and then, without a word, reached out and placed her hand gently over Y/N’s. The simple act of it felt grounding in a way nothing else had. There was no rush, no urgency in Karina’s touch—just a quiet reassurance that she was there, present, in a way that made everything seem a little easier.

“You don’t have to have it all figured out,” Karina said, her voice soft. “You just have to be willing to try. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at her words. She had heard similar things before, but the way Karina said it felt like a promise—a quiet, unspoken bond forming between them. It wasn’t about perfection. It wasn’t about having it all together. It was just about being there for each other, one step at a time.

The silence that followed was comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding. Karina’s hand stayed on top of Y/N’s, warm and steady. Y/N didn’t pull away. She didn’t feel the need to. For once, the walls around her didn’t feel like a necessity. Maybe they were still there, buried just beneath the surface, but Karina’s presence made them feel less… important.

“You make it sound easy,” Y/N muttered, the corner of her mouth tugging up into a soft smile.

Karina chuckled, her thumb lightly brushing across the back of Y/N’s hand. “I know it’s not easy. But we’re figuring it out, right? One step at a time.”

Y/N nodded, the words sinking in. Maybe it wouldn’t be perfect. Maybe they wouldn’t have all the answers immediately. But they were willing to keep trying. Together.

As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting a warm glow over the park, Y/N felt a quiet peace settle over her. For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel so afraid of what might come next. Because in this moment, with Karina by her side, everything seemed like it was heading in the right direction. One small step at a time.

And for once, that was enough.

It was a pace Y/N could get used to—slow, yet meaningful. They would meet between classes, grab lunch when they could, and spend time together in a way that didn’t feel forced. But still, there was the underlying question of what came next. What would it mean to actually be together? To make this work beyond just late-night talks and stolen moments?

The answer seemed to come when Karina casually mentioned one evening, “My parents are coming to visit this weekend.”

Y/N blinked, unsure if she’d heard correctly. “Wait, what already ?”

Karina shrugged as she sat down next to Y/N on the couch, her usual playful smile softened with something more serious. “ They’re curious. And you’re important to me, so… I figured it’s about time you meet them.”

Y/N was quiet for a moment, her mind racing. Meeting Karina’s parents was a big step, one that felt like it came out of nowhere. They’d only been dating for a two months, and although they’d spent plenty of time getting to know each other, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that meeting Karina’s parents was something… monumental.

“I don’t know,” Y/N said, her voice uncertain. “What if they think I’m not good enough for you?”

Karina’s expression softened, and she placed a hand on Y/N’s. “Don’t overthink it, Y/N. They’re not like that. Trust me. My parents just want to meet the person I’m serious about.”

Y/N hesitated, still unsure. Meeting parents wasn’t something she’d done often, and she wasn’t exactly the most polished person in these kinds of situations. But at the same time, she wanted to show Karina that she was committed, that she was ready to take steps forward, even if it felt intimidating.

“I’ll do my best,” Y/N said finally, her voice firming up as she gave Karina a small, uncertain smile.

Karina grinned, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “That’s all I’m asking for. You’ll do great.”

The weekend arrived faster than Y/N expected, and with it came the anticipation of meeting Karina’s parents. She spent the morning pacing around her apartment, overthinking every possible detail. What would she wear? What if she said something wrong? Would they like her?

Finally, after much internal debate, Y/N settled on a simple but elegant outfit—nothing too fancy, but enough to feel like she was putting in some effort. Her phone buzzed just as she was about to head out the door. It was Karina.

“Hey, I’ll pick you up in 10 minutes. Don’t be nervous. Just be yourself. I’m sure they’ll love you.”

Y/N smiled at the message, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness flood through her. She quickly grabbed her jacket and keys, trying to calm the flutter in her chest. She couldn’t help but feel like this was a bigger deal than she wanted to admit.

When Karina arrived, she greeted Y/N with that same warm smile she always wore, her energy lifting the tension in the room as soon as she stepped through the door. “You look great,” Karina said with a grin, her eyes scanning Y/N up and down before meeting her gaze.

Y/N chuckled, rolling her eyes. “You look amazing as usual, but thanks.”

Karina’s lips curled into a small smile. “Ready for this?”

Y/N took a deep breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Karina’s parents lived in a spacious house on the outskirts of town, one that looked more like something out of a magazine than a family home. The drive was short, and soon enough, they were pulling up to the house. The large windows glowed warmly in the late afternoon sunlight, and the entire place seemed to radiate a sense of calm and stability.

As they stepped out of the car, Y/N could feel her heart racing again, her nerves bubbling up to the surface despite her attempts to calm herself. Karina must have noticed because she slid her hand into Y/N’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Hey, remember what I said. Just be you. That’s all I want.”

Y/N nodded, squeezing Karina’s hand back. “I’ll try. But no promises.”

Karina laughed, her voice soft. “I’m not asking for perfection, Y/N. Just you.”

Together, they walked up to the front door, and Karina knocked three times before stepping back, a slight smile playing on her lips. The door opened almost immediately, revealing Karina’s mother, a tall, graceful woman who looked like she belonged in a high-end fashion magazine. Her face softened when she saw Karina, and she quickly embraced her daughter in a warm hug.

“You made it,” she said, pulling away with a smile before her gaze flickered to Y/N. “And this must be Y/N.”

Y/N felt her throat tighten. She was smiling, but she could feel the heat rise in her cheeks. Karina’s mom was beautiful, confident, and elegant—everything Y/N felt she was not.

Y/N held out her hand, doing her best to appear calm. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

Karina’s mom looked at her hand for a second before smiling warmly, taking it in her own. “The pleasure’s mine, dear. Karina has told us so much about you.”

Y/N glanced at Karina, who was standing just behind her, her eyes soft as she watched the interaction. “I hope it was all good things,” Y/N said, trying to make light of her nerves.

“Oh, of course,” Karina’s mom replied with a slight chuckle. “Now, come in. Your father’s just finishing up with dinner. We’ll all have a nice meal together.”

Y/N smiled nervously as she stepped into the house, looking around at the pristine décor, the warmth of the home contrasting with the more formal, almost corporate feel she had expected. It was the kind of house that made her feel small, almost out of place, but Karina was there with her—her presence grounding, her hand still firmly holding onto Y/N’s as they moved into the spacious dining room.

Karina’s father, a tall, imposing man with salt-and-pepper hair, stood when they entered the room. His demeanor was calm but sharp, his eyes assessing as they both greeted him. The tension in the air was almost tangible, but Karina’s smile never wavered, and Y/N found herself drawn into that warmth, into that safe space Karina had created around her.

“Y/N, right?” Karina’s father asked, his voice deep but not unkind. He extended his hand to shake hers, his grip firm but not threatening.

“That’s me,” Y/N said, smiling as best as she could, her nerves still bubbling just below the surface.

“Well, I’m glad to finally meet you. Karina has spoken highly of you. It’s rare that she talks about someone like this.”

Y/N glanced at Karina, who was looking at her with a slight, knowing smile. It felt reassuring, hearing that Karina had mentioned her in such a positive light. Still, meeting her parents was a whole new level of pressure, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel the weight of it.

Dinner was an awkward affair at first. There were polite smiles, small talk, and the usual questions about school, what Y/N was studying, and how she was adjusting to university life. But with each passing moment, Y/N found herself relaxing a little more. Karina’s mom was warm, easy to talk to, and her dad, despite his intimidating appearance, seemed genuinely interested in getting to know her. Slowly, the nerves began to fade, replaced by a growing sense of comfort.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. And as the evening wore on, Y/N found herself laughing at stories Karina’s parents shared, getting drawn into the natural rhythm of their conversations. Karina’s dad cracked jokes about her childhood, and her mom added in her own observations, teasing Karina in ways that made Y/N smile—realizing just how much of who Karina was had been shaped by this family.

By the end of the evening, as they stood to leave, Karina’s mom pulled Y/N aside, a soft smile on her face. “Thank you for coming. You were lovely. And Karina—well, she’s never been so happy. That’s all I ever want for her.”

Y/N’s chest warmed at the words. “I’m glad. And thank you for having me.”

Karina’s mom gave her a wink as they walked out the door. “Anytime, Y/N. Don’t be a stranger.”

As Y/N stepped back into the cool night air, Karina’s hand slipped into hers once more, the two of them walking side by side toward the car.

“You did great,” Karina said, her voice low and warm.

Y/N smiled, feeling like she had just survived a test she hadn’t known she was taking. “Thanks. Your parents are nice.”

“They liked you,” Karina said with a smile. “And that’s what matters.”

Y/N looked over at Karina, seeing the sincerity in her eyes, and for the first time, it didn’t feel like they were two separate worlds colliding. It felt like they were finally beginning to carve out a space for themselves—one where they didn’t have to question their place.

And maybe that was the most comforting feeling of all.

[satsugacafe]

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐃𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐀𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐧’𝐬 𝐅𝐚𝐜̧𝐚𝐝𝐞

➳❥ 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: hellooo love ur blog <3 can I request hcs for soul society!aizen with a reader who isnt charmed easily and is a bit skeptical of his façade?

➳❥ 𝐀/𝐍: I was originally going to turn this into a fic (even though you asked for headcanons), but I was running out of creativity juices to keep it flowing :( It just sounded like it would be a great fic.

➳❥ 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭: When you don’t fall for Aizen’s two-faced performance during his time in the Gotei 13

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

˚₊‧꒰ა From the moment you joined the Gotei 13, you found yourself on the outskirts of every conversation involving Aizen. His reputation preceded him—calm, composed, effortlessly kind, with a voice that could soothe even the most restless souls. But something about him didn’t sit right with you. It wasn’t that he was rude or ever out of place. Quite the opposite. He was too perfect.

˚₊‧꒰ა You’d seen captains and lieutenants before. They were powerful, commanding presences, many of them hardened by battle and responsibility. Yet Aizen…smiled too easily. It wasn’t that his kindness seemed forced; it was that it never wavered. No one was that consistently unshakeable. People had cracks, moments of frustration, and lapses in their carefully crafted facades. But him? Not once. And that was enough to make you wary.

˚₊‧꒰ა He noticed you watching him. Of course he did. Aizen was a man who missed nothing. But he never confronted it directly. He didn’t need to. He was too skilled at playing the game of subtlety. Instead, he’d catch your eye in meetings, offer a faint smile when your gazes met across the training grounds, and always, always address you with a tone that felt meticulously chosen.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You seem thoughtful,” he said one day, catching you in a quiet corridor after a meeting had ended. His voice was light and conversational, but there was something about the way his gaze lingered on you that made you feel like you were being measured. “Do you often get lost in your thoughts like that?”

˚₊‧꒰ა You weren’t in the habit of being easily charmed by flowery words or gentle tones. You shrugged, not bothering to hide your suspicion. “Only when things don’t add up.”

˚₊‧꒰ა His smile never faltered, but there was a flicker of interest in his eyes. “And what, may I ask, isn’t adding up for you?”

˚₊‧꒰ა You knew better than to voice your thoughts outright. Aizen wasn’t the type of man you could accuse without solid evidence. He was too clever, too calculated. So instead, you shrugged again. “That would be telling.”

˚₊‧꒰ა It wasn’t the response he was expecting, and for a brief moment, the mask slipped. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, his expression sharpening before he smoothed it over again. “Curious,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You’re not like the others.”

˚₊‧꒰ა His words hung in the air, and you knew he wasn’t talking about your combat skills or your rank within the Gotei 13. He was talking about your mind. About how you weren’t so easily swayed by his charm, how you saw the cracks in his otherwise perfect veneer.

˚₊‧꒰ა After that, he started to take a subtle interest in you. Nothing overt, nothing that would raise suspicion among your peers. But you noticed the way he seemed to gravitate toward you during group discussions, how his gaze would linger on you just a fraction longer than anyone else’s.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Do you not trust me?” he asked one day, his tone light and amused as if the question were a joke. But you could see the weight behind his words. He was testing you.

˚₊‧꒰ა You didn’t smile. “I don’t distrust you. But I also don’t trust anyone blindly.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He laughed. “A wise approach. Trust, after all, is a dangerous thing to give freely.”

˚₊‧꒰ა There were moments when you could feel him trying to draw you in, to make you let your guard down. He’d offer small compliments, casual remarks about your skill or your insight. But you never gave him the reaction he was looking for.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You must think me terribly boring,” he said once, with that same faint smile. “Always so serious, always so composed.”

˚₊‧꒰ა “No,” you replied, meeting his gaze head-on. “I think you’re too composed.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He chuckled at that, but there was no humour in it. “And what would you have me do? Shout? Lose my temper? Would that make me more trustworthy in your eyes?”

˚₊‧꒰ა “It would make you more human,” you said simply.

˚₊‧꒰ა That response seemed to catch him off guard. His smile faltered for the briefest moment before he recovered. “Ah, but aren’t we all striving to rise above our baser instincts? Isn’t that what it means to be a Shinigami?”

˚₊‧꒰ა You didn’t miss the irony in his words. He spoke of control, of discipline, but there was a glint in his eyes that suggested something far more dangerous beneath the surface.

˚₊‧꒰ა Over time, your interactions became a dance of sorts. A careful balancing act where neither of you showed your full hand. He’d make a remark, and you’d deflect. He’d offer a compliment; you’d question the intent behind it. It was a game, and you both knew it.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You know,” he said one day, as the two of you stood on the balcony overlooking the Seireitei, “I admire your caution. It’s rare to find someone who doesn’t take things at face value.”

˚₊‧꒰ა “Is that so?” you replied, not bothering to hide the scepticism in your voice.

˚₊‧꒰ა He smiled again, that same enigmatic smile that never quite reached his eyes. “Indeed. It’s…refreshing.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Despite your reservations, you couldn’t deny that Aizen was fascinating. There was something undeniably enigmatic about him, something that drew people in despite themselves. But you refused to be one of those people. You refused to let yourself be lulled into a false sense of security.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Do you ever wonder why people are so quick to trust?” he asked one day, his tone almost philosophical. “Why do they cling to the idea of certainty, even when it’s an illusion?”

˚₊‧꒰ა “Because it’s easier,” you replied. “It’s easier to believe in someone than to question everything they say.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He nodded as if he’d expected that answer. “And you? You prefer the harder path?”

˚₊‧꒰ა “I prefer the truth,” you said firmly.

˚₊‧꒰ა His gaze lingered on you for a long moment, and you could see the gears turning in his mind. He was calculating, always calculating, but you never gave him the satisfaction of knowing what you were thinking.

˚₊‧꒰ა There were moments when you wondered if he found your scepticism amusing, or if it frustrated him. Perhaps it was both. After all, he was used to people falling in line, to people believing in his carefully crafted persona. But you? You saw through the cracks.

˚₊‧꒰ა “It must be exhausting,” he mused one day, “to always be so guarded.”

˚₊‧꒰ა “It must be exhausting,” you countered, “to always wear a mask.”

˚₊‧꒰ა That made him pause, and for the briefest moment, you saw something shift in his expression. But then the mask was back in place, and he offered you another one of his enigmatic smiles. “Touché.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Despite everything, you couldn’t deny that there was a strange sort of mutual respect between you. He recognised your intelligence, your unwillingness to be swayed. And you recognised the danger lurking beneath his polished exterior.

˚₊‧꒰ა In another life, you might have trusted him. You might have even admired him. But in this life, you knew better. Aizen Sousuke was a man of many layers, and you had no intention of peeling them back only to find yourself ensnared in his web.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You’ll never trust me, will you?” he asked one day, his tone almost wistful.

˚₊‧꒰ა “No,” you said without hesitation. “But I’ll respect you for what you are.”

˚₊‧꒰ა His smile that day was different. Softer, more genuine. But you knew better than to believe it was real. Because with Aizen, nothing ever was.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @stygianoir @edensrose

©satsugacafé: no permission to repost, plagiarise, copy or translate my work onto any other platform or this one.

[voidofsunlight]

Lead Me to You

Word Count: ~1,050 words~ Trope: Enemies to Lovers?

Summary: Forced to partner in Yule Ball dance lessons, Mattheo Riddle slowly finds himself enjoying your company—until he overhears you have a date with Cormac McLaggen. That’s when he decides to take matters into his own hands.

A/N: Someone asked me to write the next part of this [link] so I tried my best! Please be kind—I’ve never really posted my writing anywhere before. I’ve been writing for myself for years, and I’d love to hear your thoughts! Feedback is appreciated. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!

✦ ✦ ✦

The moment your hands met, you knew this was going to be a disaster.

Mattheo’s grip was too tight, fingers curling around yours like he was bracing for battle rather than a dance. His movements were rigid, his body tense—like he expected the entire room to explode at any moment.

"You’re supposed to follow the rhythm," you murmured, trying to guide him.

"I don’t take orders," he snapped, yanking you into a turn so abruptly you nearly tripped.

A sharp snicker came from your left. Theodore Nott, watching with barely contained amusement as he danced with Pansy, smirked.

"Damn, Mattheo. Are you dancing or trying to hex her?"

Mattheo shot him a glare, but it didn’t change the fact that he was comically terrible at this. He moved like someone who had never had to be gentle—someone who had spent his whole life preparing to strike first, not to hold.

The moment McGonagall dismissed the class, he tore his hands away as if burned, muttering something about a waste of time before stalking off.

✦ ✦ ✦

The next lesson wasn’t much better.

Mattheo was still stiff, still completely incapable of grace, and still refused to meet your eyes. His movements were jerky, his grip too firm, and when you stumbled over your own feet, he scoffed.

"Pay attention."

You huffed. "You’re the one leading."

"Yeah, well, maybe you should keep up."

Despite his sharp words, something was different this time. His frustration wasn’t as venomous, his insults not as sharp. He was still tense, still scowling, but… he was trying.

And when he finally twirled you without disaster, his brows lifted—just for a second—before he masked his surprise with a scoff.

"Not bad, Riddle," you teased.

He only huffed in response, but when the lesson ended, he didn’t shove you away this time.

✦ ✦ ✦

The teasing started soon after.

Theodore, being Theodore, couldn’t help but jab at Mattheo for his own entertainment. Every time Mattheo’s gaze lingered on you for too long—whether it was in the corridor or across the Great Hall—Theo wiggled his eyebrows, grinning like he knew something Mattheo hadn’t quite figured out yet.

"You’re staring," Blaise remarked one afternoon, smirking over his coffee cup.

Mattheo scowled, stabbing at his food. "I’m not."

"Right," Theo drawled. "And I’m a Gryffindor."

Mattheo rolled his eyes, but he didn’t glance your way again. At least, not while they were watching.

✦ ✦ ✦

Then came the overheard conversation.

"I still can’t believe you said yes to him," your friend huffed, nudging you as you packed up your books.

You shrugged. "Well, he seems nice."

"Cormac McLaggen?" She scoffed. "You Hufflepuffs are too nice."

Mattheo hadn’t meant to listen. You were just so close—your group settled at the Three Broomsticks, bags at your feet, probably from dress shopping. But the second he heard you said yes—something in him went rigid.

His jaw clenched, fingers tightening around his drink until his knuckles turned white.

You had a date. And McLaggen, of all people.

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

✦ ✦ ✦

By the last lesson, the steps had become familiar.

His hands were no longer hesitant, his movements less aggressive. He didn’t treat you like something fragile—nor something he wanted to break.

But something else was happening.

He caught himself watching you—the way your hair brushed over your shoulder, the way you focused so intently on perfecting every step. It was irritating. Distracting.

His grip on your waist tightened slightly.

"You got a date?" he asked suddenly, voice carefully neutral.

You blinked, surprised. "Why?"

He shrugged, feigning boredom. "Just wondering who’s got the misfortune of dancing with you all night."

But there was something behind his words—something sharp, something possessive.

And when you smiled, amused, and answered yes—it made his blood boil.

✦ ✦ ✦

 The night of the Yule Ball arrived, and Mattheo was restless.

He hadn’t planned to care. He hadn’t planned to even think about it.

But then he saw you.

And worse—he saw someone else dancing with you. A Gryffindor. Of course.

Something inside him snapped.

Before he could second-guess himself, he strode forward, cutting in without so much as a glance at your partner.

"I’m taking over," he said, smirking—but there was an edge to it, something dangerous, something real.

And when your hands met this time, he wasn’t stiff. He wasn’t hesitant.

Because for the first time, he wasn’t just dancing.

He was claiming something he hadn’t even realized he wanted.

You arched a brow, amusement dancing in your eyes. "So you finally figured it out?"

Mattheo exhaled sharply, tugging you just a little closer. His voice was low, rough, edged with something undeniably certain.

"Shut up," he muttered. "Just let me have you."

You laughed softly. "You could’ve just asked me, you know."

He smirked, the cockiness returning—but this time, there was something else behind it. Something raw. Something real.

His fingers brushed against your cheek, lingering for just a moment before trailing down to your waist. And then, with a confident pull, he dipped you back—holding you firmly, a knowing gleam in his eyes.

"I want to kiss you," he murmured.

A challenge flickered in your gaze. "Then do it."

And he did.

✦ ✦ ✦

PLEASE DO NOT COPY / TRANSLATE OR REPOST AS YOUR OWN!

[yuyusshinelight]

Yunho smut where the reader is shy to ask anything sexual and Dom yunho helps her by edging

Hi, my shining star! I'm sorry it took so long, the truth is that I've gotten into this fic a little longer than I expected. I don't know if it's what you were looking for but I really hope you like it as much as I loved writing it🫶🏻.

Warnings: established couple, edging, oral sex, fingering, breast playing, use of pet names, dom-sub subtle dynamic.

You have been scrolling through your Instagram page for half an hour more or less, seeing a big variety of edits, videos and pictures of your lovely, sweet boyfriend being or looking everything but lovely and sweet. It's almost insane the amount of hot, breathtaking content Yunho has in social media, even making you feel overwhelmed by how scarily handsome his public persona is. The way he moves, the way he looks at the camera, the way he poses… Every single angle of your boyfriend makes him look fine. Certainly, Yunho doesn't have a bad angle at all.

And that's why you perfectly understand why Atiny is so obsessed with him. Because you have seen a lot of messages, videos and more and more about how much random people want Yunho for themselves. As you have also seen a lot of content about how much they want to feel his hands around their necks, how much they want him to finger them, how good it would be to be at his mercy...

There's a lot of dirty content about your boyfriend on the internet, and you could be jealous of all those filthy comments about Yunho but, meanwhile they only can have those videos or pictures, you can delight yourself with the real thing.

You are the only one who has seen what happens when the sweet Yunho everyone knows takes a step back to give free rein to the kinky one. It's you who has tasted all the things he knows to do with those glorious hands that life has given him. Your pussy gets wet just thinking about those long fingers digging into your tight hole to make you moan his name at the top of your lungs as his free hand closes around your neck with utmost subtlety, applying light, pushing pressure in the right place to cloud your vision.

What a bad time to get horny when you are curled up in the corner of the sofa with him sitting next to you, playing one of his many video games.

Don't get it wrong, there's nothing bad about getting horny being by his side, it's just that you are a really shy person and asking anything sexual is out of your possibilities. You always shake like jelly, looking away from him with your cheeks and ears as red as a tomato when Yunho asks you if you feel like having sex. There's no way that you can ask him to finger you without getting nervous, you know yourself pretty well, you would end up running away in embarrassment before even calling him.

What a lucky girl you are to have such an attentive person as your boyfriend. Because yes. Yunho has noticed that something goes wrong with you. You're moving your feet nervously while you shrink more and more into place, slowly turning your phone over in an attempt to hide from him whatever you are seeing. In addition, all the furtive glances you have been giving him for a while now, blushing immediately before looking away. Yunho has a slight idea of what's wrong with you, and he's more than happy to give you the solution you're asking for with those little looks, but not without playing a bit first.

“Everything okay, princess?” He asks without taking his eyes off the screen, his voice is calm but his face tells everything. Although you can't see it because you are too embarrassed to lift your eyes from your phone now “Y-Yes” you squeeze your shirt. You know your boyfriend pretty well which makes you be sure that he will tease you until you say what he wants to hear "Are you sure?” his voice changes to that one deep and pussy-tease voice he knows you love ”Because it seems the opposite to me, princess. Come on, be a good girl and tell me what it is that makes you so restless” Like a flash, the fact that you were right makes you blush even more, turning your face to your phone, noticing that you never removed the reels, meeting with several clips of Imitation. Bad timing indeed. Like the rest of his fans, you have a thing for actor Yunho.

“O-Oh my god…” In a quick motion, you turn your phone off and let it fall at your side, hiding your face in your long sleeves, which obviously catches Yunho's attention. He knows it's not right to take your phone without your permission but the reaction was certainly striking for the idol so, out of curiosity, he pauses his game before taking your phone and turning it on, finding one of those many edits of him acting jealous. The smile that spreads across his face says it all.

“Does my princess like when I act jealous?” He says with a certain tone that makes you close your eyes tightly “N-No” but both know that you can't deny it when he has the proof in front of his eyes “Then? Why is my princess all brushed right now?” You make an embarrassed sound, hiding even further in the not secure shelter of your arms.

He shouldn't press you like that, you don't seem comfortable with the course of this conversation, if it can even be called that. But just the way you curl even more in your spot, how you squeeze your legs together or how red your ears are getting is enough for Yunho to know that you need some attention down there but you don't know how to ask for it without saying it. And, as he also knows that you will not make a move even if your cunt starts to squeeze around nothing uncomfortably hard, he decides to take the next step.

“You know?” Yunho gives small pats on your thigh, making you look up at him for a few seconds, just until he says “Something tells me that you need a panty replacement. Am I wrong, princess?” squeezing your soft thigh with a certain force. You get goosebumps as soon as he leans close to your ear to whisper that last part in a sensual way ”Because, if that's the case, I can help you. You only have to use your big-girl words” he says, looking at you with that knowing smile printed on his perfect lips, expecting from you to answer him but you can't say anything, not with all that amount of new arousal running down your folds, ruining your panties even more.

You don't even dare to look at him, how can you utter a word? But, you know Yunho, you know he won't give you what he knows you want from him unless you do it his way. It always happens. He can have you gushing in his mouth but won't move a muscle until he gets things the way he wants them to go. So, you bite your head off and whisper a faint “Please”.

“Please what, princess?”.

“Help me”.

And that's how you have ended up on the couch with your legs wide open to leave Yunho enough space to give you the attention he perfectly knows you need.

With utmost delicacy, Yunho brushes his fingertips up your stomach, making you sigh between lovely whimpers, as he likes to call them, ending up dragging his nose along the curvature of your now exposed breast “You smell so good” he inhales deeply with the sole intention of becoming intoxicated by your scent, dipping forwards and placing tender kisses along your chest, “Mm” Yunho rubs a hand up your thigh, keeping his eyes on your cute expressions “I could eat you up, princess” your stomach tightens, breath short on your lips as his soft lips brush over one of your pebbled, pink mounds before taking it into his mouth to start flicking it with his tongue nonchalantly “I… Yunho please” you breathe desperately, melting into his touch, savoring the way his tongue tortures shamelessly your poor nipple with steady flicks and sucks.

"Be… be careful, they're sensitive" but that warning only encourages him to bite down gently and tug lightly on it to elicit the mewls of painful pleasure he loves so much. Only after he hears you meowing his name between needy sobs is when Yunho disconnects his mouth from your breast, "Much better, don't you think princess?" Without giving you time to respond, he bends his head to your chest again, this time taking the other one in his mouth as he indifferently massages the breast he has just played with. His lips closing perfectly around your nipple as his tongue rolls it incessantly, sucking at will at the same time as his fingers play mischievously with your other nipple.

“Y-Yuyu” With your body burning with desire from just the stimulation on your breasts, your restless hands quickly search for a place to clutch to release even a little tension, meeting immediately with Yunho's strong arms ready to be squeezed by you. And, though at first your hands stay there still, delighting itselves in the sweet touch of his arms, they themselves decide to move upwards until one reaches its fixed place on his back and the other on his head, fisting on the fabric of his shirt and his silky soft hair.

That little tug on his scalp you give him when he bites your nipple with some force makes Yunho grunt lasciviously against your skin, burying himself even deeper as he ruffles your nipple. The stimulation is enough to make more and more arousal wet your little pussy, the feeling of pressure in your lower belly making you raise your hips in search of something to help you release it.

The moment your hips begin to move subtly to the rhythm of Yunho's fingers on your nipple, he doesn't think twice and drives his free hand down to the moist warmth between your legs, just brushing his fingertips gently across your sensitive clit over the fabric, applying just enough force to make you shiver slightly without giving you the pleasure you crave.

More and more moans of his name fall out from your mouth as he continues playing with your pink abused mounds. Meanwhile, his long, skilful fingers have already passed the barrier of cloth that separates him from your wet heat, slipping two of his digits at once into your tight pussy while his thumb immediately finds your clit. The reaction is instantaneous, the moment you feel his fingers make their way into your tiny hole your back arches, causing your head to snap back with just the first rub on your clit.

“Oh god… Yunho” Your legs automatically wrap around his body, pulling him tighter against yours in a reflex action “feels so good”. You can feel him smiling against your skin, rushing the movement of his fingers synchronously with his tongue, stimulating both breasts equally but giving more attention to your little tight cunt which does not stop squeezing his fingers.

It's non-stop, his fingers going in and out of your pussy as he pleases, making sure to hit your cervix every time he slips them back in. The softness with which he caresses your inner walls only to expertly prick your sweet spot makes you delirious, tears begin to form in your eyes as a thin trickle of drool trickles down the corner of your lips.

This is what Yunho likes the most, it's a direct ego boost for him how with just his fingers and tongue he is able to make you lose your mind like this in a matter of minutes. And even more so with what he has planned.

Thirsting for your delicious arousal as if he hasn't had a drink in a decade, Yunho separates a second time his insatiable mouth from you, wiping some of his saliva from the corner of his lips with his tongue. A sight too hot for your own good “Do you like it princess? Come on, tell me how much you like when I play with your needy cunt, when I play with your boobs. Tell me” And you want to answer but the shame of talking dirty and the climax approaching dangerously fast prevents you from raising your voice except to moan and sob “Say it, princess. Or maybe I should stop?”.

At the threat of losing all sources of pleasure now that your body had reached that state of excitement that announced a near orgasm, you shake your head quickly, moving your hips to the sound of his fingers in search of more pleasure, but Yunho stops you with his free hand “Say it”. His voice is serious, ringing in your ears in the most sensual way you could have ever expected, it could almost have brought you to cum but Yunho has had to decide to remove his fingers from your pussy just when you were almost dare. It clearly makes you cry at the loss of that delicious orgasm you were going to have. But you know that doesn't work for Yunho, in fact, it encourages him to tease you even more. So, in order to make him not let your orgasm fade, you answer him “I… I really love when… when you finger me or… or play with my boobs”.

Satisfied with the response, Yunho starts to kiss down your body, trading little licks and bites all the way down your stomach until he reaches your both clothed anymore cunt because, you don't know when, he has already got rid of your panties “Good girl” He says against your pussy, letting his hot breath make you shiver before spreading even more your legs wide and hooking them over his shoulders to lazily start sucking and nibbling on the flesh of your inner thigh, alternating it with kisses “So good for me always”.

The tension in your lower belly that was threatening seconds before to explode shortly is easing considerably and you are not amused about it. Now it's clear to you that it didn't matter what you did or said, he was going to steal the pleasure of cumming anyway.

Well, you need his tongue in your throbbing pussy to make you cum really good and you need it now so, playing a dirty trick “I’m your good girl, yes” You start to move your hips subtly, indirectly asking him to bury that perfect face he has in your pussy and abuse your insides with his tongue as only he knows how. But, instead of that, Yunho spanks your thigh a bit hard, enough for pleasure and pain to mix deliciously together. “Good girls use words to ask for what they want, princess” he says, moving to the left to give it the exact same treatment as the other.

With the stinging sensation still in your right leg and the sweet touch of his lips on your left, you know you have no choice but to give him what he wants to get what you want so, swallowing a bit hard “Please, Yuyu, eat me” He kisses your thigh one last time before spanking it as hard as he has done with the other one, looking at you directly in the eyes with that proud smile spreading his lips deliciously hot “What do my princess want me to eat first?” For that piercing gaze he is giving you, you already know that there's no other option, either you say it or he will stop everything.

“Eat my… my pussy. I need your tongue, your fingers. Whatever. But please, make me cum”.

With that proud smile that he has not erased growing, Yunho finally approaches his mouth to your needy cunt, leaving a soft kiss on your throbbing clit “Whatever my princess wants, my princess gets” Nothing but a whine leaves you when his hands, now securely on your hips, pull you down further, making it easier for him to devour you.

The very same moment he passes his tongue flat over your throbbing clit, your nails dig into his shoulder, making him hiss hard but not enough to make him stop his task. The pleasure is high enough to make you start to rock your hips uncontrollably, his nose bumping your clit perfectly to make your whole body tremble. That tension in your belly reappears quickly, even stronger. Your pussy opening and closing around his tongue shamelessly as Yunho plays roughly with your clit.

“Ah!” your head twists back, your hands clutching harder when Yunho pulls his tongue out to attend your clit now “Y-Yunho! P-Please… Please!” The feeling of his tongue flicking along your clit has you rocking your hips involuntarily “Please…” you pant, your body vibrating with pleasure and so close to snapping “I-I'm your good girl… m-make me cum”.

You feel Yunho press a close lipped kiss to the top of your swollen clit, making you gasp, looking down between your legs to find your smiling boyfriend looking up at you with an easy sated gaze, his chin wet and his hair an absolute haystack, blushing across his cheeks.

“S-So hot” you exhale, almost to yourself, but Yunho chuckle tells you that it has not been only for your ears “Does my princess like what she sees?” he rubs your little hole with the tip of his finger, making you jolt “Y-Yunho!” your hips roll, searching for more of his touch “P-Please, come on, please Yunho”.

“I can hear you saying my name like this all day” Yunho sings and kisses your clit again, focusing now on how good his fingers look when he sinks them into your hole one more time, pressing deep until his knuckles are flush with your opening “Yuyu” You cry his name in a moan just as he likes while he starts to pump his fingers again, picking up the pace “Come in, princess, say it again” He croons, moving them quicker when you clench around them “Y-Yunho, Y-Yu-Yu…”.

“That’s it, princess, that's my really good girl. Now, cum for me” He delivers a quick slap on your sensitive clit, making the tension that has been threatening to burst all night finally explode what makes you choke between hard cries of his name. He's quick to put his mouth back on your pussy just in time so that you cum in his mouth, pushing his fingers even deeper while his tongue flicks one last time around your clit before separating once and for all and letting you recover from your orgasm.

“Everything okay, princess?” You can't respond, your breathing is too fast, your heart is racing and your body doesn't respond. Just like Yunho wanted to have you before the next round because, guess what, there is no such thing as rest in his plans.

[damneddamsy]

falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part ii)

summary: Joel Miller never expected much out of Jackson—just a quiet place to live out the days he had left. But when a baby’s cries lead him to a mother unravelling under the pressure of nursing her child she never asked for, he finds himself tangled in something he can’t walk away from—no matter how much he tells himself he should.

a/n: on today's episode of 'angry idiots and sad assholes', introducing the one and only Joel Miller! I let out a few tears writing this one, too, it's really painful when you think about how Joel probably perceives himself, or how I think he does. onto other happier news, I simply cannot believe the kind of response the first part garnered, and I'm shook! rise up, depression girlies!!! To everyone who responded in the comments and reblogs, I've read them all twice over and giggled and twirled my hair and threw up butterflies. Thank you, and I hope you like this one! :)

Joel settled into his routine like a man settling into an old wound. Patrols, clearing trails, the stables, the repair shop, the bar, dinner in silence, rinse and repeat. It was easier that way—easier than thinking too much about a vain attempt. He ignored his neighbour’s existence completely. At least, that’s what he told himself.

But ignoring something didn’t make it disappear.

Every morning, he still ended up at the dining table—the one he never used—sipping his coffee too slow for his patience, gaze drawn to the big white house across the street like a goddamn magnet. Watching for movement. Watching for them.

And he fucking hated it.

Hated the part of him that waited, that noticed, that took account of the smallest details like they meant anything to him. Like he still had a reason to care.

Sometimes, Maya fussed too much, and Leela would come outside, her hair a little unkempt, gait all botched, but her hands steady as she cradled her baby against her chest. He saw her murmuring softly to the baby girl, pointing to the sky, the trees, the shifting clouds, the falling snow. A little trick from Maria, he figured. It worked well enough. Maya would quiet, those big brown eyes so curious, distracted by the vastness of the world she barely understood.

And Leela—she still looked tired. Still looked like she was moving through a fog, unseeing, carrying more than just the baby in her arms. But she took to Maya differently now, touched her calmly, like she was no longer afraid she might break her.

That was good. That meant she was doing fine. That meant she didn’t need him. And that meant Joel could stop worrying about the things that weren’t his to worry about.

Joel was outside, tightening the hinges on his porch gate, bracing against the cold, when he heard her steps crunching in the snow. Still quiet. Still waiting. He didn’t look up right away, just kept his focus on the task in front of him. If she needed something, she’d say it.

"Good morning, Joel," Leela greeted warmly.

Joel gave a short nod, adjusting the grip on his screwdriver. "Mornin’."

She lingered there. Honestly, he just wished she’d just go back inside. So, he kept working, unbothered, and didn't look up.

"Loose hinges?" she asked.

Courtesies. He wasn't falling for it. "Mhm."

He knew when he wasn't wanted. She was finding her feet now, somewhat starting to take care of herself, carefully taking care of Maya. She didn’t need him checking in, didn’t need him hovering. And maybe—maybe that should’ve felt like a relief. It didn’t.

"You need anything else?" he asked, voice gruffer than he meant it to be.

"No, I just..." Leela wavered, softly, like she already knew he was about to shut her down. "I wanted to say thank you. For helping me out these few weeks. I couldn't have done it without you."

Joel finally glanced up at that. Just a flicker.

Leela shifted in her puffy pants, adjusting Maya against her shoulder. The baby girl was bundled up tight, small fists curled into her mouth, watching him with that blank, childlike wonder in big eyes. It took every bit of strength he had to not fall for that, and just forget everything that happened.

Joel hung his head, nodding again, keeping his focus downward on the screw.

She was being friendly. Trying to meet him halfway. And he hated that this was what it had come to—that she felt like she had to say something, to extend some kind of olive branch, when all he’d done was build a wall between them. For no fucking reason.

He straightened up with a muffled grunt, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Nothin’ to thank me for. It was all you."

She half-laughed, something wry and knowing. "I know that's not true."

Joel glanced up, stiffening, but she wasn’t looking at him, just rubbing slow circles into Maya’s back, pressing a slow kiss to the top of her head, consoling herself.

He knew what she was doing. He wasn’t stupid.

She was trying to make things normal again. Like they hadn’t spent nights under the same roof. Like he hadn’t seen her fall apart. Like she wasn’t still here, right now, offering him something—a small, careful thing—and he was too much of a coward to take it.

So he didn’t.

Joel scratched the back of his neck with the screwdriver, rolling the tension out of his shoulders. "You oughta get inside," he said instead. "It’s too cold for the kid."

Leela’s expression flickered. Not hurt. Just resigned. He felt like he'd ripped the bandaid off a baby.

"Okay. Yes." She slowly nodded but hesitated a step back. Then—too quietly, almost like an afterthought—"It’s nice to see you around, Joel."

And with that, she started back down the road, holding Maya closer by her head, and Joel let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. That was better. Cleaner.

He grabbed his tools and turned back to his door, locking his jaw. He hadn’t meant to come off short, but it was better this way. Best to stay in his own lane. Best not to make something out of nothing. That’s what he told himself.

But later that night, when he was eating that damn delicious soup she’d left for him by his door—still warm, still considerate—he felt like a grade-A asshole.

From then on, it was Tommy who had taken over fixing the nursery, finishing what Joel had started. He figured that was for the best. It kept things clean. Tied up loose ends. He had no business stepping into that house anymore, no reason to.

And yet, his eyes always caught the details—the way the curtains in the nursery window shifted, the way light flickered between the slats, the way the wood he had sanded and painted was still unfinished, the way Tommy started bringing someone else along.

Mal.

Joel had seen him before, a younger guy with an afro that Tommy had taken under his wing. Handy with repairs, and good with his hands. Nothing special.

At first, Mal actually worked. Brought his toolbox, put up a few shelves, and nodded along to whatever Tommy said. Kept to himself. But then—things started changing. Mal started staying longer. Talking... to her. Right on the front stoop until the sun went down.

It was fine at first. Two steps between them. Then one. Then none at all. Soon, he was leaning close on the porch railing, shoulders nearly brushing hers, speaking in low, easy tones that Joel couldn’t quite make out from across the street. And then—laughter. Leela’s laughter. Soft, hesitant, but real.

More than Joel had ever gotten out of her. Not that he’d ever tried.

Tommy and Maria stopped coming around entirely. It was just Mal now. Every goddamn day. He’d stroll up, toolbox in hand, tap on the door, and then—nothing. No sounds of work being done. No hammering, no shifting furniture. Just conversation.

Joel told himself it didn’t matter. Repeated it like a prayer, like a lesson he should’ve learned by now. That whatever Leela did, whoever she let into her home, was none of his business. That was the whole point of leaving, wasn’t it? Cutting ties, walking away.

He didn’t care about the way Mal lingered on that porch, didn’t care about the way Leela had started looking at him—not quite wary, not quite inviting. Like she was still learning how to trust people but was willing to try. Didn’t care about the way Maya reached for Mal, the tiny fingers curling into his beard, the easy way Mal let her.

And yet, he always saw it.

The way Mal leaned just a little closer, the way Leela’s shoulders, once so tight and drawn, started to loosen. The way her fingers twisted in the fabric of her sleeves when she spoke to him, soft and hesitant, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to enjoy the conversation.

Joel hated how much he noticed. It was worse when he overheard them.

He'd been out all damn day. Sun up to sundown, rifle slung over his shoulder, dealing with raiders, clickers, and everything in between. The kind of day that made his bones ache, that made his back scream when he so much as breathed wrong. The kind of day where all he wanted was to go home, put his feet up, and maybe—just maybe—close his eyes for longer than ten damn minutes.

But no. Because just as he was rounding the corner to his place, the world ready to lay even more shit on him, he heard them.

"You mean to tell me no one's ever spun you around before?" Mal was saying.

Joel's step faltered. He should’ve kept walking. Should’ve ignored it. But of course, he didn’t. Joel adjusted his grip on the sack slung over his shoulder, slowing his pace, letting their voices drift through the cold evening air.

Leela snorted, light and dismissive. "Like dancing?"

"Exactly like," Mal confirmed, smooth as you please. "Having a little fun, letting go, feeling the music. Bet you don’t do much of that."

Joel’s fingers curled around the strap of his bag, grip tightening.

"There's more pressing matters than romance," Leela muttered, but she was laughing.

Joel didn’t like that one bit. He didn’t like the way she said it. Playful. Entertained. That was the first thing that rubbed Joel the wrong way. The second was the way the kid kept talking.

"Well, I bet Maya’s never even seen her mama all dolled up before, huh? Imagine that, baby girl," Mal cooed, and Maya's sweet crool followed like a melody.

Fuck this.

Joel didn’t hear Leela’s response, didn’t hear whatever she said next, because he was already moving—boots heavy, hands fisted, the strap of his bag biting into his palm.

The frozen dirt beneath his boots crunched as he made his way there, shoulders squared, hackles raised, barely restraining the urge to grab that kid by the collar and shake some goddamn sense into him.

Because who the hell did this punk think he was?

Talking like that, acting like Leela was some blushing girl to be sweet-talked. Like she hadn’t spent the last few weeks barely holding herself together. Like she hadn’t bled for that kid in her arms. Like Joel hadn’t been the one who—

He stopped himself there. Tamped it down. Shoved it deep into the pit of his stomach where all the other shit lived.

Instead, he turned away, kept his head down and walked straight home, fists tight around anything. By the time he kicked the door shut behind him, his jaw ached from how hard he’d been clenching it. Fucking Mal.

Joel dumped the sack of supplies on the table and went straight for the bottle. Pulled the cork out with his teeth, and poured himself a glass with a hand that was damn near steady.

He took a sip. Let it burn. Let it settle. Then he muttered, "Goddamn kid."

He wasn’t mad. Not really. Because why should he be?

She liked him. Sure, he wanted her to be happy. If that happened, he'd finally get a good night's sleep. And yet, it wouldn't mean a fucking thing to him if Mal was the reason. One day when he's going to see her and Mal inside her home, silver rings glinting off their hands, little Maya nestled between them, the picture of a perfect family...

Joel knocked back the rest of the whiskey and swallowed hard. Good. That was good. Good for her. She didn't need him. Maya wouldn't need him. He'd butt out and live alone, in peace.

He set the glass down a little harder than he meant to. Stared at it. Then, just to be sure, he muttered it out loud.

"Ain't my problem."

But the facts remained.

She still wasn’t eating much or sleeping well. The dark circles under her eyes hadn’t faded. She still rubbed at her temples when she thought no one was looking, still blinked a little too long, like she was fighting off exhaustion every second of the day. Food was out of compulsion, not hunger, for the sake of staying healthy for Maya.

And then, one night, he saw her asleep on the porch swing. Curled in on herself, arms tucked tight, shivering slightly against the cold, exhaustion dragging her under where she sat.

It took everything in him not to walk over and wake her. To shake her by the shoulder, drag her inside, make sure she was warm. It took everything in him not to care.

Because this wasn’t his anymore. He had no claim over them.

Didn’t change the fact that every time he saw Mal leaning against that railing, looking like he belonged there like he’d always belonged there—that knot in his chest twisted tighter.

And he hated that, too.

X

Joel had truly been looking forward to dinner. It was the same thing every week. He’d go over to Tommy's, have a decent meal, shoot the shit with his brother, and let Ellie fill in the gaps of conversation. It was comfortable. Familiar. Nice. A welcome change from the silence of his own home, from days spent running the same damn circuit—patrol, repairs, the bar, then back to a house that wasn’t a home, not really.

But tonight, something was off. Joel could feel it from the moment he sat down.

Maybe it was the way Maria and Ellie kept glancing at him like they were waiting for something. Or maybe it was just Tommy—sitting across from him, chewing through a mouthful of steak, his expression too nonchalant like he had something up his sleeve.

Joel didn’t think much of it at first. He focused on his food, carving through the meat, grounding himself in the scrape of his fork against the plate.

Then Tommy opened his big hole of a mouth.

"Mal’s been spending a lot of time over at Leela’s place."

Joel’s hand tensed around his knife. And just like that, his appetite was gone. He kept his face neutral and didn’t look up. Just kept chewing, lagging and deliberate motions, like he hadn’t heard a damn thing.

Tommy, either oblivious or just plain cruel, kept going. "Helpin’ out with the nursery. Putting some time in with the baby girl." He ripped a piece of bread in half, completely unaware of the way Joel’s grip had turned his fork into a weapon. "Good guy. He and Leela get along well. It's nice to see."

Joel exhaled slowly through his nose. Focused on his plate. Flattened a piece of potato with the back of his fork. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t his problem. That was the whole goddamn point, wasn’t it?

He’d helped Leela out. Gave her time. Took care of her baby. That was it. She was somebody else’s problem now. And yet, the idea of some guy stepping into his place, rocking Maya to sleep, working on the nursery, fixing things, being there—his mouth flattened into a hard line. It stung.

No. It wasn’t his place to care. He'd told himself so many times, it felt like one of those daily affirmations bullshit. Thou shall not think of thy neighbour's handyman and his fuckeries.

Though, still, before he could stop himself, the words were already out of his mouth. "Nursery ain’t even done yet."

The second it left him, he regretted it. A beat of silence.

Then, slowly, too slowly, Joel looked up—and immediately hated what he saw. Maria and Ellie were smirking. That stupid, all-too-knowing, ready-to-annoy-the-shit-out-of-him-smirk. He had the greatest urge to leave the room.

Maria lifted an eyebrow. "And how exactly would you know that, Joel?"

Joel pursed his lips casually, setting his fork down with a little too much care. "They live right across the damn street. Hard to miss."

Ellie leaned forward, propping her chin on her fist. "Right. And how much time do you spend looking across the damn street?"

He massaged the bridge of his nose. "Don’t start, Ellie."

Tommy tilted his head, giving him a look that made Joel want to knock his damn teeth out. "You’ve been actin’ real funny ever since you left that house, y’know."

"Ain’t nothin’ to act on," Joel muttered, shifting in his seat. "I helped her out. End of story. Moving on."

Tommy wasn't letting go, damn him. "Uh-huh. Then why you sittin’ here lookin’ like you just bit into a bad lemon the second her name came up?"

Joel’s jaw ticked.

"Yeah," Ellie added, grinning. "Why’s your face doing that thing?"

Joel frowned. "What thing?"

She pointed with her fork to the furrows above his eyebrows. "The thing where you pretend you don’t care, but your forehead says otherwise."

Maria hid a knowing smile behind her glass while Joel rubbed at his face consciously, glaring over at Ellie. "You could just go over there, you know."

Joel let out a short, humourless chuckle. "Oh, c'mon. For what?"

"Dinner," she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Just a meal with friends. Tommy, me, you, Ellie—Leela and Maya. Nothing big."

Joel stared down at his plate. His food had gone cold.

"We don’t need to be doin’ all that," he muttered, shaking his head. Getting familiar and cosy. It'd only invite more trouble.

Maria ignored him. "She’s got that nice, big dining room. French windows. Good view of the lawn. It’d be like a little party."

Joel didn’t respond.

"Come on, man," Tommy pressed. "What’s stopping you?"

That was the question, wasn’t it? Joel wasn’t sure he had an answer. Or maybe he did—and just didn’t want to say it.

Because the truth was, he had no business going back. He’d done what he came to do. He’d helped. That was it.

But then there was Maya—her featherlight body in his arms, the way she’d reached for his shirt in her sleep. There was Leela—standing in the doorway that last morning, silent, watching him go. There was the stillness in his own house, the way he’d catch himself in the middle of the night, listening for a cry that never came. What the hell was wrong with him?

Instead, he just stabbed his fork into his potato and muttered, "Pass."

Maria and Ellie exchanged another conspiratorial glance. And Joel had the distinct feeling this wasn’t over.

Once dinner had progressed into a chore, Ellie and Joel, ever the gentleman, helped Tommy dry the dishes. Well—Joel did. Ellie, on the other hand, was just sitting on the counter, swinging her legs and cracking jokes about Tommy’s new manbun. The kitchen was warm, the soft clatter of dishes filling the space and laughter, the steak dinner still settling in Joel’s stomach.

“You’re really doing the whole ponytail thing now, huh?”

Tommy rolled his eyes, flicking on the tap. “Jesus, you sound like Joel.”

“Hey, you take that back! I am way cooler than Joel,” Ellie corrected. “And I'm a thousand times funnier. Pun-nier.”

“Debatable,” Joel muttered.

“Did Maria do this to you?” she asked, flicking a sudsy fork in Joel’s direction. “Blink twice if you need help. I've got emergency scissors.”

Tommy snorted, stacking the last plate in the cabinet. “It’s practical. And I'm starting to like it.”

Ellie tilted her head, unimpressed. “It's lazy. Tragic.”

Joel smirked but said nothing, wiping down a plate before handing it over. Tommy shot him a glare like he was expecting some backup, but Joel just shrugged. Not his fight.

Maria walked in from behind them, and Joel noticed that infuriating look on her face. Oh, nothing good would come out of this. She set a small box on the counter with a dull thud, right beside Joel. He barely glanced at it before she plopped another paper box on top—leftovers from tonight. Steak and potatoes just for a special someone.

“Could you pass this on to Leela on your way back?” she said casually, drying her hands. “It's one dose a day, each.”

Joel looked down, his hands bracing against the counter. Vitamins. Of course.

Maria tapped the food box. “And dinner.”

Joel eyed them both, then her. The way she said it, like it was no big deal. Like she hadn’t just put him in a position he couldn’t easily wiggle out of.

He sighed, already seeing where this was going. He set down the dish towel, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tommy can pass it to her tomorrow.”

Maria simply raised an eyebrow. “Meat’s gonna go bad.”

Joel narrowed his eyes. “Oh, so this is how you’re gonna play it?” He glanced at Tommy, then Ellie, both of whom were very pointedly looking elsewhere. “Really?”

Ellie grinned. “It’s a neighbourly thing to do, Joel. Don't you call yourself a gentleman?”

“I’m with her on that one,” Tommy added, crossing his arms.

Joel let out a slow, irritated breath. Family? No, just a bunch of annoying, traitorous little shits.

Maria only smiled, sliding the box closer to him. “Wouldn’t want her going without. She's already skin and bones. And you know... you live right across the damn street.”

Ellie burst out laughing, raising her fist to Maria, who bumped with her own knowing smile. “Respect.”

Joel clenched his jaw. She'd got him right where she wanted. Because now, if he didn’t take the stupid thing, he’d look like an asshole. And Maria knew that. She was being fucking shameless about it.

His gaze flickered down to the box. Then, before he could stop himself and leave them standing, an image surfaced—Leela, sitting on that damn porch swing, curled up against the cold. Maya’s tiny fingers tugging at her collar, red-cheeked, catching swirling snow in her dark curls.

Joel closed his eyes briefly. He couldn't shake it off. And he admitted it to himself, despite all his grievances against this, he missed them. He missed Leela's soft footsteps in the nursery past midnight, he missed Maya entirely. He missed the sense of normalcy once the blood and gore of patrol ended, to head to a warm home and lay down, exhausted, knowing he hadn't had a drink to fall asleep.

Then, wordlessly, he grabbed the boxes off the counter.

Ellie elbowed Tommy in the ribs, giggling. “See? Look at him. Good ol’ Joel, real man of the people.”

Joel shot her a warning look while heading over to grab his jacket, the delivery under his arm. “Don’t push it, kid.” Then pointed a threatening finger at Tommy as he yanked the front door open. “Can't believe we're related.”

Tommy only puckered his lips at him, miming a kiss. “Mensch Miller.”

X

The house across the street was unlocked again.

Joel stood at the threshold, jaw clenched, boots planted firm against the porch floorboards. The door was cracked open, swaying slightly from the evening breeze, the light from inside spilling out onto the steps. Did she even care about safety? It should’ve been locked. It should’ve been bolted shut, curtains drawn, an armoury stacked by the doorway. But Leela still acted like the world wasn’t what it was. Like Jackson was different.

It had been a whole two months since Leela brought Maya into this world, a month of struggling, of barely eating, barely sleeping, barely breathing. And now she had the nerve to leave her door wide open like she was inviting trouble? Like Jackson was some safe little haven where nothing bad could ever happen? A dangerous thing, that kind of trust. He’d seen what happened to people who had it.

His jaw ticked. He took the porch steps two at a time and pushed the door open without knocking.

Inside, the air was warm, thick with the scent of woodsmoke and something faintly sweet—baby powder, maybe, or that lavender soap Maria kept handing out. The fire crackled low in the hearth, throwing restless shadows across the room, licking at the edges of the high-backed armchair and the mathematics-riddled books and papers neatly stacked up in scatters.

And there she was, standing in front of it. Leela was running a brush through her hair, violently. Dragging it down, tangling it further, hissing under her breath when it snagged. Frustrated, impatient. Needed a haircut.

The same damn nightgown again. White, sleeveless, falling in soft folds just past her knees. But this time, his eyes caught the details—the way a single pearl button at her collar had been left open carelessly, the way the thin cotton made the dark silhouette of her body visible beneath, and the odd little cherries sewn sparsely into the fabric. Small, stitched by hand.

He had no idea why all that stood out to him. It just did. And boy, did it leave nothing to the imagination.

Leela stilled, catching sight of him in the doorway. The brush hung mid-stroke in her hand.

“Oh,” she said, like he hadn’t just barged into her house uninvited. “Hello.”

Her eyes and voice were warm. Soft, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary, as if she wasn’t standing there in nothing but a slip of a dress while the light of the fire turned her edge golden.

Joel forced his gaze away. His eyes flicked over the living room instead, to the couch against the far wall—his couch, as much as he hated to admit it. The blankets were still there, folded neatly, stacked with the pillows like she’d been expecting him to come back. His grip tightened around the boxes in his hands.

“I—” He cleared his throat, stepping forward, extending the boxes toward her. “Maria sent you some stuff.”

Leela blinked again before setting the hairbrush down, padding toward him on bare feet. She took the boxes gently, fingers barely brushing his. “Thank you, Joel,” she murmured, flashing a little smile.

“Just vitamins,” he played off.

She pried the lid off the larger box and inhaled deeply. He caught the way her nose twitched, her fingers tightening just a fraction around the edges.

“Her famous steak dinner,” he offered her.

And then, like clockwork, her stomach betrayed her, the low grumble cutting through the quiet between them. She stiffened, laughing, breathless and sheepish.

“Sorry.”

“You should eat—”

A sharp cry cut through the air, calling for her. Both their heads swung toward the staircase.

Leela sighed first, setting the boxes away. “Napkin,” she murmured, as if reciting from a schedule. “Please help yourself to anything. I’ll be right back.”

But Joel stepped forward, one arm extended, the box acting as a barrier between her and the stairs. He despised the unfamiliarity.

"Eat," he said, firm.

She hesitated. Her gaze flickered between him and the staircase, like she was weighing her options, debating whether to argue or just go along with it.

Another cry echoed from upstairs—short, needy. Joel could tell. It wasn’t hunger, wasn’t pain. Little Maya was lonely already.

“I got this,” he assured.

Leela chewed her lip. “But—”

“I know the drill.” He jerked his chin toward the kitchen. “Just eat.”

A long moment passed, heavy with hesitation. Then, finally, she relented, her shoulders sagging as she breathed in surrender. She took the box from him.

“I’ll grab a fork, I guess,” she muttered, turning toward the kitchen.

Joel smothered a grin while watching her go, and took the stairs two at a time, powerless to his anticipation. Two weeks since he held the baby girl. He'd missed the shit out of her, not that he would admit that to anybody. Of course, he wasn't about to pass up this chance for anything.

From the landing, the nursery's door cracked open, light from the hallway bleeding into the dim room. Joel frowned as he leaned in to inspect.

The first thing he noticed was that the crib had moved. His boots made no sound over the wooden floor as he stepped inside, scanning the space. The wooden shelves were up, already home to Maya's folded clothes, towels and napkins. The light installation dangled halfway, unfixed. No one had even begun work on painting the walls. No armchair. No rug.

This Mal guy was a complete jackass. Maya's nursery was a mess.

"Good with his hands, my ass," Joel muttered. "What a fuckin' tool."

Joel angrily followed the hallway light, stepping through the open doorway into the furthest bedroom, a room bigger than any he’d ever seen in Jackson.

Massive was an understatement. This was the kind of bedroom you’d see in a damn commercial—the kind of thing he would’ve scoffed at, once upon a time. The bed alone was ridiculous. Olympic-sized, sunken into a floor for itself, with plush, overstuffed pillows and thick sheets, barely disturbed. A sliding-door closet stood at the far end, pristine, untouched. A plasma-screen TV mounted to the opposite wall, thick with dust.

Joel’s lips pressed into a thin line. There was something unnatural about it. The way it felt more like a untouched display than her bedroom.

Maya’s cries pulled him from his thoughts. Joel crossed the room, approaching the crib—the one he’d worked on. All pink and polished for the spoiled little girl.

The moment she saw him, her cries hitched. Big, teary brown eyes blinked up at him, wide and glistening, like she was struggling to focus. She sniffled, tiny fists flexing against the mattress, mouth wobbling around her jutting tongue, as if trying to place him.

Joel couldn't resist a grin, brushing a coarse knuckle at her soft cheek.

“Hi, baby girl.” Then leaned closer to whisper, “Traitor.”

Maya sniffled, blinking again, then reached for him—small fingers curling, grasping blindly before finding his much larger one, tugging it toward her mouth. She gummed at his gnarled knuckles with a fussy little noise, her brows furrowing in concentration.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “That ain't fair. That's your apology?”

Maya made another small whimper of a sound. And a real smile. A big, toothless, gummy grin, full of warmth and recognition. Something nearly uncoiled at his ribs.

He pulled a so-so face. “Hm, I'll bite.”

It was muscle memory, really. The way his hands moved—effortless, practised. He'd done it more than fifty times in two weeks. He made quick work of the napkin, wiping her clean, then slid his hands beneath her arms, lifting her up in one smooth motion.

He grunted as he did, “C'mere, sweetheart. You beautiful, beautiful girl. Did you miss me, huh?”

She squealed, legs kicking excitedly as he cradled her against his chest, supporting her head the way he always did. And just like that, he eased into the old rhythm without thinking. That familiar weight against him, that warmth—gentle, swaying, murmuring under his breath. It was easy. Too easy. Like breathing. Like falling asleep.

She nestled into his shoulder, tiny fist pressing against his neck, seeking his warmth. She’d gotten bigger. Not by much, but enough. Still delicate, still small—but stronger now. More aware. Smart, like her mother.

"Yeah, you missed me," he murmured when she nuzzled against his neck.

And then—pure, infallible instinct—he dipped his nose into her hair and breathed her in deep. Soft linen and old cotton, warm and faint.

Sarah used to smell like this once. For just a little while. That same invisible claw tore at his memories. Joel closed his eyes, just for a second. He remembered how, when she outgrew it, he'd missed it terribly. How he’d sometimes let her sleep curled up in his arms all night long, his back against the headboard, just to hold onto that smell. Just to keep that small, fleeting moment of innocence before the world could take it away.

That nostalgia settled deep in his ribs, quiet and whole. This seemed like the only place in the world where suffering didn’t exist. Like his hands weren’t stained with all the things he’d done, all the lives he’d taken.

Because here, right now, with Maya, he wasn’t the man who had lost and lost and lost again. He wasn’t the man who’d left behind nothing but bodies and broken promises. No, she didn’t know any of that. She didn’t care.

She only knew his warmth. She knew the steady beat of his heart, the scratch of his beard against her soft skin, and the way he said her name. She only knew him as someone safe. And fuck, he wasn’t, he wasn’t, but—

God help him, he wanted to be.

Maya sighed, a tiny, content sound, pressing closer. And Joel—he let himself believe, just for a moment, that he was clean.

A soft gasp behind him made him turn to reality and toward the door. “Oh, Maya.”

Joel turned to find Leela standing in the doorway, hand to her mouth, eyes wide in amusement. She had changed—finally—into one of those oversized sweaters he’d seen her wear on colder nights, sleeves swallowing her hands. But she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at his chest.

Joel frowned. “What?”

Leela bit her lip, trying—failing—to smother a smile. She motioned vaguely toward him. Joel tracked her finger and glanced to the side. And felt it. Hot, damp.

Damned baby spit-up.

Maya’s little betrayal soaked through the fabric of his shirt, spreading down from his collar and shoulder to his chest in an uneven, milky stain. She smacked her lips contentedly against his collarbone, completely unaware of the mess she’d just made.

He sighed, shifting her to the other arm. He levelled her with a playful glare. “You gonna warn me next time you ruin my shirt, darlin'?”

Maya only gurgled in response, a soft, pleased little sound.

And then, following her daughter—Leela laughed.

Not the quiet, polite kind that he'd managed out of her once. Not the forced kind, either. A real laugh. Breathless, unexpected, warm. Like it had slipped out before she could stop it.

Joel felt it like a slow-moving punch to the gut. He didn’t hear that sound often. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever heard it before on his account. He'd finally done it.

It changed something about her, softening her face in a way that caught him off guard. Her eyes creased at the corners, the tightness in her shoulders eased, the exhaustion in her expression smoothed over—just for a moment.

It did something strange to him. Something he didn’t have the time to name. So he just exhaled sharply, muttering a curse under his breath as he adjusted Maya over to the other arm, rubbing a hand over his damp shirt.

“Yeah, real funny. Your girl just aired her paunch all over me,” he grumbled.

Leela tried to sober up, apologizing, but another chuckle slipped out in between, and Joel caught the way she bit her lip, fighting to suppress it.

She was enjoying this. And he was in big fucking trouble.

"Don't move. I'll get you a spare shirt," she said, laughing, before walking to the adjacent closet doors.

Joel didn’t even get the chance to protest before Leela slid one side of the closet doors open, revealing—sweet Jesus.

His eyes landed on the neat rows of men’s clothing hanging inside. Not just a few misplaced items, not something left behind by chance. An entire collection.

Button-downs, slacks, henleys—clothes meant for daily wear. Added into the mix, were pressed suits, the kind that cost more than a month’s worth of supplies, the kind men used to wear to skyscrapers and boardrooms, back when the world was still upright. And golf shirts. For fuck’s sake, golf shirts.

Joel’s jaw hinged back up. Golf was a rich man’s game. He’d worked jobs near country clubs in his past life, and seen the kind of people who played. Men with money. Her father, perhaps.

Leela had definitely grown up rich. And looking at this—this untouched wealth, just sitting here, long past its time—it became clear. She probably still was.

Joel’s grip on Maya shifted slightly, the warmth of the baby pressing into his chest the only real thing anchoring him as his eyes dragged over the closet once more.

For all that Leela lived like a ghost, for all that she barely let anyone near her, this place still held echoes of what she came from. A past life that didn’t match the woman he’d seen standing at her front door, exhausted and hollow-eyed, desperate for her baby to stop crying.

Leela flipped through the hangers without hesitation, fingers brushing past labels he recognized—Armani, Burberry, Hollister. Eventually, she pulled out a green pullover. Soft, fine material. A little small for him, but it’d do.

She turned, offering it wordlessly.

Joel didn’t move to take it right away.

He was still staring at the closet. Not because he gave a damn about how much a fucking sweater cost, or whether she had a trust fund hidden away somewhere, but because it told him something. Something he hadn’t really thought about before.

Leela had come from comfort. Stability. A world where things were taken care of. And yet she’d buried herself in this big, empty house, alone, fighting tooth and nail to survive—like everyone else. And she never asked for help.

Leela cleared her throat. "It should fit. My father was a tall man."

Joel managed a sigh, shifting Maya in his arms. He took the pullover with one hand, already halfway through plucking open the buttons of his flannel.

While he worked, Leela stepped closer, ready to take Maya. She was quick about it, but Joel caught the way her fingers lingered, just for a second, as she scooped the baby up from his arms. Not on Maya.

On him.

Joel really tried to push it out of his head, write it off as an illusion, already plucking open the buttons of his shirt. His fingers brushed the fabric, and he paused when he caught the tag inside. Ralph Lauren, for fuck's sake.

Leela noticed with a small smile. "I didn’t take you for a man with fancy taste," she mused.

Joel let out a dry snort. "Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it."

He pulled off his flannel, the sleeves catching briefly on his wrists before he tossed it aside. The room wasn’t cold, but the air bit at his skin anyway. The scars felt it first—every healed cut, every old wound stretched over knotted muscle, each one a reminder of what his body had been through.

"Oh, man," he couldn't help but grunt, stretching his arms.

He worked the pullover over his head in one smooth motion, the fabric soft, snug across his shoulders. Felt like something he would’ve bought for Sarah back in the day, something she’d pull from a Macy’s rack, nodding in approval before insisting, "Dad, just try it on."

It fit better than he expected, but Joel barely registered that. His body had begun to ache. Not in one place—everywhere. It was late at night, it was cold, he missed his daily dose of whiskey, and he needed sleep for tomorrow.

The exhaustion sat in his bones now, permanent and familiar. His bad knee throbbed, aggravated from the cold, from the weight he put on it patrolling for hours at a time. His back had never been the same after that one fall, a long time ago. Some mornings, he woke up and could barely stand straight, feeling every single one of his years sink into him.

And yet, his body still held. Still worked. It wasn’t much to look at anymore. Not that it ever had been.

He had no delusions about himself—he wasn’t built for admiration. Never had been. Picking up girls and fooling around; was Tommy's thing. He wasn’t the kind of man people looked at twice, not in the way that mattered. His body told a story, but not the sort anyone wanted to read or had a happy ending,

His hands were ruined things, thick with callouses from years of exertion, from gripping rifle stocks, from skinning game, from chopping wood in the dead of winter. His knuckles were perpetually split, healing just enough before the next fight, the next job, the next reason to curl his fists. Scars mapped his skin, uneven and jagged, old bullet wounds and knife cuts, hard edges, marks of a life spent fighting for something—for anything.

He wasn’t young anymore. He wasn’t some smooth-talking son of a bitch with a face that turned heads. He was always angry at something, thinking about something, readying his next step, even if it was a complete waste of his time.

But he was still formidable. He could protect. He could endure the rough-hewn demands of survival, even now. He could fight like hell. That had to count for something.

But Leela—she wasn’t staring, exactly. Wasn’t not staring, either. It was subtle. Barely there. A flicker of something implicit, something fleeting, the way her gaze traced along his arms, his shoulders, abdomen, the sharp cut of his collarbone before snapping away. As if she hadn’t meant to look, and she’d caught herself a second too late.

Joel had been around long enough to recognize when a woman was checking him out. And hell—he wasn’t gonna lie to himself. It made him feel good. Fucking fantastic, really. Like he could wake up tomorrow feeling twenty years younger. Like he could leap right out of bed and his back wouldn’t stiffen before noon. Like he still had something left in him worth looking at.

He wasn’t an idiot, though. He wasn't going to let it go to his head.

Leela adjusted Maya in her arms, moving her weight as if giving herself something to do, something to focus on that wasn’t him.

And Joel—he pretended not to notice. Didn’t say a damn word about it. Didn’t shift under her gaze, didn’t smirk at her, didn’t let her see that she’d gotten under his skin in a way he hadn’t expected.

Just muttered a quiet, "Thanks," and left it at that.

Leela hummed in response, turning away to lay Maya down, who was already dozing her little head off, into the crib with practised care. Then, just as easily, she pivoted back to her bedside dresser, fingers moving over a stack of neatly folded quadrille paper.

"Can you pass something to Tommy for me?" she asked, voice soft, controlled. "It’s really important he gets this as soon as possible."

Joel might not have paid it much mind, might’ve brushed it off as just another errand he wasn’t keen on running—but then he saw it. The way her posture stiffened, the way her hands smoothed over the edges of the papers like they were something fragile, something vital. But whatever this was—it mattered.

She flipped through the pages, and for the first time since he’d met her, he saw something rare. Excitement. A flicker of life.

"It’s a wonderful breakthrough, Joel," she said, and there was a rare enough lightness in her voice, bordering on unguarded enthusiasm.

Joel just blinked. Leela wasn’t the type to get excited. Or maybe he's just never seen it in her before.

"So, I’ve been working on…" then she went into something technical for his dense mind, talking fast in words that blurred together. It all went miles over his head. Circuits, electrical theory, conduction points—half of it might as well have been a foreign language.

Joel just stared when she finished with a deep breath.

Leela instantly caught the look and pursed her lips. "Okay, um. Let me put it this way."

She shifted toward him, gesturing as she spoke, putting it into Layman's terms. "You know how the dam stops producing enough energy in winter? When the river freezes over?"

Joel gave a slow nod.

"So we rely on fuel, but fuel’s very limited. We've got the town expanding, and people coming in. So our batteries drain. If we had an alternative energy source, something reliable—" She held up the paper, tapping a rough sketch. "And that’s where this comes in."

Her hands moved as she spoke, cutting through the air with sharp, purposeful gestures. Not just passion, not just expertise. Conviction.

"Lightning is erratic, but it’s raw power. Joules of energy. Think about it. If we can direct a strike into a controlled medium—like a graphene capacitor—we can store it."

Joel narrowed his eyes, the concept clicking into his lagging brain. "So what, you think you can catch a goddamn thunderstorm and turn it into a battery?"

Leela wheezed a quiet laugh. "More or less."

He thought about it. "Seems like a hell of a thing to gamble on."

"It’s not a gamble. It’s math. Physics. It will work, Joel, I know it."

Joel didn’t argue. He didn’t understand it, not really, but he’d seen Leela work before. He trusted her genius. The nights she couldn't sleep—he’d sometimes blink awake to the sound of chalk scraping against a blackboard, catching sight of her standing there in the dim glow of the bulb, mapping something out with surgical precision. Or hunched over a notebook, scribbling feverishly, lost in calculations that only made sense to her.

It wasn’t just her passion—it was her outlet. A relief. A tether to something greater than herself, something she could control before she lost herself completely in the demands of motherhood. And if this was what she was holding onto, then perhaps it was more than just an idea.

She tucked the paper back into the stack, leveling him with a quiet look. "I also have a prototype," she said simply.

Joel raised a brow.

Leela nodded toward the hallway. "It’s in the basement if you want to see."

Joel wasn’t big on machines. Or gear. The finer technical details weren’t for him. But—he glanced at her, at the way she stood, weight shifting from foot to foot, something unreadable behind her eyes.

She wasn’t pushing him. She was waiting.

After a beat, he sighed, tilting his head toward the door. "Lead the way, ma'am."

X

The stairs were steep, the kind that creaked under their weight, but Joel kept a firm hold on Leela’s elbow, steadying her as they made their way down. She was still weak. Too breakable. As far as his knowledge went, she should've gotten better by now. And how the hell was she supposed to do that when she barely ate without cringing?

Joel had half a mind to tell her that, to point out how unsteady she was, how she winced when she put too much pressure on her feet—but she’d just brush him off with a shaky smile. So instead, he let out a quiet breath through his nose and adjusted his grip, keeping her close until they reached the bottom.

"There you go. Watch that last step," he guided as gently as he could.

She glanced up at him from the fringes of a smile, letting his hands go. "Thank you."

He expected damp walls, waterlogged corners, mould creeping up the corners, and a basement that smelled like rot and rust. As what he had been always used to when he went scouring towns nearby for supplies. What he got instead stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Well, I’ll be damned," he blew out.

It was a workshop. A big-ass one. Tools lined up on the magnetic walls, neatly arranged, half-finished projects sitting on a worktable, schematics pinned up in careful rows. More of Leela's notes and markers, taped-up designs. Funny how there was life only around all this machinery. Off to the side, an old wine cellar, the glass cases still intact, though the bottles inside were coated in dust.

And then—the cars.

Joel let out a low whistle. Two of them. Just sitting there like some abandoned luxury showroom. One was a Dodge Aspen, a classic in its own right. All violet and under repair. But the other...—his eyes caught the silver emblem glinting under the dim basement light. A prancing horse on the red steel.

"Come on," he muttered in disbelief, stepping forward, barely resisting the urge to run his hand over the hood. "Is that a… Maranello?"

Leela took a deep breath, still recovering from the stairs. "Yes. Custom made. Not sure if there's any left out there anymore."

"Holy shit." His fingers flexed at his sides. He didn’t want to seem desperate, but fuck, when was the last time he’d seen something like this? Much less, been this close?

"Can I, uh…" He gestured indistinctly at the car.

Leela flashed him a small grin. "Knock yourself out. The door's unlocked."

He didn’t need to be told twice. Joel reached out, fingers brushing over cool, crimson steel before yanking the door open. The new car smell hit him right in the face—leather, polish, something untouched by time. His chest tensed at the familiarity of it.

He slid into the driver’s seat, running his hands over the wheel, the knitting around the stick shift, and the soft beige leather of the custom interior. And just for a second—he let himself imagine it. Top down. Gliding down the I-10, no speed limits, no patrols, just him and the open road, wind in his hair, sun on his face, Raybans on. That dream all felt like a lifetime ago.

A soft knock on the passenger side window startled him back to reality.

Leela’s face appeared through the glass, her lips quirked in amusement. "Should I leave you two alone?"

Joel huffed, turning slightly to mask the grin tugging at his mouth. She opened the door and drudged her way inside, moving slowly. The descent had taken more out of her than she was willing to admit.

When she shut the door, he immediately rolled down his window, straining his ears toward the stairs. The one time he wished his hearing wouldn't betray him. Had he locked the door upstairs? Could he hear Maya if she cried? What if he couldn’t? How come Leela didn't seem to think about this? God, this girl really had no clue.

Her voice broke into his thoughts. "I wish I knew how to drive it." She ran her hand absentmindedly over the dashboard, voice softer now, almost wistful. "I believe the last great invention of man was the automobile."

"You said it," he mumbled.

Joel glanced at her and did a little mental math. She must’ve been nine, maybe ten when the outbreak hit. No middle school. No high school. No road trips, no late-night drives with her friends, music blasting. No first kiss. Just one world ending, and another one starting—a crueler one.

Leela exhaled, long and slow, sinking deeper into the leather seat like she could melt into it. Her fingers drummed idly on the handlebars, tracing invisible patterns, slipping into an old rhythm—one she didn’t even seem aware of.

Then, soft as a whisper, she started humming.

It was unhurried, quiet, like something she’d sung to herself a thousand times before. But it was enough to make Joel pause, something about the tune pulling at him. A half-buried memory, something from before. He knew that song. Hadn’t heard it in years, but it was still there, lodged somewhere deep in the creases of his mind.

"That’s—" He frowned, tilting his head, listening closer. "That Patsy Cline?"

Leela glanced up, surprise flickering across her face before something warmer took its place. "Walkin’ After Midnight. Yeah."

Joel hid a grin. "That is way before your time."

"So?" She smirked, tipping her head back against the seat, fingers still tapping, moving. "I had old parents. Rubbed off on me."

A layer beneath her words made Joel tread carefully. He, of all people, knew how age could sit heavy on a person, how some things weren’t worth prying open.

"Can’t have been that old," he muttered, though he wasn’t sure why he said it.

"My mom was seventy-eight when she passed."

Joel blinked. "W-o-w." The syllables came out slow, one after the other before he could stop himself.

Leela let out a quiet laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes this time. She glanced down, her fingers still moving, trailing over the leather, the stitching, following some old path only she could see.

"I miss them every day," she said, voice softer now, more distant. "I’m grateful they singled me out of those photographs. Brought me here." She gestured vaguely to the house above her, her home, before exhaling, like she was letting something go. "I just hope I’m doing them proud."

Joel felt something shift, and he realized: too much sharing. It had to go both ways. And he was never going to be ready for that. So he did what he did best, avoided and threw her off the scent.

"Man," he said abruptly, with a cluck of his tongue, "if I had the keys and some fuel, I’d ride the hell outta this beauty." The words came out before he could stop them. "And die a happy old man."

Leela laughed. A loud laugh, sounding much like her daughter just then, deep in her chest, like she hadn't done it in a long time.

"It’s got fuel," she said, still grinning. "You can still ride it."

"Just sitting here like it's nothing." He shook his head, a small laugh rolling out. "Christ. This is amazing."

He glanced down at the stick shift, thumb absently tracing the edge of the gear knob, but something else caught his eye.

Her nightgown. Hitched up, ruffled around the tops of her thighs, loose fabric pooling where she sat. Bare skin. Soft, smooth, taut over lean bone—too much of it. The way she shifted, unthinking, rubbing one knee over the other, restless. He felt a rock dislodge in his throat.

Fuck. For all that he could be—a guardian, a protector—he had to be a man.

His fingers curled against his palm, an old instinct, something long-trained. Look away, don’t think about it. He turned back to the wheel, forcing his eyes forward. Dashboard. Windshield. Glove compartment. The thin layer of dust coating the steering column. Anything but the way one more inch of movement would have left too much for his mind to comprehend.

But the problem was—she hadn’t bothered to fix it. She didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t care. So why should he?

He swallowed, jaw flexing tight. Because that was the kind of man he was. Greying, frustrated, scarce on love.

His fingers twitched, itching for something to do, something to grab. Instead, he moved without thinking, across the partition—one finger. Just a light tug, barely a breath of a touch, dragging the hem of her gown down, covering her knees. A simple thing. A quiet thing. A mistake.

Her whole body jerked, a sharp intake of breath—like she’d been touched by fire. Really, Joel felt it more than he saw it. The way her muscles tensed, a shudder raced, the quick clutch of her fingers as she held the fabric in place now, suddenly conscious of it.

Shit.

He withdrew instantly, fingers curling into a fist on the steering wheel. Should’ve just minded his goddamn business. Stupid, stupid man.

For a second, the air between them felt too tight. Even with the windows rolled down and winter winds howling outside, he broke into a sweat.

"Didn't see it," she mumbled.

He just shook his head, a small, dismissive grunt, keeping his eyes straight ahead. And that was that.

But the silence that settled over them after wasn’t comfortable. Not one either of them knew how to break.

Joel exhaled through his nose, fixing his stare on the windshield., fingers tapping slowly against the wheel, like he could smooth out the moment just by waiting it out. Jesus, he should’ve never touched her. Should’ve let it be.

“So, that prototype of yours,” he attempted to distract, voice rough. “You got it nearby?”

No response.

He frowned, risked a glance at her—and stopped cold.

Leela sat stiff in the passenger seat, her posture folded in on itself. One slender hand curled at her side, gripping the hem of her nightgown tight until her knuckles went white, the other was pressed to her face, knuckles braced against her nose. Her eyes filled with tears in seconds.

A long, slow breath in, too shaky.

Joel’s stomach sank. He knew that sound. He had seen a lot of it in his time. Had seen grief in all its forms—loud, violent, shattering. But this—this was different. This was quiet, heavy, desperate.

Her shoulders hitched, her breath sucking in too sharp like she was holding something back—something about to give.

And then, just like that, as if a thread had been cut, she sucked in another sharp breath, her whole body curling forward, hands coming up to cover her face—and it hit.

That same soft, keening sound he’d heard from her room almost every night. The one that came through thin walls, muffled by pillows, engulfed by fatigue.

But this time, she wasn’t hiding.

And Joel—he didn’t know what to do. His hands flexed against the wheel, confused and useless.

She wasn’t supposed to be crying. Not because of his pathetic self. Whichever way he saw it, this was his fault. He’d crossed a line, broken through a wall he’d meant to keep standing, and now she was here—crying. Because he couldn't keep his hands to himself.

His mouth opened, and his throat worked, but nothing happened. Fuck. What the hell was he even supposed to say? Everything seemed inappropriate. There was no justification for what he'd done.

His fingers curled tighter, nails digging into his palm. He had to fix it. Before it got worse.

His voice came out too rough, uncertain. “I'm sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Just go.”

It hit like a crack of thunder. A faint, clear command, strangled between a cry. His stomach twisted.

He hesitated for half a second, long enough to hear the way her breath hitched, how her fingers curled deeper into her hair, how she looked like she wanted to fold in on herself, disappear into the goddamn leather seat.

He swallowed, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

He'd had seen women cry before. Ellie, Tess, hell even Maria. He’d occasionally held them while they did. But not this. Not her. And he hated—hated—that it was because of him.

His fingers flexed against his sides, fighting the instinct to reach out, to fix something he wasn’t sure could be fixed. But she’d made herself perfectly clear. To leave her alone.

So he did.

He wrenched the door open, barely registering the way it swung shut behind him. Didn’t look back, didn’t breathe until he was back up the stairs and out the door.

As he jogged down the porch stairs, the cold biting sharper now, cutting straight through the thick weave of his sweater, Joel tried to breathe. Snowflakes clung to the expensive fabric, melting fast, sinking in. He barely noticed. His inhales came long, exhales too short, not quite ragged, but uneven—like he couldn’t get enough air, like something in his chest was pressing down too hard, and no matter how deep he pulled, it wasn’t letting up.

It wasn’t panic. He knew what that felt like all too well.

This was different. A slow, creeping wrongness. A feeling that something had already slipped through his fingers, something he hadn’t even realized he was holding onto. And now it was gone, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to fix it.

He pressed a hand to his mouth, and wiped it down the scruff on his jaw, trying to steady himself, trying to shove it all back where it belonged. It wasn’t working.

His fingers curled into an aching fist. His breath fogged in the air in clouds.

He needed that fucking drink now.

X

The cold still lingered in the morning air, settling deep in Joel’s bones, but that wasn’t the only thing weighing him down. He hadn’t slept worth a damn. Tossed and turned all night, drifting in and out of restless half-dreams—images he didn’t want, memories he didn’t need. He woke up cold, despite the blankets, with a dull ache in his joints, and a scratch in his throat. Maybe from the weather. Maybe from something else.

Didn’t matter.

What mattered was getting out of that house. Getting up, getting moving. Keeping his hands busy, keeping his mind from straying where it wanted to go—back to last night, back to the way she had curled in on herself, hands to her face, shaking with something he couldn’t fix. He despised being around something unfixable. Made him feel incompetent.

He gripped the stack of papers tighter, the edges digging into his fingers as he stepped into the stables. Tommy was there, adjusting the saddle on one of the mares, humming some old tune under his breath. The familiar smell of hay, leather, and horse filled the space, grounding Joel in the moment. He clung to that.

“Tommy,” Joel called, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.

Tommy glanced up, brow lifting in mild curiosity. “Mornin’, brother. No hard feelings from last night,” he said, giving the straps one last tug before stepping back. His gaze flickered to the papers in Joel’s hand. “What’s all this?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. Just extended them out. Tommy brushed his palms off before taking them, flipping through the pages absentmindedly—until he wasn’t. His fingers slowed, putting together the pieces, his brows knitting together, his mouth parting just slightly.

"What in the... I mean—I talked to her about this,” Tommy muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "Told her we'd be having trouble. That was last week.” He let out a low breath, rubbing at his mouth as he stared at the pages like they had just appeared out of thin air. "She really did all this?"

Joel exhaled with a slight grin, feeling like someone had just handed him a gold star. An odd feeling settled in his chest—one he didn’t quite know what to do with. It wasn’t his place to feel this way, no right to. But still, pride curled warm and solid in his ribs.

“She stayed up workin’ on ‘em,” Joel muttered, not quite looking at him.

Tommy let out a short whistle, shaking his head. “Christ. This little genius just saved our asses out of the red.” He waved the papers at him. “Takin' this straight to Maria.”

Joel rolled his shoulders, clearing his throat. “Not just yet. There's a page is missing.”

Tommy paused and frowned, flipping through again. “The hell you talkin’ about?”

Joel crossed his arms, tilting his head. “I’ll give it to you if you let me fix that nursery instead of that goddamn kid.”

Tommy looked up at that, blinking. Then, realization dawned, slow and amused. His mouth curved into a smirk.

“For real, Joel?”

Joel scoffed, shaking his head. “Can’t even fix shelves right.”

Tommy cocked a brow. “He's just doing his job.”

“Little shit damn near had it fallin’ apart the last time I was there,” he argued. “Look, do you want the page or not? I'll just feed it to the horse.”

Tommy let out a sharp laugh, tipping his head back slightly. “You really got a bone to pick with this poor guy, huh?”

Joel’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t answer. Just kept his arms crossed, eyes unwavering. He wasn't backing down just yet.

Tommy shook his head, flipping the last page with a chuckle. “Fine, fine. You can fix whatever you want.” Then, without missing a beat, he held out his hand. “Now gimme the damn page.”

Joel handed it over without another word. But the way Tommy was still looking at him—grinning like he had something to say but was letting Joel walk away with his dignity intact—had him turning on his heel before his brother could get the last word in.

X

[ wow you read this far! now, if you're still reading, I'd just like to know - what song crept into your mind, about Joel or Leela, as you read this chapter? For Joel, definitely: Pain and Misery by The Teskey Brothers and as for Leela, ooooh: Wasteland by Royal & the Serpent! what about you? ]

{ taglist 🫶: @kaseynsfws , @prose-before-hoes , @kateg88 , @laliceee , @escaping-reality8 , @mystickittytaco , @penvisions , @elliaze , @eviispunk , @lola-lola-lola , @peepawispunk , @sarahhxx03 , @julielightwood , @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi , @arten1234 , @jhiddles03 , @everinlove , @nobodycanknoww , @ashleyfilm , @rainbowcosmicchaos , @i-howl-like-a-wolf-at-the-moon , @orcasoul , @nunya7394 , @noisynightmarepoetry , @picketniffler , @ameagrice , @mojaveghst , @dinomecanico , @guelyury , @staytrueblue , @queenb-42069 , @suzysface , @btskzfav , @ali-in-w0nderland , @ashhlsstuff , @devotedlypaleluminary , @sagexsenorita , @serenadingtigers , @yourgirlcin , @henrywintersgun , @jadagirl15 , @misshoneypaper , @lunnaisjustvibing , @enchantingchildkitten , @senhoritamayblog , - thank you!! awwwww we're like a little family <3

And to those in the reblogs, I have no idea how to respond to your sweet, sweet, wondrous words, but after reading them all, I have the most fulfilling, full eight-hour sleep I've ever had in three whole months! I love all the effort you put into commenting, and sharing your thoughts, I know it doesn't seem big, but really, you've made such a difference in my life :) Thank you all so much, and I'd love to keep hearing more!!

@darknight3904 , @guiltyasdave , @letsgobarbs , @helskemes , @jodiswiftle , @tinawantstobeadoll , @bergamote-catsandbooks , @cheekychaos28 , @randofantfic , @justagalwhowrites , @emerald-evans , @amyispxnk , @corazondebeskar-reads , @wildemaven , @tuquoquebrute , @elli3williams }

[poemgyu]

ㅡ stumbling back to you ( 한동민 )

ㅡ PAIRING: ex!taesan x fem!reader

ㅡ SYNOPSIS: ୨ৎ in which you show up at your ex's doorstep drunk

ㅡ GENRE: fluff, college au, getting you back trope

ㅡ WARNINGS: none??? mentions of drinking and alcohol, kisses and cuddling but nothing more than that

ㅡ A/N: this ended up being longer than i expected oopsies!!! anyways hope u guys enjoy this ᡣ𐭩

taesan has just gotten out of the shower, his previously wet hair now dry as he sets the towel down on the bathroom counter. he’s about to go lay in bed when he hears the doorbell ring. and another. and once more.

taesan looks at the digital clock on his nightstand and frowns. 12:30 AM. why would anyone show up here this late? he’s deep in thought when he hears a loud knock, and someone’s voice. a voice he recognizes particularly well. his eyes widen a bit, but then go back to normal. no it couldn’t be. 

he shakes down his suspicions and calmly walks to the door. the person on the other side is still knocking. he sighs before opening the door and the surprise on his face is evident. “y/n?” 

“taesannnnn!!!!” you say, stretching out the end of his name. taesan stares at your face. the face of his ex that he knows all too well, the face of the girl he’d broken up with just three months ago.

it’s obvious to him that you’re drunk. your pink cheeks, the way you just hiccuped, how you keep closing your eyes because you can’t keep them open, and the fact that you’re leaning on the person beside you for support—wait who’s the guy beside you? 

the guy taesan had been eyeing with nothing but sheer hatred finally gets the hint and speaks up, “hey man, y/n wouldn’t tell me where she lives and this is where she told me to take her… sorry about this haha…” taesan looks at him with an unexplainable emotion in his dark eyes. 

“who are you?” he asks although it sounds more like a demand.

“i’m eunseok! we’re in the same club and we had a welcome party today! y/n got a little drunk and i was trying to drop her home but we ended up here…” eunseok says, a bit taken aback by taesan. 

without saying anything, taesan grabs your arm and pulls you towards him, forcing eunseok’s hand to fall back next to his side. “hm?” you look up at him with squinted eyes. 

“thanks for taking care of her, i’ll take it from here,” taesan gives him a stiff smile that eunseok reciprocates, trying not to make the moment even more awkward for himself. taesan pulls you inside his apartment and closes the door behind you. 

once the door shuts you can immediately feel the warmth of his hands on your back, it engulfs your whole body. you smell the familiar scents of his body wash and shampoo and you take in a deep breath. taesan pulls you out of thought as he moves back to look at your face. he’s frowning. 

“what were you thinking?” taesan sighs as he gets a look at what you’re wearing. a black dress that leaves most of your legs bare and a thin leather jacket, which is mainly just for style and does nothing to keep you warm. 

“it’s so late and you’re dressed so lightly, and you let a random guy who sounds like he barely knows you walk you home while you’re drunk! do you realize how dangerous that is? what if something had happened, what if some weirdo did something to you—” he’s cut off by a giggle from you and the expression on his face changes when he sees your face. 

“are you worried dongminie?” you look up at him and his heart softens at the name you call him. you are the only person, aside from his very close friends and family who calls him by his real name. 

he ignores your question and looks away. you slightly stumble without taesan’s grip around your body and his gaze comes back on you as quickly as it left. his hands come around your shoulders and back to support you as he walks you over to the couch. he steps into the kitchen and comes back to hand you a glass of warm water. 

“you usually get sick during this time of year, you shouldn’t be drinking cold water. and especially with that outfit you’ve been in all night.” he says the last sentence while glaring at you. you pout while drinking the water. 

“mean dongminie,” you mumble and you swear you heard taesan let out a quiet laugh. 

“dongminieeee!!!” you whine. taesan looks down at you, “what is it?” he says while moving a strand of hair away from your face. “y/n is tired.” you pout. taesan chuckles at how you can barely keep your eyes open as you talk to him. “alright. i’ll give you some clothes to wear and then you can go to sleep, okay?” his tone is so soft that it’s lulling you to sleep right then and there. 

“don’t wanna. alwready coezy” you say, slurring your words as taesan bites a smile back. “come on, if you sleep in uncomfy clothes you’ll wake up really sore tomorrow.” you’re too tired to fight with him so you just give in, “carry me.” taesan sighs as his hand secure themselves under your thighs and back. he carries you to his bedroom and gently places you down. 

taesan rummages through his closet to find clothes that’ll keep you warm while your arms are wrapped around his waist as you lean all of your body weight on him. once taesan finds something, he turns around to gently pat your back making you look up at him. “go on and change,” he hands you his clothes and walks your wobbly figure to the bathroom. 

as he closes the door he shouts, “don’t fall, alright!” he’s worried because he’s seen you stumble over yourself way too many times tonight. “you’ve always been clumsy while drunk,” he says to himself before he hears you shout, “okie dokie!” 

you step out of the bathroom and are about to trip once more over the fabric of the sweatpants taesan gave you. “dongminie too big,” you put your arms up to show him how the hoodie arm exceeds at least 5 inches over your hands.

taesan can’t help the smile from creeping up his face as he takes your appearance in. you’re wearing a matching grey sweatpant and hoodie set that got too small on taesan since he’d grown out of it. he laughed to himself at how even his smallest clothing looked humongous on you. 

“i’ve missed seeing you in my clothes” he mumbles to himself. “huuuuuh?” you look at him, blinking your eyes with flushed cheeks, due to your intoxicated state and taesan just thinks you looked so cute that he could—he clears his throat. 

“your ears are rwed dongminie” you point out, pointing to his red ears. taesan’s eyes widen as he quickly covers his ears. “y-you should go to sleep, you must be tired,” he point to his nicely made bed. 

you nod and hold your arms up, waiting to be carried like a baby. taesan throws his head back and closes his eyes as he lets out a soft laugh, amused by your antics. 

in a swift motion he pulls you up to wrap your legs around his waist and you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck. your face is buried into his neck and taesan can feel your breath on him. his grip on you is firm as he walks you over to his bed and gently lays you down.

he makes sure to pull the blanket all the way up until it reaches your chin and once again moves your hair away from your face. he looks at you with so much tenderness as his gaze lingers for a couple more moments, as if he’s trying to memorize your face like he’s never going to see you again.

“goodnight,” he finally says as he turns off the lamp on his nightstand and stands up to walk away when he feels a tug on his sleeve. he turns around to be met by your eyes which he can’t refuse, “stay please,” you mumble and taesan can’t say no to you. how could he when you look so precious. 

he slowly nods as he crawls into the other side of the bed, pulling the blanket on him as he lays there stiffly. you turn to face him and he feels obliged to do the same. he looks so pretty that your drunken self can’t help but blurt out, “why’d you leave me dongminie. you’re a bad dongminie.” taesan’s eyes soften at your small voice and the hurt look on your face.  

“i’m sorry,” he lets out a soft sigh, “it’s my fault.” “what do you mean? tell me,” you ask taesan, wondering what he means. the way taesan broke up with you was so abrupt. there had been no fights, no arguing, no nothing prior to the breakup. he had met up with you at the park and told you that you guys couldn’t be together anymore. you were so shocked because you guys were so happy. he was your most favorite person and without him nothing was the same. 

you look back at taesan, it’s like he’s thinking carefully on if it’s okay for him to tell you. “it’s just that saemi, she—she was planning on framing you for plagiarism that she did. it would expel you out of university and she even had all the evidence and everything and wanted to ruin your whole life if I didn’t break up with you and i—i was just so scared. i didn’t want you to be ruined because of me so i—i had to,” he raked a hand through his raven hair and you could hear his voice shaking. 

you remember saemi. back in highschool she had the biggest crush on taesan and everyone knew. so when you and taesan started dating you’d became her biggest enemy. she would play childish pranks on you like tripping you and slowly it got worse. she once locked you inside the janior’s closet for 3 hours and when taesan found you he was so furious that he got saemi suspended from school. you thought you’d never see her again after highschool but you never expected her to come back into your life and threaten your boyfriend.

“i’ve missed you like crazy. it was so hard for me to try to erase you from my life and i still can’t do it. every time i saw you walking with a guy my stomach would feel like it’s being ripped out but i couldn’t do anything about it.” there had been so many nights that kept taesan awake. he’d worry about if you were doing okay, if you were safe, if you had moved on and he would feel so empty. as you watched taesan you could tell how hard it’s been for him. 

“you probably won’t remember this but i love you and i always will love you, even though i can’t be with you," he looked into your eyes with nothing but sincerity. you suddenly shifted your body close to him and the alcohol in your system made you spontaneously bold. you leaned even closer and caught his soft lips in yours. it was only for a moment but as you pulled away you could see the shock on taesan’s face even through the darkness of the room. 

you sleepily giggle as you hold his hand underneath the blanket, “i’ll make sure i remember this at least,” you say, the last part becoming almost incoherent as you’re on the brink of falling asleep. taesan has always had this effect on you which instantly relaxes you.

your eyes are closed as you feel taesan bring you impossibly closer to him, as if you’ll disappear in an instant. your face is buried in his chest and the soft scent of his shampoo is intoxicating the air around you, even more than the soju you drank earlier. the last thing you feel before going off into dreamland is the softness of taesan’s lips on your head, pressing a kiss and mumbling a small “sleep well y/n.”

ㅡ ౨ৎ ㅡ

as soon as you open your eyes, you’re met with the view of a white t-shirt, likely someone’s chest as you’re snuggled in it. you look up to see who the owner is and your eyes land on taesan’s peaceful sleeping face. your heart softens and the memories of last night come flooding back. you smile to yourself before taking in taesan’s face. you haven’t had a good look of it in what feels like forever. 

his lashes are long, you notice, not one sign of discomfort on his face as he sleeps soundly. his lips are slightly parted and the sound of his breathing fills the room. your gaze drops to his lips once again and you remember how you briefly kissed him last night. you gasp at your boldness, maybe a little too loud because taesan’s eyebrows furrow and he begins to shuffle. he softly groans before his eyes sleepily, open and they meet yours instantly. 

“morning, baby,” he says lazily as his hands snake around your waist to pull you closer and his head buries in your neck. he did it so naturally that even he realizes and suddenly moves away and sits up. he looks a bit surprised but his expression changes and he looks shy. 

“i swear i didn’t kidnap you!” he abruptly says and you have to force a giggle back as you sit up as well. “you probably don’t remember but you came here last night and you were drunk and—” “i remember,” you cut him off and his expression goes back to being surprised. 

“you—you remember? everything?” “everything.” you assure him. he looks taken aback like he doesn’t know what to say. he shyly looks around the room figuring out his words, “so will you… take me back?”  

taesan is scared of what you’ll say and it’s visible on his face. you both are looking into each other’s eyes and he looks so pretty right now that you could cry. you’ve so badly missed the morning face of his that you're looking at, his nagging habits, his smile, everything about him. 

“of course i will, i’ve missed you so much dongminie,” you giggle sheepishly and taesan’s expression finally calms. “thank—thank god, i was scared you wouldn’t want me,” taesan finally exhales out the breath he’s been holding in. 

“but you’ll have to promise me something,” taesan looks at you expectantly. “if there’s ever a problem we’ll tell each other and work through it together.” taesan aggressively nods at your words, “i’ve learnt my lesson.” 

you laugh, “okay!” taesan once again looks at you expectantly while fiddling with his fingers. “so… does that mean i’m your boyfriend now?” you let out a hearty laugh again and taesan swears his heart does backflips.

 “yes taesan you’re my boyfriend and i’m your girlfriend,” you say smiling and taesan can’t control himself as his hands reach out to cup your face and his lips meet yours. 

he kisses you with so much softness and love that you can feel it emitting out of him. he savors you like it’s the first time he’s kissing you, his lips moving tenderly against yours. you feel him smile against your lips and that’s when you realize that he’d been longing for you as much as you had been longing for him.

a/n: if you enjoyed please reblog ! thanks so much ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა

[makeyoumine69]

Patrick catches you masturbating in the shower

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Masturbation, Daddy kink, fingering, mild size kink, unprotected sex, blow jobs & deepthroating, pussy eating, squirting, body worship, spanking, marking, creampie, dirty talk, pet names, hair pulling, Patrick is very possessive.

𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: [MASTERLIST]; [MY IMAGINES AND SHORT REQUESTS].

Even though you had stayed at Patrick's apartment several times before, you had never really thought about taking a shower because you were afraid of spoiling something in this extremely lavish place. But tonight the two of you were going to see the show on Broadway, and since it was pretty hot in New York these days, you decided to freshen up a bit, knowing that you had to look absolutely impeccable. 

As you stood under the streams of warm water, you imagined Patrick standing in this exact spot every morning—the lather running down his broad back, outlining his tight muscles until it slid off his firm ass. You let out a rapid breath as just the thought of it set your nerve endings on fire, and dear God, you needed him here and now. Hot and bothered, you slowly traced your hand between your legs, never stopping to think about Bateman, his strong arms and the dimples on his lower back. One day you accidentally stumbled into the bathroom while he was showering, and you couldn't help but be mesmerized by the sighе—Patrick didn't mind, in fact, he was glad to be presented like this, enjoying the way you looked at him as if he were a God in the flesh.

"Mmhm-fuck," you whispered into the palm of your hand, leaning against the wet marble wall in front of you as you touched your aching clit. "Patrick...please..."

With your eyes closed, you rubbed your little bud with slow but intense movements before you began to pump your throbbing pussy until you felt yourself so close to falling apart that you had to stop for a second, wanting to tease yourself a little longer to make your orgasm even more vivid. Panting, you took your hard nipple between your thumb and forefinger, pinching and rolling it, when suddenly you heard a low, almost mocking sneer behind your back. For a moment you thought it was just your imagination, considering how easily you fantasized about this man whenever he was away. But now it all seemed too real. Slowly, you turned around, the sound of splashing water nothing more than a backdrop to the raspy, tantalizing voice that could only belong to one person.

"My my, I never thought I'd see you like this," Patrick crooned, standing in the doorway to the bathroom with his arms crossed over his chest. "Enjoying yourself, princess?"

Princess.

The nickname alone almost made your legs buckle, but you managed to keep yourself upright. "I thought... I thought I locked the door," you blurted out awkwardly, standing half facing him. "I didn't expect you to come... so early."

The man grinned as he watched you closely—the way you tried to cover yourself with your fingers still inside you made him laugh, but when you attempted to pull away and pretend nothing had happened, Patrick pointed a finger and chuckled.

"Hey, stay where you are," he ordered, loosening his tie with his other hand. "You're not going anywhere, kitten."

His hoarse voice echoed off the bathroom walls, sending cold shivers down your spine, contrasting with the hot steam in the shower. The moments before Bateman's return felt like an eternity, but as soon as he walked in, almost naked, wearing only his red silk boxers, you wanted nothing more than to fall to your knees and let him use you as he pleased. And Patrick didn't keep you waiting, he slipped his briefs down and approached the shower, giving you a full view of his perfect physique; his thick, fully erect dick bobbing up and down as he walked and fucking hell, it was a sight to kill.

With one practiced move, Bateman opened the shower door and joined you in the steamy shower, pressing you against his solid form and pulling you into a lingering kiss that left you dizzy, but that was only the beginning. The slight friction of your mound against his cock spurred you both to rub against each other until Patrick couldn't wait any longer and pushed down on your shoulders to make you kneel before him. 

"Did you miss me, darling?" He asked you, encircling his dick at the base to stroke its entire length. "Tell me you missed me."

You licked your lips briefly and instinctively squeezed your breasts together, your eyes fixed on his large palm as he stroked his beefy shaft, the water splashing down on you in harsh jets, but you didn't care. 

"I missed you," you gave in, biting the inside of your cheek as he gently cupped your face and teased your lips with his tip. "I missed you...s-so much, Daddy."

Squinting down at you, Patrick let out a soft chuckle before he collected your hair in his fist for better control, and the next second your mouth was around his hot flesh. At first, Bateman was slow and delicate, but that was only for a moment considering how quickly this man could lose his mind, especially when you were sucking him off like a fucking lollypop.

"Mmmh," you moaned around him as you used your hands to massage his balls while he fucked your throat. Patrick only gave you a brief moment of respite as he wanted to reposition you a bit to dive even deeper into your mouth. "You... are so f-fucking huge."

"Gonna choke on me, huh?" Bateman winked and plunged down your throat again. "Take all of me."

And you did exactly what he wanted, wrapping your hands around his strong hips for support, but the intensity of his movements was literally overwhelming, reducing you to a whimpering mess without a single coherent thought. 

"Ohhh, what's wrong?" The man taunted you as he noticed your eyes rolling back into your head. "Too much for a cock-drunk slut like you?"

He didn't let you answer, though—he just kept pounding into your face with sheer abandon. Only when he got bored with your mouth did he pull back and lift you up to turn you over so that your ass was completely at his mercy. After several hard slaps, Bateman crouched down and spread your buttocks to give your throbbing cunt a long, flat lick, starting at your clit and ending at your puckered little hole.

"Daddy," you wailed, grabbing his head. "I'm so... so close!"

"I bet you are," he hissed and spanked your bottom again, watching it jiggle before leaving a small bite on your right ass cheek. "You been fingering that little pussy all day while Daddy was at work? You're not guilty of that? For touching what's mine?"

Shit, shit, shit!

His goddamn mouth felt so good on you as the man knew how to treat you right, how to pull the strings to make you tremble and moan like a bitch in heat. But what he also knew was that he wouldn't last long if you kept moaning like that, arching your back and grinding your ass against his flushed face. All the while Patrick was pumping himself, the water washing away every drop of his pre-cum, but the tension in the base of his balls was a testament to how fucking aroused he was— just one more wiggle of your hips against his face and he would be done.

"I wanna cum inside," he rasped abruptly and stood up, tossing your wet hair aside to kiss the small of your neck. "I wanna make you so full of my cum..."

Gasping, you stood on your toes as the man began to poke at your worked up opening, stretching your pussy with his girth. "Yes...yes, Daddy," you almost whispered into his mouth as he grabbed your neck to make you look at him. "Do it...please...I want you to-"

And then you both lost it as Bateman finally bottomed you out and soon you felt him moving inside of you, his heavy sac slapping against your ass with every powerful thrust. You found yourself so small next to him, trapped between the pile of muscles and a black, smooth wall made of perfect, expensive tiles. With a throaty groan, he fucked you hard, he fucked you as if he really believed you could be one, as if there was no tomorrow, as if both your lives depended on it.

"Holy shit," he suddenly cursed under his breath, grabbing your shoulder for leverage. "Your pussy clings to me so fucking... hard."

The man punctuated his words with deep, desperate strokes, hugging you with his free hand to squeeze your breasts, but then Patrick drew it down to your lower abdomen and God, he could swear he could feel his dick moving inside your little body. That sensation, along with all the little lewd whimpers you made and your inner walls encasing him like a fucking vine, coaxed him to fuck you even harder, literally sprawling you against the shower wall. And when you finally collapsed, squirting from the merciless assault on your G-spot, Patrick followed your suit and unloaded his thick spurts of seed deep into your womb, anchoring you to his muscular body to make sure that every last drop of his cum was secured inside you.

Like a reminder to you not to touch what belonged to him.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my writing community to know when I update!💞

[hoiststowline]

could you do a mindless touches for hound and ratchet and another bot of your choice (if you're interested)? I love what you wrote for that prompt!

[a/n: yeah!! these are sm fun to write! here’s part one !]

mindless touches & other sentiments [hound, ratchet, & spinister]

hound is a firm believer in showing affection in physical touch, whether in the form of high fives, pats on the back, or holding you close. of course, certain things are saved for behind closed doors, more intimate and mushy than necessary for the public eye. he’s not exactly the guy for pda, but in certain instances, he can’t help himself, especially when you look at him like that. he’s sneaky, but also guilty of pinching the fabric of your shirt to get your attention, patiently waiting for you to look his way so he can steal a kiss. or two. 

anyone who has taken the moment to speak to hound knows he’s kindhearted and compassionate, unyielding in most respects. this translates through most of his conversations and mannerisms, knowing that there’s probably very few things you could do that would ever make him change the way he feels about you. he adores his s/o, and getting to snuggle with you after painfully long hours is probably his number one cure for a bad day. as it is yours, hound can tell straight away when the hours haven’t been kind to you. “come here,” he’ll say, understanding without much context that you just want to be held.

his versions of lots of things fill your heart with so much love. quite obviously, there is much that he wants to do for you, but can’t, so he finds loopholes just so he can see you smile. he loves to see you smile, that familiar twinge of red atop your cheeks in the form of a blush. a lot of the time, one thing you’ve found that he does without thinking is slowly nudging you into the crook of his arm. especially if he’s at his desk or you’re within reach, almost effortlessly he’ll bring an arm around your form and gently guide you there, as he continues to work on whatever occupies his attention, though not for much longer. 

personally I feel like ratchet is the king of mindless touches. he will gently nudge or poke you while typing, grazing your thigh or knee with his pinky just because. half the time he doesn’t realize he’s doing it, and somehow his hand always ends up in your lap. he will scoff and completely disagree if you try to point it out, trying to tug himself free at your observation but you beg for him to keep his hand there. while it’s totally his call whether or not he does, he’ll roll his eyes and let you win, trying to ignore your soft touches across the back of his servo. 

he also appreciates acts of encouragement. if you initially offer him a high five, he wouldn't have been looking for it and is confused by your offer. now, when there are small or large successes, courtesy of the doctbot, he presents his hand to you in search of the sentiment. he isn't even looking your way half the time, its a knee-jerk reaction and won't pull back until you tap your palm against his. it's a more public display of his attentiveness and endearment towards you, even if he knows it's a reflex to appear standoffish. there's grander actions and meanings behind the way he acts, you'll decipher them and won't pressure him, something that he admires about his s/o.

lets you crash whenever or wherever you end up. no arguments or questions asked, ratchet understands the importance of rest and would never expect you to stay awake well into the morning while he works. most often, you curl up against his side, entranced by the hum of his spark and cherishing his company. this is more-so in the privacy of closed doors, certainly, though if anyone were to see such a display, it wouldn't bother him. "they fell asleep," he'd minutely shrug, then return to his work as if nothing ever happened.

spinister loves to run his digit up and down the length of your spine, a comforting action that not only calms you, but him as well. it's a gesture that occurs the most frequently, whether that be if you were settled on his lap or sprawled out across his desk or berth. it quite often puts you right to sleep, nodding off and eerily impressed at how soft and featherlight his touch is against your shoulders and lower back. he continues the same motion well after you've fallen asleep, afraid you'll wake up from much needed rest if he ceases. he doesn't mind, it started off as a automatic undertaking whenever you sought his company.

'holds' your hand, though it's more of a grey area in the definition. you lose your non-dominant hand for large sweeps of time, as he holds it captive in his large servo. his plating is often cool to the touch, so it's not an overbearing gesture, but if he isn't doing that, he's allowed you to haul yourself free only to inspect each of your fingers. running his thumb over your knuckles and retracting his face-shield to pepper kisses across your palm. it's habitually unspoken and wordless action with spinister, even if he's sometimes nervous of hurting you or doing something that would take that smile away.

hugs are his favorite. you hardly have to ask, appear anywhere within a mile radius of him with outstretched arms and it's like he senses it, booking it to wherever you are. loves nuzzling his cheek against yours, holding you close to his face with two hands. pda is no obstacle, he doesn't care at all, but if you're a more privatized person regarding it, no questions asked. spinister respects all your wishes and only wants you to be as happy as he is, if not more, mesmerized by your laughter and smiley appearance. he is the happiest mech alive when you are in his arms, and hopes the emotion translates well enough through his actions when he can't quite find the right words to articulate his adoration for his s/o.

[remina-mina]

First years and how they ended up at Ramshackle (Pomefiore)

Epel

"It's not like you to zone out in potions class." "... Vil just has been working me to bone recently, don't worry" "I wasn't worried but.. a good sleep schedule is important to maintain a good performance in classes"

If someone asked Epel when he started sleeping over at Ramshackle he'd tell'em to mind their business. But if he was feeling generous he'd lie and tell them it started during the VDC but even he knows thats not quite the whole truth.

The pristine walls of Pomefiore are beautiful, undeniably so, nevertheless after his adventure to STYX and Yuu and Grim's return to Ramshackle he can't help the sickness in his stomach as he wanders the halls.

This sickness is different from the resigned annoyance he'd felt at the start of the year. Different from loneliness that would grasp onto his bones and twist itself until he found himself awake the next morning. No, this was more dangerous and thorny than that.

His feet carry him to the Pomefiore gardens where he'd spent the past couple nights reciting his unique magic and practicing until dawn. He needs to be ready for whatever may come. He needs to be stronger or else...

If he practices just a couple more times then surely, surely, the mangled unnatural limbs of phantoms will leave his nightmares, the sound of screams will leave him. If he tires himself out then his nights will no longer be sleepless. Just one more time-

"Epel... You are aware that curfew was 4 hours ago" A stern voice cuts through the garden. "Vil-san... I.. woke up to get water" Epel mumbles. He can't even bring himself to look Vil in the eye. Epel doesn't even know what he's saying. Does he even care anymore? "Water from the garden hose?" He doesn't even need to look at Vil to imagine the way his brows furrow just enough to convey his disappointment while avoiding wrinkles. "Follow me." Vil doesn't give Epel the chance to respond before dragging him along the path out of Pomefiore. Soon they are standing in front of the gate to Ramshackle. "Why did'ja bring me here?" Epel turns to Vil and looks at him for the first time that night. He realizes that he let his accent slip and braces himself for the lecture, but no lecture comes. "I am simply fulfilling a request."

Before he can question him, Yuu steps out from Ramshackle and calls out to him. When he turns to say goodnight to Vil, he finds him already walking back to the dorm and takes that as a sign to head into Ramshackle.

To his shock he finds Ace, Deuce, and Jack already inside, sitting on makeshift beds on the lounge floor. There was already a bed set up for him too.

He half-expects them to force him to answer questions, like why was he awake but no questions come. When he finally gets a good look at everyone he sees a burning, they all want to be stronger, they all want to conquer the fears that grapple them.

Deuce hands him a fresh cup of tea and in the warmth, he finds himself tearing up. If anyone notices the stray tears that fall, they don't comment.

Even though the lounge silent, there is so much said, and in those unspoken words he finds a temporary medicine to the sickness that'd grappled him for weeks. And his sleep is dreamless.

honestly I see Epel as someone whose very stubborn and can get very tunnel visioned just like Deuce and end up beating themself up with their impatience and put themselves in a spiral. that's partially why I decided to have Deuce be the one to give him tea, it's almost like a silent message of we can work to be stronger together just like we promised on the beach. I had a feeling Yuu would notice that Epel hasn't been sleeping while they were staying at Pomefiore, especially since they'd gotten so close through the STYX incident. Maybe as one last thank you to Vil for letting them stay they tip him off about Epel's night practices. Epel craves strength but not as a tool to dominate but rather as a way to protect other people. of course because he is an NRC student is a side of him where he finds his place in the world and orients his relation with those around him based on strength but I feel we see a bit of this fall away as he experiences more deadly situations. anyway I can ramble for hours about Epel.

Ace / Deuce / Jack / Epel

[wrongbodies]

A Wanted Exchange

When I first met Oren I would never have thought where I'd end up with this beautiful twink. We ran into each other at a club, a loud and hectic joint that had many sweaty, dancing bodies pressed up against one another in pinkish lights. I was there, carving out a space with my broad shoulders and muscular frame.

And there was Oren. He wasn't intimidated by me. He was bold, swooping right into my space, and then he was upon me. Grinding against me, I could feel his lithe body almost flowing around me like water. But there was an aggression there, almost like he wanted to throw his weight around, boss and bully me. All 120 pounds of his tiny body.

I was intoxicated right then and there. I wanted him. At first I thought it was just in the typical carnal fashion. But I realize now it was so much more.

I took him home of course. We tangled togther far longer than expected. He tried to push and pull me in ways his body and tiny muscles just could not handle. I was gentle. I have always been something of a gentle giant.

Growing up my father was a harsh one, and forced me to play football from 7, and all throughout the rest of my school career. Even in college, it was verboten that I quit. I remember coming out, well after finishing my degree mind you, and how he coiled back in disgust. I was his manly son, his juggernaut of an athlete. But inside I always wanted something else.

Which brings me back to Oren. Our hookup was not the end of our interaction. He found my gentle nature endearing, as I in turn found his domineering ways attractive. I so desperately wanted to submit to him, but our physical dynamic was just too skewed. I couldn't help but toss him around if I wasn't careful. And he hated being on the bottom, or receiving.

After weeks of trying, we realized we weren't truly happy. And in the breakdown of our disappointment, we both admitted what we wanted. He lamented his tiny, perfectly lithe body. I too bemoaned my broad, powerful body. It wasn't to say we weren't proud of ourselves, both being healthy young men. Rather, it was a sort of melancholy about not being able to experience what the other had, and admittedly - we were so envious of.

And so, when the advertisements for a scientific study came out, asking for willing subjects to try a new technology... we jumped at it. It seemed like something from a science fiction novel, but the way the doctors explained it we were properly convinced it was real.

They asked us many questions about our health, our relationship, and then what we wanted. Over the weeks we were subjected to different tests, they asked us the question we both were secretly hoping they'd put forward.

"What if this is permanent?" The nasal-voiced doctor had asked. I was alone, Oren being interviewed in a different room. I'd learn later he responded much the same as I had. But when I responded, it was an enthusiastic confirmation - that would be perfectly fine.

The day of the procedure came, and we were inserted into coffin like tubes, our heads covered in wires and such that looked like what one might use for a brain scan. I suppose that was part of the procedure, anyways. After the all clear was given, it took moments for me to black out. And in that time we were out, it was nothingness... a void.

But when I awoke, everything was ALIVE. I knew what to expect, understanding that I'd be groggy from the anesthetic. However, I pushed through the fog in my excitement. I needed to feel it all. Even before they opened the tube, I was feeling my arms, my chest, and then my face. Nothing prepares you for the sensations. There is no earthly equivalent to it... awakening in another persons body.

What followed was euphoric. Despite the initial hiccups, like learning that your brain still thinks you have limbs longer than this new body, or forgetting you are significantly lighter and weaker. Limitations that I never had before were daunting, at first. But then I came to love them. I was finally free to be the person I always felt inside. A man with a body more aptly described as pretty, and not rugged. With fingers soft and supple, unblemished by years of tackling and tossing a ball.

Oren felt the same, in reverse. We were hesitant at first to resume our relationship. It wasn't right away that we tried anything, sexually. But the first interactions were indicative of our blossoming romance. He would take my new, delicate face in his - my former - rough hands. Guiding my lips to his, where he almost hungrily kissed me. His bear hugs engulfed me, at times sweeping me off my feet. I was the willing waif, powerless to stop it, but desperately wanting it.

When we did finally return to the bed, entangled in one anothers embrace, there was a sort of epiphany. The realization that we got exactly what we wanted, and that looking back - albeit not much of an issue before - was perished. We did not need to even question it - I NEEDED to be Oren. And he needed to be me.

As for all the other details, since we began dating, we assimilated into one anothers lives. Our families and friends were never made aware of what transpired in that experiment. And save a few follow up interviews and information gathering sessions, the deal was sealed. Oren and I were never happier with our lives than now, when in truth... we weren't living our lives, but one anothers. How freeing it was for us to become the thing we always wanted. And through that, to find love. It was strange to kiss my former face, but knowing it was Oren behind those eyes, and happier for it, made it all too easy to love him.

I'm never going back.

[bright-side20]

I wanted to write one scene, but it ended up being too long, so I decided to split it into two parts. Here is the first part, I hope you like it :)

Today, the sharp scent of blood filled the air, and the tortured screams echoed through the cavernous room of Hewn City. His shadows felt heavier than ever before.

Azriel could feel it...Elain's gaze on him. Her presence at the corner of the room, her delicate figure frozen in place, haunted him more than the bloodied male kneeling at his feet. The male had been a threat to everything Elain held dear, and Azriel knew there was no choice. He had to do this. But as the male's suffering echoed in his ears, a knot twisted painfully in Azriel's chest.

He had to protect her. Protect them all.

But in doing so, he had stained himself further. The line between what was necessary and what was vile had blurred, and he wasn’t sure where one ended and the other began.

The male in front of him begged, his words a tangled mess of desperation. Azriel didn’t need to listen. He could already feel the truth of his own soul’s decay, taste the bitter resentment in his blood.

But Elain…

His gaze flicked to her again, catching a glimpse of her wide eyes. She stood rigid, like a porcelain doll. Azriel couldn’t help but feel the weight of her gaze piercing him, burning through every inch of his resolve. No one, not even Rhys, had ever stayed to witness him torturing someone...yet here she was.

She would hate him for this.

She would see him for what he truly was...no matter how hard he tried to deny it. A monster. A creature born of shadows, who used pain as a weapon and death as his ally. And he couldn’t blame her.

His life had always been one of violence, of shadows and darkness, while Elain was the light, untarnished, untouched by the blood that stained his hands. But there was no other way. No other choice.

She’ll hate me.

The thought clung to him like dead weight. His hands, slick with sweat, trembled slightly as the shadows danced around him, curling like serpents to torment their victim. But Azriel’s mind was no longer focused on the traitor. It was on her. He wished he knew what she was thinking now.

He had thought he could keep her away from all of this...the horrors he lived with. He had convinced himself he could protect her from seeing the worst parts of him.

But he couldn’t deny that he didn’t regret what he did to the bastard in front of him. Not even a little.

Swiftly, he plunged Truth-Teller into the male’s throat and pulled it out, watching as he gagged on his own blood. He let his magic clean the dagger instantly, wiping away the blood on the blade, on his hands.

He heard Elain’s breath hitch and slowly turned to face her. His eyes landed on her hands...they were trembling slightly. But as soon as she noticed his gaze, she gripped her dress tightly, trying to steady them.

He couldn’t look at her face. He couldn’t look into her eyes.

She would never see him the same way again.

And he knew he wouldn’t be able to bear it...to see the horror in her gaze, to watch her look at him with fear, as so many had before.

Azriel slid Truth-Teller back into its sheath, his fingers clenching into fists. His shadows retreated reluctantly, leaving behind the lifeless body at his feet. His chest was tight, his breath coming in sharp, uneven as he stepped toward her, avoiding her eyes.

His voice was quiet when he finally spoke. “I’ll winnow you home.”

A pause. A hesitation just long enough to make his chest tighten.

Then…

“To the townhouse.”

His head jerked slightly, unable to hide his surprise. He had expected her to refuse. He had expected her to demand an explanation, to cry, to run from him. He had prepared himself for that.

But she wasn’t running.

Not yet.

He swallowed, clenching his jaw. He knew why she wanted to go there. It was familiar, comforting. It was safe. And right now, she wanted to be somewhere safe.

Away from this. Away from him.

His throat felt raw as he reached for her. His eyes widened when she took his hand, her fingers tightening around his. His shadows gathered around them.

Cold air. The world shifting beneath them. And then…

Azriel willed himself to move. To take her away from that place. Away from him. His magic latched onto Elain, the cold bite of his power wrapping around her like a phantom touch. He felt her inhale the moment the world bent around them, shifting, twisting...

And it was over.

He let go of her hand the moment they landed in the foyer of the townhouse. The scent of rain and fresh bread replaced the iron tang of blood. Warmth pressed in on him.

Elain stumbled slightly, unsteady from the winnowing. Azriel’s hand twitched at his side...instinct screamed at him to reach for her. But he couldn’t.

Not with his hands still stained.

Not with the weight of what he had done clinging to him like a second skin.

Elain straightened, blinking rapidly. He should have left the moment they arrived...should have vanished into the night before she could speak, before she could look at him with whatever emotions burned behind those wide, brown eyes.

But he couldn’t move.

His body felt like lead, his lungs tight, his thoughts spiraling.

She was here. She had seen everything.

And still, she wasn’t running.

“I’ll go.” The words came out hoarse, barely audible.

“Azriel.”

The way she said his name stopped him cold. Not with fear. Not with disgust.

Azriel’s breath shuddered out of him. He couldn’t look at her.

If he did, he knew he’d shatter.

“Stay. Please.”

Two words. Soft. Pleading.

His fingers curled into fists at his sides. He wished she had screamed at him instead. Wished she had turned away, given him the excuse he needed to disappear into the night.

Azriel forced himself to turn to her, expecting...needing to see revulsion, fear, anything that would make it easier to leave.

But there was none.

She wasn’t pale. She wasn’t trembling. She wasn’t looking at him like he was a monster.

Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, her chest rising and falling.

And her eyes...

Brown and deep, filled with something he couldn’t name. Something that sent a sharp pain through his ribs because it was the last thing he deserved.

She shouldn’t be looking at him like that.

She stepped closer. “That male..he deserved it.”

“He was one of Koschei’s. I would have done the same thing you did to him,” she continued.

He flinched.

She was trying to make sense of it. Trying to justify it. Trying to tell him it was okay.

But it wasn’t.

“You don’t know what you’re saying, Elain,” he said, his voice hoarse, pained. “You don’t understand who I am. What I’ve done.”

“I do understand, Azriel,” she said softly, her voice steady “I understand more than you think…”

He shook his head, interrupting her, his eyes closing as if to block out the tenderness in her words.

“No,” he said, the word low . “You don’t. You don’t see the blood on my hands, the lives I’ve taken. You don’t see the monster inside of me. I’ve killed, Elain. I’ve destroyed people without a second thought, without mercy. And I’ve done worse...far worse.”

His voice cracked on the last part, but he didn’t care. It was the truth. He had broken things that could never be fixed, and no matter how much he tried to push it down, the shame clung to him .

Her eyes widened, her lips parted. “A monster? Is that what you think of yourself?”

The shame was suffocating, and the thought of her seeing him as he truly was...seeing the full extent of his darkness...was too much to bear.

With a sharp motion, he turned and walked to the door, ready to vanish, to bury himself in the night. But he couldn't run far enough to escape the ache in his chest.

He pushed open the door of the townhouse, stepping into the cold night air. The rain hit him like a thousand needles, soaking through his leathers, biting into his skin. It wasn’t enough to wash away the blood, but it was all he could do...leave, disappear into the storm, and let it consume him.

But no matter how far he walked, no matter how deep he pushed himself into the rain soaked streets, he couldn’t outrun her.

He heard her soft footsteps behind him.

“Did you think that if I saw you like that, I would finally hate you?” Her voice trembled.

He turned.

Elain stepped closer. The rain had drenched her entirely...her dress clung to her frame, her soaked hair curled wildly around her face. But she didn’t shiver.

“Go back home,” he said, his voice rough.

She ignored him. “That I would finally be scared enough to walk away?”

Azriel clenched his jaw. He had nothing to say to that..because it was true.

Elain took another step forward. “Because if that’s what you thought… if that’s what you wanted…” Her voice dropped, fierce. “Then I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“You should hate me.” The words tore from him, raw and ragged. “You should be afraid.”

“But I’m not,” she shot back. “And you don’t get to decide that for me.”

Rain trickled down her cheek, but she didn’t wipe it away. She just exhaled sharply. “You act like I don’t know who you are, Azriel. Like I’ve spent all this time looking at you through rose colored glass. But I do.”

He shook his head, stepping back. “You don’t...”

“I do,” she interrupted, her voice firm. “I know exactly who you are. I know what you do, what you have to do.”

His back hit the wall of the garden. He hadn’t even realized he’d been retreating.

Elain followed him, closing the space between them. “But I also know the way you never let anyone else carry the burden with you. The way you take on every horror so the rest of us don’t have to.”

Azriel closed his eyes, his jaw tightening so hard it hurt.

“You’re not a monster,” she said, her voice breaking. “You’re the most loving, caring male I’ve ever known.”

She was so close now that he could feel her warmth against his skin, but he didn’t reach for her. He couldn’t.

“Don’t do this,” he muttered. “I’m not the male who can give you the life you deserve.”

She was silent for a moment, her gaze never leaving him. Then, she said, “I never asked you to be anyone other than who you are. I don’t want the man you think you should be. I want you...the real you. Just you, Azriel.”

“You are worth loving,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “But you have to stop hiding from it. You have to stop running from me.”

“I’ve been so afraid of this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Of letting you in. Of you seeing the parts of me I can’t escape.”

“Let me in,” she said, reaching for him. “I’m not asking you to be perfect. I’m not asking you to change. I’m asking you to trust me. To trust us.”

"I love you," she said, her voice soft.

Azriel froze.

The words hit him like a physical blow, knocking the air from his lungs. His heart slammed against his ribs, his breath caught in his throat. Love. She loved him. He had never let himself hope...never dared to believe she could see every dark, broken part of him and still say those words.

A sharp ache spread through his chest, something consuming. He wanted to tell her she shouldn’t, that she deserved better, but the words wouldn’t come. Because deep down, a part of him...one he had spent centuries silencing...wanted to believe her. Wanted to hold onto those words...

And then, he gave in.

Before Azriel even realized what he was doing, his hand was buried in her hair, fingers tangled in the damp strands as he pulled her toward him...hard, urgent.

His lips crashed against hers, desperate and demanding, as if he could make her words real, something he could touch and hold. The rain fell harder, cold rivulets running down his face, soaking through his leathers, but all he could feel was her. The warmth of her body pressed against his, the way she gasped into his mouth as he deepened the kiss... He was drowning in the sweet taste of her, his heart racing as he pulled her even closer, not caring about the rain, the storm, or anything else.

She kissed him back with equal force, her fingers clutching his neck, pulling him to her as if she could hold him there, keep him from slipping into the shadows he so often sought refuge in. Every kiss, every stroke of her soft lips sent a wave of heat through his body, settling deep in his gut.

When they finally pulled apart, gasping for air, Azriel pressed his forehead against hers, his breath uneven. His hands trembled as they cupped her face, his thumbs brushing over her flushed cheeks. He let himself drown in the depth of her gaze, in the impossible truth of what she had just given him.

Hope. Life.

"Come home with me," she murmured, her fingers tracing the scarred skin of his hands. "Let me take care of you."

A broken sound escaped him...half laugh, half sob. He nodded, his hand slipping into hers, the warmth of her touch melting the cold of the rain. Together, they walked...toward home...

[lsunstreakerl]

honestly, any strange ship, a while ago you had commented about Sebastian being a "guilty" "ship" something strange or guilty in that sense

this did not end up being sebastian- I mean, he's kind of there. I also need just not try and estimate word counts because this ended up being 1.3k. HI HELLO: this is from the kink prompts so it is explicit in nature, as in people are fucking and getting fucked.

pairings: mark webber/max verstappen, max verstappen/marc márquez, implied mark webber/sebastian vettel, implied daniel ricciardo/max verstappen

relevant heads up: slight exhibitionist kink, semi-socially acceptable public sex, sex under the influence of alcohol, the slightest hint of a temperature kink, mild slut shaming

Max doesn't make a habit of feeling out of place at parties, considering how often he's at them, but this-

This is totally different to anything else he knows. They're in some huge remote cabin-style resort, a weeklong trip entirely paid by Redbull.

Everyone in attendance is either an insane talent in their respect area, or a revered alum, which is how Max has found himself on his knees, Mark Webber's cock down his throat, with Sebastian Vettel piping in with incredibly unhelpful instructions.

"Little bit more tongue, yes, like that- he loves that. Hates to admit it, but nothing gets him off faster- also you'll want to close your eyes when he comes, he likes to get it all over the face, nasty-"

"Shut up."

Mark's talking to Sebastian, but Max is the one who gets his hair pulled roughly, which really doesn't feel fair here- he's not mouthing off, and it's not his fault Mark and Seb still don't have their shit figured out.

He makes a muffled noise around Mark, who groans at the vibrations, and Max realizes with a twinge of annoyance that he actually has been listening to Seb- which is fucking stupid, if Seb wants to suck Mark's cock he can come do it himself, but Max is going to do it his way.

He doesn't give any kind of warning, just watches his teeth before suddenly taking Mark all the way to the base, breathing through his nose.

He's not as impressive as Da- some other Australians Max has gotten on his knees for before.

Mark chokes on an inhale, fingers clenching in Max's hair, and Max grins to himself, because he's not Sebastian Vettel, and no matter how badly Mark wants to dominate a blonde bratty European Redbull world champion, he's not going to find it in Max.

Max deliberately moans, low and long, and Mark's hips jerk before they snap frantically into his mouth.

"Fuck- fuck, Sebastian-"

Oh come on.

People who can't call Max by his name do not get to come on his face, so he doesn't let up, keeps Mark down his throat as he comes, and it's longer than Max expected for a guy in his late forties, honestly.

Seb just laughs from his chair, and Max shoots him a glare as he pulls off, already thinking of which drink he's going to wash down the taste with.

"Cunts."

They can be weird and off putting and miserable together, Max doesn't care. It wasn't even that good anyways, and now he's not going to be able to look Oscar in the eye for a few weeks.

He stalks into the kitchen, passes Coulthard in the hallway, hopes he doesn't look too much like he just sucked off a retired driver in one of the lounge rooms.

Not that it would be surprising- Max had been freaked out the first time he was here, but he gets it now- it's like the Olympic Village. Redbull takes their hot, talented athletes, sticks them in a resort for a week, and lets them fuck like rabbits in the hopes of avoiding sex related PR crisis for the rest of the year.

It works pretty well.

He's checking for gin, fingers dancing over bottle caps, when a hand wraps around his waist, and Max knows that hand.

"Marc!"

He spins around, and then he has an armful of excitable MotoGP rider, hips pressing Max's into the counter while he's busy getting his tongue in his mouth.

Marc tastes like vodka and fireball, and Max wants to drink it straight from his system, wants to-

He pulls back for a second, meeting Marc's eyes. Marc is down for anything- Max loves that about him. The MotoGP guys know how to party.

"Do you want to do body shots and fuck on the pool table?"

Marc yanks his head back down to continue making out, one arm scrabbling behind Max for a familiar clink of a few bottles.

He pulls back to reach for some limes, and then he's grinning at Max, with his trademark brilliant smile.

"Yes!"

------

"Fuck- Marc, please, you are going to kill me-"

Max isn't used to being the one with his dick inside someone, but he's flat on his back on the table, and Marc is tight and hot and wet, sinking down onto Max, one hand braced on his chest as he grins at him.

Max tosses his head back onto the table, and his fingers are digging into Marc's thighs, corded muscle straining under his palms.

His mouth still tastes like lime and liquor, and he's pretty sure his neck is crusted with salt, and he's trying so hard not buck his hips up-

"You are so cute when you're trying to be good."

Max shudders, hands gripping tighter, and Marc is practically purring at him, because the game is that Max can't come first, and he was going to lose from the fucking start. They both knew it.

"Marc- Marc I'm gonna come, please please can I-"

Marc just shakes his head, eyes crinkled at the corner as he changes his pace on the next slide down, tight and irresistible. Max can feel himself shaking, closer and closer to the edge, and he squeezes his eyes shut, one last time-

Marc's fingers come down to pinch his nipples, and they're dripping with ice water, cold and freezing.

Max comes with a scream, back arching off the table, the sound of Marc's laughter ringing in his ears.

He's still riding the wave when Marc gets off of him, and then Max is being manhandled, rolled onto his chest as Marc knocks his knees apart. Everything is hot and cold and sensitive, and he's glad Daniel stretched him out earlier, because Marc pushes two fingers into him off the bat, scissoring Max open as he groans into the table.

"Aw, you are all loose. Whore."

Marc spits into him, and Max keens, scratchy fabric of the pool table rough against his chest, and then Marc is pushing in, splitting him wide, an endless press.

It's unfair for a man that small to be this hung.

Max is overwhelmed, slurring into the table as Marc snaps his hips in, and it's too soon from his last orgasm- he feels raw and peeled open, which is exactly when Marc leans over him, chest pressed to his back, and shoves three fingers and an ice cube into Max's mouth.

He bucks back onto Marc's cock at the sensation, the heat of his fingers and the chill of the ice, and he realizes what's next a second too late, squirming as Marc brings his other hand to wrap around his still soft cock, fingers ice cold.

"Ohhhhh, please, please-"

Marc nips at his back, and Max can feel him smiling at he starts to jack his hand, and it's too much- he feels too full, he's too raw and overwhelmed, he's pretty sure people are watching them-

Marc aims deliberately for his prostate, and Max is wailing, tips over into his second orgasm brutally, shaking to pieces underneath Marc.

He doesn't stop- his rhythm picks up, chasing his own pleasure- Max is limp, lets Marc use him however he wants, and he can't tell if it's seconds or minutes later when Marc snaps in for a final time, hips pressed flush against his ass.

Max slumps down as Marc pulls out, and then there's fingers gently patting at his cheek.

"You are as always very fun, Verstappen."

Max blinks, tries to get his brain started back up.

"Yup."

Marc giggles, and then he's gently kissing Max for a moment- he tastes like lime again.

"Thank you, you are very sweet- for being a slut."

Max half chokes on a laugh, because, well-

He kind of is. He's laid out on the pool table at what is technically a company event, and just tonight he's given multiple blowjobs, been fucked twice, and he's just come back to back.

It's a good thing they have mandatory testing before they get here.

"Anytime, Márquez."

[mi-co-uk]

coming clean

blue!reader x saviour!matt

WARNINGS: embarrasment, self hate, idea of not being safe,. the series itself will contain heavy angst , fluff and smut 𖦹

I've never written a fic before so any feedback and support is appreciated !

p.s the grammar is wrong but I like it that way coz it feels like a diary entry but if it's distracting I can change it :3

pls enjoy <3

other parts: intro // 1 // 2

CHAPTER 2

────୨ৎ────

I didn't think I'd ever see him again.

I guess i was partially right. the version of him I knew is gone. he seems so much more sure of himself now. I used to be the more confident of the two of us - sparking conversations because I knew he wouldn't, complimenting him when I knew he was skeptical.

here I am now, sat so pathetically in front of him. a shell of the girl he knew while he's grown fully into his body and soul.

my matt.

it's hard not to stare. I can tell he's thinking the same about me by the way his eyes dart widly from me to nick, to me, to chris, to me, to my neck.

he used to look at me with adoration. like I was everything perfect in the world, his eyes full of love. there was only a hint of sadness when he remembered I couldn't be his. I was already someone else's. maybe I still am.

but now his gaze is swimming with empathy. pure pity making me feel sick to my stomach.

it's disgusting. its digusting because it makes me feel like I am.

I'm so fucking embarrassing.

I shouldn't have messaged them.

my body feels more and more hollow the longer it says silent. everyone lacks in movement, uncertainty so prominent it's almost unbearably loud.

matt locks eyes with me again, a new glint sparks before he stands up abruptly. if I didn't feel borderline catatonic, I probably would've flinched.

he slowly shuffles away to the room across the living room, the door creaking open. matt steps back out the room before it had even finished the harsh screech.

he rests back down gently at the end of the L shaped couch. he's a little further away that I'd expect him to sit, though I appreciate it.

"you remember?" he whispers softly.

I look down towards his hand, noticing the stuffed animal in his grasp.

as much as matt used to be nervous around me, he was never fully embarrassed. he was comfortable, just wanting to maintain a good impression. he never felt humiliated when I turned up to his house on those days when everything was a little too much. sometimes we would talk about it and sometimes we wouldn't. silence or not, he'd be holding that same toy pug that's he's had since I've known him and long before that.

the childlike nature of it was irrelevant then and it should feel that way now. I can't help but be reminded of the fact that I'm not really a kid anymore. but I feel so utterly vulnerable and clueless as if I am one.

he slowly gestures it towards me, letting us mirror who we were before. it's ironic really. I run my thumb across the soft ears. Just like matt used to. there's a break in my sniffs causing me to realise just how intrusive the sound of it had been.

"y-you um. you don't have to tell us everything but, we can grab the whiteboard so you can talk?" matt starts, before slightly repositioning himself in his seat, slightly nervous from the intensity of the situation.

I keep my view locked down to the plush animal in my lap.

"but um." he continues, "it's good to see you, yknow? despite the circumstances." his voice loses confidence and volume the more he speaks.

I peer up at him slowly, his gaze much more familiar than before. he really means it. my eyes grow hot just as he flashes a quick tight smile.

my breath hitches before all the built up pressure in my chest starts escaping me again. warm tears flood down my face, building up further when the embarrassment sets back in.

chris sets the small whiteboard on the low counter in front of me without me even noticing his first movements.

the sobbing doesn't stop, as I continue praying that it would. I grip the stuffed animal close to my chest and cover my face with my other hand, before bringing my knees to my chest and resting my head atop them.

I'm turned directed to the wall as I calm my breathing. I bend the arm holding matts pug, using the crease of my elbow to rest my head.

I think of what he'd tell me if he was here.

"you're fucking crying? this is your fault. stop acting acting like a fucking baby."

the humiliation sets back in enough for my breathing to slow, burying everything back down.

I feel matt rub his thumb just above my elbow, caressing gently.

"it's okay." he whispers. "I know it doesn't feel okay now, and- and that's okay but, you're with us, yeah?" I continue staring at the empty wall beside me.

"it's safe." he speaks lowly, full of sympathy. "you're safe."

it should piss me off more than it does. I'm not safe. I can never be safe for as long as I live. but I know matt would spend that life trying to make sure i was or at least the closest thing to it. as he always did before.

I face towards him, quickly acknowledging him with a sniff before turning to look at the whiteboard. I set aside the pug, reaching for the board and pen. I perch cross legged, staring with empty eyes down at it.

where do I even start?

𐙚🧸ྀི

a/n I feel like I'm going a bit slow with this but yep here we areeee , I also wanna say that I'm from the UK so idk what specifically might be worded confusing for some people but i tried to make it less so at parts like when I said couch not sofa lol but I hope it makes sense regardless

let me know what you think !

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ - mi

tags: @pair-of-pantaloons

[bikananjarrus]

finally time for the "some of the reasons i love cassian and luthen's first meeting so much" post that got way too long lol. in short, the overarching reason is that it brilliantly sets up some of the themes of season 1, and gives us one of our first real glimpses at the reason why cassian is a spy for the rebellion later on (besides the obvious 'will do what needs to be done, even if it's dirty work' introduction we get from him in rogue one, and again at the beginning of andor).

starting with two really quick exchanges they have:

L: "are we alone?" / C: "i am." L: "is [the starpath unit] here?" / C: "is the money here?"

i love how quickly this shows that they don't trust each other (obviously) but also that cassian isn't letting luthen have the upper hand so easily (little does he know yet just how much luthen already knows about him); but he isn't willing to give more than luthen. this untrusting back and forth continues throughout the scene, with luthen saying maybe cassian is an imperial spy, and cass shooting that right back at him later saying maybe luthen is the spy. it just very quickly establishes that they are like minded people, and there's a reason luthen is seeking cassian out to recruit him.

but moving on to the real meat of their conversation and the exchange that i love SO MUCH. (iirc this was the first clip we got before the show aired, and i remember being immediately compelled by this dialogue, in particular cassian's line "[they can't imagine] that someone like me would get inside their house" but i'll get back to that).

(and since this got a bit longer than expected, i'll put the rest under a cut)

so, after luthen asks (and pays!) cassian to tell him how he stole the starpath unit:

C: "you just walk in like you belong." L: "takes more than that, doesn't it?" C: "what? to steal from the empire? what do you need? a uniform, some dirty hands, and an imperial tool kit. they're so proud of themselves, they don't even care. they're so fat and satisfied, they can't imagine it." L: "can't imagine what?" C: "that someone like me would ever get inside their house. walk their floors, spit in their food, take their gear." L (starting to smile now): "the arrogance is remarkable, isn't it? they don't even think about us." C: "us? i don't know you." L: "fair enough. but i know you. these days will end, cassian andor. the way they laugh. the way they push through a crowd. the sound of that voice telling you to stop, to go, to move. telling you to die. rings in the ear, doesn't it?" ... "but they'll think about it soon enough" ... "soon enough, they'll have something else to listen to."

to break down what i love about this whole exchange. for the first part, with cassian's answer:

i love that cassian says "you just walk in like you belong" so casually, like it's no big deal. it's an early testament in this scene to his skills as a thief and a spy. and--

it's also not the answer that luthen was expecting at all, so already we're seeing something surprise luthen; and as we have been introduced to luthen thus far, he seems very calm cool collected, and mysterious to boot. luthen knows, seemingly, everything about cassian. but asking how cassian managed to steal such a piece of tech, and having cass be almost flippant, as he scoffs that he just walked in. it's not what luthen was expecting, and of course that just intrigues him more. and i think for luthen, who's trying to play 4D chess with the empire, having cassian give him an answer that's so simple is so satisfying. bc so often, i don't think luthen is really considering what the simplest solution would be, bc he's trying to hard to stay ahead.

next, cassian's line, "[they can't imagine] that someone like me would get inside their house" i think is a really underrated line of dialogue. again, it's simple. but it says SO much about cassian, and it's a theme that not only ties into the rest of andor s1, but so much of the rebellion era of star wars as a whole:

cass saying he just walked into their house, that they're "so fat and satisfied, they can't imagine it" and luthen affirming that they're too arrogant to notice: this part of the conversation does an excellent job of introducing the pride and ego of the empire, which is one of those themes that keeps coming back around throughout the season. cassian telling nemik that the empire doesn't care about them (the exact line escapes me atm). cassian telling kino, "nobody's listening!"

this theme is present throughout rebellion era star wars; it loops all the way back around to a new hope - tarkin so sure of the power of the death star, and too arrogant to believe that a couple of measly rebel fighters could take it down, ultimately killing him on that same station. how many times throughout the OT and shows like Rebels do we see characters just acting like they belong and getting into places where the empire doesn't want them to be? where the empire doesn't think they can get to? nemik tells cassian "surprise from above is never as shocking as one from below," which sums it up nicely as well. the empire doesn't think anyone who they deem below them has the strength, the organization, the will to beat them.

(there's also the additional layer of this line being delivered by diego luna, with his mexican accent, talking about a brown man like him walking into the house of the very white, nazi/white supremacy metaphor that is the empire, but that's an additional conversation.)

i'll come back to luthen's last chunk of dialogue. but first, a little more about their interaction later into the ep, namely going back to praising cassian's skills:

i love how cassian, though he doesn't trust luthen, he trusts that luthen has experience; bc he can see that experience with his own eyes. and he immediately starts learning from luthen, and right away starts to put that knowledge into actionable steps. prime example in this ep: luthen's first lesson is to not carry anything on you that you don't control, and he smashes cassian's comm. later in the same episode, one of the first things cassian does is smash syril's comm. it's such a perfect way to show, without an additional conversation between luthen and cass, that cassian heard what luthen was saying, and put it to use.

cassian, as we see him through the eyes of other ferrix citizens, is set up to be this untrustworthy, skips-town-while-owing-you-a-lot-of-money kind of guy. he lives off favors and IOUs, and as bix tells luthen "no one really knows him". but we know how smart cassian is. he's unflinching when holding a blaster. he's incredibly observant, light on his feet, quick-thinking. and in this first scene with luthen, we start to pull that curtain back on the expert spy cassian we know he will become by rogue one. these observation skills, particularly, also continue to come back throughout the season. one particularly good example being when he suggests to taramyn and skeen that they switch marching sides because skeen is left-handed. and then he's able to rattle off everyone's dominant hand when asked.

to close, back to luthen's last bit of dialogue from the above exchange:

i mean, i still get chills when luthen says, "these days will end, cassian andor." because we, the audience, know that's true. we know the empire will be defeated. not much to say other than this is one of those perfect little tidbits of foreshadowing dialogue that i love.

the other line here that i really want to highlight, is the, "the sound of that voice telling you to stop, to go, to move. telling you to die. rings in the ear, doesn't it?" firstly, i love how this ties into the idea of rebellion, of defiance, in general. a specific example from the show, the imperial troops ordering cassian to stop as he moves to attack them after clem's death. it's moments like that - the simple act of not doing as you're told by the authority that wants to keep you down - all those moments compound on one another, and that's how you get the rebellion against the empire. and especially with cassian, that voice "telling [him] to die" that he refuses over and over (until he can no longer run from that fate, of course). but until that moment, he refuses to let the empire tell him what to do.

i also love the combination of "rings in the ear, doesn't it?" + "soon enough, they'll have something else to listen to." in combination with the industrial sounds of ferrix outside. which is then shortly followed by the actual ringing of all the pipes and whatnot from the citizens of ferrix as they alert each other to the arrival of the pre-mor officers. and to continue the domino effect of this scene just building and building, you have maarva's lines paralleling luthen's so perfectly:

"gets to you, doesn't it? that's what a reckoning sounds like. you want it to stop, but it just keeps coming. it's when it stops, that's when you'll really want to start to fret."

the empire (or rather the pre-mor security officers working for the empire) is literally experiencing that "something else to listen to" right now! a reckoning, as maarva so aptly calls it. the sound of defiance and rebellion, of everyday citizens bonded by their shared community coming together. they're flipping luthen's script on its head, putting it into action. the empire has the sounds of ferrix ringing in their ears. the empire doesn't listen (again, "nobody's listening!") but they'll be made to. and it will be the sounds of rebellion that they hear.

which then really all loops back around to the exchange jyn and cassian share in rogue one:

C: "do you think...anybody's listening?" J: "i do. someone's out there."

this whole long post to say: there is so much incredible dialogue, and so many amazing speeches in andor. but i think this first conversation between cassian and luthen sets up so much of what this show and the rebellion era are about. hope is a defiant thing, and cassian's defiance and will to fight are some of his strongest traits.