#trying to be positive amidst the storm

[purplebass]

I tried to go slow this week and be kind with myself and didn't push myself to do things I didn't feel like doing. I feel better compared to one week ago and to the whole of July, where there were moments I thought I wouldn't make it to the next day. I am still confused and in need of stability in all areas but someday I will have it

[fictionally-driven]

Bruises and Blossoms

Pairing: Jiyan x f! Midnight Rangers reader Word count: 3165 words Trigger warnings: Injuries, mentions of blood, violence, mentions of death. Plot: Jiyan is gravely injured and saved by the resilient and resourceful field medic, (Y/N), whose unwavering dedication and quick thinking catch his eye amidst the chaos of war.

Author Note: I have been writing fics about WuWa characters developing feelings for someone. I could not help but indulge in this after playing WuWa from the past few days. If you liked it, then reblogs are appreciated, Thank you!

The battlefield was a symphony of chaos, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of smoke. Tacet Discords, their dark forms swirling like a malevolent storm, descended upon them. Jiyan led his troops into the fray against the looming threat to Jinzhou and Huanglong. His blade cut through the fog on the enemy with lethal precision.

But the Tacet Discords were relentless, their numbers seemingly endless as they swarmed over the battlefield. It felt like an other outbreak was on the verge of breaking through and Jiyan was resolved to quell it before it got to that point. Jiyan fought with all his strength, his heart pounding with adrenaline as he pushed himself beyond his limits to protect his troops from the brunt of the attacks.

Suddenly, amidst the chaos, a joint attack from the Crownless and the Tempest Memphis caught Jiyan off guard. Despite his best efforts, he found himself overwhelmed, his vision blurring as pain seared through his body. Blood filled Jiyan's mouth as he struggled to maintain his footing, his ears ringing with the clamor of battle. But even in the midst of his pain, he refused to yield, his determination unwavering as he faced his enemies head-on. Slaying the crownless, Jiyan collapsed to his knees, trying to catch his breath and recover. Black spots emerged in his vision and he shook his head, trying to remain focused. Amidst the chaos, a familiar voice cut through the din, pulling him back from the brink of darkness.

An on-field medic approached at Jiyan's side "General! focus on me," she urged, her voice firm yet comforting as she assessed his injuries. Her hands moving with practiced precision as she tended to his injuries with the supplies she was carrying. "Let me patch you up."

But Jiyan, his resolve as strong as ever, swatted her hand away. He insisted that he was fine, his voice strained with pain. "There are others who need your help more than I do," he protested, his gaze flickering with concern for his troops. “I’ll be alright.”

Yet the medic, undeterred by Jiyan's protests, remained steadfast in her resolve. "You need medical attention, General," she insisted, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Let me do my job."

"I'm not leaving you like this," She retorted, her tone firm as she continued to patch up Jiyan's injuries. "No man left behind, remember?"

As she outlined Jiyan's injuries in her terminal, recording and transmitting the message to the infirmary, she detailed the extent of his wounds. "He's broken his arm, sustained a deep femoral artery laceration, and has multiple contusions and abrasions," she reported, her voice steady despite the urgency of the situation. "We'll need a transfusion and surgical intervention."

With practiced efficiency, she stabilized Jiyan's broken arm, carefully wrapping it in a makeshift splint to prevent further injury after removing his signature midnight green gardebras. Administering pain medication, she sought to alleviate his discomfort, her hands moving with gentle precision as she worked.

As she wrapped a tourniquet around his open wound to stem the bleeding, she barked commands to the surrounding troops, directing them to cover their path back to the infirmary. "We need a clear path, now!" She pointed to two soldiers. “You two. Cover for me and the general till we make it to the infirmary. Take defense positions at the back.” She then points to another soldier beside them. “You take the front. What? Do I look like I have sprouted two horns? Move. Now!”  With Jiyan's uninjured arm draped around her, she lifted the general up, staggering a bit due to his weight before stabilizing herself.

Despite his delirium from the pain and blood loss, Jiyan couldn't help but notice the warmth of her presence, her lively nature. "You're like a whirlwind, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice laced with admiration as she dragged him towards the relative safety of the infirmary.

Despite the chaos and confusion of the battlefield, Jiyan finds himself drawn to the medic at his side. Was she glowing? He couldn't help but wonder as he struggled to keep up with her brisk pace. How could someone be so beautiful, almost amidst the carnage of war? Though the scent of blood and smoke filled his senses, he could still smell was the antiseptic and medicines that she had used on him, comforting him. As she dragged him towards the infirmary, Jiyan weakly protested against her, insisting that he would be fine. She seemingly ignored his words, only to focus on the task at hand. And in that moment, as he clung to her for support, Jiyan knew that he was in good hands.

Inside the infirmary, the harsh lights made everything seem too bright and painful. Jiyan was gently lowered onto the bed, his muscles screaming in protest with each movement. Through bleary eyes, he watched as the medic busied herself. Jiyan’s eyes fixed on her, noting the blood, his blood, smeared on her skin and on her clavicle. He noticed the small injuries that marred her too. Her hair, disheveled from the chaos, fell out of place from its tie, framing her face. With his uninjured hand, he reached out and tucked a stray strand behind her ear, his touch lingering for a moment. “You are injured too. Make sure to get it patched.”

She glanced at him, a mix of frustration and tenderness in her eyes. "You need to rest, General," she admonished, her voice soft yet firm. "Let us handle the battlefield for now. Your troops need you to recover."

Jiyan managed a weak smile, his vision blurring again. "You... you're quite something," he murmured, his voice trailing off. “What is your name, soldier?”

She stood up, her expression softening as she looked down at him. "And you're quite stubborn," she replied, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Take care and recover soon. Your troops have got this, and you need to focus on resting." She wiped his blood off her using a few wet wipes as more medics gathered to tend to the general. “My name is (Y/N).” She said, as the medics began working on treating him.

Jiyan managed a weak smile, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion. "Thank you, (Y/N)." he murmured, his voice barely audible.

"You're welcome," she replied, still smiling. “Let the medics tend to you. I’ll be off now.”

As she turned to leave, her figure was haloed by the harsh light, making her seem almost ethereal. Jiyan watched her go, the scent of antiseptic and the warmth of her presence lingering even as he drifted into unconsciousness.

Days had passed since the chaotic battle, and Jiyan, who transferred to the hospital in Jinzhou city was gradually recovering. His body, still wrapped in bandages and dressings, bore the marks of the intense skirmish. His broken arm was securely cast, the deep laceration on his hip stitched and bandaged, and the myriad of contusions and abrasions were cleaned and dressed. The medics had done their job well, but amidst their care, Jiyan's mind lingered on one thought: the medic who had saved him.

(Y/N), she had said her name was. She hadn't served directly under him before, always stationed at a distant outpost. The recent upheavals had brought many changes to their forces, including her reassignment to the Northern border of Huanglong. He'd learned through her records that she was exemplary, her combat skills and medical background making her a perfect fit for an on-field medic. Jiyan knew he needed to thank her, not just for her skillful treatment, but for her unwavering determination to save his life.

Her image was etched into his mind: her firm yet gentle hands tending to his wounds, her unwavering resolve, and that fleeting moment when he had tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. Despite the pain and blood loss, he remembered the warmth of her presence

The Tacet Discord outbreak from that fateful day had been contained, though at a grave cost. Several lives had been lost, each one a heavy burden on Jiyan's heart. As he regained his strength, he prepared himself for a somber duty he never neglected: honoring the fallen. With a pouch of Emortia seeds in his hand, Jiyan made his way to Knell Square, the hallowed ground where he planted these seeds to commemorate the soldiers who had perished in battle.

Stepping out into the streets of Jinzhou, Jiyan felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him. The city was alive with activity, but he sought solace in the quieter parts. His path took him away from the bustling marketplace, past the familiar landmarks of the city, and towards Knell Square.

As Jiyan approached the square, the familiar sight of Emortia flowers greeted him, their delicate petals swaying gently in the breeze. He paused for a moment, taking in the serenity of the scene, his heart heavy with the names and faces of the comrades he had lost. But then, his gaze caught sight of a solitary figure standing by the flower bed, lost in thought.

(Y/N) stood there, her posture relaxed yet somehow somber. She seemed absorbed in the sight of the flowers; her eyes distant as if she were communing with the spirits of those who had passed. The soft light of the late afternoon cast a gentle glow on her, highlighting the subtle strength and grace that had left such an impression on him.

Jiyan's heart skipped a beat as he watched her. He hadn't expected to run into her here, and the sight of her brought back a flood of memories from the battlefield. He wondered what she was thinking about, what memories or emotions had drawn her to this quiet place. He took a moment to observe her, the way her eyes seemed to soften as she looked at the flowers, the way her hands gently brushed against the petals. He cleared his throat, stepping beside her. "I didn’t expect to run into you in Jinzhou."

(Y/N) turned to him, a gentle smile forming on her lips. "General Jiyan," she greeted, her voice soft. “I see that you are recovering quickly.” She turned back to the flowers. “I was here to collect some personal supplies and stopped by to admire these flowers. They are quite beautiful, aren’t they?”

Jiyan nodded, stepping closer to stand beside her. "They do. Each one represents a life, a sacrifice. It's a way for me to remember and honor them. I plant these seeds for the rangers who lost their lives." he said quietly.

She looked back at the flowers; her expression thoughtful. "These flowers... they carry so many memories…”

There was a moment of silence between them, the weight of their shared losses hanging in the air. Jiyan took a deep breath, summoning the words he had been wanting to say. "Thank you," he began, his voice earnest. "For saving me that day. I owe you, (Y/N)."

(Y/N) waved a hand dismissively, but there was a twinkle in her eye. "I was just doing my duty, General. But next time, let me do my job without fighting back.” There was a hint of frustration in her eyes. “You of all people should know that without a general, the army would have fallen into disarray."

Jiyan felt a pang of sheepishness at her words, but he nodded in acknowledgment. "You're right," he admitted. "I was stubborn. But so were you. Your quick thinking and actions saved me. Your efforts will be formally acknowledged."

A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she shook her head. "No need for formalities, General. Knowing that you're alive and well is enough for me. I don't want praise," (Y/N) said, her voice firm yet soft. "I didn't do it for the recognition. I did it because it's my duty, and I want to be more efficient in that duty. I could have saved more lives that day if I was better."

Jiyan nodded slowly. "I do. It's a heavy burden, knowing lives depend on your actions. But that's also what makes it so important."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened slightly, a spark of recognition flashing in them. "That's right. You were a medic before you became a general. I'd almost forgotten about that."

Jiyan smiled faintly. "It's not something I talk about often, but it's a part of who I am."

She gave him an incredulous look, almost looking offended. “You, of all people, should know better than to resist treatment on the battlefield! Next time, I'll tie you up if I have to."

A chuckle escaped Jiyan before he could stop it, and (Y/N)'s eyes widened in surprise. "Something the matter?" he asked, bemused.

She shook her head, a look of astonishment on her face. "I don't think I've ever heard you chuckle before," she said, her voice filled with wonder. "It suits you more than your usual frown and scowl."

Jiyan was momentarily stunned by her words. He wasn't used to such candid observations about his demeanor. "I suppose I should thank you for that," he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

(Y/N) returned his smile, her gaze focused on the sky for a moment, "I'll leave you to your moment with the flowers, General," she said, stepping back to give him space.

As she began to walk away, Jiyan found himself not wanting her to leave just yet. "Wait," he called after her, his voice catching slightly. "Would you... would you help me plant these seeds?"

(Y/N) turned back, her smile widening as she walked back to him. "Of course, General. I'd be honored."

They knelt together by the flower bed, the pouch of Emortia seeds in Jiyan's hand. He handed a few seeds to (Y/N), their fingers brushing lightly. Together, they dug small holes in the soil, carefully placing the seeds within.

"Each seed represents a life," Jiyan said quietly, his voice filled with reverence. "A sacrifice that must never be forgotten."

(Y/N) nodded, her eyes reflecting the same solemn respect. "And each flower that blooms is a reminder of their bravery and our duty to honor them."

They worked in silence for a while, the act of planting the seeds almost meditative. The gentle rustling of the flowers and the distant sounds of the city created a peaceful backdrop to their task.

As they finished planting the last of the seeds, Jiyan looked at (Y/N), admiration evident in his eyes. "Thank you," he said, his voice sincere. "For everything."

(Y/N) smiled, her lively spirit shining through once more. "You're welcome, General. And thank you for your service. We all rely on your strength and leadership."

With the seeds planted, they stood together, taking a moment to appreciate the serene beauty of Knell Square. The Emortia flowers swayed gently in the breeze, their delicate petals a symbol of hope and remembrance.

"I should be going," (Y/N) said softly. "But if you ever need someone to tie you down for treatment again, you know where to find me, General."

Jiyan chuckled, a genuine smile breaking across his face. "I'll keep that in mind," he replied. “And please, call me Jiyan.”

“Jiyan…” She repeated, nodding at him. “Alright then, I’ll do just that.”

As (Y/N) repeated his name, a warm feeling spread through his chest. He didn't want her to leave just yet. There was something about her presence that he found comforting, something that made him want to know more about her.

He recalled Mortefi's words, a dear friend who often chided him for being too stoic and reserved. "You need to put yourself out there, Jiyan. Go on dates, meet new people, relax a little. Stop being a tragic brooding hero all the damn time and go live your life."

Jiyan had never thought he desired companionship. After all, the Jué had entrusted him with a duty, a responsibility that he had always taken seriously. But this woman, (Y/N), had come out of nowhere, stirring feelings within him that he had never felt before. It made him yearn for more and all he wanted was to be the subject of her attention at the moment.

Summoning his courage, Jiyan hesitated for a moment before calling out to her, his voice slightly awkward. "Um, (Y/N), wait!"

She turned back, a curious expression on her face as she regarded him. Jiyan stumbled over his words, his cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment. At this very moment, he felt as if he would rather fight a horde of the Crownless than speak his mind.  "I, uh, I was wondering if... if it would be alright for us to, um, go out for a nice dinner? And maybe catch a lion dance performance after?"

(Y/N) turned back, a slight smile playing on her lips as she observed Jiyan's flustered state. "Are you asking me out on a date, General?" she teased, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Jiyan hesitated, first blurting out. “N-no…that’s...” He immediately corrected himself. "I... uh... yes, I suppose I am," he admitted, his voice slightly uncertain. "If... if that's not out of line, I mean. I'm sorry, I should probably let you be..."

(Y/N) giggled, the sound light and musical, easing some of Jiyan's anxiety. "It's endearing to see the General so flustered," she said, her tone gentle and kind. “I’d like to see more of this side of yours, Jiyan.” She met his gaze, still amused. “So yes, I'd like to go on this date if you're still up for it."

Relief flooded through Jiyan, mingled with a newfound sense of excitement. He hadn't expected her to say yes, but now that she had, he couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness. “Yes. It... Its settled then.”

(Y/N) nodded, her smile warm and inviting. "Alright then, Jiyan. When and where?"

Jiyan thought for a moment, his mind racing. "There's a lovely restaurant near the theatre. How about we meet there at seven tonight or is that too soon...?"

"Seven sounds perfect," she agreed. "I'll see you then."

As they exchanged contact information on their terminals, Jiyan's heart thudded in his chest, a mixture of nerves and excitement coursing through him. He watched as (Y/N) took off, her graceful form moving with purpose, and he couldn't help but admire her even more. With a final wave and a cheerful reminder to take care, she disappeared into the bustling city streets, leaving Jiyan standing there with a smile playing on his lips.

His gaze lingered on the spot where she had vanished, the memory of her infectious laughter and warm smile etched into his mind. For a moment, he placed his uninjured hand on top of his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath his palm. Yes, even he, General Jiyan, renowned for his stoicism and unwavering dedication to duty, found himself looking forward to tonight and the possibility of many more nights spent in (Y/N)'s company.

WuWa Masterlist

[disneyprincemuke]

you don't get to tell me about sad * fem!driver

outtakes of her year that i didn't know where to fit lol so this is the last(ish) angst installment

pairings: sebastian vettel x fem!driver, max verstappen x fem!driver

notes: iM BACK BABYYY

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

(prev)

so she runs from her garage again. just another weekend where everything has skewed from what was discussed and there is no reasoning to be done.

she finished the race damn near last over a pitstop that ran longer than it should have.

the minute sebastian could not spew an excuse she would hear out was the minute she stopped listening to him during the race. and honestly, it was the only way she could salvage not finishing last of the pack.

“let’s talk about it,” sebastian says, hurriedly chasing her down as she storms into the racing home, her presence immediately silencing the chatter in the room. “let me talk you through what happened. it’s not your fault.”

“i know it’s not!” her distress is made known, echoing in the air of the room. she stops in her tracks and turns to face sebastian still by the door, flinching back. “how could that be my fault? i was doing my end of the bargain as a driver!”

he takes a deep breath. “rocky, just listen to me, okay?”

“it’s not fair! none of this weekend was my fault!” she shrieks, turning back around and trudging up the stairs loudly. “the team fucked me over, that’s what happened! i can’t possibly think of a reason you could come up with to excuse what happened!”

“i’m not excusing it, i’m just–”

“oh, god, sebastian!” she stomps her foot on the ground to demand sebastian’s attention. which surprisingly works. “just admit it — the team fucked me over. point blank period, that’s literally what happened.”

sebastian sucks in a deep breath. “yes, we did. and we’re extremely sorry. but–”

“’but’ again,” she laughs dryly, rolling her eyes. she makes a sharp turn for her driver’s room and holds a hand up to stop the step he tries to take towards her. “take your apology to the headlines being drafted about me as we go in circles over this, sebastian.”

“you know i’m not breaking up with you,” matt says amidst the silence that they’ve been sitting in as he packs his bag. “i just need a break.”

“from me,” she points out shakily, dropping her head low.

“from this cycle.” he lifts his head and sits back to look at her.

she sits on the edge of her bed, feet hovering slightly over the floor. she watches her feet swing slightly, counting in her head, desperate not to lose the last remaining sanity she feels she has.

initially, she sat in the vacant room in tears, refusing to watch him pack up to leave her all alone in her apartment. she wallowed in her woes in a dark corner before she eventually dragged herself back into her bedroom.

she’s been sitting here watching him in silence ever since, trying to find the words in her head to say something to him.

maybe he’ll change his mind; maybe he’ll stay if she says the right thing.

“yeah, i get that.”

“i don’t think you do.” he stands from his position on the ground and walks over to her on the bed. he takes the empty spot next to her, resting his hand above hers that grips the mattress tightly. he feels her grip loosen slightly. “i still love you, bub.”

she shakes her head with a sigh. “i would have stopped a long time ago if i were you. i’m not very nice.”

“it doesn’t work like that,” he squeezes her hand, “you’re having a hard time. i get that and it’s okay. but i want you to want the help i’m giving you. i’m not going to force it on you if you’re just going to keep pushing me away when i try.”

“i don’t know why i keep doing that,” she admits with a scoff. she drops her back on the bed behind her and looks up at the ceiling of her bedroom. “i’m not usually like this, i promise. i’m better than this.”

“i know.” matt mirrors her actions and drops himself on the mattress.

she wants to say she’s sorry and that she’s thankful for him sticking around longer than he had to. it’s at the edge of her tongue but she simply cannot get herself to admit that she’s wrong. that perhaps this time, someone is finally right about her.

“do you, really?” she hums, “i’m the worst.”

“i think you should give yourself a little more credit,” he sighs, reaching out for her hand again. this time, she moves her hand away before he can grab it. “i’ll come home soon, okay? i’ll come back for you, i promise.”

she repeats in her head the gameplan she’d drafted with sebastian. the one that seemed so foolproof all weekend that made her believe she could turn it all around.

instead, she’s standing on the grass next to her wrecked car, another unfortunate mishap she’s sure would make her talk of the town again.

she puts her hands on her hips as her eyes trail over to her blown tyre. then she remembers that her crash wasn’t caused all by herself.

“are you alright?” charles asks softly, slowly approaching her as he takes his helmet off. “unlucky weekend.”

she glances over her shoulder where he approaches her. she forces a small grin to her face and tries to wave his concerns away. “i’m fine.”

her chest starts to hurt slightly, tears prickling at her eyes.

this is not the time and place to be breaking down. especially not at someone like charles because surely, something went wrong with her that caused this.

“it’s my fau–”

surely, it can’t be his fault. there’s no way that the person she’s looked up could cause this crash.

but there’s also a voice in her head telling her to believe charles. he wouldn’t be apologising if he didn’t actually think that he caused it.

“unfortunate,” she chuckles. she swallows the scream threatening to make itself known and shrugs at charles. “i’ll see you in the paddocks, mate.”

“thought i might find you here.”

“fuck off, max.”

the older driver laughs, walking over to her with hands in the pocket of his jeans. he drops himself on the little platform she’s resting on.

“everyone’s looking for you,” max chuckles, innocently taking a sip from his water bottle. “i heard seb panicking and sending out a search party to get you.”

“i know,” she snorts, “i heard him screaming and delegating people to find me.”

the only reason max knew where to find her is because he is the one who introduced her to this place. he had found her holding her tears in at some point last season walking around the paddocks and he whisked her away without another word.

it’s a pretty obscure location in the paddocks, one that max often resided in when it got too chaotic and loud. she’s the only one he’s ever given this sort of information to.

“how’s everything?” he asks with a sigh, leaning back on the wall behind them. “matt flew back to the states already?”

she nods and drops her head, picking at the grass beneath them. while she truly tried to keep her problems to herself, max approached her a week prior when he saw her entering the paddocks all by herself.

he had asked why the man, typically found on her arm every race weekend, was not with her today.

she softly admitted that they’re on a break, prompted by her reactionary behaviour from how her year is going so far. still, she tries to keep the confession minimal.

it’s hard enough to watch your boyfriend pack his things in silence to leave you behind. it’s even harder to admit that there’s nobody else to blame but yourself.

her mishaps every weekend on the paddocks, she can point all the fingers she wants. but when it came to her matt, there was nobody else she could pin it on. there were 2 people in that relationship and she knows that she’s the one that’s burned it down.

“i’m so sorry,” max sighs, resting his cheek in his hand. he props his elbow on his knee as she leans forward. “that must be really hard for you.”

she shrugs. it’s really not that big of a deal. or, at least, it shouldn’t be to somebody else in a happy relationship of his own. “it’s my fault, anyway. i don’t blame him.”

“you can still be upset about it,” he mutters. “i know you love him, so i don’t imagine any of this is making you feel better at all.” he puts a hand on her back and rubs circles, something he honestly wishes someone had done for him when he was younger. “it’s just me, mate.”

“it’s alright, but thanks for trying to be there for me,” she grimaces, turning momentarily to give him a small smile. “but i don’t reckon i get to feel bad for deliberately pushing him over the edge.”

she’d been fine all day. she thought she was genuinely getting better: she’d even gone for a walk in the sun and felt enlightened most of the hours she’d been awake.

that was until she had sat down at her dining table with dinner, consumed whole by the silence and emptiness of her apartment. without understanding why, she lost her appetite as her stomach started to churn.

her heart feels like it’s skipping beats from how unwell she suddenly felt.

she finds herself on the floor of her bedroom, phone pressed up against her ear as the ringing pulls her in and out of her trance.

her world has spinning for the better part of 5 minutes, her chest feeling like it’s closing in on itself and the framed picture in her peripheral vision taunts her.

there’s no climbing out of this rut; she’s almost sure she will be stuck in here forever. she either lives with the fact that she’s a failure or it’ll someday kill her.

“hello? is this really you?”

tears she hadn’t realised were there start to fall out of her eyes. the sob she didn’t know she had in her throat fills the room as she drops her head into her other hand.

“i don’t know why i called,” she pauses with a soft sob, “sorry, i should go.”

“no,” a firm voice demands, “just stay on the line.”

“okay.”

she had just spoken with matt this morning, on a short 5-minute welfare check video call. she told him she was feeling slightly better with the biggest smile on her face.

now she doubts herself if she’d even meant it. if she was truly better, she wouldn’t be here on the floor feeling worse than when she woke up this morning.

going backwards isn’t supposed to be the way she’s going.

it’s always forward. if there’s no progress towards the betterment of her situation, then she’s simply not trying hard enough.

she should try harder. it’s the only way.

“hey,” matt coos softly to catch her attention. “if you need me there, just say the word. i’ll come home.”

she wants to say yes. she even wants to break into a louder sob and admit that she misses him; probably might even be going crazy without his presence as of late.

she hasn’t got anything figured out.

but instead, she says, “i’ll be okay.”

being alone in her hotel room is the last thing she wanted for herself, the silence too overbearing for her to handle. though asking to hang out with her friends she watched leave together to get dinner wasn’t an option either.

so she opted to lock herself in her driver’s room until someone chases her out. perhaps she’ll sleep over without anybody finding out.

she’d coddled herself up in her beanbag under a blanket, reading away furiously on the things people said about her.

sure, she shouldn’t be on these sites speaking ill of her, but there’s nobody to stop her. she’s fallen down the rabbit hole of everyone’s opinions of her once more and she can’t seem to stop.

she’s stooped even lower this time: she’s on social media reading what the public has to say about her.

it’s not just about whoever in the industry is saying now.

she never tried to let anyone’s opinion of her, in forms of tweets and social media posts, get to her much.

but a post highlighting about the two mere instances where she had unintentionally lashed out on matt in the paddocks did it for her. and the one time she had a disagreement with sebastian in her racing home after a pitstop mishap.

“for fuck’s sake,” she cries, throwing the blanket off her.

she can’t throw her ipad. she starts to heave, feeling it all coming down on her once more.

she grabs the closest thing to her. and unfortunately, it’s the very mug she’d gotten 2 years ago as a present for sebastian.

you know, the matching mugs she got as a celebration for scoring points as a race engineer and driver duo on the grid.

and it does what a mug would do if you threw it against the wall: it shatters. into pieces.

it’s repairable if she really thought about it rationally. the handle has popped out along with another large piece straying by its side.

only then she realises what she’s done.

“oh, fuck.” she sits hurriedly and brushes the stray hairs from her face. “oh, no.”

she scrambles from the ground and runs over to the other side of the room where her favourite mug sits in 3 separate pieces, tears prickling at her eyes as she realises what she’s done.

she gathers it into her hands with a heavy cry, dropping her hands into her lap. if she’d known sooner that this mug was what she’d grabbed out of fury, she wouldn’t have chucked it across the room.

“come on,” she whispers to herself, trying to fit the pieces together as if it would magically mend itself. “fix yourself. be a mug again?”

“i thought you were back at the hotel– are you okay?”

“i didn’t mean to do it,” she cries at the familiar voice and accent, lifting her head and hands to show him what she’s done. “i didn’t mean to, i didn’t even realise what i was throwing until it broke into this many pieces.”

“hey,” sebastian coos, softly closing the door behind him. he walks over to where she kneels on the ground and grabs her shoulder. “you’re okay. it’s okay.”

she shakes her head profusely and rests her head on his shoulder. “i didn’t mean it. i didn’t want to break it — i still like you, i promise. you’re like my dad when we’re on the road. i’m s– i didn’t mean it.”

“relax.” he squeezes her shoulder, pressing a firm kiss to her temple. “it’s just a mug. we’ll just get a new one, okay? don’t even worry about it.”

he waits for a second as she processes his words, slightly hesitant to agree with him. she nods slowly, “are you sure? you’re not mad?”

“i’m not mad,” sebastian hums with a smile. “let’s get you back to your hotel room, okay? i was just about to head out.”

“okay.”

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

[loveanton]

melting point | lee anton

ꕤ DESCRIPTION: after spending the last few months as anton’s hidden secret you finally reach your limit with his inconsistency.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: situationship!anton x f!reader

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 2.8k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: desperate anton, some jealousy, kissing, and brief mentions of sex and alcohol

⏤ 𝑎/n: first riize post ^-^

You’re at your limit.

The bass pounds in sync with the rapid thump of your heart. The club is a kaleidoscope of pulsating lights and swirling laughter, but your focus narrows on one person: Anton. He's across the room, surrounded by a cluster of people, his magnetic charm drawing them in like moths to a flame. And there she is, Minji, hanging on his every word, her laughter tinkling like glass wind chimes.

You clutch your drink, the ice cubes clinking against the red solo cup in a rhythm that matches the turmoil in your mind. This isn't the first time you've found yourself in this position — watching Anton flirt effortlessly, his attention a fleeting commodity you crave but can never fully grasp. 

You take a deep breath, trying to quell the rising tide of emotions threatening to engulf you. It's a familiar battle, one you've fought countless times before. But tonight feels different, heavier somehow, as if the weight of your unspoken desires has become too much to bear. The two of you aren't exclusive, you remind yourself. You’re just...something. 

Yet, seeing him engrossed in conversation with another girl ignites a flurry of emotions within you.

As you stand there, grappling with your emotions, the thumping bass seems to echo the rhythm of your racing heart. A familiar voice breaks through the haze of your thoughts, pulling you back to the present moment. "You okay?"

Turning, you see Heejin, your closest friend and roommate, her concern etched into the lines of her face. She knows you better than anyone, sensing the storm brewing beneath your calm facade.

You offer her a small smile, though it feels feeble against the weight of your emotions. "I'm fine," you reply, though the words ring hollow even to your own ears.

Heejin studies you for a moment, her gaze searching and knowing. "No you're not. I can see it written all over your face."

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you meet her gaze, the floodgates of your emotions threatening to burst open. "It's just... Anton," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Understanding flashes in Heejin's eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the pain you're feeling. "I know," she murmurs, her voice soft but steady. "I've seen how much he means to you."

As you stand there, with Heejin's comforting presence beside you, memories flood your mind, tracing back to the moment when you first met Anton.

It was a late summer night in Seoul, and you were still adjusting to the bustling city, the unfamiliar sights and sounds overwhelming your senses. A craving for a midnight snack led you to the nearest convenience store, where you stumbled through the aisles in search of something familiar amidst the sea of unfamiliar products.

Lost in your own thoughts, you barely noticed the figure standing nearby until he spoke, his soft voice breaking through the fog of your confusion. "Need help finding something?"

You turned to see Anton, a friendly smile on his face, his easy demeanor putting you at ease. Relief washed over you as you realized he spoke English, a rare find in a country where you struggled to navigate the language barrier.

With his guidance, you found the sweet treat you were looking for, and as you parted ways, a sense of gratitude swelled within you. Little did you know, that chance encounter would become the start of something more.

Every Friday night after a long week of lectures, like clockwork, you found yourself drawn back to the same convenience store, hoping to catch another glimpse of the stranger who had shown you kindness in a foreign land. And without fail, there he would be, waiting for you in the back near the ramen section, a knowing smile on his lips as he greeted you with a simple "Hey."

In those moments, surrounded by the hum of refrigerators and the soft glow of fluorescent lights, you found solace in Anton's company.

You shared stories and laughter over steaming bowls of ramen, forging a bond that grew stronger with each passing week. And as you navigated the complexities of life in a new country, Anton became your anchor, a constant presence amidst the chaos of change. Eventually though the late night ramen runs shifted into late night hookups at his dorm.

You never intended to fall so hard and so fast for Anton but something about his soft spoken nature and charming smile rendered you a fool and now, as you stand here, grappling with the ache in your chest, you can't help but wonder if your bond with Anton was nothing more than a fleeting moment in time. The uncertainty of your situationship weighs heavily on your heart, overshadowing the warmth of those Friday night encounters.

You take a shaky breath, the weight of your unspoken feelings heavy on your chest. "What should I do?" you ask, your voice tinged with desperation.

Heejin listens to your question, her gaze softening with empathy as she considers her response. She reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder before speaking. "You deserve someone who sees you for who you are, not just a fleeting lay in the dead of night," she says gently, her words carrying the weight of truth.

You bristle at her words, a surge of defensiveness rising within you. "But maybe he just... he's busy, you know? Maybe he's just not good at showing his feelings," you protest, the familiar excuses falling from your lips like a well-rehearsed script.

Heejin's expression remains unchanged, her gaze unwavering as she meets your eyes. "You've been holding onto this hope for so long, but deep down, you know it's not enough," she says firmly, her tone gentle but resolute. "Anton's status as an idol may complicate things, but that doesn't excuse his lack of effort outside of those late-night meetups."

You falter under her scrutiny, the weight of her words sinking in with each passing moment. She's right, of course. Anton's gestures, while comforting in the moment, were little more than crumbs of affection scattered at your feet, never enough to sustain the hunger in your heart.

"He invited you to this party, right?" Heejin continues, "But look around you. Do you see him anywhere near you? Or is he off, charming someone who's 'socially acceptable' to be seen with?"

A bitter taste rises in your mouth as you glance around the room, taking in the sight of Anton across the crowded space, his attention focused on Minji, someone who fits seamlessly into his world of fame and glamor. And suddenly, the illusion shatters, leaving behind nothing but the harsh reality of your situation.

You take a shaky breath, the truth settling over you like a heavy blanket. "You're right," you whisper, your voice barely audible above the noise of the party. "I've been fooling myself, thinking there was something more between us."

Heejin squeezes your shoulder in silent solidarity, her presence a source of comfort in the midst of your turmoil. "It's okay to let go," she says softly, her words a gentle reminder that sometimes, the hardest part is acknowledging when it's time to move on.

Tears sting your eyes as you feel the weight of regret settle upon your shoulders. "I feel so stupid," you admit, your voice trembling with emotion. "I wasted half my summer on a boy who wasn't worth it."

Heejin pulls you into a comforting embrace, her arms a shelter from the storm raging within you. "You're not stupid," she reassures you, her voice soft but firm. "You took a chance on something that felt real, and that's nothing to be ashamed of."

Despite her comforting words, you can't help but feel a pang of disappointment in yourself. You had allowed yourself to be swept away by the allure of Anton's charm, only to realize too late that it was nothing more than a facade.

"But hey," Heejin continues, her tone brightening with a hint of optimism, "at least you made some fun memories to last you through the upcoming semester, right?"

You manage a small smile through your tears, grateful for Heejin's unwavering support. "Yeah, I guess you're right," you concede, the weight on your heart easing ever so slightly at the reminder of the good times you shared.

Just as you and Heejin decide to leave the club, your resolve wavering but firm, you excuse yourself to use the restroom. As you navigate through the crowded space towards the restroom, a familiar voice calls out to you, stopping you in your tracks. "Hey, can we talk?"

You turn to see Anton standing there, his expression unreadable as he pulls you aside, away from the prying eyes of the partygoers. Despite the ache in your chest, you can't help but feel a flicker of curiosity at his sudden appearance.

"He invited you to this party, right?" Heejin's words echo in your mind, a stark reminder of the reality you had tried so hard to ignore.

Anton's voice interrupts your thoughts, his words cutting through the noise of the club like a beacon in the darkness. "I missed you, angel," he confesses, his arms encircling your waist in a familiar embrace.

You freeze at his touch, the conflicting emotions raging within you like a storm. His warmth against your skin, once a source of comfort, now feels suffocating in its familiarity. You remain silent, unable to form coherent words amidst the chaos of your thoughts.

Unfazed by your lack of response, Anton leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers softly, "Do you want to head home with me tonight?"

The question hangs in the air between you, heavy with unspoken implications. But before you can consider his offer, a surge of frustration and indignation rises within you, breaking through the haze of confusion and growing horniness.

"No," you reply firmly, your voice tinged with a hint of defiance. "I need to know, Anton. What are we? What do you want from me?" You pause, your gaze searching his face for any sign of sincerity. "Because this... this isn't fair to me."

Anton's expression shifts, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before being replaced by a mask of indifference. "What do you mean?" he asks, his tone casual, as if your question holds no weight.

But you refuse to back down, the fire burning within you fueling your resolve. "You know exactly what I mean," you insist, your voice rising with each word. "You reel me in with compliments and empty promises, but you never follow through. You only ever want to see me at night, where no one else can see us. I deserve more than that, Anton. We both do."

Anton's grip tightens slightly around your waist, his brows furrowing in frustration. "It's not that simple, okay?" he retorts, his voice tinged with defensiveness. "You know how hectic my schedule is with my job. I can't always be there when you want me to be."

You shake your head, the bitterness of his words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. "It's not about being there all the time, Anton," you counter, your voice tinged with disappointment. "It's about making an effort, about showing me that I actually mean something to you."

He opens his mouth to respond, but you beat him to it. "I'm tired of the excuses, Anton," you continue, your tone weary but resolute. "I need more than empty promises and late-night hookups. I need someone who's willing to put in the effort, someone who's not afraid to show me off to the world."

Anton's jaw tightens, his frustration palpable as he struggles to find the right words. "You think I don't want that too?" he finally blurts out, his voice edged with exasperation. "Do you have any idea what it's like to live under the constant scrutiny of the public eye? To have every move you make dissected and judged?"

His words hang in the air between you, heavy with the weight of his own insecurities. You understand the pressures of his career, the sacrifices he's had to make to maintain his image in the spotlight. But it's hard to reconcile his struggles with the hurt you've endured in silence.

"I know it's not easy," you concede, your voice softening with empathy. "But that doesn't excuse the way you've treated me, Anton. I've been patient, I've been understanding, but I can't keep pretending like everything's okay when it's not."

Anton's gaze flickers with a mixture of regret and resignation as he takes a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush against your cheek. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice laced with sincerity. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just... I don't know how to do this."

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his eyes, the raw honesty of his confession stirring something within you. But before you can respond, he closes the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a desperate kiss.

For a moment, the world falls away, leaving behind only the heat of his touch and the softness of his lips against yours. And in that fleeting moment of intimacy, you're tempted to forget all the pain and uncertainty, to lose yourself in the familiarity of his embrace.

As Anton pulls away from the kiss, desperation flashes in his eyes, pleading with you not to leave him. "Please, don't go," he whispers, his voice cracking with emotion. "I can't lose you, not like this."

His hands tremble as they cup your face, his lips trailing soft kisses across your cheeks, each touch a silent plea for forgiveness. "I'll do better, I promise," he murmurs against your skin, his breath warm against your ear. "I'll put a label on what we have, I'll make it official. Just give me another chance."

You feel a surge of conflicting emotions coursing through you, torn between the pain of the past and the hope of a future where things could be different.

"I don't know, Anton," you murmur, your voice trembling with uncertainty. "I want to believe you, but... how can I be sure this time will be different?"

Anton's expression softens, a flicker of determination crossing his features. "I'll show you," he vows, his words laced with conviction. "I'll make it up to you, every single day. Just tell me what I need to do, and I'll do it."

You hesitate, torn between the desire to believe in him and the fear of being hurt again. But as you meet his gaze, a glimmer of hope flickers within you, a belief that perhaps, just perhaps, there's still a chance for redemption.

"Okay," you whisper, your voice barely audible above the chaos of the club. "But this is your last chance, Anton. No more empty promises, no more excuses. Show me that you mean it this time."

Anton leans in once again and captures your lips in another kiss, this time with a depth of emotion that leaves you reeling. It's as if he's pouring all of his love and regret into the fervent press of his mouth against yours, a silent plea for your forgiveness.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the space between you. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry for everything."

You feel a lump forming in your throat as you listen to him speak.

"Can I make it up to you?" Anton asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “Come home with me, let me show you how sorry I am, angel.”

You take a step back to look into his eyes but Anton quickly scoops you back towards his body. His other hand is on the side of your face, pulling you in. He dips his head and crashes his soft lips against your waiting lips. You let out a moan at the force behind the kiss but don’t object. He turns his head to deepen the kiss and slips his tongue into your mouth.

The kiss only gets hotter and hotter as you continue, Anton tilts his head to the side and you move yours in the opposite direction. Parting from your lips, he moves down gently to the corner of your lips, the tip of his nose buried in the junction of your jaw to take deep breaths of your intoxicating scent.

The male lays more open mouthed kisses down your neck, making you feel nothing but pure bliss. Your eyes shut as you moan into the air.

His hands move from your waist downwards, sliding over your jeans to caress your ass and thighs. He places one more love bite on your neck before bending a bit and lifting the back of your thighs as if you weigh nothing. You gasp in surprise and wrap your arms around his neck tightly so as to not fall.

You tug at his hair before responding to his previous question. “Take me home, Chanie.”

[eyesthatroll]

gatorade kisses

pairing; matthew rempe x fem!reader

warning(s); highkey cringe… (don’t say i didn’t warn you), fluff, kissing, NOT edited.

word count; 0.95k

authors note; i fear i have become endeared to ny’s baby goon . don’t crucify me

"Don't be mad at me." Your eyes lift from the pages of your book, and you nudge your glasses to rest at the peak of your head, casting a discerning gaze over him. The remnants of game day attire have been replaced by sweatpants and a hoodie, and his once-styled hair now appears tousled, damp from the rain that drizzled outside. Positioned just before the door, his Air Forces firmly planted on the welcome mat, he awaits your reaction.

"Did you not receive my text, Matthew?" Your tongue prods the inside of your cheek, as you release a heavy sigh. Returning your attention to the book, you gracefully lower your glasses back down to your nose. Amidst the audible shuffling, possibly the thud of shoes meeting the floor, your eyes stay fixed on the pages before you. However, your concentration wavers, and you find yourself not truly absorbed in the text anymore, your eyes just dancing over the Sans Serif.

You feel a dip in the leather beside you, and before you can voice your protest, your book is swiftly snatched from your hands and deposited on the end table to Matt's left. "I was reading that," you huff, "and I explicitly told you not to come over."

"I take it you saw the game." He concludes.

"I didn't need to; it was all over Twitter." Meeting his deep brown eyes, bruised and tarnished black from countless hits to the face, you can sense the pain he's concealing. A longing to reach out and comfort him tugs at you, but the sight becomes unbearable, prompting a cringe and a quick turn away.

He was such a beautiful boy, and you hated seeing him banged up like this.

His hand gently presses into your thigh, a subtle squeeze accompanying his plea, "Will you please look at me? I'm sorry."

Tears pool at your waterline, and you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth, striving to keep them at bay. Slowly, you turn your head back to him. "I don't want you to get hurt," your voice leaves your lips in a shaky breath.

"Hey," he begins, his hand gently grasping your arm, tugging you towards him until you're straddling his waist. "Hey," he repeats. His thumbs reach up, delicately wiping away the tears that have trickled down your cheeks. "I'm okay."

"You look like you're in so much pain." Your hand gently rises to caress his cheek, mindful of the bruised skin.

"I'm not." He attempts to reassure you, but the waiver in his voice betrays his words.

"Please don't lie to me." You murmur, a desperate plead to the boy in front of you.

He exhales a deep sigh, diverting his attention momentarily before speaking, "It only hurts a little bit."

Seeking his touch, you lean into his embrace, your head finding the crook of his neck as salty tears cascade freely, quietly. His arms envelop you, hands gently rubbing your back in an attempt to provide comfort.

After God knows how long, the storm within you subsides, and your sole focus shifts to the rhythmic cadence of his breathing, the reassuring sensation of his chest rising and falling against your own.

“It won’t always be like this,” he says, “I promise.”

Drawing back from him, you release a deep breath. "Listen, I don't mean to get emotional," you start, a strained laugh escaping your lips as you wipe your eyes with your palms. He joins in, sharing a laugh that mirrors your own.

“I just—if you tell me you know what you’re doing, or that you have people looking out for you, I’ll try not to worry so much.”

His head tilts ever so slightly, and his fingers extend, delicately tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You surrender to the warmth of his touch, and his hand lingers at your cheek, caressing gently. "The coaching staff is great, and so are the guys."

“I don’t want you being the league’s punching bag.”

“I can handle myself.” He defends.

“Matthew.” You huff out.

He sighs, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “Do you trust me?”

Your gaze softens. “Course’ I do”

“Trust me, then.”

Your teeth graze your bottom lip, nibbling softly as you mull over his words. After a moment of contemplation, you respond with a simple, "Okay."

He quirks a brow. “Okay?”

“Yes Matty, I’m trusting you to not be a dumbass.”

A snort escapes his lips, morphing into a full-bellied laugh—a sound you find utterly captivating. The reading timer you set on your phone chimes from the other side of the couch, an unwelcome reminder of the outside world and the passage of time.

“It’s late.” You comment, “You tired?”

He nods. “A bit.”

"Let’s head to bed, hm?" You attempt to shift away, but his large hands firmly grasp your waist, keeping you in place.

"Wait," he groans, drawing you closer to him.

"What?" you ask, a questioning smile playing on your lips.

“I believe you have something for me?”

Your brows furrow in confusion, your mind retracing the events of the day in an attempt to recall if you've forgotten anything. It's only when his lips form a pout that you roll your eyes at the boy in front of you, but lean in nonetheless.

His lips meet yours softly, moving with a gentle rhythm. His hands migrate from your waist to your bum, delivering a cheeky squeeze that elicits a gasp from you, granting him complete access to your mouth. The scruff of his facial hair lightly scratches against the area above your top lip, and you pull away to catch your breath, Matt doing the same. "You taste like Gatorade."

[bestedoesmeow]

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐞, 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

pairing: carlos sainz jr & fiance!reader

request: Carlos x reader trying to have a baby, but after some failure, during the summer break with all of his family in Mallorca they got the big news (baby Carlos is comingg). After a year they come back to the summer house, as a parents, dealing with baby Carlos, with his sister and his mother🥹 (can you make this angst at the begging)

The summer sun hung low over the horizon, casting a warm, golden hue across the picturesque landscape of Mallorca. Carlos and you stood by the balcony, gazing out at the tranquil waves below. The sea breeze ruffled your hair, a gentle reminder of the passage of time.

It had been a journey of hope and heartache, a story that had begun with dreams of parenthood. But those dreams had been met with silence, punctuated by the bitter sting of failure. The two of you had weathered the storm, your love growing stronger with each setback. Yet, the emptiness lingered, a void that seemed insurmountable.

Amidst the laughter of Carlos' family echoing through the summer house, your heart ached in secret. His sister's children played by the shore, their innocent giggles a painful reminder of what you longed for.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon in a blaze of oranges and pinks, you found yourselves alone on the balcony. Carlos turned to you, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and determination.

"We can't keep letting this consume us," he whispered, his voice laced with vulnerability. "I want this more than anything, but I also want us to be okay, no matter what."

You nodded, tears glistening in your eyes. "I know. It's just... hard, Carlos."

"I know, mi amor," he said, wrapping his arms around you. "But let's make a promise, right here, right now. We won't let this define us. We'll find happiness in each other, in the love we share."

"I thought this summer would be different," you whispered, your voice breaking with emotion.

Carlos nodded, unable to find the words to comfort you. His own frustration and sadness mirrored yours. You've had dreamed of starting a family together, and yet, fate seemed to conspire against you almost like it hated you, it hated you were together and happy.

That summer indeed was different. When you woke up one day to check the situation, the test result was different from the other times, and you wondered if you were still dreaming or if it was a cruel joke played on you and Carlos. The test was positive - two lines on it. You didn't know what to do or how to react.

"Carlos, can you come here for a second?" you called out, beckoning your fiancé to join you.

Your fiancé made his way into the bathroom of your room, his eyes still sleepy with morning hair. You didn't want to wake him up, but you had to, you really had to. You didn't say anything, leaving him even more curious, standing there in his boxers with sleepy eyes.

"Is everything okay, querida? Are you okay? Did you get your period? You know it's okay, we've talked about this," he said, not expecting the situation to be different from the other times.

"No, Carlos—"

"Did you hurt yourself? ¿Estás bien?"

"No, Carlos, look—" You said, showing him the test you had been holding in your hand for the past five minutes he was there. His eyes wandered on the test for more than 10 seconds, maybe as if he was trying to comprehend the situation or trying to understand if he was seeing it correctly.

"You're pregnant, querida? When did you take this? Oh, I can't believe it," he said. His sleepy eyes widened with the news. His hands were placed at the sides of your waist while you were sitting on the bathroom sink, looking at the test with a beautiful smile.

"I took it this morning. I hadn't thought that I'd be actually pregnant this time," you said with obvious disbelief. His hands covered your torso while you were sitting on the sink, wiggling your feet happily.

"You've been wanting it from the bottom of your heart, mi corazón. We've been wanting it actually," he said, cupping your cheeks to leave a happy and relieved kiss on your lips after a long time. Your hands cupped his freshly shaved cheeks, breathing slowly.

"I am so happy, Carlos," you said, your thumbs drawing circles on his cheeks slowly.

"Me too, querida, me too."

Sainzs took the news more excited than ever, actually Reyes did even cry while hugging at you. Then she admitted it in the dinner, she was so happy for the baby but she was happier for you, she hated to see you sad, she loved your energy the most.

The next summer, the visit to Mallorca was quite different from the other times. Your baby boy, Antonio, was cradled in your husband's arms - you and Carlos had decided to get married just after you received the news. As you entered the house, big smiles and even happy tears greeted you. Reyes kissed your cheeks once again to show how proud she was of you, and how strong you had been. Carlos's father took his grandchildren, who was named after his recently passed away father, in his arms and placed a good luck kiss on Antonio's forehead before whispering the words.

''Bienvenido a nuestra familia, Antonio.''

Carlos tightened his hold on your waist before leaving a kiss on the crown of your head.

''I am so proud of you, querida. Te amo.''

''It wouldn't be possible if it weren't for you, Carlos. Te amo, forever.''

[maxtermind]

SCENE 3 :: WE CAN'T BE FRIENDS ↳ you were never not mine — carlos sainz ༉‧₊˚✧

★ : pairing :: carlos sainz x reader ★ : genre :: angst; fluff separated by a hidden emotional turmoil, carlos and y/n navigate the complexities of co-parenting their twins amidst the high-stakes f1 world. amidst paddock visits and personal healing, will they go further apart or find their wayback to each other? ★ : a/n :: woah things slowing down? more fluff than angst? 👀

( series masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request )

f1.wag 10 mins ago

f1.wag Breaking: F1 wag Lily, girlfriend of Alex Albon, spotted rushing to Y/N's house following explosive Instagram drama involving Y/N's ex, Carlos. 🚨

username y/n acting like a child, as usual. no wonder carlos didn't put a ring on it ⤷ username that's so rude, you're a horrible person username sending positive vibes to y/n! idk what i would've done in her place username didn’t y/n have a boyfriend before carlos? why is she always so dramatic? ⤷ username doesn't like the taste of her own medicine lmao username everyone handles heartbreak differently. sending love and strength to y/n :( username this isn’t high school? it’s embarrassing how y/n can’t handle a breakup on her own ⤷ username y/n needs to stop acting like a kid and face her problems head-on username lily must be tired of playing babysitter for y/n. time to grow up!

carlos is typing... (y/n's pov)

twitter

yn.user 10 mins ago

yn.user my best buddies✨

username cute post! but where's their daddy? username did she just call the man she was kissing a week ago,, her buddy? ⤷ username guess carlos isn't the only one who left, huh? ⤷ username she is the one calling him a friend?? maybe she dumped him??? ⤷ username wouldn't be the first time she left lol ⤷ username the way you guys jump to conclusions while knowing NOTHING username this is just sad. have some respect for yourself! ⤷ yn.user maybe try walking a mile in my shoes before you judge username well... it didn't take that long, right? username please don't send the kids to races alone :( ⤷ username still not over alisa or wtv stealing the spotlight from the boys😭 username this is the hardest friendzone ever lmao

boo is typing... (y/n's pov)

f1.wag 5 mins ago

f1.wag Breaking: Meet Alisa: Carlos Sainz's new flame and model from Y/N’s old friend group

comments are restricted

instagram story

carlossainz 5 mins ago

carlossainz ❤️

username i'm glad carlos is no more hung up on HER yn.user nice to see you focusing on the positives❤️ ⤷ username damage control? username oh no, y/n's in the comments. poor baby ⤷ username pretty sure this is his first personal post without y/n or the kids ⤷ username here comes the waterworks username proud of carlos for stepping up and taking a stand ⤷ username y/n was bullied a little too much :( username happy to see you getting a hold on everything ⤷ username we love a man in control👀

carlos is typing… (y/n's pov)

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©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

[tainsan]

misfits VIII

⇥ pairing: ot8 ateez x fem! reader

⇥ warnings: verbal and physical abuse, anxiety, mentions of death, mentions of blood

⇥ word count: 11.1k

⇥ a/n: in this chapter it may be very triggering to those who have gone through abusive situations, please read with care. this chapter is very angsty.

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--- THIS IS AN 18+ FANFICTION MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ---

“Wait backtrack, you have known them for years?” Jisung questions, extremely confused by the story you are telling him. Jisung's touch on your back provides a faint sense of comfort amidst the storm of emotions that engulfs you. His hand moves in a soothing rhythm, gliding up and down your trembling spine. The sobs that wrack your body become a symphony of sorrow, echoing through the air, and intertwining with Jisung's soft touch. With each tremor that courses through you, he maintains a steady presence, a steady anchor in the midst of your emotional storm. His touch speaks volumes, conveying a depth of understanding and empathy that words could never fully capture.

Sniffling, you answer, “Yes, they were that group I was with in high school, the ones who I got friendly with just before my mom died,” you explain, best you can with tears falling down your face and your voice shaking in your throat.

“Huh? You said they died?” Jisung asks, confused by the sudden confession from you, your words not making sense in his head that the eight you used to love were alive.

“I knew it wasn’t true.” 

“But if the police said they died, then surely it would be true?” 

“I never heard it from the police, I heard it from a guy who claimed to be a family member of ‘captain’. Who is apparently Hongjoong, I guess? It never made any sense, there was no proof, only this stranger’s word.”

“That makes more sense,” Jisung admits, nodding at the information before he realises something, “that’s likely why they changed their name from KQ Fellaz and ‘faked’ their death, so they could have a fresh start.”

“I suppose so, they wanted to start anew,” you conclude, trying to find any excuse or reason for them to have lied to you.

“That’s probably why they didn't tell you then.” Jisung raises his hand to rest on your head, patting it gently in an attempt to comfort you, yet all it does is remind you of all the times Wooyoung or San would do it to you, making your eyes sting even more than before.

“But why would they hide from me? I was their friend, they said I was one of them. How could they lie to me?” 

“I am sure they had their reasons. You likely weren’t that close to them back then.” 

As your gaze meets Jisung's, a profound realisation settles within you. In order for him to truly grasp the gravity of the situation and provide the support you need; you understand that it is necessary to lay bare the entirety of your journey. With a resolute breath, you begin recounting everything, from the very first moment you crossed paths with them to the heart-wrenching instant when they departed from your life. Every memory, every cherished moment, to the painful goodbye.

It all began in the middle of your Senior year in high school.

-

“Okay, class please pay attention we have a new student.” Your homeroom teacher announces, yet you pay zero interest to the familiar lady talking at the front of the classroom, simply continuing to draw in the sketch book you brought from home. 

Immersed in the classroom setting, you find peace and concentration with a single wired headphone nestled in your ear. As the sounds of commotion and chatter from your surroundings gradually fade away, your attention becomes laser-focused on the small details of your immediate environment. The rhythmic strokes of your pencil on paper create a soothing melody, harmonising with the gentle hum of music seeping into your left ear, creating a personalised soundtrack to your inner world.

Positioned near the back of the classroom, you find yourself beside an open window, inviting the outside world to merge with you. The autumn breeze delicately sweeps through the window, gracefully brushing against your skin and delicately tousling your hair. The serene atmosphere in the air instils a deep sense of tranquillity, infusing your being with an irrefutable sense of ease and contentment.

Momentarily shifting your gaze outside, you are captivated by the sight before you. The warm wind, with its tender touch, continues to playfully tickle your face as if inviting you to fully embrace the present moment. Inhaling deeply, you fill your lungs with the crisp and refreshing scent of fall, a refreshing reminder of the beauty and change that accompanies this season. 

“Could I sit here, please?” a soft voice speaks out from your right, if you were even an inch to the left, you would have not heard the boy, who seems to be looking at the chair on which your bag resides. Locking your gaze upon the boy standing before you, a flicker of realisation dawns upon you, and you mentally berate yourself for your sluggishness in comprehending his inquiry. A rush of frustration washes over you as you silently curse your own slowness, your mind now grasping the meaning behind his words. With a mere nod, you hastily seize the bag lying on the nearby surface and hastily tuck it away beneath your own chair, your movements reflecting your urgency. Turning your attention back to your sketchbook, you purposefully avoid glancing at the boy who wordlessly settles into the seat beside you.

Despite the absence of spoken words, you sense an adamant intensity radiating from the boy to your left. Internally, you let out a groan, fully aware that you must address this unfamiliar stranger and request that he mind his business. Tentatively, you direct your gaze towards him, annoyed you have to speak despite, yet before you can utter a single syllable, you are captivated by the sight that unfolds before you.

The boy's face beams with an adorable smile that engulfs his entire face, rendering you momentarily speechless. This unexpected display of pure charm effectively silences your intended retort, leaving your lips tightly sealed.

“I like your drawing.” His voice is incredibly soft and serene, yet the smile on his face speaks thousands of more words. The boy's unexpected compliment catches you off guard, causing a rush of warmth to surge through your cheeks, the telltale sign of an invading blush spreading down your neck. Your expression betrays a mixture of bewilderment and surprise, as you struggle to process this unfamiliar gesture of kindness. In that brief moment, you find yourself momentarily taken aback, incredulous that such a genuinely kind individual exists within the confines of this school.

Observing the boy attentively, you notice a complete lack of any hint of teasing or mockery behind his eyes, further deepening your astonishment. A flicker of uncertainty twinkles within you as you realise that he is carefully examining the paper before you, his gaze fixated on the meticulously crafted sketch of the mesmerising person you encountered during your morning journey to the classroom. A momentary sense of insecurity flits through your mind, as you worry that he will spot every small detail and flaw etched within the artwork. Left momentarily speechless, you can only offer another nod in response, silently conveying your gratitude without the need for words. Exhaustion from the past few days weighs heavily upon you, especially the funeral, leaves you unable to form words. You aren’t sure if it’s from the grief or the exhaustion. 

Returning your focus to the sanctuary of your sketchbook, you resume the gentle strokes of your pencil upon the textured paper, desperately trying to capture and preserve the exact essence of the enigmatic person you encountered earlier. Each deliberate movement of your hand serves as an attempt to etch their features into your memory, ensuring that no captivating detail eludes your artistic rendition.

“I’m, uh… Hwa, by the way, it’s nice to meet you.” The boy called ‘Hwa’ speaks out, his voice is still quiet and you’re somewhat glad that he’s so soft-spoken, not wanting to deal with loud and obnoxious people right now. Once more, your eyes drift towards the right, where the boy sits with an endearing smile that effortlessly melts a fragment of your heart. Despite the warmth elicited by his expression, you find yourself limited to another nod as your sole means of communication. This time, your gesture conveys a silent acknowledgement, silently reciprocating his unspoken sentiment of "nice to meet you too." Without delay, you pivot back to your artwork, realising that this marks the third time you have redirected your attention in the span of a mere five minutes.

Hwa, perceptive in nature, detects your unwillingness to engage in conversation and graciously accepts your silent response. His smile remains untouched as he shifts his focus towards the front of the classroom, where your teacher begins recounting events from your weekend. While he respects your preference for silence, a sense of curiosity lingers within him, compelling him to wonder why someone as captivatingly beautiful as you would choose to remain in the shadows of social isolation.

From that crucial moment onward, it became apparent that Hwa had undertaken some sort of personal mission to forge a friendship with you. Each morning, he would approach you, eager to share anecdotes about his day, all about his close circle of seven friends, and his positive experiences in the new school. Puzzled by his unwavering interest in your life, you couldn't fathom why he found you intriguing, and it began to grate on your nerves. Despite your initial annoyance, you gradually learned that he had recently relocated from his father's home and was now residing with his mother, who he seems to prefer much more than his old man. He would go on and on about how his father was a horrible man, someone who he is very glad to not have in his life. From this information, you find yourself relating to Hwa and you almost feel grateful for his honesty and for the way he trusts you to relay this information. 

As days turned into weeks, then months, Hwa's relentless efforts to elicit conversation and draw you out of your shell continued persistently. Initially, his persistence irritated you, but over time, his endearing gestures and genuinely kind manner began to chip away at your defences. Though your interactions remained devoid of spoken words, you found yourself gradually warming up to him, unable to resist the charm of his sweet antics. Each day, you maintained your steadfast silence, wordlessly lending an ear to his stories and offering the occasional nod to assure him of your attentive presence.

Hwa, driven by an unquenchable desire to hear your voice and witness your active participation in conversations, incessantly peppered you with questions. He longed for the day when your voice would join him in harmonious dialogue, surpassing the limitations of mere nods and smiles.

On a particular day, the sun begins its descent towards the horizon as you make your way home from school, the hour growing later than usual. A detour had become necessary as you sought out one of your teachers, embarking on a conversation regarding an assignment that you had fallen behind on. This particular instructor, well-informed about your personal home situation, swiftly understood the situation and granted you some much-needed leeway, even extending the offer of utilising an empty classroom for writing, while she occupied herself with grading tests. This teacher you trusted fully, her being the only person you speak with verbally. She understands why you are fewer with your words, not prying you ever.  Grateful for the understanding and opportunity, you had seized the chance to make much-needed progress on your assignment.

As you traverse the familiar path home, the ambient noise of your surroundings blends with the music resonating through your headphones, enveloping you in a cocoon of sound. Engrossed in your auditory world, a distant voice manages to penetrate the barrier, capturing your attention. Swiftly turning your head, you catch sight of Hwa, jogging towards you with an infectious smile illuminating his face. The sun, in its gradual inclination, casts a warm glow upon his features, accentuating his sincere enthusiasm as he closes the distance between you. 

“___.” He yells, excited to see you outside of school. When he reaches you, he is panting slightly and you realise he must have sprinted pretty far to catch up with you. Giving him a confused look, you wonder why he is near this area, never have seen him come this way before. Luckily, after months, Hwa has become accustomed to your familiar actions and wordless antics, being able to recognise what your different movements and expressions indicate. Your feelings for the man have developed immensely and you find yourself becoming extremely fond of the guy. Plus, it doesn’t help that the more you get to know him, the more you realise how handsome he is. 

“What are you doing here?” Hwa questions, walking next to you as you continue to head towards your house. 

“Going home.” You mutter your voice nothing above a whisper, you are shocked yourself by the words coming out of your mouth. You suddenly wonder why it is that you can suddenly speak freely around Hwa. 

Immediately, Hwa’s eyes open hugely upon hearing you talk for the first time, he stops walking next to you, his mouth hanging wide open widely. Looking back at him, you giggle at his dramatic reaction, before speaking again.

“What?’’ You say, your body turning fully towards him, walking backwards, and scanning over his every reaction.

Quickly, the male bounds towards you, the smile resuming as he makes his way to you, almost jumping up and down with excitement.

“So, what did I do to deserve the ___ to finally speak to me,” Hwa asks, his voice giddy as he skips next to you. 

“I don’t know, I feel safe around you...” You admit, trailing off and becoming slightly insecure about the way your voice sounds. Hwa seems to notice the turmoil of thoughts running through your head and instantly pauses your walking by grabbing your hand lightly, pulling you to look up at his warm eyes.

“You have a nice voice, please keep on speaking.” His voice is soft and peaceful, like usual, but at this moment, it sounds like music to your ears. Feeling your cheeks getting warm, you turn to look away, continuing your walk home. The both of you turn back to moving forwards and you realise you didn’t reciprocate the question Hwa had asked.

“Why are you here?” You ask, curious as to why Hwa would be in this area, never having seen him before around here.

“Ah, I’m seeing my friends, we are meeting at that abandoned warehouse just around the corner from here. Don’t tell anyone, it’s our secret hideout.” The male explains a small chuckle leaving his throat as he turns to you to put out his pinkie finger. Confused, you look up at him, wondering why he is pointing his pinkie finger at you.

“Pinkie promise that you won’t tell anyone.” For a moment he looks incredibly serious, and you wonder as to why he is so stern about the hideout of his friends. It makes you feel soft that here, an eighteen-year-old boy is so seriously making you pinkie promise something. The innocence of the action has you smiling widely, your heart melting.

“Okay, okay.” You reluctantly say, linking your pinkie with his, the both of you letting out gentle laughs. It is quiet for a while as the two of you continue on your way to your separate destinations when Hwa suddenly asks you a question.

“Would you perhaps like to come with me?” The tall male asks, hoping to spend some time with you outside of school, especially since now you are finally fully conversing with him.

Glancing at the watch on your wrist, you worry as to what would happen if you don’t show up on time home, worrying as to how your father would react. However, you realise tonight he should be out with some of his friends, drinking and knowing he will be out until the early hours of the morning. Today, it seems as if luck is in your favour. Not having any friends, it seems somewhat beautiful that Hwa invited you along to hang out with his friend group. From what you have heard from him, the group is very close and doesn’t usually spend time with outsiders. Yet at the same time, you have heard about how kind and fun they are, which makes it extremely easy to decide.

“I’d love that.” 

So, you met the rest of the boys, and it was almost alien how quickly you hit it off with all of them.

“So, you must be the pretty girl who never speaks.” A cute boy with light purple hair speaks out and you suddenly feel extremely self-conscious as you realise Hwa has talked about you to his friends, even calling you pretty. Feeling your body start to get hot, Hwa places a hand on your shoulder in an effort to let you know that it’s okay and his friend is just teasing. 

A jolt of surprise courses through you as your eyes land on a face that feels oddly familiar, instantly triggering a spark of recognition. It dawns on you that this is the very same male figure you had been sketching on the day you first encountered Hwa. A wave of embarrassment washes over you as the realisation hits home, leaving you acutely aware that Hwa must have noticed you discreetly capturing his friend's portrait. Yet, to your immense relief, Hwa remains tight-lipped about the situation, his mischievous wink the only acknowledgement he offers in response to your stunned expression upon seeing the familiar face.

As you meet each friend individually, a remarkable sense of astonishment washes over you when you realise how effortlessly you connect with the boys. It's as if you're engaging in conversations with Hwa himself, the connection and company flowing naturally between you. Overwhelmed by the sheer number of new acquaintances, you find comfort in only observing their banter, occasionally opting for quiet observation rather than actively participating in the verbal exchange. 

Watching them interact and revel in their shared friendship fills you with inexplicable joy, for it is a feeling you had longed for—an authentic sense of belonging among friends. The ease with which you seamlessly fit into their circle surprises you, and it's not ignored by boys either, they immediately grow fond of you. They sense the immediate connection, as if destiny had intended for you to be a part of their lives all along. 

This remarkable harmony that you effortlessly slot into makes it a natural progression for the boys to invite you to join them in their hangouts. The invitation comes easily as if it were given that you should be included, reinforcing the notion that you have found a place among them—a group of friends who accept and appreciate you just as you are.

There is a pure glow from each of them, yet you notice the blank, pained expressions and feelings on their faces, and it feels as if you are looking in the mirror and it is as if they can understand and relate deeply to who you are without needing to utter a single word.

Many days after this you find yourself spending more and more time with the group, finding yourself loving each of them the way you have grown to love Hwa. Turning up the music and dancing was your favourite part of your hangouts, watching as they all chanted to songs and moved to the beat. It made you feel some sense of belonging, something you haven’t felt in a very long time. Writing and singing to songs was one of the very things you loved most about the hang outs, every time they start a verse having to say the words “fix on”, or finishing it with “passion, young, fever”. The very words starting to feel as if they are engraved in your mind. 

One peculiar aspect that strikes you is the fact that none of the boys have ever shared their actual names with you. Instead, they refer to each other solely by their unique and endearing nicknames. Yet, strangely enough, this detail doesn't bother you in the slightest. The absence of birth names becomes inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. What truly matters is the profound contentment you feel, having finally discovered a group of individuals with whom you can fully be yourself with. 

In their presence, you experience a rare sense of comfort, as if you've known them for a lifetime. Walls crumble, masks fade away, and you can simply exist as your authentic self. The love and acceptance that enters the air create a seemingly unbreakable bond. The absence of formal introductions and conventional names becomes a trivial detail, dwarfed by the depth of connection and genuine affection that binds you together. As your relationships with each of the boys deepened, an unexpected shift occurred within your heart, surpassing the boundaries of familial affection, and evolving into a profound form of liking. You were well aware of the impropriety of harbouring such feelings for all eight of them, understanding that it was highly unlikely any of them reciprocated those same emotions. Yet, you couldn't help but acknowledge that your heart seemed to act independently, beyond the constraints of reason.

What made matters even more complex was the knowledge that two of the boys were nursing shattered hearts, their pain etched deeply upon their souls due to a girl you had never met and who, in all likelihood, you had no chance against. The stories that circulated among the group painted a picture of a messy and agonising heartbreak that had left them both broken in its wake. Despite the overwhelming depth of your feelings for them, you made a conscious decision to suppress your own desires, opting instead to provide solace and support as they navigated their heartache. Every time you witnessed their tears, mourning over the faceless girl who had captivated their hearts, an ache resonated within your own chest. It was an ache born from unrequited emotions, an emotional reminder of the distance that separated you from the love they sought. Nonetheless, you steeled yourself, pushing those yearnings aside, focusing on being the shoulder to lean on, the one who offered unwavering support and understanding during their darkest hours. It was a choice fuelled by selflessness and a desire to ease their suffering, even if it meant struggling with your own unspoken longing.

-

The warehouse was an unusual sanctuary for you, a place of solitude amidst the hustle and bustle of daily life. With its towering shelves of empty boxes and the faint scent of cardboard, rust and moss, it offered a kind of comfort you couldn't find elsewhere. It was where you escaped to when you needed a break from the world.

Today, you arrived early, finishing school ahead of schedule due to a teacher falling ill. Alone in the vast expanse of the warehouse, you found peace in the quiet, engrossed in the pages of a book. The soft rustling of paper and the distant hum of the outside world being the only noise surrounding you. 

As you turned another page, lost in the world of words, a sudden, screeching noise sliced through the calm. Startled, you look up just in time to see the massive metal door at the far end of the warehouse creaking open, a thin beam of sunlight piercing the dim interior.

The sudden blast of light makes you squint, shielding your eyes with one hand as you try to discern who or what had interrupted your solitude. Your heart raced slightly, a mix of curiosity and caution welling within you. The warehouse wasn't a frequented place, and the unexpected visitor had piqued your interest.

Slowly, you closed your book and set it aside, rising from your makeshift reading spot. As your eyes adjusted to the newfound brightness, you made out the silhouette of a person framed by the open door.

Recognition washed over you like a gentle wave, replacing your initial unease with a sense of relief and surprise. The person at the door was someone you hadn't expected to see in this unlikely place.

“Oh sorry ___, I wasn’t expecting you to be here.” Yeo’s voice reaches your ears and you see his cute face pop around the corner as your eyes get used to the sudden flash. 

“Tiny is here?” The man you know as Woo follows behind Yeo with a wide smile on his face. 

“What are you doing here so early?” He jumps up to you and lays on the couch, nuzzling his head onto your lap, the action sending a rush of butterflies into your body. 

“I finished early, sorry for not letting you guys know I was coming.” You apologise, feeling bashful for intruding in their personal space without their knowledge. 

“It’s okay, you are always welcome here.” Yeo smiles as he says quietly and makes his way over to you and Woo on the couch.

Smiling back at him, you observe as he pushes Woo’s legs to the side before sitting at the other end of the couch. 

“So what are you doing here?” Woo asked from underneath you. 

“Oh I just needed some peace to read my book, this is the only place I actually feel calm.” 

“I also have that.” Yeo exclaims, a bigger smile on his face, “when we are here it feels like the outside world doesn’t even matter.” 

“Exactly.” You smile at him, his relatable statement causing your chest to swell for some odd reason.

“I’m going to sleep, school was far too much today.” Woo's announcement about his exhaustion draws a soft giggle from you, a gentle sound that fills the room with a sense of warmth. He snuggles further into your lap, seeking comfort after a long day. His actions create an intimate moment that's both endearing and heartwarming.

The soft giggle that escapes your throat is like music to the ears of the two men beside you.

“Where do you guys go to school? I’ve never seen you at mine.” 

“Oh we go to the one just around the corner, only Hwa goes to your school.”

“I see.”

Gazing down at Woo nestled in your lap, a fond smile graces your lips. Your feelings for him have also grown deep, and his flirtatious nature has become both endearing and exhilarating, adding a touch of excitement to your interactions. His playful personality has woven a unique bond between you, one that's filled with affection and a sense of familiarity.

With a tender touch, you reach out to brush a stray strand of hair from Woo's face, your fingers gentle and caring. The small gesture elicits a soft grin from him, a silent acknowledgment that your action made him feel delighted.

Turning your attention to Yeo, you find yourself captivated by the subtle details that make him unique. His gaze, focused on the two of you together, holds a certain warmth and depth. 

Yeo and yourself engage in a quiet conversation, and you find yourself relishing this rare opportunity to connect with him on a personal level. In the larger group, he often keeps to himself, a quiet presence in the midst of the lively discussions. It's exciting to finally have a one-on-one conversation with him, a chance to peel back the layers and get to know the person behind the reserved exterior.

The hour or so that you spend chatting is a revelation. You discover a shared interest in books, a passion that he's clearly enthusiastic about. Yeo's eyes light up as he shares recommendations from his personal reading choices, and you're captivated by the depth of his knowledge and his love for literature.

As the conversation flows, you delve into the world of books, exchanging thoughts on favourite authors, genres, and memorable reads. The exchange of recommendations feels like a treasure trove of new adventures waiting to be explored. It's a conversation that transcends the boundaries of the room and opens a door to a shared passion that you both cherish. In this moment you get an overwhelming feeling of deja vu, as if you have been in this position before, or have yet to be in this situation.

During this intimate moment, you realise that beneath Yeo's quiet demeanour lies a wealth of knowledge and a genuine enthusiasm for the things he loves. The connection you share through your shared interest in books is a testament to the richness of human connection and the beauty of discovering common ground with someone you might not have expected. It's a reminder that there's always more to uncover about the people around you, and that even the quietest among us can hold hidden depths waiting to be explored. 

-

Immersed in the creative haven of your bedroom, you find comfort in the rhythmic strokes of your pencil against the textured paper. For the past week, you have poured your heart and soul into a meticulously crafted drawing of your eight friends, their features coming to life with each delicate line and shading. It has become your labour of love, a tribute to the cherished connections you've formed with each of them. As melodic tunes echo through the room from a speaker perched on your desk, the dulcet melodies provide a gentle backdrop to your artistic activities. The song, suggested by Woo himself, serves as a bridge, connecting your creative energy with the vibrations of the soundscape. You find yourself instinctively bobbing your head in time to the rhythm, your body swaying with harmony.

However, the tranquillity is abruptly shattered as the front door slams shut, the unexpected noise jolting you from your reverie. Your heart skips a beat, a surge of both dismay and fear coursing through your veins. The unmistakable thudding of footsteps echoes up the stairs, sending a shiver down your spine. It is your father's arrival, a presence that always harbours an air of tension and unpredictability.

With nimble urgency, you reach over to the speaker and swiftly silence the music, plunging the room into a weighted silence. The absence of melodies only amplifies the unease that lingers in the air, adding an oppressive weight to the atmosphere. Your sanctuary, once filled with the joyous sounds of music, is now stifled by the solemn hush that envelops it.

A palpable tension fills the room as you desperately hope for a stroke of luck, silently pleading for your father to bypass your closed door, his footsteps continuing down the hall to his own room. In the stillness of the moment, you remain frozen, your very breath restrained in anticipation.

But, as fate would have it, luck turns a deaf ear to your silent wishes. The door creaks open, swinging inward with a reluctant motion, revealing the formidable figure of your father standing on the threshold. His presence alone fills the room with an air of trepidation, his imposing stature and crossed arms creating an impenetrable barrier that demands attention.

Struggling to maintain his balance, you notice the slight wobble in his stance, a sign of the tumultuous emotions that brew within him. His arms remain tightly folded over his chest; a physical shield that matches the sternness etched onto his face. The weight of his gaze, intense and unyielding, seems to pierce through the silence, weighing heavily upon the room and those within it. A mixture of apprehension and anxiety coalesces within you, causing your heart to race in your chest. The air hangs heavy with unspoken words as if any attempt at conversation might trigger an unexpected tempest. You hold your breath, awaiting the next move, your entire being poised on a precipice of hesitation. 

“What are you doing?” He questions, his voice slurred and unclear.

“Drawing,” With a sense of urgency, you respond hastily, your words chosen carefully to minimise any potential escalation. The desire to avoid the volatile whirlwind of his unpredictable moods propels you to seek a rapid conclusion to the interaction, hoping that your brief responses will prevent the conversation from lingering any longer than necessary. The burdensome weight of the situation and the fatigue that grips your spirit urge you to retreat, seeking solace and respite from the tumultuous presence of your father. You are caught off guard by your father's presence and the disconcerting aura surrounding him, you find yourself yearning for a swift end to the interaction. Your own emotions, a mix of weariness and apprehension, compel you to seek an expedited resolution. The weight of his unpredictable and volatile emotions, amplified by the telltale signs of his consumption of alcohol, looms heavily in the room, intensifying your desire to disengage from the conversation.

“When are your exams?” The man asks as he stumbles into your room, clearly fumbling around on his feet, unable to find balance on his feet, very clearly a side effect of the heavy consumption of alcohol.

“Next month.” 

A wave of unease washes over you as your father's brow furrows once more, his expression shifting into one of annoyance. The subtle creases on his forehead deepen, forming a stark contrast against the lines of tension etched upon his face. At that moment, your heart sinks, a heavy weight settling in the pit of your stomach. The intensity of his displeasure, evident in the way his features contort, sends a surge of apprehension through your veins. Your own emotions waver on a cliff, poised between a desire to appease and a need to protect yourself from the potential fallout. As his annoyance penetrates the room, you brace yourself for what may come next, keenly aware of the precarious nature of your current situation. 

“Then you should be studying.” He booms, his voice echoing off the walls of your small bedroom. 

“I was going to study when I finish this.” 

“Do not back talk to me.” The sound of your father's voice reverberates through the room, amplified by the alcohol coursing through his veins, causing you to flinch involuntarily. Avoiding direct eye contact, you shift your gaze downwards, unable to bear the intensity of his drunken rage. The urge to roll your eyes at his exaggerated and unjustified behaviour becomes nearly irresistible, as you struggle to comprehend why he is directing his anger at you for such a trivial matter. A sense of exasperation builds within you, fuelled by the stark contrast between the magnitude of his reaction and the insignificance of the situation at hand. The weight of his misplaced frustration leaves you bewildered, questioning the logic behind his anger. It feels like an unwarranted attack on your being, leaving you grappling with a mix of resentment and confusion. Yet, mindful of the volatile nature of the situation, you tamp down your instinctive response. Instead, you silently navigate the treacherous waters, attempting to maintain composure and seeking a swift resolution to this senseless confrontation.

“I’m sorry.” In a desperate attempt to defuse the escalating tension, you respond, your words laced with a mix of pleading and a longing for tranquillity. Your desire to return to the serene solace of your artistic endeavours intensifies, fuelling your efforts to restore a sense of calm. However, your heart lurches upward, lodging itself in your throat, as your father takes a step closer, intruding upon your personal space. A shiver snakes its way down your spine as his hand reaches out, settling heavily on the back of your neck. The weight of his touch feels oppressive, a physical manifestation of the emotional turmoil that engulfs you. 

Fear dances within your veins, mingling with a sense of vulnerability. The boundaries that should protect you have been violated, leaving you acutely aware of your powerlessness at this moment. Your instinctive longing for escape intensifies, urging you to seek refuge from this dangerous environment and the touch that sends chills down your spine.

“Don’t forget who is in charge here.” Your father's whispered words cut through the air, a chilling undertone accompanying them, as his nails dig into the delicate skin of your neck. The sharp pain shoots through your body, an unwelcome reminder of the power imbalance in this unsettling encounter. Tears gather in your eyes, threatening to spill over as a mixture of pain and anxiety churns within your chest, constricting your throat. A knot of fear tightens in your stomach, intensifying the overwhelming sense of vulnerability that envelopes you. The weight of his grip and the raw discomfort that courses through your body serves as a stark reminder of the control he applies, amplifying the helplessness that grips your being. You yearn for release from this distressing moment, desperately seeking an escape from his oppressive presence and the escalating pain that continues to coil around you.

A lump forms in your throat, constricting your voice as you manage to summon a weak response, uttering a subdued, "Yes, Dad." The weight of fear and anxiety threatens to overwhelm you, making it difficult to find the strength to speak or express yourself fully. 

The knowledge of past experiences with your father looms in your mind, serving as a reminder of the potential consequences that could follow even the slightest provocation. The disparity between the magnitude of his reaction and the seemingly insignificant trigger leaves you confused, the fear of setting off his anger further stifling your genuine thoughts and feelings. The urge to voice your true thoughts, to stand up for yourself, simmers within, but the fear that accompanies it serves as a heavy muzzle, silencing the words you long to say. In this suffocating atmosphere, you decide to bite your tongue, for now, choosing self-preservation over the risk of inciting his explosive rage. 

“What is this shit?” Your father's voice cuts through the air with a biting edge, his disdain is evident as he questions the worth of your drawing. His harsh gaze fixated upon the paper on your desk, the discarded pencil serving as a silent witness to his disapproval.

“Just something I’m working on.” In an attempt to diffuse the situation, you reply with a hint of defensiveness, your words laced with an eagerness for him to cease his interrogation and retreat from your sanctuary. The desperate plea for him to leave you be, to preserve the sanctity of your safe space, hangs heavily in the air between you.

As he snatches the sketchbook from the desk, your nerves intensify, your pulse quickening as his scrutinising eyes peruse the paper. The tension in the room becomes almost suffocating, amplifying your anxiety to new heights.

“Who is this?” His bitter and slurred voice reverberates, the words barely coherent. 

Fear floods your veins, and knowing the truth would lead to misunderstanding and potential danger. Hastily, you weave a web of lies, your words rushed and unsteady, hoping to divert his attention away from the genuine connection you share with the boys.

The man's anger escalates, his words morphing into a piercing yell that reverberates within the confines of the room. The intensity of his outburst pierces your ears, each syllable hammering into your consciousness. The weight of his disdain for your artistic talent lands heavily upon your heart, his belittlement serving as a painful reminder of the limitations he imposes upon your aspirations. 

Panic grips you as your father's hand inches closer to the paper, and a sense of dread fills every fibre of your being as you realise his malicious intentions. Frantically, you reach out in a futile attempt to stop him, but your efforts prove futile as he ruthlessly rips the page from the book, tearing it down the middle. Tears well up in your eyes as a profound sense of disappointment and pain courses through your body, your hard work treated with callous disregard, tossed aside as if it were nothing. With a surge of determination, you rise from your chair, driven by an instinct to protect what remains of your creation. However, your resistance is met with ruthless force as your father forcefully pushes your body, causing you to crash onto the floor, the impact jolting through your hip and radiating pain throughout your entire being. The anguish of your shattered artwork pales in comparison to the physical and emotional pain inflicted upon you at this moment.

As you lie on the floor, a broken mess of tears and anguish, your father's rage reaches new heights. He towers over you, his face contorted with anger, grabbing the back of your head painfully once again. The proximity of his enraged face leaves you trembling, his piercing scream reverberating through your ears, assaulting your senses with an intensity that feels unbearable. In this horrifying moment, you are forced to confront the painful reality of his control, the overwhelming weight of his anger eclipsing any semblance of safety or peace. 

“If I ever see you sketching again, I will not be as forgiving.” Spit flies from your father’s mouth, his breath reeking of alcohol, making you even more disgusted. Tears fall freely from your eyes as you try to maintain your composure, so as to not enrage the man even further. Your father continues his words, “Clean this mess up. I’m going to sleep.” 

With an abrupt exit, the man stumbles out of your room, his unsteady footsteps resounding on the wooden floor, echoing the turmoil that lingers in his wake. You can only surmise that he retreats to his own bedroom, likely collapsing onto the bed in a drunken slumber. The abruptness of his departure offers a temporary respite, but the emotional scars and residual fear remain, haunting the air within your room. Weeping silently, your trembling hands pressed against your face, you struggle to contain the overwhelming surge of emotions that threaten to overcome you. In the midst of your despair, you survey the scattered remnants of your destroyed drawing, yearning for a miracle that would restore it to its former glory. Each torn piece becomes a painful reminder of the shattered gift intended for your only friends.

With shaky resolve, you begin the arduous task of collecting the fragmented remnants, moving them from the floor to the bin next to your desk. Each movement brings fresh waves of tears, your heart aching at the irreparable loss of the heartfelt gesture. The realisation that the memento meant to convey your appreciation and friendship now lies in ruins only amplifies your sense of devastation. As you meticulously dispose of the torn pieces, your tears fall even harder, tracing a sorrowful path down your cheeks. The weight of the ruined gift presses upon your soul, a profound sense of loss mingling with the lingering pain of the recent encounter. In this moment of vulnerability, you find solace in your tears, allowing yourself to grieve the destruction of your artistic expression and the shattered connection it represented.

As the silence envelops the house, you breathe a sigh of relief, realising that the man who instils such terror within you is finally lost in the depths of sleep. Drawing strength back into your trembling legs, you hastily slip on your shoes, a desperate urgency compelling you to escape the confines of the place you dread most. 

Stealthily, you navigate the familiar hallways, your movements shrouded in silence, driven by an intense need to distance yourself from the haunting presence that lingers within those walls. The weight of your fear propels you forward, guiding your steps towards an uncertain destination.

In your frantic search for solace, you find yourself stumbling upon the empty warehouse, its vast expanse providing a sense of respite and comfort that you yearn for. Though devoid of human presence, you know deep within your soul that the very atmosphere within this cavernous space will envelop you, granting a momentary reprieve from the overwhelming emotions that threaten to consume you.

Stepping into the familiar warehouse, the sound of the large metal doors scraping against the concrete floor reverberates through the cavernous space, creating a symphony of echoes that dance along the walls. The rhythmic noise seems to announce your entrance as if beckoning invisible spectators to witness your raw vulnerability. Yet, amidst the vast emptiness, the absence of your friends accentuates the solitude that envelops you, amplifying the bittersweet comfort of this cherished sanctuary.

Staggering towards the worn-out couch, its faded fabric hinting at the countless memories shared upon its cushions, you allow your body to collapse into its familiar embrace. The soft cushions yield beneath your weight, conforming to the contours of your tired form. You lay down sideways, finding comfort in the familiar haven that holds so many cherished moments. The tears flow freely from your eyes, tracing glistening paths down your cheeks, as if the very fabric of the pillow beneath your head absorbs the weight of your sorrow. Every sob that escapes your trembling lips reverberates within the expansive metal room, each one a witness to the depth of your pain. The echoes reverberate through the space, intertwining with the ethereal remnants of laughter and friendship that have painted the walls with a subtle warmth. The traumatic event that has left you bruised and broken resonates within the vastness of the room, its hollowness a haunting backdrop to your vulnerability.

Time becomes a fluid concept as you lose yourself in the catharsis of your tears. The exhaustion weighs upon you like an invisible burden, the weight of the world pressing down upon your weary shoulders. Each sob drains your energy, leaving your eyelids heavy and your body craving a respite from the relentless ache. Gradually, the exhaustion takes hold, its grasp tightening around your consciousness. The drowsiness seeps into every fibre of your being, your mind and body surrendering to the lullaby of weariness. As the golden rays of the setting sun filter through the cracks in the metal walls, casting an ethereal glow upon your tear-stained face, sleep claims you, offering a temporary escape from the harsh realities that haunt your waking hours.

As the coils of sleep begin to loosen their grip on your consciousness, you are jolted awake by the sensation of being gently shaken. Blinking groggily, you try to push away from the source of the disturbance, a low groan escaping your lips. To your surprise, the sound is met with a soft chuckle, a deep voice calling your name with tenderness. A hand comes to rest on your head, its touch gentle and soothing, patting you in a comforting rhythm.

Startled, your heart skips a beat, your body tensing at the unexpected touch. The fear of encountering your father floods your mind, sending waves of anxiety coursing through your veins. In a swift motion, you sit up, the blanket slipping from your shoulders, your eyes scanning the dimly lit surroundings of the warehouse. It takes a moment for your vision to adjust, and when it does, you realise that you are still in the familiar confines of the warehouse, resting on the worn-out couch. The realisation washes over you, relief mingling with lingering fearfulness.

Peering around, you notice that darkness has descended upon the space, replacing the golden hues of the setting sun with a blanket of shadow. It dawns on you that you must have been asleep for several hours, the passage of time slipping by unnoticed as fatigue overcomes you. Your gaze then falls upon the source of your awakening, the boy known as 'Yu,' crouched on the floor before the couch. His soft grin illuminates his features, his dishevelled brown hair partially hiding his eyes, his cheeks adorned with a gentle blush. 

“Are you okay? What are you doing sleeping here?” Yu asks, looking you tenderly in your eyes, causing your heart to flip in circles.

“I needed to get away from some stuff.” You answer truthfully, not being able to find the strength to lie to the boy in front of you. 

As Yu's concerned gaze meets yours, the worry etched on his face, the smile that had adorned his features fades away. The depth of your distress is evident to him, and he can sense the heaviness that weighs upon your weary soul. It's as if he can see through the facade you wear, peering into the depths of your eyes to witness the pain and exhaustion that lies within. 

At this moment, any trace of anger or frustration that had accompanied him to the warehouse dissipates entirely, replaced by a newfound tenderness and empathy. He is drawn to you, compelled to offer comfort and relief in the face of your evident struggle. Moving closer, his larger hand finds its way to rest gently atop yours, a gesture that sends a cascade of butterflies fluttering within your stomach. The warmth of his touch seeps into your skin, offering a respite from the coldness that had entered the warehouse. It's a simple act, but it carries a profound weight, communicating a silent message of support and understanding. In this shared moment of vulnerability, you feel a glimmer of hope and connection, as if a lifeline has been extended to you in the midst of your despair. 

“What happened, Tiny?” 

The nickname was bestowed upon you by the boys when you first joined their group, a playful teasing inspired by the absolute height difference between you and Yu. It quickly became a term of endearment that all eight adopted, using it to address you with affectionate familiarity. However, at this moment, as Yu's tenderness envelopes you, the meaning behind the nickname takes on a new layer of complexity, evoking emotions that elude your grasp. It's an unfamiliar sensation for Yu to display such genuine care towards you, considering his infatuation with another girl that has kept him at a distance. Yet, at this moment, you can't help but yearn for his tender presence to be a constant, for him to act as if no other girl holds his attention. The conflicting emotions swirl within you, torn between the desire to keep this fragile connection intact and the fear of revealing the recent traumatic events that unfolded hours ago, uncertain of how Yu would react. 

Your attention shifts to where your hands meet, and your heart lurches at the sight of gashes and blood staining Yu's knuckles. Concern overtakes you, the worry carved upon your features as you contemplate the cause of his injuries. Questions buzz in your mind, begging to be asked, but the fear of intruding upon his personal struggles holds you back. The realisation that pain has marked his hands, mirroring the pain that has scarred your own being, intensifies your sense of worry and empathy.

In this delicate moment, a silent exchange of emotions hangs in the air, unspoken words lingering between you. The weight of unspoken truths and shared vulnerabilities creates a bond that is both fragile and powerful, leaving you uncertain of what course of action to take next. 

“What happened to your hand?” you inquire, pulling his hand into your lap, and observing the wounds on his pretty hands.

Peering up at Yu, concern etched across your features, his heart skips a beat, an unfamiliar sensation stirring within him. It's a feeling he struggles to decipher, a gentle tug that seems to pull at the depths of his being. His eyes lock with yours, and at that moment, time seems to stand still as he finds himself captivated by the curiosity and vulnerability reflected in your gaze. There's a tenderness in Yu's eyes, an almost loving quality as he studies your appearance. His gaze lingers on your swollen eyes, evidence of the tears you've shed and the burden you've carried. The worry radiates from him, manifesting as a protective instinct that seeks to shield you from further pain. It's a sentiment that surprises even him, the depth of his concern far surpassing the bounds of friendship.

In this silent exchange, a subtle shift occurs within Yu, as if the barriers he had carefully constructed around his emotions begin to crumble. The walls he had built to guard his heart start to crack, allowing a glimmer of something deeper to emerge. Though he may not fully understand the extent of his own feelings, the way his gaze lingers on you with tenderness and compassion speaks volumes.

In this moment, a connection forms, the unspoken understanding between you deepening. It's as if a silent agreement is forged, promising support and comfort amidst the challenges you both face. The weight of unspoken words and shared empathy fills the space between you, laying the foundation for something more profound and transformative. 

“Have you been crying?” His voice is gentle and calming, not wanting you to feel uncomfortable by the inquiry, wishing for you to answer.

“Why is your hand hurt?” you retort, his hand still resting in your lap, you trying to wipe away stray pieces of dirt in the cuts. Your hand lingers atop Yu's, a gentle touch that he usually guards against, he finds himself pleasantly surprised by the ease with which he allows you to maintain the contact. It's a rare occurrence for him to let others freely touch him, his personal boundaries carefully shielded. Yet, at this moment, he feels a sense of comfort and acceptance in your touch, as if a barrier he didn't know existed has been effortlessly breached.

The surprise intensifies as he realises that he enjoys the sensation of your hand resting upon his, the warmth of your touch bringing a sense of connection that he hadn't anticipated. There's a certain serenity in your presence, a quiet assurance that draws him in, inviting him to let down his guard and allow himself to be vulnerable. His gaze remains fixated on you, his attention solely focused on your interaction. The world around him seems to fade into the background as he becomes absorbed in this shared moment, his own emotions swirling within. It's unfamiliar territory, one he hadn't expected to find himself in, yet he can't deny the pull that you exert upon him, the magnetic force of your presence.

In this newfound vulnerability, Yu begins to question his own reservations and the walls he has built around himself. Your touch, your unwavering attention, opens up a space where he can explore and discover a different side of himself, one that embraces connection and allows himself to be seen. Hands remaining touching, a silent understanding passes between you, unspoken words painting the canvas of this intimate moment. The depth of your connection holds the promise of something extraordinary, an exploration of emotions and possibilities that neither of you could have foreseen.

“I asked first.” Yu teases, trying to lift the mood, wanting to see the smile he has grown to adore appear on your features.

“I don’t want to bother you.” You reply, your voice shaky and quiet, answering truthfully, not sure if he would be able to handle the information you so desperately need to disclose to someone. 

“You never bother me,” As Yu contemplates his next move, a surge of courage courses through him. Without hesitation, he uses the hand that rests in your lap, gently interlocking his fingers with yours. He takes care to avoid smudging his dried blood on you or your clothes, a subtle gesture of consideration that doesn't go unnoticed.

The unexpected act of affection catches you off guard, your eyes widening in surprise. Heat rises to your cheeks, a blush betraying the fluttering emotions that swirl within you. You meet Yu's gaze, his eyes soft and filled with a tenderness that resonates deeply. A small smile graces his lips, a wordless reassurance that speaks volumes. In this simple gesture, he communicates a willingness to bridge the gap between you, to traverse the uncertain territory of shared vulnerability. It's a brave step forward, an offering of trust and a declaration of his sudden growing feelings.

“It’s okay, ___.” Yu whispers, his eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly as his words become more serious, “You can tell me anything.”

Sighing, you decide maybe it is okay to confide in one person. 

“It’s my dad.” You admit, looking down at the hand that Yu has gripped gently in his own, his fingers wrapped around your smaller hand. Yu gives you a puzzled look, not sure what your father could have done to make you so upset. Noticing his confused expression, you continue speaking, “It is dumb, but I was working on this drawing, and he came in drunk out of his mind and started yelling at me for not studying,”

“Hold on, he was drunk?” Yu questions, starting to feel anger build up in his body.

“Yeah, but when is he not.” You attempt to joke, yet the look on Yu’s face doesn’t look amused, causing you to sigh gently, “he ripped up the drawing in front of my face and said if he ever sees me drawing again, he ‘won’t be as forgiving’, whatever that means,” you mumble, the weight of vulnerability settling upon you, you become highly aware of the depth of the information you have just shared. 

A sense of unease and apprehension begins to gnaw at your insides, uncertain of how Yu will react to this newfound revelation. The silence that follows is deafening, and you can't help but lift your gaze from your intertwined hands to meet his eyes.

What you see takes you by surprise, an expression of absolute disbelief etched across Yu's features. His eyes wide, his lips slightly parted as if struggling to find the words to respond. The moment hangs suspended in time, the tension thickening the air between you. Questions swirl in your mind, uncertainty threatening to unravel the fragile connection that has been forged. Doubt creeps in, casting shadows over the vulnerability you have exposed. You find yourself questioning the wisdom of sharing such intimate feelings, fearing the potential repercussions it may have on your friendship. In this charged moment, the world seems to hold its breath, waiting for Yu's reaction. The uncertainty weighs heavily upon you, your heart pounding in your chest as you anxiously await his response.

Preparing to question the impact of your confession on Yu, your words catch in your throat, suspended by the sudden movement of his embrace. In a swift motion, he pulls you towards him, enveloping your body in a tight hug that leaves you momentarily breathless. Your head is gently guided to rest in the crook of his neck, the warmth of his skin against yours sending shivers down your spine. His hand finds its place on the back of your head, his fingers tenderly stroking your hair with a soothing rhythm. Yu's sensitivity to your tense form prompts a fleeting hesitation within him, a flicker of uncertainty about having crossed a boundary or making you uncomfortable. But when he feels your entire body relax and melt into his embrace, a surge of emotions courses through him. His heart pounds rapidly in his chest, swelling with a feeling akin to absolute adoration. It's a moment of defencelessness and connection that surpasses words, forging a bond between you that almost feels unbreakable.

In response to his comforting presence, you wrap your arms tightly around his neck, seeking solace in his embrace. Nestling into the curve of his neck, you revel in the sensation of being held, the touch of his skin against yours grounding you in the present moment. Yu adjusts his position, rising to sit on his knees and drawing himself even closer to your body. Your chests align, rising and falling in synchrony, as he positions himself between your legs. His grip tightens around you, afraid that you might vanish from his embrace.

In this intimate cocoon, it becomes clear that you weren't the only one in need of a hug. The mutual longing for comfort and reassurance binds you together, transcending the complexities of your individual experiences. In this tender moment of shared vulnerability, the world around you fades into insignificance, leaving only the warmth of each other's presence, the solace of a genuine connection, and the promise of healing.

Basking in the comfort of Yu's embrace, time seems to suspend, creating a sanctuary where worries and troubles momentarily fade away. However, your heart sinks when you feel him slowly pull away, a pang of disappointment seeping through your being. Yet, his hand continues to stroke the back of your head, his touch lingering, serving as a reminder of the tenderness you experienced.

Meeting his gaze, locking eyes with him, and at that moment, the connection between you deepens. It's as if the world around you dims, leaving only the intensity of his brown eyes that seem to hold a universe of emotions. Every fibre of your being is drawn to him, falling deeper into a feeling you've been trying to resist. 

A hint of reluctance lingers in Yu's actions as he clears his throat, a signal that the intimate moment must come to an end. He slowly removes himself from your embrace, settling back into his previous position. Yet, his gaze remains fixed on you, unyielding and intense, as if he's afraid to look away, afraid to lose the connection that has formed. You find yourself lost in his gaze, a swirl of feelings and unspoken words passing between you. There's a magnetic pull, an unspoken understanding that something profound has transpired between you. It's a delicate dance of emotions, a dance that neither of you can fully comprehend but are unwilling to let go.

In this halted moment, the air crackles with anticipation, as if the next words spoken could alter the course of your relationship forever. The intensity in Yu's eyes speaks volumes, a testament to the depth of the bond that has formed between you. 

“If something like this happens again, please let me know,” Yu says, breaking the silence, his voice serious, needing to protect you from whatever your father could possibly do in the future.

A meek smile graces your lips, an expression of gratitude that conveys more than words ever could. Deep within, you carry the weight of unspoken pain and secrets, understanding that some experiences are difficult to share, especially the ones involving your father. You appreciate Yu's offer of support, even though you know you can't burden him with the full extent of what you've endured.

In this moment of silent acknowledgement, you convey a deep sense of gratitude for his presence, for the solace he has unknowingly offered. It's a silent understanding that goes beyond words, a recognition of the unspoken connection between you. Despite the barriers that may exist, you find solace in knowing that there is someone who cares, someone willing to extend a helping hand.

“Now your turn.” You exclaim, causing Yu to give you a confused look, “Your hand. What happened?”

Yu lets out a sound of realisation, his expression matching it. Looking down at the gashes in his hands, Yu makes an expression similar to embarrassment. 

“I got in a fight,” Yu explains, his cheeks heating up, realising you might be disappointed in him.

“Another? Why now?” You question, your voice is soft and caring, making him realise you aren’t upset at him, just worried, making his heart warm slightly, despite the war and heartbreak going throughout his entire body.

“The girl that Yeo and I used to like… she has said some stuff, some stuff that isn’t true. It’s tearing us apart, all of us.” Yu’s voice is shaky, and you can tell he is deeply affected by the circumstances.

Immediately, your interest is piqued, and concern envelops your being, you can't help but wonder what could have been said by the girl to have such a profound impact on Yu and the entire group. The realisation that her words have caused a collective breakdown weighs heavily on your mind, triggering a surge of curiosity and a deeper level of concern. Thoughts whirl through your head, seeking answers and understanding. What could she have revealed that shattered their spirits? What truths or revelations could have struck a chord so deeply? You can't help but ponder the significance of her words and the implications they hold for your friends and their emotional well-being.

In the midst of your thoughts, a mix of emotions floods your being, concern, empathy, and a deep desire to alleviate their pain. The bond between you and the group becomes even more heartrending, a reminder of the connection of your lives and the importance of standing together in the face of adversity. 

“What did she say?” You question, your hand coming to rest on his like he did earlier.

“She said we laid our hands on her, we hurt her, physically, sexually. But I swear on everything, I have never put my hands on her, on anyone. None of us have, we have only ever acted in self-defence. I don’t know why all of a sudden, she is making up these stories. It is tearing us apart. Every single person believes her, they are coming after us, with their fists. Someone tried to come at Captain and I with a baseball bat, and it’s terrifying us, we don’t know what to do.”

“Wait what?” Your voice trembles with a mixture of shock and disbelief as you contemplate why this girl would suddenly feel the need to falsely accuse the boys you have grown so close to. In the time you've spent with them, you have come to know each of them as kind-hearted individuals, devoid of aggression or abusive tendencies. Your experiences with them have left a deep imprint, and you find it unfathomable to believe that any of them would ever lay a hand on someone, especially a woman.

The weight of this accusation hangs heavily in the air, and you struggle to reconcile the image of your friends with the words that have been spoken. It feels like a betrayal, not just to them but to the bond you have formed, as your faith in their character and integrity is steadfast. The disbelief fuels a surge of protectiveness and a fierce desire to defend them against these baseless accusations.

When Yu raises his gaze to meet yours, the shimmering tears threatening to escape, your heart aches with empathy and compassion. The vulnerability etched across his face mirrors your own inner turmoil, as you share a profound connection and a shared understanding of the gravity of the situation. At that moment, your heart breaks for him and for the rest of the group, as you witness the weight of their pain and the unjust burden they must bear.

“I don’t know why this is happening, or why she said it was all of us. Only Yeo and I have spent time with her, she has never even met the boys. Plus, we haven’t seen her in over two months, she said it happened last month. It makes no sense.”

“Yu, if it’s not true then you do not have to worry about anything. It will get sorted, okay? You are innocent.” All you can do is bring the man into your arms once again, this time letting him weep into your shoulder, his body limp against yours. It breaks your heart to see him so vulnerable, so broken because of deadly rumours.

“We will get this sorted, Yu. I promise.”

------

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[rootedinrevisions]

Twisted Fate

SUMMARY: In the aftermath of a devastating tornado that ravages her hometown, Lexi finds herself trapped in the rubble of her destroyed home. Years ago, she and Tyler Owens were inseparable until he went down a path of storm chasing and YouTube fame. Now, as fate would have it, Tyler is chasing the very tornado that has torn through her town. Miraculously, amidst the chaos, Lexi manages to call out for help, and to her disbelief, Tyler hears her cries. Risking his own safety, he navigates the debris to reach her, pulling her to safety just in time. In the moments of relief and gratitude that follow, old feelings resurface, reminding her of what they once shared.

WORD COUNT: 3.3k

It was an early summer day in Oklahoma. The air was thick and humid, the kind of day where even the breeze felt sticky. I had just gotten home from the grocery store and had stepped out of my beat-up used car as beads of sweat started to form on my forehead. With a sigh, I opened the trunk and reached for the first bag. As I grabbed it, something caught my eye. I glanced towards the horizon and noticed a dark cloud beginning to take shape, its edges curling ominously. My heart skipped a beat. I knew what that meant. A storm was brewing. And I had never seen one form as quickly as this one.

Panic set in. I hurriedly reached back into the trunk, scooping all the grocery bags into my arms, despite knowing it should probably be a two-trip job. The weight of the bags strained my muscles, but I pressed on, making a beeline for the front door. My fingers fumbled with the keys, slick with sweat, but on the third attempt, I managed to unlock the door and burst inside. I rushed to the kitchen, barely managing to throw the grocery bags onto the counter. The bags tumbled over and their contents scattered, the lemons I had bought making light thuds as they rolled off the counter and onto the linoleum. But I didn't care. My thoughts were already outside, on the storm that was rapidly approaching.

I barely had time to catch my breath before I heard the tornado sirens outside. My eyes darted around the kitchen, taking in the mess of groceries on the counter. But there was something more important. Phoebe. I had to find her and get to the basement.

I rushed into the living room, scanning the room quickly. No sign of her. I moved from room to room, calling out her name. I checked the kitchen. Then the dining room. Then the bathroom where the litter was. The wind had picked up outside, catching my attention as it rattled the windows.

"Phoebe!" I yelled, my voice laced with panic now. I ran to the living room hoping I would find her quickly. I ducked down to check under the couch, but nothing except a few toys she had pushed under there at some point. Then I hurried into the bedroom. There she was, curled up on my bed, oblivious to the chaos outside.

"Come on, Phoebe," I urged, scooping her up into my arms. She meowed in protest of her nap being disturbed but didn't struggle. With Phoebe secured, I dashed towards the door that led to the basement stairs. Once I was in the basement I frantically looked around trying to think of where the safest place to take shelter would be. Think. Think. Think. Tyler. What would Tyler tell me right now? Interior rooms. He had always emphasized interior rooms.

With this in mind, I decided on the bathroom, specifically the shower stall with its solid walls. I clutched Phoebe tightly, as I stepped inside and then sat down on the cool tile floor. With my knees pulled to my chest, I positioned Phoebe between my legs and chest, her small body trembling against me.

I reached over and grabbed a towel to pull it over my head, and made a makeshift shield against any debris if the tornado hit. I could hear the roar outside, a deep, menacing sound that sent shivers down my spine. The tornado was making its way through the neighborhood, and I could feel the pressure in the air change.

I bowed my head and clenched my eyes shut. I hugged Phoebe tighter. The sounds above grew louder and more terrifying. A loud crash reverberated through the house, signaling the tornado's destructive path. I didn't dare look. The deafening whirring sound of the tornado moving over my home drowned out all other noises. It was so loud, I could barely think. Phoebe's claws dug deeper into my skin. But I held on tighter, whispering soothing words to her, trying to calm both of us as the storm raged on. Minutes felt like hours as I endured the storm. The noise, the pressure, the fear - it was overwhelming. Yet, I stayed there, clutching Phoebe, hoping and praying that the storm would pass and leave us both unscathed.

As the roar of the tornado began to fade, a haunting silence took its place. Tears started to stream down my face. I held onto Phoebe as tightly as I could without crushing her, knowing she was all I had left. The weight of everything I'd lost pressed down on me, and I couldn't bear the thought of losing her too. Memories of my parents flashed through my mind. I wondered if this was what they had gone through in their last moments. It had been four years since the tornado that took them away. I had gone storm chasing with Tyler that day, watching in stunned silence as the tornado tore through my hometown. By the time Tyler and I had fought our way back through the rubble to help, there was nothing left to save. They were already gone.

The memories of the hours, days, and weeks that followed were a blur of grief and disbelief. I knew the tornado had shattered me. It changed me and made me start shutting people out. It made me start shutting Tyler out. He had lived for storms, and I had fought him every step of the way after the tornado. Every time he tried to go out storm chasing, I tried to stop him. The arguments grew more frequent, the distance between us widening with each passing day. Eventually, it had all crumbled, and he had walked out of my life.

As the storm's final remnants passed, I clung to Phoebe, feeling the trembling of her small body against mine. The quiet after the storm was almost as deafening as its fury. I knew I had to find a way to move forward, but the path ahead felt impossibly long and filled with memories I couldn't escape. It was a living hell I'd have to go through a second time. I closed my eyes once more, holding Phoebe, trying to gather the strength to face whatever came next.

I lifted the towel just slightly, peeking out to make sure it was safe. Immediately, I scrunched my eyes shut as the bright sun streamed in from where the ceiling should have been. Carefully, I fully removed the towel from my head. Looking around, I realized it was over. I looked down assessing my state. Small pools of blood were forming on my thighs from where Phoebe's claws had dug into my skin. A burning sensation on my forehead caught my attention. I reached up, and as soon as my fingertips made contact, I winced in pain. I pulled them away from my head and held them in front of me. Crimson red.

It was then that I noticed the several splinters of wood and shards of glass embedded in my skin and the towel. The towel had stopped most of them, but a few had poked through and cut me. I then looked around at my surroundings and realized there was wood everywhere. What appeared to be a piece of the frame of what used to be my house was wedged less than a foot above where I sat. If it had hit a matter of inches lower I surely wouldn't have survived.

I tried to stand up, but the weight of the rubble on top of me was too heavy. There wasn't enough room for me to get my legs under me and stand up, and I was too weak to lift it on my own. Panic began to set in as I struggled to move, feeling trapped and helpless beneath the debris. I held Phoebe close, her small, warm body a reminder that I wasn't completely alone. But the reality of my situation was sinking in. I needed help, and fast.

A wave of dizziness washed over me, making the world blur. I began to feel light-headed, my body struggling to cope with the stress and injuries. I heard faint sirens in the distance, growing closer with each passing moment. I closed my eyes, deciding to wait it out for help. However, the effort of staying conscious became too much, and I slipped into unconsciousness.

I groggily opened my eyes, my eyelids feeling like twenty-pound weights. The heartbreaking meows of Phoebe drew me back to consciousness. She was perched on a piece of wood above me, having jumped up there while I was out. I tried to call her back, but she just looked at me, and then out into the distance.

Realization hit me - it was getting dark. I had been out for longer than I thought. Hours instead of minutes.

Phoebe suddenly jumped away. I tried to call out to her, but it was no use. Great. Just freaking great. I'll never find her now, I thought to myself.

"Hello! Does anyone need help?" A male voice called out. "Is anyone there?"

The voice was oddly familiar, but I couldn't place it. Then I heard his name.

"Tyler, come on. I think we have some people stuck over here." Another male voice said.

Tyler. He was here. If I could just get enough air into my lungs to call out his name, he might hear me.

I took a couple of deep breaths and mustered all my strength to call out to him. "T-Tyler!"

"Hello?" I heard him call back out. He had heard me. Relief washed over me.

"H-here," I muttered, slowly sticking my hand up.

"I need some help over here!" You heard Tyler yell out. His footsteps grew closer as he climbed through the rubble of what was left of your house. "Don't worry, we're coming for you!"

Holding my arm up felt like a fifty-pound weight, but I kept it up so he wouldn't lose sight of me.

"I'm almost there!" I heard him call out.

Finally, I looked up and saw him standing there. He was covered in dirt, his clothes soaked. As Tyler's eyes met mine, a flicker of shock and panic crossed his face. His steps momentarily halted. For a moment, he just stood there, frozen in place, the reality of the situation sinking in. Recognition seemed to dawn on him, and his expression went from shock to determination.

"Lex?" He breathed out, his voice a mixture of disbelief and relief. "Hold on, we're going to get you out."

The world around me seemed to blur as he quickly regained his composure, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the wood frame trapping me. Without any hesitation he lunged forward, pushing away the piece of wood enough for me to crawl out from underneath it.

Tyler extended his hand to me, his eyes locked on mine with a mixture of concern and determination. I grasped his hand, feeling the strength and warmth in his grip as he helped pull me to my feet. As I rose, my legs wobbled beneath me, and I stumbled briefly.

Before I could fall, Tyler's other hand shot out, grabbing my arms to steady me. His touch was firm, yet gentle, grounding me in the moment.

"Easy now," he murmured, his voice soothing amidst the chaos surrounding me.

I looked up at him, seeing the familiar features of his face etched with worry and relief. For a moment, everything else faded away - the destruction, the pain, the memories - and all that mattered was that he was here.

Tyler's eyes scanned you with concern. "Are you hurt?" He asked, his voice filled with urgency.

I glanced around frantically, searching for Phoebe. "Phoebe," I gasped. "Where's Phoebe?"

Tyler shook his head, his face a mix of regret and reassurance. "I don't know where she is, but we'll find her. First, I need to get you help."

A wave of dizziness hit me again, and I winced, clutching my head. "My head...it hurts."

Tyler looked up at my forehead and frowned. "You've got a pretty good cut," he said, examining the wound. "But we'll get you fixed up at the first aid station. Just hold on a bit longer."

As I glanced down, I noticed tape wrapped around his ankle, a makeshift bandage. I quietly mumbled, "You're hurt."

Tyler looked down, brushing it off with a dismissive gesture. "It's just a little sprain. Nothing to worry about," he said, though his tone was strained. I could tell it was hurting him, but he was pushing it to the side to help others.

It was such a Tyler thing to do. Not the Tyler everyone saw on YouTube. Not the Tornado Wrangler. But Tyler Owens. The Tyler I knew. Or at least used to know.

He then glanced around at the wreckage of what used to be my home. I could see the gears turning as he assessed the situation, trying to figure out the best way to get me out and towards downtown where help was waiting.

"Alright," Tyler said, his voice steady, "let's get you out of here. We'll find a way through the rubble and get you to safety. Just stay close and try to keep moving as best you can."

With that, he began clearing a path, carefully guiding me through the debris, his presence a steadying force amid the chaos. Tyler managed to guide me out of the basement and through the rubble to the street. But just making it that far had drained me, and I felt like I had nothing left. "I need to stop for a second," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

I turned and looked down at the mess that was once my home, the debris and destruction a stark reminder of the devastation my town had seen today.

Tyler followed my gaze, his eyes softening with empathy. "Hey...all of that can be replaced," he said gently. "But you're still here. That's what matters."

He glanced around, his attention refocusing back to the task at hand. "The first aid station is just four blocks down. Do you think you can make it with some help?"

I nodded, though the effort made me feel even more exhausted. Just then, another volunteer ran over, his face concerned.

"I'm here to help. What can I do?" The man asked.

"Javi, can you take her other side? We need to get her to the first aid station. She's got a head injury they're going to need to take care of." Tyler said. With an arm around each of them, I started to make my way slowly toward the first aid station. Each step was a struggle, but the presence of Tyler and Javi provided the support I needed.

I had made it about halfway to the first aid station when my legs suddenly felt like jelly. "I...I can't do it," I mumbled, feeling as though another foot forward would make me collapse.

"No, no, no. Stay with me, Lex," Tyler said, his voice firm yet gentle as he tightened his arm around my waist, offering support. His hand on my waist was both comforting and foreign.

Javi turned to Tyler with a look of concern. "Do you know her?"

Tyler nodded his face a mixture of focus and weariness. "Old acquaintance," he said casually.

Acquaintance. The words stung more than I would have expected. After all, it had been almost four years since Tyler and I broke up. I shouldn't care what label he attached to our previous relationship. But to reduce our past to something so detached, so impersonal, hurt deeply. But I knew I had bigger issues right now than the pain of old wounds. My energy was slipping away, and the thought of collapsing was a real and frightening possibility.

"Just a little further," Tyler urged, his voice full of determination. "You're almost there. We've got you."

Javi must have felt my weight getting heavier and me relying on him and Tyler more and more with each step. "Tyler, we may need to carry her the rest of the way."

Just then a scream split through the quiet night. "Help! My son! Somebody help!" came from a house on what was probably the street over.

Tyler looked in the direction of the cries. "You go help them. I'll get her to help and then come back with others to help." Tyler said.

A few moments later my feet started to give out entirely. Tyler quickly assessed the situation. Then without hesitation, he bent down, placed a hand behind my knees and lifted me into his arms.

"What are you doing?" I asked as I looked at him. "I-I can try to walk."

"I don't know if you'll make it much further. And we need to get you to help."

I could feel the slight limp in his steps, the result of his injured ankle, with each step he took. It was clear that the pain in his leg wasn't slowing him down. His focus was solely on the task at hand. For a moment I thought about trying to get him to set me down on account of his leg. But I knew it was no good. Tyler Owens was the most stubborn person I had ever met. And once he had his mind made up, there was no changing it.

"How bad is it?" I asked.

"What? You?" Tyler asked as he glanced down at me before his eyes moved back to the road in front of him. "You'll be fine. That cut on your head is pretty bad, though. They have paramedics that will get you all taken care of."

"No, I mean the town."

He paused for a moment before saying anything, pondering his words carefully. "It's a near loss. There's not much left."

A blanket of sadness washed over me as I leaned my head against Tyler's chest. It felt oddly comforting being here with him. I had no idea what I was going to do, but having a sliver of familiarity at that moment was nice.

"Are they doing anything for lost animals?"

Tyler scoffed and shook his head at me. "Still worried about that furball, huh?" He must've been able to tell that I was very serious and I saw his expression shift to a more serious one. "Yeah. There's a tent with some volunteers collecting any animals we find. They're examining them, giving them food and water, and trying to get them reunited with their owners. "Did you have her with you when you took shelter?"

“Yeah. She was with me the whole time. Until just before you showed up. I-I think she saw you or heard you. And I know it sounds crazy but I think she was trying to get you to help.”

He chuckled and then shook his head. "Now I know you hit your head. That cat would never willingly come to me."

He had a point. Phoebe was never a big fan of Tyler when we were together. In her defense, he made fun of her namesake, my favorite character from Friends, every time he saw me. I wouldn't like someone who made fun of me every time I saw him either.

"We'll find her though. I'm going to get you dropped off with the medics, and then I'll go to the tent and add her name to the list. If they find her, they'll get her back to you." He reassured me.

My eyes started to grow heavy, and I felt my head start to lean back as it became increasingly difficult to stay awake.

"Hey, stay with me," Tyler said as he gently shook me. His voice was firm but soothing, a beacon of encouragement amid my growing fatigue.

"I'm tired," I mumbled as I struggled to keep my eyes open.

"I know you are, but you've got to stay awake until I can get you to help. Just a little bit longer." He glanced ahead his gaze focused. "I see the tent up ahead. We're almost there."

His words were a mixture of encouragement and urgency, and they gave me a small surge of strength. I managed a faint nod, fighting against the overwhelming exhaustion. I turned my head and saw the first aid station coming into view, offering a glimmer of hope. I clung to hope, pushing through the fatigue with every step Tyler took.

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[an-ambivalent]

Woes of Reincarnation Part 2 [Yandere! Miguel x Fem! Reader]

Chapter Synopsis: You’re an Alchemax neuroscientist specializing in genetics and cognition memory research. Outside of work, you spend majority of your time with your daughter Gabriella and your partner Miguel. For the most part, you loved your life - you had a thriving career, a lovely daughter, and your wonderful stay-at-home partner who supported you and cared for your small bundle of joy in ways you were unable to. But slowly but surely, something starts to seem amiss with your husband and you realise that Miguel is not who you knew him to be. This is a sequel to this

Warnings: As this is yandere fiction, this deals with behaviours and themes of that can be uncomfortable to read. Specific warnings: implied noncon. This work also has spoilers about Miguel from the comics. Read at your own risk. This work is purely fictional, I do not condone this behaviour irl. By clicking the ‘read more/keep reading’ you are consenting to read this at your discretion.

Establishing yourself at your current point in career was a lot of work hard; from extensive studying, to jumping from one temporary contracted job to another, it often made you want to hit your head against the wall in frustration. Amidst all the chaos, the universe threw even more at you; just as you were finishing your PHD, and were starting to climb your career ladder, you had found out that you were pregnant. It was nerve wrecking, stressful, exciting, and involved so many other emotions and tears, and pondering over countless of future possibilities. Becoming overwhelmed from all of this was beginning to drive you mad. But lucky for you, Miguel was the perfect anchor to your chaotic storm of thoughts; he was with you every step of the way and was amazing at providing you the reassurance you needed. After your daughter was born, whom you had named Gabriella, things had been very challenging at first: you had to look after your daughter while still having your own recovery. Miguel took on additional responsibilities while also trying to look after you and your daughter as well. Eventually, after a few years passed, it became easier to manage and cope with the challenges that came with looking after a tiny human. Both of you decided that you were going to work full-time at your new job, while Miguel would be the stay at home partner to look after Gabriella. 

Over the years, you made exceptional progress in your career until you got to your current position. While you really enjoyed your work in the past, recently, it was starting to become too stressful and impact your mental health. There was a certain feeling of being done etched in your body language. And despite the fact that you looked after your physical health, there was a new type of dullness on your face in place of your usual genuine contentment, and the glint of mischief that always gleamed in your eyes and smiles was starting to disappear. 

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you unlocked the front door and entered your abode. You took off your outdoor shoes and placed them on the shoe rack, while simultaneously slipped your feet in your indoor slippers. As you walked through the hallway and into the main living room, you raised your eyebrow in surprise when you saw Miguel leaning against the kitchen counter closest to you, with his back turned against you, and nervously tapping his index finger on the counter’s marble surface. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked simply, and threw your jacket and keys carelessly on the dinning table as you walked towards the kitchen. 

Your usual very composed and charismatic husband jumped at the sound of your voice. He whipped around in shock, his eyes wide, looking like a deer caught in headlights. He seemed even more jumpy when you neared him in proximity, grabbed onto the collar of his white shirt, and strongly pulled him down to your level for a chaste kiss as a greeting. Usually, your pecks that started out as a quick greeting, would turn into deeper, and more passionate kisses, almost into a full make out session. But that wasn’t the case this time around; this time around, Miguel was simple frozen in surprise as you kissed him. He did not respond back, and his hands were raised and stilled awkwardly in mid air as if he was going to push you away, but didn’t due to some last minute realisation. It was very strange because he never hesitated to wrap his arms around you and pull you closer until there was no physical space left, and one of his hands would be tangled messily in your locks. The awkwardness of the entire situation made you pull away instantly, and there was even more confusion evident in your eyebrow raise. Nonetheless, you released your hold on him, and started to work your way around the kitchen like your usual evening routine. 

“I’m surprised that you’re already home. Picking up Gabriella from her tennis practice and the groceries, you usually wouldn’t be home for another hour,” You remarked causally, while you put on your bright pink apron that had ‘Kiss the chief’ written on it. It was one of the gifts your Miguel and Gabriella had given you on the most recent mother’s day, so anytime you wore it, they had an excuse to shower you in kisses. 

Miguel blinked owlishly, as he stared hard at the words written on your apron for for a good few seconds, before returning his gaze to you. He showed no signs of moving closer to you to kiss you like he usually would. 

“Uh, doesn’t she have tennis practice on Tuesdays and not today? Besides, I don’t have the car.” He responded simply. 

You blinked at him in confusion. “She has her practice today - she has her coaching on Tuesdays and her club games on Friday. And what do you mean you don’t have the car? I left the keys in front of the TV and its parked right outside on the street...? We talked about it this morning - you dropped me off to work and I took the train back. This is no new information, come on Miguel,” You retorted, and opened the fridge to get the needed ingredients you required to make dinner. However, there was barely anything in there - your eye twitched. You turned to Miguel with your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“How come you didn’t go grocery shopping?” You asked. Just as Miguel was about to respond, your eyes widened in another realisation. 

“Don’t tell me you forgot to pick up Gabriella?! No wonder I don’t hear her trotting around! Miguel! What’s wrong with you today?!” You snapped, and instantly untied your apron, and took it off instantly. 

At the shift of annoyance in your tone, Miguel’s eyebrow twitched in anger. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know - this wasn’t even meant to be his responsibility. It was supposed to be your Miguel’s responsibility but he was dead now. He simply chose to replace him in this dimension because he had a family; he felt sorry for the young child who had lost her father, and a bit sorry for you, who would have been a full-time working single mother if you had found that your husband was dead. He was doing you a favour, and you had no idea how grateful you should be. But alas, you were so bossy instead. He wanted to reveal the truth so he could see the reaction on your face, but he couldn’t disclose anything. For his young child, he would endure. 

“You didn’t tell me to do so,” He responded coldly, since there was no other way he knew how to carry out his argument. 

You were so confused by his response that you had to stop for moment and gather your thoughts. You blinked at him in confusion, even more so, when you noticed the anger on his face - Miguel never got angry that easily. 

“It’s the same routine every week...? What’s there to tell?” You murmured to yourself. You glanced at him once more, and you looked at him from the top of his head, to the soles of his feet in scrutiny multiple times. Upon closer inspection, you saw something different about him; the exhaustion in his body - it was an exact reflection of yours. He looked like he was done. It made you think:  had you been so busy thinking about your own problems at work that you forgot to check in with your own husband? Had you relied on him to take care of you and Gabriella so much that you forgot to do your part and look after him?! 

Guilt wallowed up in your chest, and your throat started to feel constricted - you were starting to feel anxious again. However, just before your anxiety could overwhelm you, you pushed it down. Miguel needed you right now, not the other way around. 

“I’m sorry for snapping at you, love. I shouldn’t have done that. I guess work’s been too stressful,” You mumbled, and then, walked closer to Miguel. The Spider-Man was genuinely surprised at the quick apology that left your lips; he was even more shocked when you walked in front of him once more, and gave him a bright grin. He was taken back by how beautiful you looked when you were smiling and the way your face glowed when a hint of joy shone through. 

“We both seem to be having a tough time today, how about we get things done together and just relax? Let’s go pick up our cheeky munchkin and order in, we’ll get your favourite! Sounds good?” You said grinning wider, and cheekily swung your hip against his. Given his build and strength as Spider-Man, it barely did anything. But your joy and cheekiness was contagious because Miguel returned your grin with a playful scoff off his own. Instinctively, he lifted you up easily, and the suddenness of the gesture made you yelp in surprise. You easily wrapped your legs around his tiny slutty waist as he supported your weight by holding you in both of his arms, and wrapped your arms around his neck. You combed through his soft brown locks with one of your hands, and leaned closer to his face; Miguel felt flustered. 

“Can I kiss you?” You whispered softly, looking at him with so much love and longing in your eyes as if he had hung up the moon and stars for you. No one had looked at him with so much love before. Miguel felt flustered. Instead of answering you, he tightened his hold onto you, as he brought you closer to him until you were absolutely squished against his physique. He felt more muscular than before, and his grip on you felt more possessive rather than his usual protective one. But, you weren’t the one to complain since this was so much better than the awkwardness from before.

Miguel moved his arms so he supported your weight with one, and held the back of your head with the other. Then, he guided you down until your lips locked. It was a nice kiss, a bit clumsy than usual, but nice nonetheless. He didn’t want to follow your lead like he usually did, so you tried to follow his lead instead. It was definitely different, even more so, when you felt him bite your bottom lip hard. You yelped in pain and tried to pull away from him. Your efforts were fruitless for a few seconds until Miguel eased his grip at the back of your head. Just as he let you go, enough blood gathered instantly at the spot you were bitten on your lip that it started to drip down your chin. Immediately, Miguel licked it and then gazed at you with his disheveled hair hovering above the predatory and lust gleaming in his red eyes. Both of you breathed heavily, but he wore a giant grin  that showed off his canines. When did Miguel have canines? 

“What you said sounded good, but I would like it much better if we could relax, just the two of us, later tonight.” 

                                                         ***

Once upon a time, Miguel was a bright and innovative scientist himself. He was intelligent and quick to grasp things. For that reason, it didn’t take him long to adapt to the same lifestyle that the original Miguel of this dimension was living. Actually, this domestic life was so much better and easier than his job had been at Alchemax. Maybe, it was easy because he genuinely came to love it; he loved his daughter Gabriella like he had anticipated he would. But first impressions aside, he was also surprised at how quickly he came to love you. You were just so caring and attentive, and everytime you smiled your lovely smile, he swore, cupid’s arrow shot through his heart. You always looked at him with so much love - and it didn’t just end there - you always showed your love through actions too. Every morning when you woke up, before going to sleep, coming home, before leaving, and if you saw each other just after a few hours, you always kissed him. They were such passionate kisses too - it was addictive. All of your little quirks and the constant displays of affection were addictive. For once, Miguel was constantly surrounded by love and happiness. He loved it, and he was going to do anything to protect it. 

Although he did love his current life, there were some things that he did wish could be better - like how he wished he could spend more time with you. He had been trying to talk you into reducing your work hours, because recently, it seemed like you just were getting busier and busier. Your acts of affection, your long lasting kisses -- everything was becoming quicker and more rushed. The nights of intimacy you shared often when he had first came into your life versus recently, were much fewer too. It was distraughting and almost starting to feel frustrating because he had become accustomed to everything you had given him. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand how he had ever managed to live without having you by his side. Now, it was almost to the point where he felt that his even spider craved you. 

It was another night like the one’s recently. Presently, it was just after 9:30 pm, half an hour after Gabriella has been put to bed. Miguel had just come out of a steaming hot shower - his skin carried an underlying darker red hue indicating just how boiling hot the water had to be, and he only wore a small white towel around his hips. He was hoping that giving you a preview would help him finally get another night of sex with you. But the moment he had stepped out of your shared ensuite, and was browsing through your shared closet, pretending to look for clothes, you paid no attention to him. Instead, you were entirely focused on the folders of paperwork labelled ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ in big block red letters that you had been bringing home from work every, single, fucking, day. 

Come to think of it, exactly what was your job? Why were you the one that had chosen to work rather than his alternate deceased self? Surely, if his deceased self was also a scientist at Alchemax like he had been, he had to be making more than enough money. 

In the end, Miguel mindless chose to wore a pair of grey sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt. He climbed into your shared bed with you,  and snatched your papers from your hands. You yelped when this happened suddenly, and immediately tried to wrestle Miguel for them as he started to look over their content himself. 

“What the hell, Miguel?! Give those back to me right now! That’s confidential!” You yelled, while trying to climb over him in whatever way you could to get your paperwork back. Miguel simply ignored you, and easily held you back with one arm, while holding up the papers with his other hand, and reading them. 

It read: 

“ALCHEMAX PROPERTY 

ONGOING RESEARCH PROGREES: PROJECT DIMCOG6.V - COGNITION AND MEMORY THROUGH THE MULTIVERSE 

RESEARCH LEAD: [Name] O’Hara

‘-utlising deep learning neural networks, we have managed to analyse microarray data at an anatomical level[1]. Given this groundbreaking discovery, we can hypothetically give ourselves false memories of living in another universe and completely alter our reality. Or, we could even transfer the psych of our alternative self to our current self. Tests will need to be conducted-” 

“You’re... working for Alchemax?” Miguel asked in disbelief, looking at you with wide eyes - like he didn’t knew you at all. In a way, that was not far from the truth. 

You took his shock as an opportunity to snatch your paperwork back, and scoffed at him. “Of course I am. I don’t see why you’re so surprised? You’re the one who told me to take the job when I was offered it.”

You carefully tied up your paperwork the way you had brought it from work, before setting it on the bedside table beside you. You turned towards Miguel and scowled at him. 

“I’d appreciate it if you don’t just snatch my things. Seriously Miguel, what is with you recently? You’re so moody and quick to temper! I understand you may be stressed and I’m seriously trying my best to make things as easy as possible for you, but you can’t just do whatever you want. You know I’m having a really hard time at work right now as it is, I don’t need you making it the same for me at home. Back off a bit, yeah?” You snapped. Instantly, you turned away from him. You had been feeling your regular nightly migraine building up for a while, and the stress from dealing with Miguel just seemed to have triggered it. You took off your reading glasses so they were resting on your head instead of your nose; a heavy sigh left your lips as you rubbed your temple to try soothe your headache. 

You failed to notice the angry red eyes that were glaring at you. 

“I didn’t know that you were working for the filth of Alchemax.... And I didn’t tell you to take that job, I would never allow my own wife to betray me like that. If it really had been me, in the first place, you wouldn’t even be working.”  Miguel hissed, as he had moved closer to you until his body was pressing right against your side. Then, he leaned closer to you, and gently nipped you right behind your earlobe. Chills went through your spine, and you groaned in frustration; you failed to understand exactly what Miguel words implied due to your horrible headache reducing your ability to focus. 

“I don’t have the energy to worry about your nuances Miguel, nor do I have the energy for sex tonight. Just let me rest,” You murmured, and tried to swat at his arms he wrapped around you possessively. 

You didn’t get the response you wanted - verbally or his actions wise. Instead, you screamed as Miguel pushed you so you laying on your back, and he sat on you immediately. From the impact, your glasses were swung backwards randomly and dug into the randomest part of your neck painfully. You winced and tried to move so they weren’t digging into your skin, but you were unable to move since Miguel had your wrists pinned down on the bed in each hand. He pushed all of his bodyweight on you making it hard to breath, and leaned down until he was right next to your ear. 

“Let me rephrase what I said, and really listen this time, okay? You’re my smart little scientist, I’m sure you can figure it out.” He whispered sensually, and this time, bit your earlobe hard enough to draw blood. 

You cried out in pain. You tried to wriggle yourself free, but your efforts continued to be in vain. When Miguel applied more pressure on your wrists to the point it felt like they were going to break, you stopped struggling. However, your breath started to pick up and your throat felt tight. Despite how light headed you felt, you understood that this wasn’t normal. His grip wasn’t normal - your Miguel would never do something like this. He had never raised his voice at you, much less be physically violent with you the way the stranger on top of you was being. So, for your own sake, you listened attentively to what he had to say. 

“I didn’t tell you to take the job. I would never tell you to take any job, much less at Alchemax, especially after what they did to me. If it had been me, the me in front of you right now, I would keep you locked up in a safe little cage that I make just for you.” 

Tears welled in the corner of your eyes. You hoped that what you were thinking wasn’t right. 

“W-What they did to you...? You never told me? I, I don’t understand-” You tried to say. You weren’t sure if you were just repeating yourself like a parrot because there wasn’t enough oxygen flowing in your brain to think rationally, or you were desperately hoping that what you understood to be the truth, wasn’t actually the truth. Maybe it was both. 

“I’m not your Miguel, I never was. Where I’m from, I used to be scientist at Alchemax. They spliced my DNA with a spider when I tried to quit,” Miguel started, and then, flashed his fangs at you. “I have access to many dimensions. I saw that the me of this dimension was killed and out of pity, I decided to take his place so Gabriella wouldn’t be fatherless and you wouldn’t be a single mother. 

“You really pissed me off in our first interaction.... but now, now, I love you, I can’t see myself without you. I might not be your Miguel yet, but you are my [Name]. Thanks to your research, we can start again. I can figure out a way to change your memories so you’ll know me as your Miguel from the start. I’m sure there’s a dimension out there somewhere we can use.” He whispered in your ear, and then, grinded against you. 

Goosebumps of repulsion and fear arose across your skin - you shook your head in denial. 

“Don’t, please don’t do that. You have no idea what you’re messing with--” 

“Shut up. Now that you know, you’re going to see what I would have done with you in the first place. I’m going to keep you locked up in a cage I make just for you. No work, no research, nothing for you. I’m going to keep you locked up so you’re not a tired cranky bitch and I’m going to be the only person you see. I’m going to make you so touch starved so that whenever you see me, you’re going to be nothing but yearning and desperate for any ounce of attention that I give you.” 

Then, Miguel wrapped his hands around your neck, and pressed tightly onto your trachea until you passed out from the lack of oxygen. He grinned widely. 

“Goodnight [Name]. We’ll meet again on the other side.” 

                                                          ***

[1] deep learning neural network is a type of AI technique that mimics the workings of a human brain. It’s used in neuroscience to study the complex intra- and interhemispheric coherence, and other brain regional interactions in relation to cognition and behaviour. 

Microarray data refers to studying many genes at once. So, given all this, and how astrophysics works (if you were to be anywhere in the universe, like being pulled into a black hole or a neutron star), their ruthless gravity would literally tear you apart at your atoms level. So my theory is that, if you were to transfer “memories and cognition” through dimensions and defy the very essence of space and time, you’d need to have studied the neurobiology at the atoms level to the very least. [JUST MY THEORY BASED ON WHAT I KNOW ABOUT THESE SUBJECTS. I JUST WANTED TO NERD OUT OKAY]

[2] basically the ‘isekai’d’ reader’s memories in Part 1 can be understood in this  way: in all the manipulation of memories that Miguel does after this, [Name] gets so many new memories implanted she eventually remembers all of this. She made an escape plan to stage her own death and live in the shadows with random memories planted (like she thinks she reincarnated and lived in a ‘different’ world) but thats actually just false memories. And given how much Miguel was trying to code that “she loves him” in her genes everytime he changed her memories, that turns into a false memory of him being her favourite character and that she “simps for” so she automatically wants to seek him out to meet him when she gets “reincarnated” 

I hope everything I explained makes sense and that you enjoyed this! Let me know if you have any questions! 

[scrollonso]

You Did This — Isacksteban

The pre-race atmosphere at Yas Marina Circuit was electric. Mechanics swarmed around the cars, last-minute adjustments being made under the watchful eyes of engineers. The scent of burning rubber mingled with the desert breeze, and the roar of fans created a symphony of anticipation. Amidst the chaos, Isack found a moment of quiet with Esteban in the Haas hospitality area.

Isack leaned against the counter, his arms crossed, watching Esteban as he zipped up his race suit. "You know, this whole 'final race of the season' thing is overrated," Isack joked, trying to mask his nervous energy. "Let’s just skip it and head straight to planning our wedding."

Esteban chuckled, his familiar, easy smile lighting up his face. He crossed the room and gently tugged at the hem of Isack’s fireproof undershirt. "Oh, really? And let all these fans down? Besides, you’ve got a championship position to fight for, mon amour."

"Yeah, yeah," Isack muttered, rolling his eyes playfully. But his expression softened as he reached out to straighten Esteban’s collar. "I just want us to both get through this race in one piece. I’ve been thinking about us all week. Summer break can’t come soon enough."

Esteban stepped closer, resting his forehead against Isack’s. "It’s the last race, Isack. Just one more, and then it’s the off-season — time for us." His voice dropped to a whisper, filled with warmth. "Time to start the rest of our lives together."

The call to the starting grid came over the radio, cutting into their moment. Esteban sighed and stepped back, adjusting his gloves. "Duty calls."

"Wait," Isack said, grabbing his wrist. "Before you go..."

Esteban turned, his expression softening further. Without hesitation, he cupped Isack’s face and kissed him deeply, a brief yet tender moment of connection amidst the frenzy of race day. When they pulled apart, Esteban’s gaze lingered, filled with unspoken promises.

"Stay safe out there," Isack murmured.

"You too," Esteban replied, his voice steady but his eyes betraying the same underlying worry. "I’ll see you at the finish line, hm?"

With a final smile, Esteban jogged toward the Haas garage, blending into the flurry of team personnel. Isack stood still for a moment, watching him go, his heart both heavy and full. He couldn’t shake the feeling that today held something significant — though he didn’t know whether it would be joy or heartbreak.

Taking a deep breath, he turned toward the VCARB garage, ready to face whatever the race had in store.

The Yas Marina Circuit hummed with the energy of the season finale. Esteban and Isack were both locked in their own battles on the track, yet their thoughts seemed intertwined, each mindful of the other amidst the chaos of the race. Esteban, piloting his Haas, had been performing admirably, holding his own despite being in a midfield car. Isack, on the other hand, had spent the season proving that his rookie status belied his raw talent. His team was far more competitive than the year before, and he was on track to finish third in the championship if he could just finish above Charles in his Ferrari.

From the start, the race had been a test of endurance and skill. Esteban found himself defending his position lap after lap, his car dancing on the edge of control as he fought off challenges from more powerful machines. His radio crackled with updates, his engineer urging him to push harder.

“Esteban, keep the line. He’s closing in.”

“Got it,” Esteban replied, his voice calm despite the storm around him. He knew Isack was just a few places ahead, fighting his own battle. A flicker of pride warmed his chest. They’d always supported each other, no matter the rivalries.

Isack, meanwhile, was in his zone, threading his car through the tight corners and long straights with precision. But every so often, his thoughts wandered. Where’s Esteban? Is he okay? He checked his mirrors instinctively, hoping for a glimpse of the familiar black-and-white Haas livery.

By Lap 45, tensions were rising. Esteban’s tires were degrading, and his grip was starting to falter. He radioed his team. “Rear tires are gone. Can I pit?”

“Negative,” came the reply. “We need you to hold your position for two more laps.”

Esteban gritted his teeth, fuck. “Copy.”

Behind him, another driver closed in, his car looming large in Esteban’s mirrors. Esteban defended aggressively, shutting the door as they approached Turn 3. It was a risky move, but he had no choice. A driver he couldn't quite identify attempted to overtake, forcing Esteban to brake harder than he’d anticipated.

And then it happened.

The rear of Esteban’s car snapped out violently as he exited the turn, the worn tires losing all grip in an instant. The back end kicked wide, and before he could react, the car was careening across the track. He tried to overcorrect, but it was a futile effort. The car spun uncontrollably, a streak of bright red and black, before slamming side-on into the barriers at catastrophic speed.

The sound of the impact was deafening — an ear-splitting crunch of carbon fiber and metal, a sickening, almost wet crack that seemed to echo across the circuit. The front of the car caved in, the chassis folding like paper as debris exploded in every direction. The barriers crumpled under the force, shards of broken carbon flying into the air, some striking the track like shrapnel, some scattering over the crowd. The marshals scrambled into action, waving yellow flags at first, but that quickly turned into a sea of red as they realized the horrifying extent of the crash.

In the cockpit, Esteban's vision blurred, his world spinning uncontrollably. His body was jolted violently, every bone in his body screaming in agony. The pain was unbearable, a surge of fire coursing through his limbs as his head snapped forward, hitting the steering wheel with sickening force. For a split second, it was like everything froze. But then, the crushing silence was replaced by the horrible hiss of air rushing out of punctured tires and fluids leaking from the car. His body was a wreck; everything was a blur of blood, mangled metal, and suffocating chaos.

The world went dark.

Isack, trailing closely behind, had a front-row seat to the horror unfolding in front of him. His mind couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. Esteban’s car was a twisted, smoking heap, the barriers almost entirely destroyed by the force of the impact. Time seemed to slow down, and his chest tightened as he watched, helpless, as Esteban’s body slumped in the cockpit, motionless. His breath caught, a panic rising in his throat.

“Red flag!” The team radio crackled in his ears, breaking his trance. “Isack, return to the pits! To the pits, now!”

But his eyes stayed fixed on the wreckage, on the crumpled car that had once been his fiancé’s. His heart pounded as he tore his gaze from the scene, trying to pull himself together. “Is he okay?” His voice broke, barely a whisper as he demanded answers. His mind was racing, his whole body trembling with fear.

“Medical team is on the scene, Isack,” his engineer’s voice was calm but strained, as though even he couldn’t fully process what had just happened. “We need you to focus. Get back to the garage. We’ll update you.”

Isack’s hands shook violently as he navigated his car back to the pits, his heart thundering in his chest. Esteban — the man he loved — was out there, bleeding, broken, and he had to retreat to the safety of the garage, his race forgotten, his own future fading in comparison to the nightmare unfolding. The rest of the world, the championship, the race — they all seemed irrelevant.

The medical team had arrived swiftly, but even from a distance, Isack could see the devastation. They were pulling Esteban from the wreckage with brutal urgency, his body unmoving, his head lolling. His limbs were contorted at unnatural angles, and the blood that was pooling around him painted the track with a horrifying clarity. Every movement of the medics seemed painstakingly slow, as though they feared the worst but had to keep trying. Esteban’s body was a ruin — unrecognizable from the person Isack had kissed goodbye only a short hour earlier.

An ambulance was already waiting to take him, the doors slamming shut as they rushed him away, leaving Isack in a state of utter disbelief.

Isack couldn’t stay in the garage. He couldn’t bear to stay behind while Esteban was alone, suffering, so far from him. His rookie season, his hopes of finishing third — none of that mattered. He tossed the helmet aside, ignored the calls from his team as they begged him to stay put. None of it mattered. He was going to be with Esteban. That was all.

Ignoring the protests, Isack sprinted out of the garage, his mind a blur, his breath ragged. The hospital felt a world away, but the longer he stayed on his feet, the more he realized he wasn’t ready for what awaited him.

At the hospital, the sterile walls felt suffocating as Isack waited for news. Lance was quick to join him — though no one else followed suit. Not even the very driver who caused the disaster. Not even members of the team that told him to stay out despite the dangerous conditions.

Hours dragged on, each passing minute stretching endlessly, intensifying the storm of fear and helplessness that consumed Isack. His mind couldn't escape the image of Esteban’s car, a twisted, mangled wreck, crashing violently into the barriers. The sound of the impact still echoed in his ears, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything had happened in slow motion, the fleeting moment of terror replaying endlessly in his mind. Lance, though equally shattered, tried to comfort him, offering shaky words and a hand that trembled as their fingers interlocked. They sat together in the sterile, emotionless waiting room, caught in a state of limbo, waiting for the doctor to walk through the door and say the words they desperately wanted to hear — everything is going to be fine.

But when the doors finally opened, the words that met them were not the ones they’d prayed for. The doctors’ faces were grave, their eyes filled with a sorrow that hit harder than any impact on the track. "Esteban is alive," the lead doctor began, his voice heavy with the weight of the news. "But his condition is critical. Multiple fractures... internal injuries... We’re doing everything we can, but his survival is uncertain. It’s a matter of hours now."

The world seemed to collapse around Isack, his knees weakening beneath him as the doctor’s words settled in his chest like a lead weight. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t process what he was hearing. Esteban, the love of his life, his fiancé — the man he was supposed to marry in just a few months — was fighting for his life, and there was nothing he could do.

The motorsport world, in a rare moment of unity, flooded the hospital with messages of support, prayers for Esteban’s recovery. But for Isack, the world outside these walls had lost its meaning. He was no longer part of that world — he was tethered to Esteban, clinging to his side, desperate for some sign that the man he loved would return to him.

As the hours ticked by, Isack remained at Esteban’s bedside, his fingers never leaving Esteban’s, his heart aching with each shallow breath Esteban took. He ran his thumb gently over Esteban’s bruised knuckles, as though trying to reassure him, trying to bring him back. His thoughts raced through the life they’d planned, the dreams they’d shared. He thought of the wedding, the quiet moments they'd promised to steal away together after the season ended. It all seemed so far away now — like another life, one that would never come to pass.

He leaned in, his voice barely more than a whisper as tears welled in his eyes. "You have to fight," he murmured, his words raw, trembling. "We’ve got too much left to do. You promised me you’d be there, Este. You promised me we’d get married after this, after everything we’ve been through. Please... Fuck, please don’t leave me, mon amour."

But as the first light of dawn crept through the hospital window, casting a faint, fragile glow over the room, Isack knew. He knew it was over. The doctors had warned him, and the signs were becoming too clear. Esteban’s body, once so full of life, was weakening, slipping further away with every passing second. His grip on Isack’s hand, once firm and reassuring, had become limp, unresponsive. His breathing was shallow, and his pulse — barely detectable.

Isack could feel the life draining from the man he loved, could see it in the way Esteban’s face had become pale and drawn, his body broken and battered beyond repair. He couldn’t hold on any longer.

As the machines around them hummed and beeped in rhythmic monotony, Isack pressed his forehead gently against Esteban’s, his tears falling freely now, mixing with the cold, sterile air of the room. "I love you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I’ll always love you."

But it was too late.

With a final, shallow breath, Esteban’s heart slowed, then stilled entirely. The beeping of the machines, once steady, faltered and faded, marking the end of the fight that had been too much for his body to bear.

Isack sat there, his fingers still curled tightly around Esteban’s, but it felt like the warmth was already fading, leaving only an icy void. The machines that once kept him tethered to his love now felt like a cruel reminder of what had been lost. His chest heaved, not with sobs, but with a growing fury, an anger so raw and vicious that it burned through him like fire. His body was rigid with the shock, but his mind was alive with a storm of violent emotions — rage, grief, helplessness, and betrayal.

Esteban was gone. Gone. The life they’d dreamed of, the wedding, the future — it was all ripped away in an instant. And the one thing that remained was the crushing weight of rage. Isack couldn’t sit here any longer. He couldn’t look at the empty shell of the man he had promised to spend forever with. His heart was breaking, but in its place, fury grew. He didn’t care about the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. He didn’t care that his body was shaking with the force of the grief and the anguish that had taken over.

He stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor, and stormed out of the room. His steps were erratic, his breath shallow, his heart pounding like a war drum. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he knew one thing — he needed to find the driver who had caused this. He needed to make them feel the same devastation, the same loss, the same gut-wrenching pain.

The pit of rage inside him led him through the halls of the hospital, ignoring the calls from his team, the concerned looks from medical staff. He didn’t hear any of it. His mind was consumed with the face of the driver, the one who had put his Esteban in the hospital, who had ripped his future from him in a violent flash of metal and speed. That driver was the reason Esteban was gone. That driver was the one responsible.

Isack pushed through the paddock in a haze, his eyes blurred by tears and rage, his hands trembling violently. He could hardly breathe, his chest tight with the weight of grief and fury that surged through his veins. The pit crew and engineers moved out of his way without a second thought, either too busy or too afraid to stop him. He didn’t see them. He didn’t see anyone. His only focus was finding the driver — the one responsible for taking Esteban away from him. The one who had destroyed his world.

Finally, his eyes locked onto the figure. The driver. It didn’t even matter who he was anymore — Max Verstappen, a champion of the sport, a man who was revered by millions. In that moment, all Isack saw was the person who had caused the crash. His mind, clouded with rage, barely registered the driver’s face or his name. It was just him. The one who had taken everything. His Esteban.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Isack surged forward, his breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps as he reached the man. His hands grabbed the front of Verstappen’s fireproof suit, yanking him toward him with a force that made the other man stumble. Isack’s eyes were wild, his chest heaving, as he shook him violently, his voice ripping through the air like a guttural scream.

“You killed him!” Isack’s voice was raw, cracking with the intensity of his grief. His hands trembled, his body shaking from the force of his emotions. “You took him away from me!”

Max tried to push him off, his face a mixture of confusion and fear. He stammered, struggling to break free. “Isack— let go— what are you—?”

But Isack didn’t hear him. He didn’t care. His grip tightened, his fingers digging into the fabric of Max’s suit as he shook him again, his body trembling with rage and sorrow. “He was my life!” Isack shouted, his voice breaking as the words tore out of him. “He was everything to me! And you— you killed him! You fucking destroyed everything, Max!”

Max’s eyes widened, his mouth opening in disbelief, but Isack wasn’t finished. The pain and anger welled up inside him, forcing his next words out in a scream. “You’re a killer! You did this! You—” He choked on the words, his throat raw, his breath hitching as the sobs came violently, tearing through his body, but they didn’t stop him. “You took him from me! He was mine! You had no fucking right, you know that? Do you have any idea what you just did to me? To Lance? To someones fucking family?”

With a roar of frustration, Isack shoved Max away, the force of his hands sending the driver stumbling backward. Max fell to the ground, landing hard on his knees, his hands bracing against the tarmac. The impact barely registered in Isack’s mind. He didn’t care. He didn’t care that Max was on the ground. He didn’t care about the growing circle of onlookers, the whispers and gasps of shock from the crew members. All that mattered was that Esteban was gone — and this was the man who had caused it.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Do you have any fucking remorse?! Guilt!?” Isack’s voice cracked, his fists clenching at his sides as he stood over Max, trembling with fury. His breath came in short, sharp gasps. “I’ll never see him again. Never hear his voice. Never feel his arms around me again. You took that from me!” The words were strangled, choked out by grief and the weight of a world that had just fallen apart. He bent down, leaning over Max, his voice dropping to a guttural whisper. “You killed him. You took my everything.”

Max, still on the ground, shook his head, his voice barely a whisper. “Isack… I didn’t mean… I didn’t want to… Please…”

Isack’s chest tightened, his head spinning. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to hear excuses. He didn’t care if it had been an accident, if it had been a mistake. All he knew was that Esteban was gone — and Max was standing there, alive and whole with a girlfriend and new child, while his fiancé was in a hospital bed, growing cold, shattered beyond recognition.

Tears were streaming down Isack’s face now, mixing with the sweat and the anger that still burned inside him. His hands were shaking, his whole body trembling with the force of his emotions. “Why?!” Isack screamed, his voice cracking as he collapsed to his knees, his face pressed against the cold tarmac, the world spinning around him. “Why him? Why did it have to be him?”

Max recoiled, his face twisted with guilt and confusion, his voice shaky as he tried to apologize, to explain. “I never wanted this, Isack. I’m sorry. I… I never meant for this to happen.”

But Isack could barely hear him over the roar of his own grief. His mind was a whirlwind, his heart shattering all over again. He clutched the ground, his hands scraping against the asphalt as he sobbed uncontrollably. “Why him?” The question echoed, unanswered, in the empty space between them. The crowd around them was silent now, but the tension was thick. The moment was a raw wound, an open scar that bled emotion and destruction.

Suddenly, a few of the team members from Max’s side moved toward them, trying to separate them, but Isack wasn’t ready to let go. He slapped one of them away, his body trembling violently as he screamed at Max, the words coming out in a disjointed, painful mess. “You took him from me! You— you— Max, you are the reason he’s gone!”

People were starting to pull Isack back now, trying to hold him, to get him away from Max. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Esteban was gone. And Isack didn’t know how to keep breathing without him.

Suddenly, a few of the team members from Max’s side moved toward them, trying to separate them. They grabbed at Isack’s arms, attempting to pull him away from Max, but Isack wasn’t ready to let go. He shoved one of them away with a raw, desperate motion, his body trembling violently, his chest heaving with the weight of his emotions. The anger and sorrow that coursed through him bled into his voice as he screamed at Max, the words coming out in a disjointed, painful mess, each one laced with grief and fury.

“You took him from me! You— you— Max, you are the reason he’s gone!” Isack’s voice cracked, hoarse and broken. His body shook uncontrollably, his fists clenching and unclenching, his eyes wild with an overwhelming cocktail of rage and loss.

Max, still on the ground, looked up at him, his own face twisted with guilt and regret, but all Isack could see was the man who had caused it all. The man who had stolen his future.

As more team members rushed in, trying to hold Isack back, his strength began to falter. He struggled against their grip, but it wasn’t the physical restraint that broke him. It was the realization that he was powerless to bring Esteban back. He didn’t care about Max, or the team, or the world that was watching, the media snapping pictures of the altercation, of the tears streaming down Isack's face, the desperate pleas leaving his lips. All that mattered was Esteban, and he was gone.

Isack’s body gave in to the crushing weight of his grief. His knees buckled, and before he knew it, he was collapsing into the arms of one of the Red Bull team members, his body shaking with sobs that wracked through him like violent tremors. The hands that had tried to pull him away from Max now held him close, but all he could do was weep.

He buried his face in the man’s chest, the fabric of the suit soaked with his tears. His heart felt like it was breaking into a thousand pieces, and he couldn't make sense of anything anymore. The world had gone silent, and the only thing he could hear was the deafening echo of his own heartbreak.

“Please… please,” Isack whispered through the tears, his voice barely audible. His hands gripped the man’s suit, his fingers curling into it as if trying to anchor himself to something, anything. “This can’t be real. Please, wake me up. I just… I just want to wake up in Esteban’s arms. Please.”

His words were desperate, each syllable laced with a pleading, painful ache. He wanted to believe this was some horrible nightmare, that any moment now, he would open his eyes and find himself back in Esteban’s arms. He wanted to believe that this wasn’t real, that the crash hadn’t happened, that his fiancé hadn’t been torn away from him in an instant.

But nothing changed. The team member’s grip tightened as Isack’s sobs grew louder, more desperate, his chest heaving with the raw agony of a love lost. The reality of it hit him like a punch to the gut, and he couldn’t breathe through the crushing weight of it. His entire world had just crumbled, and he was left there, broken and gasping for air, pleading for something that could never be again.

“Please… let me wake up. Please, I don’t want this… I don’t want to be alone.”

The words came out in a broken sob, and he collapsed further into the man’s chest, the tears falling without end. He didn’t know how to keep going without Esteban. He didn’t know how to live in a world where Esteban was gone.

In that moment, all he could feel was the hollow, aching absence of the man he had loved, and the suffocating pain of never being able to hold him again.

[notbxnny]

Tom’s little nero/sporus allergory kinda distracts from the rest of the scene but. Wow! it really is an absolute DOOZY for Tom

Every aspect of his life is falling apart, he’s headed for jail, he knows he has zero leverage and zero people looking out for him when he gets in there because everyone around him is unapologetically endorsing it for their own benefit. He is alone and powerless so it’s not even a question that he seeks out Greg for a chance to fall back into an established dynamic where he actually has control given the complete lack thereof in every other aspect of his life. Then in an uncharacteristic, fleeting moment of genuine niceness, a jarringly unselfish gesture amidst the brutal rat race of Waystar, Tom earnestly offers to strategize with him, he is the most powerless he has ever been but he’s still trying to guide Greg in someway when he’s gone, trying to leverage what little insight he has left to benefit him.  He has no skin left in the game, and that offers him a unique position, he can act outside of his own interests for once and doing so is vulnerable for someone like him. Except!!! Greg actually has it all figured out already! He has a smart coherent plan and a promising path for his future, it’s pretty smooth sailing for him, and the light in Tom’s eyes just dies as he realises how bleak things are for him. He’s the scapegoat, the sacrificial lamb and even cousin fucking Greg is doing better off than him. Ultimately he's even further back than square one and all his ambition and endurance only made him a bigger target to pin the blame on.

He’s standing in his assistant’s shitty little office pretty desperately seeking the attention of someone who was once entirely reliant on him, and it’s occurring to him that not even he needs him anymore. The dynamic has shifted and Greg smiles awkwardly, placating like Tom’s vulnerability unsettles him but he’s trying to mask it to avoid upsetting him, like Shiv does.

And he’s lonely. He’s really fucking super lonely and he gets shut down at the wrong moment—and it really is just this tiny humiliating moment—but it’s entirely more than Tom can deal with.

So the rest of the scene just kinda falls into place after that. Like yeah nearly start crying, say that you’d castrate and marry him in a bizarre love confession, try to get him to wrestle you to the floor, throw a tantrum before storming out the room whatever you’re Tom Wambsgans and your life is over.

[logansargeantsbabymom]

Slowly But Surely

Jake Lockley x Fem!Reader, BRIEF!Steven Grant x Fem!Reader

Follow my instagram account (THATS STRICTLY FOR THIS BLOG) for updates on when i post and fun stuff like that!

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F1 Masterlist

The dimly lit bar buzzed with the hum of conversation and clinking glasses as I mingled with my coworkers. It was one of those rare nights when we all managed to gather outside of work, and the atmosphere was light and jovial. Steven, Marc, and Jake had all been supportive of this social outing, and I had assured them I’d be okay on my own. Tonight was supposed to be fun, a chance to unwind and let go.

I glanced around the room, spotting a few familiar faces—friends from work chatting with their partners, laughter echoing over the music. I was caught in an animated conversation with a colleague, Dan, who had always been friendly but seemed a bit too forward tonight.

“You know, you really light up the room,” Dan said with a grin, his eyes lingering a bit too long on me. “It’s amazing how you manage to stay so upbeat all the time.”

I laughed it off, trying to maintain a friendly but professional demeanor. “Thanks, Dan. Just trying to keep things positive!”

Despite my attempts to keep the interaction platonic, I could sense a shift in the air. Dan’s gestures were a little too lingering, his compliments more frequent. I glanced around, searching for a familiar face to anchor me in this situation.

That’s when I felt a presence behind me—powerful and intense. I turned to see my boyfriend, Jake Lockley, his expression tight with something I couldn’t quite place.

“Hey,” I greeted him, hoping for a familiar anchor amidst the growing discomfort. “Did you have a good time?”

Jake didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he fixed his gaze on Dan, his jaw clenched. It was only then I realized something was off. His eyes were dark, his posture rigid, and there was a dangerous edge to his silence.

Before I could process what was happening, Jake’s hand closed around my arm, gripping it firmly. “We’re leaving,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

I blinked, trying to read the situation. “Jake, what’s wrong? We’re just having fun.”

He didn’t answer, his grip tightening as he began to lead me toward the exit. I tried to pull away gently. “Jake, please, what’s going on?”

He ignored my protests, guiding me out of the bar with a determined stride. The cool night air hit us as we stepped outside, and I felt a mix of confusion and unease.

Once we were home, Jake’s demeanor shifted dramatically. The moment we walked through the door, his anger exploded. He paced the living room, his hands balled into fists, his face red with frustration.

“Why did you have to flirt with him?” Jake shouted, his voice echoing through the house. “Do you think this is some kind of joke?”

“Flirt?” I asked, my voice trembling. “I was just being friendly. He’s a coworker, Jake!”

“You think I don’t see what’s happening?” Jake roared. “You’re not just being friendly! You’re betraying me! You’re betraying Marc and Steven, too!”

My heart raced, my emotions swirling in a storm of confusion and hurt. “Jake, I don’t understand. Why are you saying these things? I love you. I’m here with you.”

“Love me?” Jake spat, his eyes wild. “You don’t love me! You’re just playing games! If you loved me, you wouldn’t be so easily swayed by some flirty guy at a bar!”

I felt a sharp pain in my chest as his words cut deep. “Jake, stop it. You’re scaring me.”

“You know what?” Jake continued, his voice rising to a shout. “Just stop pretending. If you’re cheating, just leave! Get out! You’re just a slut who can’t be trusted!”

The insult hit me like a physical blow, and I could no longer hold back the tears. I collapsed onto the couch, sobbing uncontrollably. The man I loved, the one who I thought understood me, had just shattered my heart with his cruel accusations.

Just then, Steven’s presence shifted into the room, his face softening with concern. He sat beside me, wrapping his arms around me in a comforting embrace. “I’m so sorry, love,” he murmured. “Jake is just… he’s scared. You’re the only person he’s ever let get close to him. He’s terrified of losing you.”

Through my tears, I looked up at Steven, struggling to speak. “I don’t know if I can forgive him… I don’t know if I can trust him again.”

Steven’s eyes were full of sadness. “I understand. But Jake’s actions come from a place of fear and insecurity. He loves you more than anything, and he’s afraid of losing you.”

Steven held me tightly until I eventually fell asleep, the weight of the evening finally catching up with me. As I slept, I could hear muffled voices, and though I couldn’t make out the words, I sensed the intensity of the argument.

When I woke up the next morning, I was greeted by the smell of breakfast wafting through the house. Groggily, I made my way to the kitchen to find Jake standing there, his face etched with regret.

“Good morning,” he said softly, his hands shaking slightly as he set down a plate of pancakes. “I… I wanted to make breakfast for you. I’m so sorry about last night.”

I hesitated, feeling a mix of anger and apprehension. “Jake, I’m not sure I can just… move past what happened.”

Jake’s eyes filled with tears. “Please, Y/N. I regret everything I said. I was scared, and I let my fear take over. I love you more than life itself, and I’m terrified of losing you. You mean everything to me.”

His vulnerability was painful to witness, and I saw the sincerity in his eyes. “You’ve hurt me deeply, Jake. I need to see that you can change, that you can control your jealousy and anger.”

Jake nodded, his face a mask of anguish. “I understand. I’ll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust. Just please don’t leave me.”

I took a deep breath, feeling the heaviness of the situation. “I’m willing to work through this, but it will take time. You have to show me that you can handle your fears without hurting me.”

Jake looked relieved, though his face remained etched with remorse. “Thank you. I’ll prove to you that I can change. I promise.”

As the days went on, Jake made a concerted effort to address his jealousy and anger. He attended therapy and worked on managing his emotions. It was a long and difficult journey, but with Steven and Marc’s support, he slowly began to make progress.

I remained cautious, but I saw glimpses of the man I had fallen in love with beneath the layers of insecurity and fear. It wasn’t easy to rebuild trust, but we were both committed to making our relationship work.

Jake’s apology breakfast was a small but significant step toward healing. It wasn’t the end of our struggles, but it was a beginning—a chance for us to rebuild and grow stronger together. The road ahead was uncertain, but I was willing to walk it with him, hopeful that our love could overcome even the deepest wounds.

[kararisa]

the taste of nectar

— but the heart of a man is a simple one. small and soft, flesh and blood.

— alhaitham x gn!reader

— author's notes: title and the quote are from epic iii from the hadestown live album

While Sumeru is known for its variety of lush flora and fauna, perhaps it could be better said that Sumeru is known for the Akademiya’s cutthroat academic environment.

In the midst of the unrest after the removal of the sages, Alhaitham has had his fair share of work. Work that he certainly hadn’t signed up for when he accepted the job of Scribe all those years ago.

(I mean the entire point of him accepting that role was to live a cushy life. Who in the world would take being the Acting Grand Sage over that?)

The never-ending stack of papers on his desk somehow seemed to double the past week, though it’s surprisingly less work than when he was the Acting Grand Sage. 

But as the sun sets, and the work day is over, he finds himself on a path that leads to the outskirts of Sumeru City.

His footsteps were a concrete rhythm he had grown familiar with over the years. With each step, the hubbub of the city turned into the birds’ chirping, the smell of food and spices from various shops in the marketplace became the smell of wet grass, and the sprawling greens from buildings’ rooftops turned into the greenery of nature.

In the distance, Alhaitham's keen eyes catch sight of the familiar gardens that have become a sanctuary amidst the chaos of the city. Their blooming flowers and lush vegetation beckon to him, offering solace and respite from the demands of the everyday. And there, amidst the vibrant tapestry of colors and textures, he sees you.

He settles beneath the tree where the two of you usually sit, your Dendro Vision aglow while you tend to the plants, the grass curling towards your feet and the Sumeru Roses blooming larger. As one of the city's main suppliers, you've been working yourself to the bone trying to keep up with the demand. With eremite attacks growing more rampant, the demands of the people have pushed you to the limits of your physical and mental endurance. Yet, in the face of this ceaseless task, you remain steadfast, pouring your heart and soul into the care of each precious plant, ensuring that the city's needs are consistently met. You kneel in the grass, inspecting the petals of a nearby Padisarah.

In that moment, your head turns towards him. Alhaitham's breath catches in his chest, his heartbeat quickening imperceptibly. The intensity of your gaze, now locking with his, holds a power that leaves him captivated. And then, like a sunbeam breaking through the clouds after a storm, a smile graces your lips, illuminating your face with a warmth that reaches the depths of his being. 

After a few moments of delicately tending to the vibrant blossoms, you gracefully rise from your kneeling position and settle yourself next to Alhaitham beneath the ancient tree. His eyes follow your every movement as you delicately twirl a Sumeru Rose in your hand, its petals brushing against your fingertips like the softest silk. A tender smile graces his lips as you press close to his side, the warmth of your presence radiating against his arm.

Feeling his touch, you lean your head gently on his shoulder, finding solace in his embrace. Alhaitham's hand instinctively finds its place on your side, his fingers intertwining with the fabric of your clothing as if trying to draw you impossibly closer. You adjust your positions together, finding a comfortable nook amidst the lush grass, its gentle blades whispering against your garments, a soft reminder of nature's embrace.

As you settle into this shared space of tranquility, the air filled with the intoxicating scent of blooming flowers, a peaceful silence envelops you both. The world beyond seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you and the earth and the connection that binds you.

No words need to be exchanged between the two of you. It’s in this quiet haven, amidst the beauty of nature, that Alhaitham finds his peace.

Among the flowers’ nectarine embrace, he can let the world fall away.

With you, he is simply Alhaitham.

And that’s all he ever needs to be.

[meldelen]

What does Sauron feel for Galadriel?

I'm aware I might be not saying anything new or original, I've read and queued other good metas that basically stand for my point as well; nevertheless, I feel like sharing my two cents concerning this. Sadly - or not - it will be another long ass read.

To be honest, whatever is going between Galadriel and Sauron is one of the main show's assets. Love it or hate it, the show would not be the same without this spice. And the way it is presented leaves no one indifferent. I could talk about this from Galadriel's POV, but I think I'll be going for Sauron's first, if anything because I find it more fascinating, as we're talking of a character that isn't even human, and the main villain, of course. And I'm doing it mostly concerning the show, even if I know Tolkien's books since I was 12. Unfortunately I can't analyze every single scene they share because it would last forever, but I'll try to focus on the ones that have more resonated with me.

Even if Galadriel is undoubtedly one of the most famous elves in Middle Earth, it doesn't look like Sauron knew her before meeting her in the sea. It is pure chance - apparently so - they meet and are taken together to Númenor. In these first moments he's mostly indifferent - and even hostile - to her, per their dialogue, except the moment he dives in and saves her from drowning amidst the storm. From that moment, a confidence grews between them as she's reassured in her position - which he never disclaims - of thinking he's a fallen king from a Southlander throne. Disguised as the human castaway Halbrand, the most fascinating about Sauron, I think, it's that he never lies to her, but doesn't make an effort to take her out of her incorrect assumptions. While not being honest to her, he seems to drift away from her as he pretends to "start anew" - through his long learnt abilities as smith -; while, at the same time, he gets drawn towards her by their kindred spirits.

Which is the start of it all. Sauron recognizes in her someone alike, fierce and relentless, prideful, ambitious and reckless. I think the discussion in the forge, after she drops him in the middle of a plot to return to Middle Earth and crown him, is highly underrated. He only wants to be left alone, she apologizes for having used him, and then confesses - thinking she talks to a friend and not a deceiver - that she can't stop, that because she was compared with the evil she was fighting they mutinied against her and was sent away. She also drops Finrod's line of needing to touch the darkness if one want to reach the light.

Halbrand's reaction to this is priceless. His expression, both shocked and emotional once he realizes she might be just the only one in Arda that might understand him - they mutinied against him as well, he ended a castaway. And then he expresses his condolences for her suffering and particularly, the death of her brother. Now, I believe he was genuinely sincere here, that he really felt for her grief. But being set on the path of becoming something different, it's precisely Galadriel who puts him out of it. Who sends him again to his former path. The horror of it all.

He never gets to tell her who he really is, and only admits it when he's discovered, because there was no way back once this is uncovered. Charlotte Brändström has confirmed that Galadriel loved Halbrand - rather, I think, the idea of Halbrand - in first season, but after the mask falls she won't love Sauron - for obvious reasons. He then offers her the most valuable position he can give her, but what does he offer?

To make her a queen. A queen, mind, not his queen. Now, I know shipping is nice and fun, but for all the tenderness he put into the offering - the warm voice, the chin caressing, the flattering and the temptation; "You bind me to the light and I bind you to power" - I can't avoid seeing that he never offered himself as part of the bargain. Love is selfless and you must give yourself for it to be real. As Charlie Vickers have well put, he does not see her as an equal. It is not a marriage/lover alliance of a king and a queen ruling together with love as a seal between them. Sauron appeals to her ambition, not to her heart. Even in that moment, before the blast of Orodruin, where they got the most intimate and close - "Fighting at your side, I felt... if I could hold on that feeling, bind it to my very being.." "I felt it too" - he is talking about fighting, and power, and ruling. And she understood it lately, when telling Adar he promised her an army, not himself. Maybe she meant something else in that moment, but he meant an alliance. And alliance in which they're not equals. A queen, but not his queen.

He has no queen. There's only one Lord of the Rings, and he does not share power.

I understand it's very tempting and frankly easier to read this in a romantic code, but I can't forget it's Sauron we're talking about. He's not human, he does not feel and act as human always, he's been awake since the creation of the world and he hardly can see an elf as an equal. The way he tried to manipulate her by taking the shape of Finrod, the long lost brother, and twisting his words to sway her will - it was beyond cruelty. It was Machiavellian, sadistic - and it was only the first of many offenses.

Even before wrapping her in his thrall he throws at her face all the sentences and reasons she had told him before, when she thought he was Halbrand the southlander and not the Dark Lord. Twisting her own words and shooting them at her like arrows - no, you said my past didn't matter, you told me to be free of it. Putting before her eyes the fact that he's back thanks to her and her alone. And that she's now isolated, for no one will accept her once it is known she's the reason he's back. Presenting himself as the only one who would take her, flattering her leading and ruling talents in his benefit, wrapping it with the cover of a redeeming light. Bastard.

Thankfully, Galadriel acknowledges his abuse and manipulation and actively rejects him. What does Sauron do then? He leaves her to die. Tied in his thrall, drowning, back to the point where she was sinking when he saved her, when she still did not mean much to him, but enough to care. Now it's over. You've chosen to refuse me, so die. Go back to the starting point.

And in that moment, he meant her to die, for she had hurt his pride. He's not a scorned lover but a narcissist that has been confronted in his arrogance, and so she has to pay. There is not love in any of these actions. In a fit of rage, he had let her to die. If Elrond wasn't around when he pulls her out of the pound, she would've drowned.

That fit of rage passes, and as it happens, he has time to reconsider his position. Does he know she has survived? What matters is that he moves to Mordor and directly sells her to Adar. Telling his former lieutenant that she has aligned with Sauron - !!! - and both must be stopped. He sells her location and sets an army of Uruk against her and Eregion. Dressing this betrayal as heroism as he endures torture for the sake of the soutlander prisoners, who get free thanks to this bargain.

Are these actions belonging to one who loves? It is atrocity after atrocity. Per his actions you can't tell he's in love, rather the opposite. You could say he's actively punishing her and plans to keep making her pay for her refusal. But of course, he's not driven solely by scorn and revenge, it's not even his main goal. Enter Celebrimbor and the Eregion plot.

When it would seem Galadriel is out of his mind, then this scene with Mirdania happens. Taking advantage of her vulnerability and terror of having seen him in his true form - even if Mirdania herself isn't aware that it was him who she saw in the Unseen World - Annatar flatters her and caresses her hair, comparing her beauty with Galadriel's. Yes, I know it's very satisfying to watch how he praises Lady Galadriel's beauty in front of another woman, in a moment of intimacy, but yet again, I don't see how this can be love.

It is obsession, and of course, manipulation. Playing a double game: one, to recruit Mirdania, to gain her confidence and devotion - he's well aware of what Mirdania is starting to feel for him! - by flattering her - your were so brave, your hair looks like Galadriel's in this light - because we should remember that Galadriel is famous for her beauty, but particularly for her hair is said to remind powerfully of the light of the Trees of Valinor, a light that was encased in the Silmarils. A light she refused to Feänor when he asked her strands of her hair.

Second, it is not only she won't leave his mind, at this point, he's starting to obsess with her, he covets her. He covets her and at the same time wants to punish her for her rejection. Again, I hardly see love in any of these actions. And it is horrifying how he later dismisses Mirdania's life after promising her reward, because she meant nothing to him. Galadriel, on the other hand... cut to the final temptation.

The most shocking in that last fight is that he starts by effortlessly blocking her attacks, for he does not want to hurt her - as he tells her himself. She goes berserk on him, driven by fury and rage, and all he does is blocking her, until he's forced to slash her to remind her who has the upper hand there - she's no match for him, even if she's a skillful sword fighter. In that moment, he's still in control of himself, and even he allows himself to playfully spit her back again the words of Finrod, twisted by his own interpretation: touch the darkness. Many fans have seen a lewd expression and breathing in that point - I think he's mostly panting for the fighting effort, but if there's any lust as you want to read it, then yes, it's lust for getting her, control her, for humiliating and proving her wrong again by drawing a false equivalency between him and her. In his mindset, of course. Innerly, though, he is searching for a servant, a slave if you want. Not a lover, not a partner.

Special mention to those shocking words, when she accuses him of having deceived and manipulated her all the time, and he answers it was "not all of it", for yes, I will concede him that he was genuine. He never lied. He had an honest feeling of starting anew. He saw in her a kindred spirit, and that is not gonna change. He might be admitting he cares/feels something for her, even in his own toxic, twisted way. Truly, the range Sauron has in acknowledging his feelings and not suppressing them, also in admitting them and use them as weapons, has me baffled. Maybe one of the most fascinating traits of him as character.

Galadriel won't stop attacking and rejecting him, so he loses his patience, particularly after being brutally kicked in the chest and thrown over the rocks. Then he pulls again his most cruel card by letting her see Halbrand again - the one she got to love, and he's well aware of it. But the thrall won't work anymore, so he switches to herself and Celebrimbor, to keep mocking her with cruelty, to draw again this false equivalency between them.

And when nothing of this works, and she keeps attacking him even after he offers again to join him, he has again one of those fits of rage and goes ballistic on her, until he resorts to the most brutal, sadistic resource: in what I think it's the foulest allegory of rape I've ever seen, he nails her to the rock by stabbing her with Morgoth's crown. Which is not just a mean to hurt her physically, rather, he actively forces the bond she has rejected to establish with him twice by then. Only blood can bind, and the iron crown already contains his blood after Adar stabbed him with it. His blood and Galadriel's blood merge and then the connection happens. His enraptured expression at this moment is both mesmerizing and revolting, for he's doing that against her will, while dragging her across the stone surface and twisting the spike inside her wound to increase her pain, so excruciating a tear runs down her cheek. While he repeats her he would've made her a queen, and put all Middle-Earth at her feet. Then he pulls out of her and watches as she drops to the ground. Truly brutal and sadistic. The punishment goes on and on.

After this he gains the ability to communicate to her telepathically and to watch her movements. Probably, also to know her thoughts more clearly than before. And he must have thought to command her will also, for she manages to trick him into believing she was going to give him Nenya, and after that she lets herself fall back on the verge of the cliff. Does he, with an alarmed expression, reach for the coveted ring, or for her instead? Does he do it for both? The fact is that he lets her fall.

And even immediately we see he's watching her, for the unwanted connection also allows him to spy on her. Again, he's making sure the ring is safe, or is she his concern? I'm gonna say he was rather checking on her. Nenya is made of mithril and adamant, so very unlikely to have taken damage for a fall.

Why this contradiction? His brutality and cruelty on her hardly fits someone who loves, and he has actively tried to kill her twice by now - always in a fit of rage, not all the time, as Vickers has explained. He didn't want to hurt her - when calm - and yet he forcefully bonded himself to her and enjoyed doing so, not minding her physical and mental agony in the process.

I can't see the slightest glimpse of love in all this abomination. He might have found someone so alike to the point of making him feel alive again and set him back on the path of world domination, but he's an older, immortal, cruel superior being who's been too long under suffering, darkness and despair himself. This is not an absolution, though. I still think he could've chosen differently, but as much as the next narcissist, when challenged or refused he takes a brutal, unrighteous retaliation and doesn't mind to make her suffer for it. Yet it is obvious he feels something for her, so she gets a special treatment if we compare Galadriel with the other lives he so quickly dismisses - much to her disgrace, though.

And I think it's this obsession of him, of having found someone so alike to him who could've been at his service - not at his side! - which makes he won't suffer that this someone refuses him and actively seeks to fight him. For that, he'll make her pay again, and again, and again, while claiming she's special to him, while tempting her with promises of power and light that aren't real. If anything, she'll eventually get the same treatment Celebrimbor got, as soon as she fails or rebels against him. As Morgoth did to him.

The fact the ship is so successful is tied to the fact that Sauron, for all his ancient origins and immortality, is still very human in his emotions and doesn't mind to open and show them. And the fact that once, Galadriel loved Halbrand, or rather the idea of Halbrand. He knows that, and it flatters him. It pushes his pride further, it lifts his ego even higher. He enjoys interacting with her in this twisted way and so playing with Galadriel might become his new entertainment, until bending her to his will, which is to make her serve... not to love her at all. That's why he won't kill her either, as long as he keeps that rage under control.

I thank the show for opening this world to us, for surely it's one of its best potentials, and unlike many haters claim, it is rooted in Tolkien's lore itself, which doesn't contradict. It its truly a complex dynamic and I'm sure many fans, specially shippers, might disagree with me, but this analysis doesn't intend to cancel anyone, rather the opposite. Shipping is fun and nice, but for me it's also important to acknowledge this dynamic is deeply rooted in abuse and keep in mind that Galadriel deserves all our credit for resisting his brutality and calling out his cruelty and manipulation, which a fair form can't mask after all, and they're doing right in not to bend to other narratives that might end quite differently, or burden a higher cost on the abused character, just for the sake of a temporary satisfaction.

[elegantsplendour]

Fire and Storm

Summary: As the Seven Kingdoms hesitated between the Blacks and the Greens, Aemond stood ready to flip the script.

Dance of the Empire inspired one shot.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Lannister! reader, mentioned Aegon II Targaryen x Lannister! reader

Note: Hi my dearies, I’m so sorry I haven’t been active in the last month. Transitioning from Montreal to Toronto has been a lot to handle. But the good news is that I got elected as student council vp in my new school🤪. Here is a one shot inspired by my first fic Dance of the Empire (a bit spoiler). I will be back writing all the three fics and will try to update weekly. Thank you all for sticking with me❤️❤️❤️

Warnings: major character death

Tagging my friends :) @qyburnsghost @lovelykhaleesiii @boundlessfantasy @vhagarswar @purple-writer8 @valeska-fics @lexi-anastasia @f4ll-for-you

Within the chilling walls of the seat of House Baratheon, the hearth held a flame that danced rebelliously, threatening to bite those misfortunate enough to find themselves in proximity. Torrential water poured mercilessly from the sky while the wind howled ruthlessly. Sealed by the solid bricks of the castle, the flames, fragile compared to the frightful storm yet unpredictable and dangerous in nature, continued to consume silently.

The silver haired prince sat calmly by the scorching heat, his long fingers brushing against each other. It had been two days since the Lord of Storm’s End pledged allegiance to the prince’s elder brother, called by some the Usurper, in return for a marriage pact between the prince and one of the lord’s daughters. Amidst the looming threat of a deadly civil war, every second counted, but his delay was calculated. Aemond had been waiting silently and patiently for his nephew's arrival, much like a flame waiting to devour its fuel.

A servant knocked by the door, bowed and announced the news. Without a word, he arose from the chair and paced through the solemn hall of the castle with stately ease. The effortless regality exuded from his presence was as if he was on his way of being coronated. A sharp curl appeared on the corner of his thin lips as he recalled his drunken and debauched brother , expecting the Conqueror’s Crown on his head like an infant. With each step Aemond took, he felt himself drawing nearer to his desires: power and her.

Aemond Targaryen wanted everything and was ready to steal, scheme and slaughter.

Unlike his half sister Rhaenyra, the named heir of the late King Viserys, or his brother Aegon, born with the title of the first born son, Aemond Targaryen's life was a battle, a relentless one against a seemingly inescapable destiny of becoming another insignificant Targaryen royal, riding an ordinary dragon, holding a hollow position in court, accompanied by a mediocre noble woman, doomed to be forgotten in history.

However, when his mother suggested betrothing him to the eldest daughter of Tyland Lannister, he was taken aback. Could he, the overlooked second son, really be promised the "Beauty of Casterly Rock" and an alliance with the house guarding mountains of gold? Promises were a strange to the One-Eyed Prince, as he had always been a taker, much like he had claimed the largest dragon in the world. The fleeting memories of the golden lady of emerald eyes all appeared to him a cruel jest. The tender moments of her smiles were overshadowed by her anguished cries upon learning that she had been bartered off to Aemond’s elder brother Aegon, who would rather bury himself between the legs of harlots of the Flea Bottom.

Contained fury blazed in his chest as Aemond watched the young Lucerys Velaryon, his bastard nephew, who had taken his eye eight years ago.

Lucerys conveyed with a trembling voice Rhaenyra’s message to the Lord of Storm’s End. Aemond paid no attention to the words coming out of his mouth. His one violet eye burnt a hole in the quivering messenger. His throat throbbed with thirst for retribution as the flashes of scarlet and black that had blinded his eye when Lucerys’ blade had cut through his flesh.

This rage was tainted with despair, for what he truly desired was taken by his own kin and given to his brother. He soon realized he had nothing left to lose.

With that, as the Lord of Storm’s End dismissed the Velaryon impatiently, the prince’s shadowy figure also disappeared in the hall as he watched Lucerys mounting his pathetic and minuscule dragon Arrax while the storm still raged on.

Soon, the monstrous Vhagar hovered over the young dragon. The lightning tearing through the black sky and roaring of thunder were music to Aemond Targaryen’s ears, as if the gods were in awe of this spectacle of terror. In the face of raw power commanded by the largest dragon of the world, neither Lucerys, Rhaenyra, Aegon, nor even the games of thrones stood a chance. Aemond was the second son who inherits nothing he doesn’t seize for himself. Addicted to the intoxicating scent of the lioness of Casterly Rock and the adrenaline rushing in his veins from being on top of the world, Aemond whispered to the green beast, “Ipradagon.”

Eat

Scarlet blurs flashed before him, followed by a haunting dragon squeal echoed before him with no one but him to bear witness to the gruesome bloodshed. While others might see flesh and dragon bones plummeting from the sky, Aemond saw a vision of the Conqueror’s Crown landing on his head. While his mother, the Dowager Queen, sought to suppress the war, Aemond stroked the anger bubbling in Rhaenyra. And what better way than slaying her favourite son?

War were precisely what he craved; for war breeds to fear, fear spawns to chaos, and chaos is a ladder.

As the Seven Kingdoms hesitated between the Blacks and the Greens, Aemond stood ready to flip the script.

All his life, he had been but a sword wielded at another’s will. At that moment, Aemond Targaryen became the master of his own terror, and the realm would watch a second son rise to rule the continent.