#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

[murdrdocs]

go about things the wrong way

description. LOGAN HOWLETT proves himself to be a bit of a hypocrite

includes. SMUT 18+, age gap (reader is implied to be mid20s, logan assumed to be mid30s), protected piv, denial is a river in egypt logan fucks them younger, logan calls reader "kid", insomnia trope, slightly brat reader, remnants of angst, set during early x-men

wc. 5k

a/n: photo creds unknown. title from how soon is now? by the smiths

You should be in your own bedroom. 

It’s a nice room, decorated better than your childhood room in your parent’s house, likely because you’ve grown since your mint green and chevron phase. It’s silent in your room, no other inhabitants except you and your pet fish that was somehow still hanging on. There’s no reason for you to leave your room, it has everything you need. But it’s not right. 

The loneliness is uncomfortable amidst your inability to sleep. It hovers over your bed, staring down at your shuffling frame as you try multiple positions, each one leaving you as restless as the last. You know that’s why you venture off to the kitchen, the search for companionship outweighing the desire for a treat. You just need to talk to someone, remind yourself that you aren’t all alone. There are other people like you, and you live with them. You’re safe. 

You ended up finding what you desired—a non-freezer burnt ice cream bar buried beneath frozen waffles, and a warm body to stand opposite of as you steadily made your way through it. 

You wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, maybe not even yourself, but you had hoped to run into Logan the entire time. Ever since his return you had been itching to get a glimpse of him, but between shadowing Storm, Scott, and Jean, and tending to whatever menial chore Professor Xavier tasked you with, you didn’t have any time for run-ins. Nothing but quick passing in the hallway where you were too shy to do much other than meet his eye for a second, wave, and then scurry along towards the end of the hallway. 

But you had gotten what you wanted when you heard the soft thud of feet followed by the sound of Logan speaking. 

“Is there another one of those?” 

You face him with your mouth stuffed with ice cream. It takes you a second to chew enough to speak around the food without making a complete fool of yourself in front of Logan. 

“This is the last one …” you swallow, ignoring the sting of the cold at the back of your throat. “Sorry.”

Logan shrugs like it’s no big deal and he steps to the fridge. You move out of the way, even though you weren’t really in the way at all, and try to be casual as you chew the remains of your bar, ignoring the sudden warmth in your body now that he’s here. 

Logan doesn’t say anything. You watch the top half of his body disappear as he reaches into the fridge for something, coming out after a minute and some soft shuffling later with a beer bottle in his hand. You don’t know when it got there, and you’re amazed that it was still there and not stolen by some eager teenager. You try not to stare as he takes his first sip, but you sneak a few glances. 

You finish your sandwich, throwing the wrapper out in the drawer trash can and trying your best to ignore Logan’s eyes on you the entire time. He gets halfway through his beer before he says something. 

Leaning against the counter, legs crossed at the ankle and one arm tucked across his chest, he asks, “Can’t sleep, right?”

You nod, not shocked at all that he has you pegged. It’s not unsurprising for a mutant in this place to be unable to sleep. 

Logan nods as if he understands and you know he does, you remember the incident with Rogue just a year or so ago, that and the stories you hear about him wandering the halls at night. It’s why you’d always been so eager to slip down here during restless nights, constantly hoping that this would happen to you. 

And now that it has happened, you don’t know what to do. There’s not much for you to discuss with Logan, the two of you don’t have all that much in common. He’s far older than you, for starters, at least a decade and a half on you from what you’ve gathered. He’s been gone for a while, but you think the others have caught him up on everything that he’s missed already. 

So you just build onto what you have. 

“I just can’t fall asleep. Every time I start, I shake myself awake.” 

Logan takes a swig from his beer and pulls his lips tight, a face of sympathy sliding over his features—eyebrows pinched, lips downturned, eyes a little narrowed. 

“Yeah?” You nod your head. “Sounds horrible, kid.”

Kid. You know you’re younger than him, it’s obvious, but you’re not a kid. You don’t see why he thinks of you that way. Rogue and Bobby are kids and you’re older than them. More mature, no longer a student but now practically a teacher. 

You don’t want Logan to see you as a kid. You know what you want him to see you as, but it seems to become more and more impossible by the day. 

You don’t say anything, lifting your foot enough to press the toe of your slippers into the cleaned grout between the tiles at your feet. 

“Tell you what,” he begins, promoting your head to lift, “next time that happens to you, you come find me, alright? I know how much it sucks to be alone like that so if you need me, come find me.”

That’s what you did. 

After you left the kitchen, finally letting your grin break free since no one was around to see it during the trek back to your room, you told yourself you would only go to Logan if you needed him. 

You tried to sleep, snuggling yourself in a cocoon of blankets and pillows around your head. You lit a candle, counted sheep, made up scenarios to doze off (ones that definitely didn’t involve Logan tenderly holding your hand and stroking your cheek and—), but nothing seemed to work. 

So you found yourself standing in the doorway of Logan’s bedroom, one hand still on the doorknob and the other toying with a loose thread at the bottom of your tee shirt. The bedroom is dark, save for the moonlight peeking through his opened curtains, but from the hallway light behind your back you can see Logan’s frame under the sheets. 

His back faces you until you harshly whisper his name, which at the call of he lifts his head, looking at you, and then rolls over completely to click the lamp on his nightstand on. 

“What’s wrong, kid?”

You feel so meek when you explain, like you are a kid, crawling to your parents after a nightmare. 

“You told me to come find you.”

His squint relaxes. His entire frame relaxes actually. He sits up, jerking his head in a beckon. You click the door shut behind you as softly as you can, approaching the bed timidly until you stand on the other side. 

And then you just hover. You stand there hesitantly, staring down at the slightly unmade side of the bed. Logan doesn’t say anything for a minute, but once the silence and hesitance stretches to an uncomfortable end, he speaks up, his voice groggier and raspier than it was before. 

“You gonna sleep from there? Is that some mutant power that I didn’t know about?” He says it like he’s teasing you, and when you look at him you can see the small smile on his lips. It’s similar to the one he sports when he’s messing with Scott but with more softness in his eyes. 

You scoff, trying to play it cool when Logan lifts the sheets for you and you climb under them. This side of the bed is cold and unused and you wonder if you’re the first person to use it. 

You get as comfortable as you possibly can. You fluff the pillow and create the perfect indent for your head, you pull the sheets up to your shoulders, you lay on your side and face the window, and then when Logan clicks the light off, you close your eyes and try to sleep. 

You don’t know how you thought this would be any better than struggling to sleep in your own bed, because it’s so much worse. 

In your own bed, you were left with the out-of-reach fantasies of Logan. You laid in bed, giggling to yourself as you imagined what it would be like to lay next to Logan. You filled your head with blurry images of Logan’s frame, what he would look like with his eyes closed and his face completely relaxed. You tried to imagine the heat of his body in the cold of your room, trying to change your body temperature just with a thought. 

But now it’s all right beside you, left there for you to catalogue so you could never forget this moment. 

The feeling of his body so close yet so far from yours. The sound of his breathing. The smell of his body wash and the way it lingered on his sheets. You’re finally in Logan’s bedroom, but you’re not getting what you want. You truly don’t think you ever will. 

It’s impossible for you to sleep now. You try to keep your tossing and turning to a minimum, only moving when absolutely necessary and doing so with tentativeness. You’re trying to be meticulous with your movements, all with a goal to disturb Logan as little as possible. You’re a guest here, after all. 

But even if he wasn’t an attentive mutant you knew he would’ve eventually gotten fed up. 

He calls your name, soft yet sounding like a warning, and you’re quick to apologize. 

He doesn’t say anything else for a second, then, “Whatever’s on your mind, squash it. Jus’ let it go.”

You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do when you say, “Easier said than done.”

Logan shifts and turns around until he’s facing you. You stay facing the window. 

“What usually turns your mind off?” he asks. “A glass of warm milk?” 

When you laugh it’s halfhearted and maybe this is the final indicator that something about you is off. 

“Look at me.” You obey embarrassingly quickly. 

You can’t really see him in the dark, but the white light from outside illuminates the slope of his nose and the apples of his cheeks. You can sort of see his eyes too, the usually light green darker because of the environment, but the shadowy fan of his eyelashes is as distinct as usual. 

“Seriously, tell me what’s going on. Anything I can help you with?” He lets the question linger in the air for a second before adding on. “You need me to rough a few kids up? You being bullied?” He says it like a joke.

“No,” you say. 

Logan makes an ‘ah’ sound. “Yeah I’m sure you could handle yourself.” The sheets lift again. “Come ‘ere.”

Shit, shit, shit. 

You listen to him, scooting closer until you’re wrapped in Logan’s arms, enveloped in his warmth. It’s nice and comfortable, the sound of Logan’s heart right next to your ear, the security of his arms wrapped around your frame. 

“Does this help you?”

You hum affirmatively, already starting to feel more comfortable than you had before. Your heart beats painfully hard in your chest and you start to get self-conscious, knowing that Logan can definitely hear it.

Right on cue, he laughs a bit against your head. 

“Nervous?”

“No.” God, you’re so obvious. 

Logan’s laugh grows until he’s snickering, doing a terrible job of stifling his laughter. “‘s alright,” he eventually says. “Nothing wrong with that.”

You make yourself as comfortable as possible, pressing your back to Logan’s chest, trying to ignore the hard feeling of his body behind you. You can basically feel everything, the plane of his chest pushing through his tee, the ridge of his sweatpants against your lower back, his legs against yours—tempting you to intertwine them together, his feet hanging right under yours. You’re not exactly dressed for this and your shirt has ridden up, bunched at the top of your ass and exposing your panties. You wonder if he knows. You wonder if he cares. 

This is helping you a lot, but there’s still something on your mind. Something you need to solve before you can go off to sleep. 

You don’t know what it is that makes you confident, that makes you want to ruin a good moment. Maybe it’s the dark providing you comfort, but you lay it all out. 

“You treat me like a kid.”

Logan takes a second. You can just barely make out the hitch in his voice. “...Yeah?”

You’re glad he can’t see you when you pout. It wouldn’t have done much to help your case. “I’m not a kid, Logan. You don’t treat Rogue like a kid.”

“Rogue is different.”

“How? I’m older than her.”

“Just … can we not argue?”

“We’re not arguing.”

“Yeah? Then whaddya call this?”

“A conversation between two adults.”

He hums as if he’s unconvinced. 

You won’t let it go. “How is Rogue different?”

“Go to sleep,” he admonishes.

“Can’t. Not until you answer my question.”

Logan sighs. “‘cause I’m not attracted to her, alright?”

Oh. 

Oh. 

Wait … what?

You’re sure your silence is enough to express your confusion because Logan adds on. 

“I’m trying to set boundaries between us, kid—”

“Don’t call me that.”

He corrects himself with the use of your name instead, but it comes out the same way. “We need boundaries between the two of us. You think I don’t see how you look at me? ‘s not good.”

“If you’re setting boundaries why did you invite me in here.”

“Because I wanted to help you.”

Why is he making you feel crazy? He just told you he’s attracted to you, but he wants to set boundaries? There are barely any boundaries here. You’re alone with him, in his bedroom, tucked away at the end of the hall surrounded by mostly empty bedrooms instead of bedrooms of asleep mutants, curled up against his chest. This is the most opportune time, yet he didn’t want to make a move.

Maybe you were reading too much into it. 

You go to pull away from Logan’s embrace but he keeps you pulled tight to his chest. 

“Don’t do that,” he says it like a command and just to piss him off you consider pulling away. But you’re really comfortable and this is a comfort you aren’t sure you’re ever going to find again. 

“Just go to sleep, alright,” he says your name again, much softer this time. He says it like he’s coaxing you like your name is the final tune in a lullaby. 

Maybe Logan has other powers you aren’t aware of because just that one sentence is enough for you to let it go and submit to the sudden exhaustion that settles over your body like a weighted blanket. 

You don’t know if Logan’s been avoiding you. Mostly because you’ve been avoiding him.

It’s not often that the two of you would have to run into each other, but there were a few times when Professor Xavier extended the invitation to observe an upcoming class, and you declined upon learning that Logan would be subbing. 

You kept your distance as much as you could, even keeping yourself locked up in your bedroom throughout the night, no matter how restless you got. You were miserable, not only because you wanted to be near Logan, but because you were fucking exhausted. 

You could barely stay awake throughout the day, always sneaking off for power naps, taking whatever you could get even if it was only five minutes. 

But you finally have the rest of the afternoon to yourself and you intend to use it to sleep. Uncaring of how much it threw off your sleep schedule, you just needed a solid half hour curled up at the foot of your made bed like a dog, sleeping to your heart's content. 

Of course, it’s on your way up to your room that you run into Logan. You try to ignore him, continuing your path up the stairs, praying that Logan will continue on his path downstairs. 

You don’t know what it is about you that says come talk to me! but Logan stops in his journey, turning to face you. He calls your name, continuing even when you don’t respond. He follows your trek up the stairs and down the hallway, always right on your heels and within arm's reach. 

By the time your hand reaches for your bedroom door, Logan is practically breathing down your neck. 

You know there’s no avoiding him now, but you also don’t want to. 

You stand still, hand wrapped around the doorknob, waiting for Logan to say his piece. 

“Why’d you lead me to your bedroom?” The way he says it, with such arrogance and assurance woven into that same joking manner as if he wasn’t the one who turned you down just a few nights ago. 

“Fuck off, Logan. I just wanna get some sleep.”

You twist the knob and this is what wakes Logan up. “Okay, wait.” His hand reaches out and rests on your elbow. Just this one touch strikes you still. “Will you look at me?”

You turn around, trying to keep your gaze hard even as you take in his appearance for the first time in days. 

The bags under his eyes, the relaxed smile that’s constantly on his face when he’s around you, the thickness of his eyebrows, the points in his hair. You’re staring at his hair, wondering if it’s naturally like that or if he does it himself, and when you look at his eyes again there isn’t a connection. He’s staring at your lips instead. 

You lift your eyebrows impatiently, already imagining the sleep you’ll get after you ruminate until you can’t form a coherent thought. 

Logan opens his mouth. “Look, I’m sorry if you got a little hurt from the other night. Is just this age gap and your little crush is not gonna wor—”

You’re already turning around, deciding whatever else he’s going to say isn’t important at all, but Logan stops you. His movements are fluid, they flow naturally from his body and straight into yours, causing you to move with a coordination you didn’t expect. He spins you back around and pulls you straight to his chest, your hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself, while his hands rest on your hips and your cheek. 

The movement is quick, it happens within a couple of seconds, and it makes the moment after feel so much longer. Nothing but shared blinks as Logan looks at your lips and you look at his. You’re so close to him, even closer than you were the other night, but neither of you makes a move. 

You’re considering making the first move, opening your mouth as if to ask him a question that was still unknown to you, but then Logan’s grip on your cheek tightens as if he’s holding you still and he moves in closer, and closer, and closer until his lips ghost over yours. 

In the end, it’s you who crosses the bridge. 

Your lips touch, sandwiched together, but neither of you do anything. Not until you take a tiny step closer, really nothing but an adjustment of your feet, is Logan pulling you into him. He digs his fingers into the waistband of your jeans, that one hand possessing all of the aggression that doesn’t exist in the hand holding your cheek. 

It’s like the touch of two different men—one who wants to devour you whole and the other who wants to treasure you. You hope that they’re able to coexist as you desperately want both. 

You let Logan kiss you feverishly, an intensity unlike anything you’ve ever seen him display settling in his lips. The Logan you knew was always relaxed, walking around the mansion with a carefree, practically laissez-faire, attitude. He didn’t meddle, he kept his hands to himself, always wrapped around a cigar or a beer. 

But now those hands were wrapped around you for the second time this week. 

You press your hands into the shoulder of his white tee shirt, starting to slide them up towards his hair before you resist. You want to get comfortable kissing him, but you’re still out in the hallway. 

Having the same thought, Logan pulls away from your lips with enough time to open the door, latch his hands onto your hips, and blindly steer you backward until you’re in the room. He stares down at you the entire time, that same smirk on his lips as he kicks the door closed behind him with a single boot. 

And then he has you pressed against the wood, sandwiched between a rock and a hard place. 

He looks at you for a second, his gaze lingering, and then he gets back to it. 

If even possible, Logan has more passion this time around. He sinks his hands to your thighs, pulling one up by his hip. He slots his legs into the opening until your center is hovering over his thigh. You don’t know what to expect, but when he flexes the muscle and presses his limb right up against you, you’re already trying to get more. 

Logan smiles as he kisses you, clearly entertained by your anguished need to get off. He doesn’t verbally reassure you, he doesn’t help you grind yourself down, he doesn’t do anything but continue kissing you. 

When you need to come up for air, knocking your head back into mahogany as you intake large gulps, Logan dips his head down and explores as much skin as he can. He creates a path of kisses from your jaw, down your neck, to the exposed parts of your chest. 

You tilt your head down, locking your hand into his hair and trying to redirect his lips back to yours, but he stops you with a hand pinching your cheeks. 

His eyes flick back and forth between yours, nothing but mischief and arrogance in the green. You wrap a hand around his wrist with the initial want to tug him away, but you like the hold he has you in. You like the look in his eyes. 

“Good?” His voice is softer than his grip. 

You nod, trying to grin as best as you can when your lips are forcibly puckered. 

Logan smiles right back at you. “You got a rubber?”

You nod again, scurrying to your nightstand once Logan lets you go. He tells you to get on the bed and you take the liberty of throwing your shirt off and bra as you go. You have enough sense to step out of your shoes, unclasp your jeans, and tug the zipper down in the path. 

By the time you’re sitting on your bed, you can feel the anxiety thrumming through your body. It’s a good kind, the kind you’ve been seeing less and less of lately. You’re still a little tired and still desiring a solid nap, but it can definitely wait. This is your main priority. 

Logan speaks to you as he undresses. 

“You still doing okay?” he asks as he’s pulling his tee over his head. When you nod, he moves to his belt, thick but deft fingers undoing it and leaving it hanging open and hooked into his belt loops. 

“You tell me if you wanna stop,” he says as he pulls his jeans down, stepping out of them right after he steps out of his boots. You give him a look and he clocks it immediately. 

“You think you can take it, bub?” He laughs. “Yeah? Don’t you think you’re talkin’ a big game?”

Petulantly, you roll your eyes. “Logan, I’m not a fucking kid, I’ll be fine.”

Wrong. So, so, so stupidly wrong. 

You are fine, but the sight of Logan’s dick sends nerves down your spine. You’ve talked yourself up, you can’t go back, so you do what you can. You let him peel your jeans and panties off, hoping you look as seductive as he does. You keep your eyes on his abdomen, tracing the vein that runs from the right of his navel down to his cock, breathing as well as you can while Logan lines himself up. The first push burns, just like you expect it to, but you adjust quicker than you thought. Eventually, all you can feel is pleasure. You’re so full when he’s only halfway in you. You feel stuffed as soon as he bottoms out, his heavy ball sack resting flush against you, a thick forest of pubes pressed against your cunt. 

Logan is so much, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more. Hovering and staring down at you as his hips rock into yours, slowly and experimentally at first. It’s not until you draw a leg up over his hips that he increases the strength of his rocks. 

He has one hand keeping himself steady and the other holding your waist. It’s so intimate, and not only because he’s fucking you, but because he’s staring down at you the entire time, his teeth bared as he watches you for every single reaction. His eyes rake down your body, watching the way your tits jiggle before dipping lower to watch the way he’s entering you. You can’t see his gaze, but you can feel it, the weight of it comparable to the weight of his cock in you. 

There’s an inhuman nature to it, hidden deep below the surface as if he’s trying to hold back, but it’s there. You’re made aware of it when you clench around him and he growls. It comes from the back of his throat but it’s a sound you’ve never heard before. It’s so Logan, you don’t think anyone other than him could make a sound like that as erotic as it is. You want to hear him more, you want your moans to blend together amongst the four walls of your bedroom, but he keeps his sounds to himself. It’s like there’s a disconnect between the both of you, like Logan’s still holding back even though he’s balls deep in you. 

“Logan,” you whine, getting his attention. He looks at you with concern in his eyes, his hips slowing down. You shake your head, pushing more towards him. “Please,” you beg, praying he knows exactly what you want. 

“What? What d’you want?”

“More.”

Logan gets rougher. He’s grinding up into you like his life depends on it, blunt nails delving into your skin as if he wants to break it. You wish he would. You aren’t regenerative like he is, but you still desire the broken skin, the beads of blood, the marks left behind. 

You’re thinking about it, eyes lidded and falling closed when Logan knocks his forehead into yours once. He moans, closed-mouthed as his head lolls to the side, a shiver shaking him from the bottom of the spine up. 

“Jesus, baby,” he says. It’s all he says, but it’s more than enough. He keeps going, digging his tip into you deeper and deeper until it feels like he’s swimming in your guts. 

He drags his head down until he can wrap his lips around one of your nipples, licking and sucking before moving on to give the other one the same treatment. You desperately want him to mark you up, you want a reminder that this—the thing you’ve been wanting since Storm and Scott came back with two new mutants in tow—actually happened. Bravely, you reach out and tangle your hand in his hair, surprisingly softer than you thought it would be. You don’t hold him down much, just enough to communicate what you want nonverbally. And then after a few tortuous seconds of hesitation, his lips wrap around the skin atop your left breast and he sucks. The strength in it stings, it reminds you just how strong Logan is, but it feels so good. 

Unexpectedly, you feel your muscles seize. It starts in your tummy, deep down near where Logan’s been massaging, and then it just doesn’t stop, likely because he doesn’t stop. 

It’s like he’s spurred on by the feeling of you cumming, motivated by the way your back arches and you reach for the heavens as you clench around his cock. 

He gets a burst of energy, fucking you like he has something to prove when really it’s you with something to prove. 

You’re overstimulated, struggling to keep up with Logan, but you don’t want to tap out. You talked a big game, you can’t back down now. So you remain silent while Logan pulls another orgasm out of you, hoping he won’t notice the way your eyes brew tears without your consent and the way your lips quirk with the impending request to slow down. 

Of course, he notices. 

He’s grinning with sympathy—you don’t know if it’s sincere or faux—when he takes a hand and strokes your cheekbone. 

“I see ya, kid. Feels good, yeah?”

For some reason, when he calls you kid like this, you don’t completely hate it. 

There’s no point in lying, so you nod. 

“So tight,” he winces, eyebrows pinched together as he flashes his teeth, a dimple in his right cheek appearing with it. 

Just as you didn’t warn him before, he doesn’t warn you when he cums. You feel it though, the way his thrusts get sloppier and faster just before he gives you one punctual one, and then you feel the confined warmth of his cum shooting into the condom. 

You wish you weren’t as exhausted as you were, because the next time you’re conscious, it’s dark out and the bedsheet is covering your body. You’re hot, hotter than you usually want to be when you’re sleeping, but you’re bare naked. That and you only have a thin sheet covering your body. 

It doesn’t take much investigation to figure out what’s making you so hot, not when it’s attached to your back with one meaty bicep slung around your neck and keeping you pulled against him. It takes you a bit to fall asleep, but once you do, you’re out for the rest of the night. 

[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

[peachesofteal]

18+ mdni / dark and twisty, whump

It’s snowing.

You don’t even have to move your head to see in order to know. There’s something about how it hangs in the air, how the world sounds and feels during a snowfall that blankets everything, houses, trees, mountains, your mind.

You love it. Always have. Even as a child, winter was your favorite. Winter brought you a sense of calm, of peace. It was what drove you to move out here in the first place. Chasing the snow. The feeling of a quiet forest, lying still beneath the soft spun expanse of white. The smell of the air the morning before a big snow, the eternal quiet that exists in the darkness when everything is dampened down by the weight of a million, billion unique, crystallized webs.

Except this snow feels different. It doesn't feel like a velvety white, soft dream world, but a nightmare... one filled with pain, anxiety. Why are you here? What's happened?

And why do you hurt so fucking bad?

"You're awake." A deep voice says from your side, and you flinch on instinct, immediately wishing you hadn't as lighting sharp pain shoots through your upper arm all the way to your neck, and you cry out. "Easy." It's the brown eyed man, the bigger one. He's sitting in a chair that cannot possibly be comfortable, watching you.

"Where... am I?" You manage to choke out through stiff lips, your head spinning and the world tilting at the same time. It sours your stomach, more than you thought possible, and you try to choke back the burn of bile that's racing up your throat.

"Are you going to be sick?" He reaches, stroking a finger down your face. You hold your tongue, unsure, and he must not like it, because he sighs, and then frowns at you. "Tell me."

"No, I don't-" You can't even finish your denial before your stomach is heaving, and he's springing to action shifting you amidst unbearable pain, turning you on your side to where a clean bucket sits, right beneath your bed.

"It's alright, that's it." A hand soothes up and down your back as you dry heave, sputtering on nothing, tears leaking from your eyes.

"Nnnrgh-"

"I know, I know. Poor thing." He coos, and it sounds so... endearing, so sweet yet... frightening, like the poison of a predator, a pretty display meant to draw you in before it snaps a set of jaws shut around your face.

"H-hurts." You cry as he rolls you back into your original position. "It hurts."

"I know it does, sweet girl. We're going to fix it." He dabs a cloth on your face, across your forehead and then down to clean your mouth up, just as the man with the mohawk appears on the bed, one knee down, leaning over you, concern rife in his features.

"Poor baby. Were ye sick?" You blink up at him. What is going on? He presses a glass to your lips, encouraging you to drink, and then pulling it away after you've had a few sips with a gentle 'not too much'.

"Who are you?" You smack your lips. The water is cold, refreshing, but a ting acidic, and you wonder if it's well water, maybe?

"I'm Johnny." He's setting up something, beside you. You can see him organizing something, but can't quite make them out due to your lack of mobility. "An' this is Simon. Or Si. But ye probably won't be callin' him that quite yet." Johnny and Simon. Did they find you? Did they rescue you? Why can't you remember?

"What happened?" You try again, gritting your teeth against the pain.

"Ye had an accident, remember? We talked about this yesterday? Ye slid off the road, ended up in a thick of trees. Ye're lucky the one didnae impale ye." Impale?

"And you found me?" You're starting to feel tired again, all the sudden, woozy and weird, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. Shouldn't you be in a hospital? Why haven't they taken you to a doctor?

"Aye, we did. Pulled ye free, brought ye home." Home?

"We couldn't leave you to die, and the storm is pretty bad. Pass is closed." Simon offers as an explanation, and you close your eyes. Of course. The pass is closed.

"Thank... thank you." Johnny hums, and then to your complete shock, leans forward, brushing his lips against yours as you blink furiously.

"Want ye to know, if we didnae have to do this, we wouldnae." What?

"Do what?" The broad one, Simon, casts you a mournful glance, rising from the chair. He's got a piece of leather in his hand, like a cut from a belt, and your eyes dart between them. Do what?

"Bite down on this, precious." Simon instructs, placing it against your bottom lip, to which you jerk away in protest with a whimper.

"Do what?" You try again.

"We need to set your humerus, and clavicle." Set your humerus? And your-

Oh. Oh no.

"N-no. No, you ca-can't." You stutter, but Johnny gives you a sad look, shifting on the bed to place a hand on your belly, stroking upwards to the middle of your chest, the other holding firm against your good shoulder, the one that doesn't hurt. His hand is warm, so warm against you, and his thumb rubs in a cautious motion against your skin, lightly grazing the underside of your breast. It feels weird, and wrong... intimate. "Please, don't. Please, please-"

"It's alright." He shushes you, and the pressure against your body increases as Simon wedges a thick finger between your teeth, slipping the worn leather into your mouth, bracing a hand above your elbow, and below your shoulder on the side that hurts. You gasp for air, fear shaking your body, and Johnny coos at you, telling you you'll be alright, that you're with them now and they'll take care of you, that it will only hurt for a little. "Ye'll probably pass out, bonnie. We'll get the second one done while ye're down, and I already gave ye something for the pain." He assures, like it's supposed to relieve you, and your nostrils flare as something tightens against your arm. Simon's grip.

This can't be happening. How can this happen? No, nononono-

There's a crack. A crunch. Burning, obliterating agony that's delivered to your arm like a shot. You scream and bite down at the same time, raw misery trying to claw it's way out of your throat. You think you're crying, hallucinating from the pain, having a heart attack, everything all at once. It hurts. It hurts so bad, it hurts-

"We're sorry, we're sorry." Simon soothes, thumb wiping your cheek, but you can hardly hear him, your mind starting to sever itself from your body, floating away as you slip inside a dark tomb of your mind, losing yourself to unconscious as they both stare down at you, sickeningly sweet concern layered overtop the faces of a bear and a wolf, predators licking their maws in preparation, waiting to devour their prey.

[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)

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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.

⇢ masterlist ⇠

previous chapter ⇠ ⇢ next chapter

--- 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! 

[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

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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.

[kathlare]

echoes of sacrifice

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: After a frustrating Hungarian Grand Prix, where Lando sacrificed his own race to help his teammate Oscar, he struggles with the feelings of being overlooked by his team. Amidst his frustration, he turns to Amelie for comfort, where she offers emotional support and helps him find clarity.

Wordcount: 1.9 k

Warnings: fluff, smau

July 21st, 2024 - Mogyoród, Hungary

Lando’s fingers gripped the steering wheel as he pulled into the pit lane, his eyes burning with unshed frustration. The Hungarian Grand Prix was over, and it was supposed to be a day to celebrate. Pole position. P2 finish. He had given it his all, but the race had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He took a deep breath as he got out of the car, trying to look composed for the cameras, but the forced smile didn’t reach his eyes. He had done everything he could, yet it felt like the team had thrown him under the bus for Oscar. The orders had been clear: "Let Oscar through."

He had done it. He had complied, even though every inch of him had screamed to hold his ground. It wasn’t just about the race; it was about the championship. But none of that seemed to matter to McLaren. They were celebrating Oscar’s first win, and Lando, despite being second, felt like he didn’t even matter.

The debrief in the garage felt like a punch to the gut. The team praised Oscar’s performance, while Lando sat there, biting his tongue, his jaw clenched tight. Every word that came out of the team principal’s mouth only made his blood boil further. Oscar had taken the win, and McLaren was patting him on the back, while Lando’s sacrifice seemed forgotten.

—Good job, Oscar,— Andrea said, turning his attention to the young driver. —Great strategy today.—

Lando stared ahead, pretending to listen, but inside, he was seething. He had done what was asked of him. He had let Oscar pass without putting up a fight, even though he knew it would cost him. His own teammate, the one he’d worked so hard to help get up to speed, had now taken the win from him.

—And Lando,— Andrea continued, —good work holding second. That was a tough call in the end.—

Lando’s heart pounded in his chest. "Tough call" was an understatement. It was a slap in the face. The whole thing had been a mess. They were treating him like a second-class citizen, and all he was doing was trying to stay in the fight for the championship.

When he finally left the debrief, he was a mess. His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it as he stormed toward his driver’s room. He didn’t want to deal with anyone right now, least of all his team.

The moment he entered the room, he collapsed into the chair, his head falling into his hands. His heart still raced, and his mind was a whirlwind of anger and frustration. He had sacrificed everything for this team, and they still didn’t care.

He finally pulled out his phone and saw the endless string of texts from Amelie.

Ames💛: I saw the race, you were giving it your all out there, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Ames💛: Are you ok? I saw what happened with the team, and I’m so mad for you. You deserve so much better than that. Ames💛: I’m here for you, babe. Always. Just let me know what you need.

But the last one caught his eye.

Ames💛: Seriously, though, the way they treated you today was bullshit. You’re the one keeping them in this fight, not anyone else. Don’t let them fuck you over like this again. You deserve to be treated better than this, Lando. I know you’re pissed, and you should be. But don’t let it eat you alive. You’ve still got this, and I believe in you. But don’t shut me out.

Lando’s chest tightened as he read the words. Amelie always knew how to reach him, even when he didn’t know how to express what he was feeling. He hadn’t responded yet, too angry to even form a proper reply.

He wiped his face with his hands and, without thinking, hit the FaceTime button.

Amelie’s face appeared on the screen almost instantly, her eyes softening when she saw the look on Lando’s face.

—Hey,— she said, her voice gentle, almost too gentle for the fury that Lando was feeling. —What’s going on? You look... not great.—

Lando didn’t speak for a moment. Instead, he took in a deep breath, trying to hold it together, but the tears were already starting to well up. He hated himself for it, but he couldn’t stop them.

—I’m so fucking pissed, Ames,— he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. —I’m so angry. I gave it everything, and they don’t give a fuck. They just let Oscar pass like it was nothing, and it was like I didn’t even matter. Like... it’s always ‘Oscar this,’ ‘Oscar that,’ and they don’t even care that I’m still fighting for the title, for this team. I’ve been fighting, and they keep putting me second.—

Amelie’s face softened even more, her eyes filled with sympathy. —Lando…— She reached out and touched the screen, as though trying to reach through the phone. —You are so much more than this team gives you credit for. I see what they don’t see. You’re a fucking fighter, and you’re giving it your all, but you’re not a fucking second driver. You’re so much better than that.—

Lando wiped his face, sniffling, his anger mixing with the tears. —I just want them to see me. To see that I’m still in this, that I’m still a contender. But it’s like they don’t care. They don’t even fucking care that I’m second in the championship right now, that I’m keeping us in the fight.—

—They’re idiots for not seeing that,— Amelie said firmly, her voice hard with conviction. —You’ve been putting in the work, and you’ve been giving it your all. They might not appreciate it, but I do. I see you. And I’m so fucking proud of you, Lando. You’ve got to remember that, even when they don’t.—

Lando sniffled again, wiping his nose, but this time, a small, shaky laugh escaped him. —I’m sorry. I’m not supposed to be crying. I just... I can’t help it. I’m so fucking mad, Ames.—

—I know, baby,— she whispered softly, her voice steady and calm. —You have every right to be. But listen to me, alright? You are going to be just fine. You are going to come out of this, and when you do, you’re going to be stronger than ever. You just need to take a breath and remember who the fuck you are. You’re Lando fucking Norris. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone except yourself.—

Lando let out a shaky breath, his heart starting to calm a little at her words. —I don’t want to let this get to me, but it’s hard.—

—I know,— Amelie said softly. —But you can’t let it eat you alive. You’ve still got a whole season ahead of you, and I know you can do it. You’re not alone in this, Lando. You’ve got me, you’ve got Max, you’ve got everyone who believes in you. And fuck what the team does or doesn’t do. You’ve got this.—

Lando let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, wiping the last of the tears from his eyes. He stared at her for a long moment, her face a comforting presence. —Thank you,— he whispered, his voice raw. —I needed this.—

—Always,— she replied, her voice warm. —I’ll be here whenever you need me. I believe in you.—

Lando gave a small, shaky smile, feeling a little lighter. —I love you, Ames.—

—I love you too, Lando. Now go get some rest, okay? You’ve earned it.—

Lando nodded, the anger and tears slowly fading away as he felt the support from Amelie wash over him. He wasn’t alone in this, not really. And that made all the difference.

--------------

liked by mclaren, schecoperez, and others

landonorris: P1 P2 yesterday, P1 P2 today. Congrats on the win Oscar. I know we’ve got plenty more to come

View all 932 comments

ameliedayman: Congrats baby! No matter what place, I’ll always be cheering for you. 😘🏁 → landonorris: @ameliedayman You know it’s always for you, love. 💖🔥

ameliedayman: You better stop flexing, I’m already impressed 😜🔥 → landonorris: @ameliedayman Can’t help it, love, I was born to win 🏆💪

f1gossiper69: I’m calling it now—next stop: a chaotic afterparty. 💃

pitstoppower: Yeah, we get it, you’re fast. Can you chill now? 🙄

lnfour: 👏👏👏👏

mclaren: 🧡

landofan123: The dynamic duo back at it again! Lando and Oscar, too hot to handle 🔥🔥

f1haterz: Don’t get too cocky, you’re still behind Max. 😂 → landofan88: @f1haterz Someone's salty... Max ain’t the only one winning this season. ��

oscarfan99: Lando’s just there for the team play.

landofanatic101: P1 and P2 all weekend! Too good, Lando! 🔥💪

sogooditsscary: Y’all keep hyping him up for P2 like it’s something big. 💀 → f1loverr: @sogooditsscary Come back when you’ve finished top 3 at a Grand Prix. 💅

piastrifam123: Oscar > Lando, just saying. 🤭 → f1_fansunite: @piastrifam123 Keep that same energy next race! 🏁