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creativeera · 10 months ago

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All Wheel Drive Market Poised to Register High Growth Due to Rising Demand for Enhanced Safety

The all wheel drive market has been gaining significant traction over the recent years owing to various advantages associated with all wheel drive vehicles such as enhanced traction, stability and safety even during harsh weather conditions. All wheel drive systems help distribute the engine power to all the four wheels of a vehicle and offer improved acceleration, handling, and control. Increasing concerns regarding safety among consumers along with strict emission norms have been prompting automakers to incorporate advanced driveline technologies in vehicles. The rising demand for premium and luxury vehicles coupled with growing off-roading and winter sports activities is also augmenting the sales of all wheel drive cars.

Global all wheel drive market is estimated to be valued at US$ 38.24 Bn in 2024 and is expected to reach US$ 65.27 Bn by 2031, exhibiting a compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of 7.9% from 2024 to 2031.

Key Takeaways Key players operating in the all wheel drive market are AB Volvo, American Axle Manufacturing, Inc., BorgWarner Inc., Continental AG, Dana Incorporated, GKN Plc, Honda Motor Company Ltd., JTEKT Corporation, Magna International Inc., Nissan Motor Co., Ltd.,, Tesla, Inc., Valeo SA, ZF Friedrichshafen AG. The All Wheel Drive Market Growth is expected to witness lucrative growth opportunities owing to rising demand for SUVs and crossovers especially in the Asia Pacific region. Growing customer inclination towards enhanced vehicle performance even in adverse weather and road conditions is boosting the sales of all wheel drive vehicles. Rapid urbanization along with increasing construction of roads in rural areas is further expanding the outreach of all wheel drive vehicles globally. Major automakers are focusing on geographical expansion plans to target untapped growth opportunities in developing nations. Market drivers Strict emission regulations concerning fuel efficiency and safety are prompting automakers to adopt advanced driveline technologies in vehicles. Proliferation of automatic transmission systems along with developments in torque vectoring and electronic stability control systems is fueling the adoption of All Wheel Drive Market Size and Trends. Increasing disposable income and changing lifestyles have augmented the demand for premium and luxury vehicles equipped with enhanced drivetrain capabilities. Demand for all wheel drive from off-roading and winter sports enthusiasts is further propelling the market growth.

PEST Analysis Political: Regulations related to vehicle emission norms, safety standards, and taxation policies related to vehicles Economic: Fluctuations in the disposable income levels affecting consumer spending on vehicles and rising fuel prices encouraging more sales of fuel efficient vehicles. Social: Increasing preference of customers for comfortable, safe, and high-performance vehicles leading to higher demand for AWD vehicles. Technological: Advancements in driveline systems, electronics, and transmission technologies helping manufacture more efficient and affordable AWD vehicles. In terms of value, the market is currently concentrated in North America and Europe. North America is a leading revenue generator attributable to high demand for luxury and high-performance vehicles in U.S. and Canada. Moreover, extreme weather conditions necessitating better traction and control also drive sales. Similarly, Europe is another major regional market due to proliferation of high-end hatchbacks, SUVs, and crossover vehicles across major countries. Among regions, Asia Pacific is projected to witness fastest growth during the forecast period. Factors such as rapidly growing production and sales of vehicles, extensive rural areas and mountainous roadways necessitating better handling, and improving consumer affordability are estimated to primarily drive the demand for AWD vehicles across emerging economies of India, China, and ASEAN countries. The growth is also supplemented by investments by global OEMs to tap into the regional markets.

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About Author:

Ravina Pandya, Content Writer, has a strong foothold in the market research industry. She specializes in writing well-researched articles from different industries, including food and beverages, information and technology, healthcare, chemical and materials, etc. (https://www.linkedin.com/in/ravina-pandya-1a3984191)

#Coherent Market Insights #All Wheel Drive Market #All Wheel Drive #All-Wheel Drive #Four-Wheel Drive #4WD #Traction Control #Off-Road #Car Technology #Vehicle Stability #Drivetrain #Automotive #SUV #Crossover

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hsmagazine254 · 2 years ago

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Unlocking the Mystery of Spoilers Do You Really Need One for Your Vehicle

Unravelling the Mystery: The Role of Spoilers If you’ve ever questioned the purpose of a spoiler on a car, you’re not alone. These enigmatic additions to vehicles have long fascinated and perplexed both car enthusiasts and casual drivers. Are they purely for aesthetics, or do they serve a functional purpose? In this article, we’re diving deep into the world of spoilers to uncover their…

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#automotive design #brake cooling #car aerodynamics #car customization #downforce #fuel efficiency #high-speed stability #track performance #traction #vehicle spoilers

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dreamsteddie · 5 months ago

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The Other Bank

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This is a repost of something I worked on earlier in the year. It's one of my favorite concepts but it didn't get much traction so I thought I'd give her one more try!

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There is something so beautiful and melancholy about the idea of failed rockstar Eddie who was on the verge of being a major hit but ended up giving up his dreams because he didn't like who he was turning into.

Eddie who leaves Hawkins behind as quickly as he can and dedicates his entire life, every waking moment, to building up his music career. He sleeps on couches for years, staying with whoever will take him in for a night or two in exchange for a bump of coke or joint from the remains of his sizeable Reefer Kick stash. He carries everything he owns in the back of his trunk. Amp, wires, guitars, clothes, etc and basically converts it into a portable practice studio.

He plays every gig he can get his hands on. Playing as a last-minute substitute guitar or base for any band that calls, playing for pop bands and punk bands alike until he convinces enough people to join up with him and start a new metal band.

With the band comes more stability, for a while. They share a cramped two-bedroom among the five of them. Writing and jamming every day, going home to smoke up and decompress.

Just over four years after Eddie lands in the city, they play their first real show. A show at a respectable, if small, bar venue with people in the audience there to see them. People sing their songs and dance to their music. It's not sold out, not even close really, but it's the start of something big, they can all feel it. That night they go out to the club around the block with a couple of people who came to the show and party harder than Eddie ever has before. He wakes up with that distinctly fuzzy feeling the next morning that tells him he dipped into the harder drugs the night before, something he hasn't done since he learned his dad passed three years ago.

It scares him. He can't remember anything past walking into the club last night. He doesn't remember anything he did or said and desperately hopes he didn't do anything weird with a fan, but he brushes it off. Tells himself it was a one-time thing, a celebration of their success. They deserved to let loose, right?

Except it wasn't a one-time thing. In fact, it turns into an almost every night kind of thing, and as their fan base grows what feels like overnight, the parties grow in intensity with them. They play their hearts out on stage, eventually selling out all of the smaller local venues and moving on to the larger, more serious ones. The occasional disagreement over music between the band members turns into larger, more personal arguments. Eventually, they reach Fleetwood Mac Rumors Era levels of drama. Everyone is sleeping around, the drugs are out of control, and they can't hardly stand to be in the same room together anymore, only pulling it together enough to go on stage at the end of the day.

Eddie lives that handful of years in a daze. It can mostly be attributed to the copious amounts of alcohol he's turned to to cope with the stress, but he uses his fair share of snow to keep himself in the creative spirit too. It feels inevitable when he reaches a kind of low he doesn't know if he can come back from.

Eddie wasn't a saint, but he has always sworn off meth. It was the thing that killed his mom. He remembers the way she'd wasted away, the days when she seemed crazed, and how sorry she was to him when she stabilized. The regret in her eyes when she looked at him. But when he's asked if he wants a needle all he can think about is the prospect of spending the rest of his life stuck with this band full of people he can't stand and people who can't stand him if the record deal they've been negotiating goes through, and it feels like it will.

Thinks of what all his hard work will mean if it doesn't.

He says yes.

Wakes up the next day starfished in the alley of an apartment he doesn't recognize staring up at the little sliver of blue sky he can see between the fire escapes and weeps. He's become exactly the kind of person he never wanted to be, some asshole almost rich guy laying in a damp alleyway all alone with no real friends.

Eddie lies there for an hour just thinking. Trying to remember when the last time he called Wayne was. Thinking of all the girls he slept with when he probably shouldn't have, when they were both too fucked up to make the right choice. Thinks of his mom and dad.

Tries to remember the last time he made the world a better place to live in instead of contributing to the filth.

He gets up and leaves. Leaves it all behind. Gets in a taxi to take him to where his van is parked by the venue from last night. Frantically takes everything out of the back and leaves it on the street. The only things that remain are the few keepsakes he brought with him to the city and his acoustic, the one his mom left him and Wayne helped him paint. The amps, his sweetheart, and the performance wear all get dumped on the side of the road and then he's jumping into the front seat.

Hours of driving leads him back home to Hawkins Indiana, the one place he promised never to return. Hawkins has seen a boom in the last few years, it seems. More shops, a bigger main street. He even spots a proper cafe. It all feels less haunted than he remembers. More people, fewer familiar faces. The trailer park, though, looks almost the same as it did the day he left, right down to the sight of his uncle lounging on the porch, waiting patiently for whatever comes next the way he always has.

Wayne doesn't ask any questions, not right away. He just scoops his nephew up in his arms and holds him in the cool morning air. He always knew his nephew better than anyone else, never needed words to know when he needed his uncle to help hold up the weight of the world.

And that's how Eddie finds his way back home. It takes a while for him to feel well enough to face the world again. A mixture of detoxing and coming to terms with the feeling of starting back at the beginning, like the last six years of his life didn't even happen leaves him licking his wounds in his partially empty childhood bed. It looks the same way it did when he walked out the front door.

When he does come back to the world, he starts small. Stepping out on the porch to share a cup of coffee with his uncle feels like one of the hardest things he's ever done. Maybe the most important.

He's proven right when he steps out to find he's not the only guest his uncle is entertaining this morning. Another resident of the park has already claimed the second chair as his own.

Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington who never made it out of Hawkins but also never regretted it. Who's made a small, happy life for himself here in the trailer park after his parents kicked him out for good when he turned 20. Who works part-time under the table at Miller's Mechanic and collects disability checks for the lost leg and minor brain damage he got from a car accident at 21. Steve Harrington who keeps his uncle company and makes sure he has everything he needs, taking care of the other residents in the park to the best of his ability doing easy car maintenance, babysitting, or just offering company to the more lonely residents.

Steve is so different from the guy Eddie vaguely knew in high school that he might as well be a stranger. They all sit and talk together for the entire morning, laughing and sharing stories. Steve never asks about where he's been or why he's back and Eddie wishes he could tell Steve how much he appreciates it.

Before Steve heads back he asks if Eddie would like to come over after he gets back from his shift. Asks if he wants to drink a beer and watch a movie. Eddie is quick, maybe too quick judging by the sympathetic look Steve sends his way, to turn down the beer and scoop up the movie invitation like the precious thing it is. There's something about Steve that soothes his soul. An easy connection between them that Eddie hopes they both feel.

Steve kisses him that night, slow and easy like they've been doing it their whole lives. Like they didn't basically meet for the first time this morning. Like Eddie hasn't been in denial about his sexuality for his entire life. Eddie cries at the warmth it fills him with. Steve just cradles him by the cheeks and lets him. That night Eddie doesn't go back to Wayne's. He lets Steve drag him to bed and hold him close. Lets him tangle their legs together and breathe warm air into the crown of his head until morning.

Steve shows Eddie how to live a life without big dreams, a life without ambition but full of love and comfort. A life without plans but with the knowledge that every day, someone who loves you will kiss you when you wake up and hold you through the night.

#steddie #fanfiction #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #dreamer speaks #cw drugs

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northopalshore · 9 months ago

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Alma Persona Chart Observations

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Alma (390)

"Soul" in Spanish. Is an asteroid predominantly used to depict one's soul but also represents the love your soul craves in this lifetime. Also used to interpret possible soulmates one will encounter during their lifetime.

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୨୧ Please do not repost without consent ʕ⁠´⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠`⁠ʔฅ🔉

Masterlist!

Gemini rising (7° libra)

Your soul is very curious & intelligent. You may find that you attract a lot of like-minded people from a very young age. Your childhood friends may have been soulmates.

Cancer rising

You are very gentle, and very sensitive. You could have a young kind heart that attracts a lot of caregivers i.e.people who look out for you/to look after.

Part of Fortune (17°leo) in 1st house

You may have had a lot of luck in finding good friends from a young age. Namely throughout kindergarten and middle school. You may also have encountered numerous soulmates through creative competitions i.e singing, story telling, drawing & even at camps.

Saturn (20° scorpio) retrograde in 2nd house

You were not born into a wealthy household in this life. Perhaps the monetary aspects of your life did not reach stability until later years. You'll notice that a lot of your close friends may also hail from lower income households.

Saturn (8°, 20° Scorpio) retrograde in cancer

You'll notice that perhaps a lot of those that you consider soulmates may have grown without a father of have been children of divorced parents. They could have grown up in a tough situation as well.

Jupiter (16° cancer) retrograde in 5th house

You may find that there is a lack of involvement in the dating scene. This is because your soul craves deep, meaningful intimacy rather than a hot summer fling. Your soul wishes to give endless love to only the chosen few or your one true love. Your husband (jupiter) may be older than you or are very artistic.

5th house in Libra

You will find that you attract bountiful admirers from both genders. Many will offer their hearts and hands to you. You may also easily find romantic interests wherever you go. You may have a love for the arts and performances. You will feel a pull towards beauty & arts.

Union (3° gemini) retrograde in scorpio 5th house

Your soul will be very drawn into finding your one true love. There might be an attached obsession if not handled with the proper consideration of boundaries (overthinking). You may attract karmic soulmates, and may as well marry a karmic soulmate in this lifetime. You could meet them at a young age or gain curiosity at a young age. Your friends or social media could play a role in your union. You could have heard of them from your friends for a long time before you met.

Union (18° virgo) in Cancer 12th house

You could have met a lot of your soulmates through work or long-distance travel. You could meet your spouse through your work or on a regular day of your life/at home. You could be very attached to the idea of a true love as well although it may be buried within your responsibilities/work. You will be very safe in your relationship, or you may find comfort thinking about it (cancer, 12th house).

Fama (26° aries) retrograde in 5th house

Your soul may have craved fame or entry into the performance world from a young age. It may take time for any creative endeavours to gain traction however.

Fama (24° pisces) in 2nd house

You may gain a lot of fame from your work especially if you work with illusion, art, your voice, cooking, fashion & mental health. You may attract a lot of people/dreamers to you thanks to your art/creations.

Vertex (13° aries) in 5th house

You may be very blessed with creative talents. Perhaps a lot of your childhood years were devoted to arts and performances. You will attract a lot of artistic souls into your life, mostly during early childhood. You could attract very passionate soul bonds who connect through art and romance.

Vertex (7° libra) in Sagittarius

You could attract soulmates from different cultures. Your relationships may be made out of charismatic, talented individuals. You may even marry (have a significant relationship with ) someone from a different country.

Note: Some of the soulmates you attract will have placements similar to that of your alma persona chart. If they do, then they will play a role in that part of your life. You can also compare your Alma PC to your synastry charts or composite too to get a good picture of who they are to you, & which aspect if life they may trigger.

Eros (7° libra) retrograde in Scorpio 6th house

You may have refrained from indulging in explicit encounters. I feel like this is one of the "waiting for marriage" aspects. Your soul will not be at ease to let loose with those you do not feel truly connected with. You may feel like you need a "safety net" in this area. Preferring to be intimate with long term partners, trustworthy partners or loyal and obsessed partnerships.

DC (7° libra)

Your soul attracts very loving, loyal partners in this life. Most of your relationships will have a good sense of balance and justice. When you do get into a relationship, you'll notice that most partners tend to have the same view on love as you do. Although there is a tendency to be frivolous. Your soul may aim to create stable, long lasting relationships.

DC (23° aquarius)

You are drawn to unique and unapologetically genuine individuals. You will not limit yourself to the type of friends & connections you make. You may wish to break the stigma of people around you in regards to your relationships. Your soul could prove to be quite rebellious in this aspect as well. Wanting to change the way people view certain relationships.

Pluto (24° pisces) in 7th house

You may attract a lot of karmic soulmates in both romantic & close relationships. You may marry someone you've had a strong connection to in a past life. Your relationships will have a large impact in your life especially when it comes to marriage.

Uranus (10° Capricorn) retrograde in 7th house aquarius

You may long for a connection to a foreign place, from someone who is different & can teach you the diversities life has to offer. Your soul may long for a connection beyond the mundane. You may be very set on the type of person you want to be with or have thought about your partner for a long time i.e reached a resolute on the type of person you'll wed.

Neptune retrograde in 7th house

Your soul may have an indescribable longing for a romantic partner. Your soul may be very romantic & may idealise love to a certain degree.

Neptune (16°cancer) in 9th house

You may have grown up religious or spiritual. Your mother (cancer) or any older female figure in your life may have impacted your spirituality from a young age (during childhood). You may have a tendency to be stuck on matters of the psyche or be stuck in the mind of other people i.e analysing their beings.

Neptune in aquarius

You may have very innovative imaginations or creativity. You may find that you tend to delve into the human psyche quite often. Analysing the mind and the subconscious. You may have a dream to bring change into humanity or your community. To be someone, and to do something different.

Groom (1° aries) in Pisces 9th house

Your husband/you as a husband may be a very passionate, young hearted & slightly stubborn. They are a foreigner for sure (9th house & pisces/12th house). They could be a dreamer, they may be quite soft hearted or very patient & understanding. They will have an open mind, one that is not limited to their own. They could be very spiritual or rather have their personal beliefs that they stand by. Your souls will come together to learn & grow, to let go of karmic ties & to truly feel connected.

MC (1° aries)

Your career & goals in life requires you to be passionate and resilient. Your destiny is to move past the rest & pursue your own ideals.

Uranus in 10th house

You may have a desire to pursue a career separate from the wishes of your father (10th house). You may need to be more independent and break free from the limitations that your predecessors or ones designed to hold you down.

Uranus (7° libra) in 10th house

Your soul relationships break the set illusion that your parents may have i.e.going against their plans for you regarding what kind of partner & future you may have.

10th house stellium

You may achieve a lot of fame in this life. Your life may be very public, people may be very invested in what you do (whether you want them or not). Your soul has the aura of an untouchable leader. Someone who has the ability to trailblaze a path for both themselves and the public.

Juno (13° aries) in Pisces 10th house

Your soul partner may have worked from a young age. They could be a foreigner as well. Work may play an important role in their lives as well as your connection. You could teach others (10th house: public life) many lessons in this life. You could be completing a soul contract i.e karmic debts, special purpose together (aries: beginnings, pisces: endings).

Venus (15° gemini) in 10th house

Your love life may be connected to your work/public life. People you don't know may love talking about your love life or your choice or partners. It could have an important presence online & at school/educational institutions. People may like to gossip about how interesting your love life is too.

Sun (20° scorpio) in 10th house

People could have a very intense perception of you. You may attract a lot of obsessive fans or haters. People either hate you or love you without an in between. You will have a very impactful presence in your career.

Sun (22° capricorn) in 2nd house

Your main focus may be to gain money, or stability. A lot of your life will be dedicated to your career.

Moon in 10th house

A part of you may crave fame & recognition. Your soul may long for success and adoration from your peers. You may attract a lot of like-minded individuals through your kind public approach. People may see you as a mother figure.

Moon in 11th house

You will attract a lot of souls to you through the internet or through big communities. You may be the one to guide them in the community. People/friends may look to you for comfort and soul connections.

Mercury (8° scorpio) in 11th house

People could talk about your life relentlessly online. You could spend a lot of time on personal research, and gain taboo knowledge online. People could feel drawn to you for your writing, or intelligence. You may attract soulmates with deep personal connections and you can talk to them about anything & everything. Perhaps you will go through a lot of outside judgement.

ex: delving into the esoteric side of the internet

Mercury (19° libra) in Leo 2nd house

You may have a great voice. You may be known for your art or your talents, and your career may include a lot of writing & singing.

Alma (18° virgo) in 11th house

A lot of your soulmates may be virgos or at least have virgo traits. You could also meet a lot of soulmates through work or online. Perhaps a lot of your soulmates actually work on social media or have an internet presence. Even in romantic relationships, there is always a friendly energy between you and them.

Alma (29° leo) in 4th house

Your soulmate could feel like family to you. You could attract a lot of artists in your life. Your soulmates are creative & talented. You could attract a lot of Leos as well. There is an almost maternal type of affection shared with your soulmates whether romantic or not.

North node (11° aquarius) in 11th house

Your soul may be led to the online world, humanitarian work, community development & making genuine connections. You could be destined for fame or at least have a very important role in society through media or your friend circles. You could be led to a specific group of friends. They could be very different from you or you may prove to be an unusual bunch. Perhaps you'll meet online.

North node in 2nd house

You may find many of your soulmates through work/ while making money. You may also be destined to work with your soulmates as well.

Boda (4° cancer) in Taurus 11th house

You may marry a friend/soulmate. Your marriage will be one out of love & devotion. Perhaps the marriage will be held in a familiar place i.e hometown, somewhere connected to your childhood (4th house).

note: It might be a place frequented by you during childhood/very often because of a family member with the same sign boda is in as well as the degrees.

Boda (cancer° )in 9th house

If you are foreigners, you could get married in your future spouses' country/hometown.

Boda in retrograde

You may think about marriage a lot. You could also get married to a karmic soulmate as well (there are lessons to be learnt/taught).

Briede in 12th house

As a wife you/they may be very spiritual or your/their connection to spirituality could be strengthened. You could move overseas when you get married or you may be in your husband's country. You could be at home most of the time or hidden from the public. Perhaps you prefer to live in your own world at the time.

Briede in Virgo/Virgo°

You could be very practical as a wife. Perhaps you will hold onto traditional roles/views on marriage. You will be very organised and perhaps even work oriented.

Briede in Leo/Leo°

You could be very well known as a wife. Perhaps your energy or charismatic nature is enhanced and people may notice you more after marriage. You will be a creative & loyal partner.

Briede in Taurus/Taurus°

You may long to be a mother or could also end up as a stay at home wife. (I think I've mentioned this before in a different post but I'll still add in for those who resonate). Your soul will find comfort in being close to your husband, family & home as a wife. You may be a natural homemaker as well.

Briede in Gemini/3rd house

As a wife you will be very talkative, witty & friendly. Perhaps you'll like going to events/festivals/services or if you have a child, you will usually be the one to attend school events. You may be naturally inclined to go out more or make more mental connections/friends.

˚₊‧꒰ა paid readings available ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

***disclaimer: entertainment purposes only, reader discretion is advised***

Thank you for reading ♡

@northopalshore

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p0orbaby · 5 months ago

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leah pretending to be good at ice skating but turns out she’s shit at it

but at least she gets to clinge onto reader for stability, and ofc reader teasing her good heartedly

The rink is colder than you expect—sharper, too, like the kind of cold that belongs in empty bus stops at 3 a.m., or the grim aisles of a butcher’s shop. The ice looks almost perfect, a pale and glossy mirror broken only by a constellation of skate marks and a single, flattened candy wrapper in the far corner. You think briefly about the janitor who’ll have to scrape it off later, the way it will peel away like skin.

Leah stands beside you, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her navy Canada Goose parka, which she insisted wasn’t too expensive because “it’s an investment piece.” The hem of the coat brushes her knees. Underneath, her legs are clad in Lululemon Align leggings, and her skates—brand new, glaringly white—look like something you’d find in a Bond Street window display. She’s ready. Or at least she looks it.

“You’ve done this before?” you ask, leaning against the barrier as you lace up your own scuffed rentals.

“Yeah, loads,” she says breezily, flicking a blonde strand of hair out of her face. “We used to go every Christmas when I was a kid. It’s like riding a bike, isn’t it?”

“Hm”

She grins, sharp and cocky, and pushes away from the barrier. The first three seconds are beautiful. Graceful, even. Leah glides forward confidently, her arms outstretched like she’s orchestrating a symphony. And then, quite suddenly, the symphony collapses into an out-of-tune kazoo as one of her skates wobbles and her knees buckle.

“Fuck—”

She clings to the barrier like a drowning man clutching a life ring. Her eyes are wide and wild, and she lets out a half-laugh, half-gasp that sounds more like a threat than anything else.

You can’t help yourself. “Loads, you said?”

“Shut up,” she snaps, breathless. Her cheeks are already turning pink from embarrassment, the colour rising like a tide.

“Like riding a bike, you said”

“Shut up”

She’s clinging so tightly to the barrier that you worry it might splinter. Her skates slip and scrape against the ice, fighting for traction. For a moment, she just stands there, frozen in more ways than one. It reminds you of the time she tried to reverse parallel park in front of a crowded pub and ended up getting out of the car entirely, muttering something about pressure before forcing you to swap seats.

“I think you might be lying to me,” you say, stepping out onto the ice with ease. Your skates are steady, practised. It’s the confidence of someone who spent every January birthday at run-down rinks like this one, drinking lukewarm hot chocolate with a scum of film on the surface. You do a slow lap around her for emphasis. “You’re shit at this, aren’t you?”

Leah’s jaw clenches, but her mouth twitches like she’s trying not to laugh. “I just need a minute”

“You need a helmet”

“Oh, piss off”

She pushes away from the barrier again, slower this time, her knees bent like she’s bracing for impact. You skate backwards in front of her, matching her tentative pace, watching the way her face contorts with concentration. It’s endearing, really—the same determination you see when she’s watching a replay of her own game footage, looking for flaws that don’t exist.

“You look like Bambi”

“I do not”

“You do. That scene where he’s trying to walk on the ice? That’s you”

Leah glares at you, her hands now gripping the front of your coat for stability. “I don’t know why I brought you here”

“I don’t know why you lied about being good at this,” you retort, but you rest your hands lightly on her waist, holding her steady. The layers of her coat are thick, but you can still feel the tension in her body, the way she’s gripping your jacket like her life depends on it.

For a moment, you both stand there in the middle of the rink, surrounded by other skaters who weave past effortlessly: teenage girls in puffer jackets, couples holding hands, kids so small their skates look like they belong to someone else. A little boy skates by holding a penguin-shaped stabiliser, and Leah watches him with envy.

You follow her gaze. “Do you want one of those?”

“No”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” she grits out, though you can feel her swaying again.

“Because I could go ask—”

“Don’t you dare”

You laugh, tightening your grip on her waist as she starts to slip. Her fingers curl into the fabric of your coat, and she mutters a long string of curses under her breath, half in frustration and half in self-deprecation. It’s the same tone she uses when she loses a game of Uno.

“Alright, come on, Bambi,” you say gently, beginning to skate backwards again, pulling her along with you. “I’ll teach you”

“I don’t need to be taught”

“You do”

“I—”

“You do, Leah”

She falls quiet, letting you guide her slowly across the rink. Her movements are stilted, her feet awkward, but she’s starting to trust you, loosening her death grip on your coat. The flush on her cheeks has deepened, and you can’t tell if it’s from exertion or embarrassment.

“You’re doing great,” you say, your tone mockingly earnest.

“Don’t patronise me”

“I’m not”

“You are”

“Fine,” you concede, smirking. “You’re terrible, but you look cute.”

Leah groans, shaking her head, but there’s a reluctant smile on her face now. She looks down at her feet, watching the way her skates carve clumsy paths into the ice.

“You’re supposed to look ahead,” you tell her.

“I’m supposed to not fall on my arse”

“Both are important”

She exhales sharply, half a laugh, and looks up at you, her grip on your coat relaxing entirely. For a few seconds, she lets herself glide—unsteady but determined, her blonde hair catching the light, her expression softening. You think she’s about to say something—something sarcastic, probably—but then her skate catches an uneven groove in the ice, and she lurches forward, grabbing your arm in a panic.

You catch her easily, steadying her with a hand on her back. She looks up at you, wide-eyed and breathless, and you grin.

“I’ve got you,” you say softly.

Leah rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t let go. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“More than you could ever know”

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #woso #woso x reader

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slytherizz · 8 months ago

Text

Fight or Flight - Sebastian Sallow/F!MC

Summary: Sometimes sleeping dogs don't lie.

Two years after his uncles death and with Anne missing the last remaining Auror who scents deception requests a testimony from the only person witness to what really happened between Sebastian and Solomon in the catacombs that day. In a bid to protect those memories and keep him out of Azkaban their marriage is arranged - A marriage Sebastian is hell bent on putting a stop to.

Word count: 15,000 (remember when I said I’d keep it under 10k)

Tags/Warnings: Arranged Marriage, 18+, Explicit Sexual Content, Smut, Angst, Masturbation, First Time

Link: You can find the complete fic on Ao3.

A/N: Sebastian ‘my wife’ Sallow. To the anon who requested this, I’m sorry it’s so late but it was so much fun to write.

Sebastian is almost certain he’d been on the receiving end of a lethal confundus charm. Either that or he was at present suffering a massive life altering haemorrhage somewhere amongst the sun deceptively warming his cheeks and the familiar groan of the dragon bones anchored above them, as it tilted its great head in greeting when they'd arrived in Hecate's office. Full of mysterious tombs and the lingering scent of smoke. Ash trampled so tightly into the grooves in the floorboards he doubted even the house elves could scour out the smell.

He’d gotten too comfortable. No. Down right complacent as of late and now his psyche in a riotous act of self-preservation was giving him a blistering slap back into reality.

Pull yourself together.

Sebastian dug his nails into the soft flesh of his palm. He hissed at the sharp pain as he broke the skin. Felt the blood prickle hot against his sweat slicked palms as it beaded along the thin superficial wound. Uncomfortable. Stinging. And far, far too real.

“What-?” he managed to croak around a lump in his throat. Praying to Merlin that if this wasn’t a dream it was some elaborate and albeit cruel practical joke.

“Spousal Privileges,” Hecat repeated. Matter of fact. Her features were drawn and to his dismay betraying no hint of amusement.

Sebastian choked violently on his own saliva. A hacked cough, raw against his throat. As if the wind had been knocked out of him by a patient and vindictive phantom.

“What this means is you couldn’t be forced to give a testimony or surrender any memories pertaining to anything to do with Mr Sallow. With his sister still missing, the only people who know what really happened in that catacomb are the two of you. If you can’t be forced to corroborate this theory that has been gaining traction at the Ministry that’s the way it stays,” his professor continued to address the witch beside him, unmoved by the blood draining rapidly from his face.

Her eyes were fixed intently on Hecat, chin raised as she refused to meet Sebastian’s increasingly panicked eye. He shifted in his seat towards her. Turning rapidly back and forth between her and their professor.

Waiting. A heartbeat and then more passed. Mounting up until it became a deafening drum in his ears.

He wanted her to laugh. Let it loose. Burst the dangerous tension mounting with every second this insanity stretched on for. Most pathetically of all - he wanted her to save him. Wanted to watch her face crease with laughter at the absurdity of what Hecat was saying. Cling to some sense of normalcy, her stability by his side whilst the rest of him was spiralling out of control.

She was uncharacteristically still in her chair. As frozen as the statue of the mourning lover in the courtyard. Her fist clenched so tightly in the pleats of her skirt her knuckles blanched. A half finished braid she’d been fiddling with behind her ear hung abandoned. Not a shadow of humour remaining.

“Why now? It’s been years since…” she asked, with a more measured tone Sebastian felt the situation did not warrant.

She spared him a glance which did little to put him at ease. If anything the serious crease to her brow set him on a razor's edge.

Sebastian was unravelling. The thread he’d used to stitch back together a semblance of a life was pulling apart at an alarming rate. And the only two people who had any hope of holding him back together were entertaining this insanity.

“Some of Miss Sallow’s effects were uncovered at the former Feldcroft residence. It seems no one had tended to the home since your Uncle passed…unexpectedly. My contact at the Ministry informs me that there's only one Auror pushing for those memories. Sergeant Tuttle. Old guard. Worked closely with your uncle when they were both juniors in the department. The rest are happy to let Solomon’s memory remain as it has been for the past two years - the heroic final act protecting his young charges from a horde of uncontrollable inferi,” she paused and Sebastian felt the weight of every word. “Personally I am inclined to agree.”

Hecate’s already thin lips pulled so tight they almost entirely disappeared. Her inscrutable brown eyes peeling back the curtain seeing far beyond the truth to the crux of him. Weighing his mettle. And he wasn’t sure she’d be impressed at what she found.

Because what he was - was careless. Sebastian supposed he could argue that his distress over losing his sister had made it too painful to return. Knowing Anne was not there, Feldcroft seemed rather pointless.

But really all he’d been was too eager to turn his back on that hovel that had never been his home. Ivy grew thick over its stones and he hoped one day it would pull it down entirely. No one had touched the wards in over a year. Perhaps when he’d boxed up his feelings and shoved them away in his desperation to move past what he had done, he didn’t consider the possibility that there were others out there who, unlike him, may not want to move on so hastily from Solomon's death.

Anne certainly hadn’t.

“With you two being so close, this is the cleanest option-” Hecate continued.

“I don’t bloody care about clean!” Sebastian broke from his stupor. Fist slamming on the table rattling the spoon from where it rested against his saucer. “Tell me the other options. I don’t care how messy they are. I’ll do them.”

“Perhaps I should rephrase,” Hecat said sharply. “This is your only option. And you’d do well not to leap to such dramatics if you want this to work, Mr Sallow. In particular I’d advise against taking such a tone with me.”

Sebastian didn’t care. He’d already geared up to argue back against this preposterous idea when the statue of the witch beside him suddenly came to life. As if Pygmalion himself had loved her into life just to spite Sebastian.

“We’ll do it,” she said firmly.

Sebastian choked again, head snapping to look at her. “You can’t be serious!”

She simply glared back at him, as if he wasn’t the only reasonable person left in the room. “I’ve kept you out of Azkaban this long-“

Their professor cleared her throat, having little patience for the squabblings of teenagers that was beginning to unfold in her office. It set Sebastian even more on edge. She’d thrown a bomb into their lives and was now regarding him as some petulant child causing a scene. As if instead while he was scrambling to hold it together she expected him to thank her for it.

“I’d choose your words more carefully in front of an audience but I admire the passion. If you want this to succeed you’ll have to make them believe this. Believe you. You can’t cast any doubt on the reason for any of it. A young couple, so in love they simply cannot wait to be married.”

***

It was like taking a match to a forest doused in kerosine. How quickly word could spread overnight when students kept such close quarters and they were eager for anything to save them from revision. Whispers billowed up from steeped mugs. Steam laced with secrets curled around their lips. Huddled so tightly together they looked like hydras. Each set of eyes alight with amusement. Teeth bared ready to feast on their speculation.

From the moment Sebastian had stepped into the Great Hall he’d felt it. The oppressive shift to the atmosphere that usually welcomed him each morning. Clouds dark, heavy with the foreboding rain swirled on the enchanted sky. At least it was fitting.

Instinctively he sought her out. Looked for hers amongst the hundreds of eyes turned towards him. Which he pointedly ignored instead following the remaining half who stole glances towards her.

Blue. Green. Brown. Shifted between them assessing to see what they might do.

She was boxed into the middle of the table by Onai and Sweeting with Reyes taking up the spot across from them. A vicious hound guarding her flock ensured even the most brazen little wretch who considered interrupting would think twice - give her wrath a wide berth.

Reyes to her credit - snarling banshee that she was - looked as deeply horrified by the pathetic silver band on her friend's finger as Sebastian felt it deserved.

They’d transfigured it hastily from a pair of silver spectacles once they’d stumbled out of Hecat’s office the previous evening. One she kept in an odd tangle of items in her satchel and the rushed magic had already begun to tarnish its appearance. It was a wonder anyone actually believed them with how dull and thoughtless it looked sitting on her hand.

If her smile wasn’t so tight, or her laugh a little too airy she would be executing Hecat’s ludicrous scheme to perfection.

Sebastian swallowed around the lump in his throat and sheepishly changed course. Rerouted himself away from the group of witches throwing his bag down on the bench and slumping into a seat at the Slytherin table. Which seemed to delight some of the onlookers. Clearly humiliation was a good seasoning for eggs, he thought as he poured himself a cup of tea from the pot and took out his potions essay in an attempt to look busy enough no one would suspect exactly why he was sitting alone. Or worse, try and talk to him. Not that they would dare when his face looked as thunderous as the sky overhead. It didn't, however, stop him from overhearing their animated gossiping.

‘Do you think she’s…you know?’

‘Obviously! Who in their right mind gets married a month before they leave school? Clearly they’re in a rush before she starts to y’know...’ one girl smirked with an exaggerated flourish over her stomach.

Sebastian shot a glare across to the gaggle of Ravenclaw’s in the year below. Who giggled even more loudly when they caught his eye, one turning pink from the tips of her ears to well past the neckline of her jumper. Sebastian on the other hand felt like someone had doused him in a bucket of water from the lake.

If Reyes didn’t skin him for the insulting piece of jewellery she certainly would if she suspected he’d gotten her favourite flying partner up the kyte.

Sebastian tried to focus on his potions essay. List even a single ingredient of ‘Felix Felicis’ which was proving to be impossible when behind him a brazen fourth year proclaimed and loudly he’d caught them sequestered away between the stacks of the restricted section - her body bent over a desk. Sebastian’s grip on the quill tensed as he strained himself to write the differing effects between wyrm and dragon scale on a potion - and not a very vivid description of what he apparently looked like on his knees buried between her thighs. Ink blotted on the parchment.

Sod Hecat on ‘selling it’. Why did they need to go to such lengths when apparently every gossiping vulture was content to click their beak and do all the work for them?

Surely Azkaban couldn’t be worse than this?

Well, that was delusional - but if he overheard one more person comment on if her robes looked bigger he was more than likely going to do something that would get him thrown in Azkaban regardless.

Sebastian had anticipated suspicion but he still wasn’t prepared for how much it would chafe.

He knew if they were not at the centre of this farce, the two main players on the stage they would have jovially picked apart their performance too. She would have speculated over their sanity as she picked idly at her cauldron cake. Made some snide comment about being too eager to get his leg over. He’d bet her a galleon they’d see the proof in nine months and she would have snorted, undignified unladylike into her pumpkin juice.

Being the subject of this speculation however was mortifying.

Would that be next? Bringing a child into the fucking mess he’d made just to cover his own back? If the thought of dragging her into a marriage him feel ill it paled in comparison to the feeling of crippling dread that conjured.

But would she want that one day? In a young witch's sacrifice to keep him had she truly considered all the things she was giving up in his stead. Things she may not know she even wanted until the opportunity had already been bartered and sold off for the price of his freedom. What kind of man was he to take the hope of any kind of family from someone who already had none to show for it? Take away the chance for someone to love her.

Or maybe she never intended to give up on that particular dream. And Sebastian would be expected to play his part - the cuckolded husband.

Work late until the candles burned down to the wick to give her lover time to retreat. Share her with one; or with many.

Vow now to never let her go without.

Even go as far as to raise her children as his own. Glamour their cheeks with foreign freckles he’d wish were inherited. Brand them with the Sallow name with ink on thin parchment but not their blood; their ties to him just as flimsy and performative as hers.

Her easy smile as she lathered honey onto her toast set his teeth on edge. Sebastian felt in that moment like he never really knew her at all. Head pounding Sebastian stuffed his ink pot and notes back into his bag. Abandoned his breakfast in a rush to get out of the stifling hall. Away from the whispers that he knew would also be deafening in her ears. Perhaps even more so.

‘I didn’t even know they were courting. It’s a shame he’s off the market.’

‘Here’s the thing - I don’t think they were. Clearly, he’s marrying her to do the right thing. Now that she’s trapped him with a baby.’

She caught his eye, her eyebrows stitched together in concern but it did not offset the rigid lock of her furious ticking jaw. Teeth set, clamped together as if Hecat had clamped a muzzle on a fucking dragon and then handed her chains to Sebastian.

Shamefully, he couldn’t bring himself to hold her gaze. Couldn’t even bear to face her in that moment despite knowing he was the reason she had to listen to these lies spread. He should tell her he was sorry. But instead he fled.

Complete fic can be found on Ao3.

#if you're the anon who requested this I'm so sorry it took so long #this brought out the writing gremlin and it would not behave and got way too long #my angsty ass loves arranged marriage tropes #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow x mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow x f!mc #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian x mc #sebastian sallow fanfic #Slytherizz fic

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moonstruckme · 2 years ago

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part 3 of sirius x remus's roommate reader when+? +$? $???? ur writing is too good frs

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

Thanks sweetheart! I made an inference, so I hope I caught your meaning here haha (upon further reflection, I may have jumped to conclusions....but here you go anyway)

cw: smut, mdni, everything is consensual !

modern au

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 900 words

“Come on, gorgeous, make some sounds for me,” Sirius says, and instead you swirl your hips, laughing when he groans.

“You first,” you tease.

Sirius tightens his grip on you in response, fingers digging into the fat of your hips. Your breath catches in your throat, but you do your best to keep the effects of his touch from showing on your face.

It’s always a power play with you two, and this is no different. Sirius is determined to make you finish first, and you’re determined to foil him. That being said, you don’t have all day. Remus has only gone study in the library, and the last thing you want is for him to come home to the ambient noise of his roommate and his best friend fucking in the room opposite his. You quicken your pace, and Sirius’ features tighten, hands moving hastily to your sides, trying to slow you despite what his body so clearly wants.

“Come on, pretty boy,” you croon, but you’re panting, your clit finding traction with every movement of your hips.

“Getting tired?” Sirius asks, something close to desperation in his tone. “We can switch.”

“Not tired,” you say feebly, but Sirius is already stabilizing your hips against his, careful but efficient as he flips you over. He folds himself over you, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth while pushing further inside you. His teeth scrape over your lip cruelly as he moves tantalizingly slow, dragging against the back wall of your cunt. You writhe underneath him. “Fuck,” you gasp. “No fair.”

“Sorry, darling,” he hums, not sounding very sorry at all. He nips playfully at your shoulder, relishing in your unraveling. “Can’t help myself, you just look so pretty like this.”

Sirius looks rather pretty himself. It’s really not fair for any boy to have eyelashes so long that they brush his cheekbones, or hair so Stygian black that it glows silvery blue in the moonlight coming in through the window. His eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them, pupils blown wide enough to nearly eclipse his irises, and the smirk that twists his lips is as hot as it is infuriating.

You try to regain the upper hand, leaning upwards to kiss under his ear where you know he likes it, but Sirius’s thumb finds your clit, drawing sloppy figure-eights over the bead until you’re arching unwillingly into his touch.

“Fuck.” There’s frustration to be found even in your whimper as Sirius picks up his pace, rutting faster and deeper inside you. “Fuck fuck fuck—”

“You can do it, sweet thing,” he coos encouragingly. “Cum for me.”

You could pick any one of the words that have just left his mouth to be your undoing, but together, they’re a fatal combination. You go limp under Sirius, but his cheers are short-lived before they give way to a groan as he finds his own release. Dizzy with your high, you laugh against his lips while his fingers stutter and slow on your clit. Sirius buries his head in your neck, and you blow a piece of his hair—it’s soft as dandelion fluff, the asshole—away from your mouth.

“What’re you laughing at?” he pants. “I won.”

“You cheated,” you argue, though you know he had, technically, beaten you. It had felt like a win for you, though. “Doesn’t count. Plus, you were like, two seconds behind me.”

Sirius chuckles, and you tense as he lifts his head, one dark swath of eyebrow raised impossibly high. “Yeah?” he asks, getting his breathing under control as he slides out of you. His eyes stay on yours, challenge glinting like a single star in the abyss of his pupils while he moves down your body. “I bet I can get you there again in five minutes or less.”

You try to scoff, but it comes out pitchy as his hands sweep confidently across your thighs. “There’s no way.”

Sirius’ incisors flash when he grins. “You’re on, sweetheart.”

You tense in anticipation, but then you hear the distinct sound of a key jiggling in the front door. You and Sirius both freeze, hardly breathing as your finicky lock clicks this way and that.

“Rain check?” you ask quietly, and Sirius nods, grabbing his pants from your floor and tossing you your shirt. You both tug on your clothes as quickly as possible, and you’ve never been more grateful for the difficulty of opening the door to your apartment, sending a silent apology to your landlord for all the times you’ve bugged him to fix it. You even have time to check your appearance in the mirror, running your fingers through your hair before going to help Remus with the door.

“Hey, Moons,” Sirius says, sitting casually on your couch as Remus comes in. “How was the library?”

“It was good,” Remus replies, setting down his book bag and slipping off his shoes. “How has your night been?”

“Good. You know, fine,” you say, with what you hope is convincing insouciance. Sirius shoots you a look that conveys an eye roll without giving one. “That lock, huh? I can’t believe they haven’t fixed it yet.”

“I don’t know how you have so many problems with it,” Remus replies briskly, going down the hall to his room. “It always works fine for me, I just thought you might appreciate the notice to put your clothes back on.”

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inkolnito · 11 days ago

Text

Paddock Confidential - Chapter 17: When the Ice Cracks

Pairing:

Oliver "Ollie" Bearman x Lira Räikkönen (Original Female Character )

Minor background pairings reflecting the real-life F1 grid (e.g., Charles Leclerc/Alexandra Saint Mleux)

Summary:

Rising F1 star Ollie Bearman navigates the intense pressure of his rookie season with Haas, juggling demanding team expectations and his close ties to Ferrari under the watchful eye of Fred Vasseur. His biggest challenge lies off-track: guarding his relationship with the enigmatic and fiercely private Lira, whose surprising motorsport knowledge and aversion to the spotlight hint at a complex past connected to one of the sport's icons. As Ollie fights for his future, their secret world threatens to unravel amidst paddock gossip, rivalries, and the ever-present Drive to Survive cameras. When exposure becomes inevitable, they must confront the consequences and find a way to navigate the relentless glare of the F1 world together.

Warnings and Notes:

Warnings: Depictions of anxiety, stress related to high-pressure environments (F1), mentions of past trauma (related to privacy/media intrusion), media scrutiny/harassment, potential minor F1-typical language.

Notes: This is a work of fiction using real people (F1 drivers, personnel) as characters; their portrayals, actions, and relationships are fictionalized for the story.

The last morning at the Finnish cabin dawned crisp and clear, the sky a pale, flawless blue mirrored in the still surface of the lake. A thin mist curled wispy fingers over the water, slowly burning off as the sun climbed higher, its rays filtering through the tall pines, dappling the forest floor in shifting patterns of light and shadow. The air was cool, clean, carrying the scent of damp earth and evergreen needles. It was the kind of peace that felt profound, almost sacred, a stark contrast to the manufactured glamour and relentless noise of the Formula 1 world they were scheduled to return to the following day.

Inside the rustic log cabin, the atmosphere was one of quiet domesticity, the scent of coffee and pine mingling comfortably. The remnants of their simple breakfast – coffee mugs, plates with crumbs of dark rye bread, an empty jar of cloudberry jam – sat on the small wooden table. Lira, dressed in comfortable leggings and a worn, oversized sweater that Ollie suspected might once have belonged to her father, was meticulously cleaning her sketch pencils, laying them out in neat rows on the table, her movements precise, almost meditative. Ollie, having finished his final, punishing workout in the woods, was attempting to wrestle with the cabin’s temperamental satellite internet connection one last time, ostensibly to check flight details and download team schedules for Spa, but mostly driven by the low-level hum of anxiety that had become his constant companion – the need to scan the digital horizon for any sign of the storm they feared was coming.

The connection flickered, stabilized, then flickered again. Pages loaded with agonizing slowness, images resolving pixel by painstaking pixel against the harsh blue light of the laptop screen, an artificial glare in the soft morning light. He scrolled through his Haas team portal – schedules updated, engineering notes posted, nothing out of the ordinary. He checked his messages from Tim – logistics confirmed, travel plans unchanged, a brief note wishing him luck for the second half of the season. He scanned the major F1 news outlets – headlines dominated by speculation about potential upgrades for Red Bull and Mercedes, analysis of the championship standings, the usual pre-race weekend buzz.

Nothing about blind items. Nothing about mystery girlfriends or champion connections.

A fragile tendil of relief began to unwind in his chest. Maybe they’d gotten away with it. Maybe the blind item had been a shot in the dark, a rumour that failed to gain traction. Maybe Vasseur’s warning had been the peak of the crisis, and now, with Lira staying away from the paddock, the scrutiny would fade.

Maybe they could actually manage this.

He clicked over to Twitter – or X, as it was now called – his thumb hovering over the app icon for a moment before committing. This was usually where the real-time pulse of the F1 world beat fastest, where rumours exploded, where fan reactions raged. He held his breath slightly as the feed refreshed, the blue bird spinning, the connection straining.

And then, the world tilted on its axis.

It wasn't a gradual dawning, a slow realization. It was an avalanche. An instantaneous, overwhelming deluge that slammed into him with physical force. His feed, usually a mix of team updates, driver banter, news links, and fan art, was suddenly, violently, uniformly about them.

His name. Lira’s name. Räikkönen.

Screenshots. Blurred, enhanced, circled in red. A lanyard. A pass holder. Two cards visible. One name obscured, the other starkly, undeniably clear: RÄIKKÖNEN, LIRA M. The image was everywhere, ripped from the just-dropped Drive to Survive mid-season teaser trailer.

X/Twitter Feed Explosion:

@/DannyRicFan_AUS: OMG DTS TRAILER DROPPED! THEY CAUGHT IT! LIRA RAIKKONEN!!! BEARMAN'S GF IS KIMI'S DAUGHTER! 🤯🤯🤯 #F1 #DriveToSurvive #Raikkonen #Bearman #F1Leak #Iceman

@/PaddockInsider23: HOLY S***! Told you there was more to 'Lira Virtanen'! Kimi Räikkönen's daughter hiding in plain sight! DTS editors are SAVAGES! 😂 #F1Gossip #Bearman #Raikkonen

@/SpeedFreakSarah: Freeze frame at 0:47 of the new #DriveToSurvive trailer! ENHANCE! It’s her! Lira Räikkönen! Ollie Bearman you sly dog! Explains the secrecy! #F1 #DTS #Raikkonen

@/OllieBearmanFanUK: So the mystery is solved... Lira Räikkönen. Wow. Hope the media respects their privacy now (lol yeah right). Ollie looked so protective of her at the gala! #OllieBearman #LiraRaikkonen #F1Couple

@/JustAnotherF1Guy: Wait, Kimi has an older daughter?? Since when?? How did NO ONE know this?? #F1 #Raikkonen

@/F1DataAnalysisGuy: Explains Bearman's occasional vague answers in press conferences when asked about personal life. The level of secrecy must have been immense pressure. #F1 #Bearman #Raikkonen

@/EthicalRaceFan: Okay, but is anyone else slightly uncomfortable with DTS revealing this? Feels like a huge privacy invasion, even if it's 'news'. Kimi kept his family private for a reason. #DriveToSurvive #Ethics? #F1

@/HaasF1_USA_Fans: Does this mean Kimi might show up at Haas hospitality now?! 😂 Probably not, but imagine! #HaasF1 #Bearman #Raikkonen #IcemanCometh?

@/MarkHughes_F1: Sources confirm identity as Lira M. Räikkönen. Working on full story regarding implications for Bearman, Haas, and Ferrari Driver Academy. Stand by. #F1Breaking #Raikkonen

Reddit (r/formula1 & r/F1Gossip):

Thread Title (r/formula1): Drive to Survive Mid-Season Trailer Drops - Reveals Ollie Bearman's Girlfriend is Lira Räikkönen!

Top Comment: "Absolutely insane reveal! Explains why she was so low-key. Kimi's daughter! You couldn't write this stuff."

Reply: "Explains the 'Virtanen' alias too - Minttu's maiden name? Clever, but not clever enough for DTS cameras apparently."

Reply: "Feel bad for them tbh. The media circus is going to be unbearable now. Kimi must be furious."

Reply: "Suddenly Bearman's Jeddah performance seems even more impressive knowing this was likely going on behind the scenes."

Reply: "Wonder if this impacts the Ferrari relationship long term? Vasseur can't be thrilled about this level of drama around a junior."

Thread Title (r/F1Gossip): THE LIRA VIRTANEN = LIRA RÄIKKÖNEN THEORY IS CONFIRMED!!! (DTS TRAILER PROOF)

Top Comment: "WE KNEW IT! All the clues fit! The Finnish connection, the privacy obsession, the 'ice cream' blind item! Props to DTS editors, ruthless!"

Reply: "Wonder how long Ollie knew? And did Ferrari know?? Vasseur must be having kittens."

Reply: "Someone check on Chloe Daniels, stat! 🍿"

Reply: "Okay, now I need a deep dive into every photo Ollie has ever posted. Were there clues we missed?!"

Reply: "Calling it now: Kimi makes a surprise appearance at Spa just to glare silently at the DTS crew."

The visual platforms exploded almost instantly. Countless short videos flooded feeds – screen recordings of the trailer moment, freeze-frames zooming relentlessly on the revealed pass, all set to dramatic music with captions screaming "REVEALED!", "SHOCK F1 NEWS!", and "KIMI'S DAUGHTER!". Side-by-side photo comparisons of Lira and Kimi, analysing facial similarities, went viral, alongside edits contrasting Lira's quiet intensity with Kimi's infamous interview moments. Official team posts about the upcoming Spa race were immediately swamped by off-topic comments demanding answers: "Forget Spa, talk about LIRA RAIKKONEN!", "Is Haas going to comment?", "OLLIE & LIRA ❤️", "Kimi's daughter omg!", "DTS causing chaos again!", "Leave them alone!", and inevitably, "What does Kimi think?!".

His phone, lying face down on the table beside the laptop, began to vibrate. Its sudden, harsh buzz against the wood was violently loud in the quiet cabin. Then it buzzed again. And again. And again. And again. A frantic, insistent rhythm cutting through the peaceful morning air, each buzz a fresh wave hitting the shore. Notifications flooding in – Twitter mentions, Instagram tags, WhatsApp messages lighting up the screen beneath the dark glass. He could almost feel the heat radiating from the device, a focal point of the global digital storm that had just erupted around them.

Ollie stared at the laptop screen, unable to process the sheer volume, the speed at which it was unfolding. His vision tunnelled. The sounds of the cabin – the soft scrape of Lira's pencil sharpener moments before, the crackle of the dying embers in the fireplace, the distant call of a bird outside – seemed to fade, replaced by a roaring in his ears. He felt cold, despite the weak sunlight streaming through the window.

"Ollie?" Lira’s voice cut through the roaring, sharp with concern. She had stopped her sketching, put down her pencil, watching him, her head tilted. "What is it? You've gone completely white."

He couldn't form words. He just numbly turned the laptop towards her, his hand shaking so badly the image blurred for a second before resolving.

Lira leaned over, her eyes scanning the screen, taking in the viral tweet, the screenshot, the name circled in red, the flood of identical reactions scrolling relentlessly down the feed. Ollie watched the blood drain from her face, leaving it stark white against her dark hair. Her breath hitched, becoming shallow, rapid gasps. Her eyes widened, fixed on the screen, but the disbelief was instantly swallowed by a raw, visceral terror – the unmistakable look of a past trauma resurfacing. The hand that flew to her mouth wasn't just stifling a sound; it was trembling, trying to ward off a rising wave of nausea. She seemed to freeze, rooted to the spot, her body rigid, eyes locked on the screen as if seeing not just the revealed name, but the ghostly echoes of flashing bulbs and shouting faces from Monaco years ago. The horror was slamming into her, a visceral, paralyzing wave that stole the present moment, replacing it with the cold dread of exposure she had spent her life fighting.

"No," she whispered, the sound ragged, torn from her throat. She shook her head violently, eyes darting around the small cabin as if seeking an escape route that didn't exist. "No... no... they can't... how..." Her breathing grew harsher, bordering on hyperventilation.

Ollie finally snapped out of his own shock, Lira's palpable panic cutting through his paralysis. "Li! Hey, hey, look at me," he said urgently, rushing to her side, ignoring the frantically buzzing phone for now. He gently took her trembling shoulders, turning her away from the laptop screen, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Breathe, Lira. Just breathe with me. You're here. You're safe. It's okay." He held her firmly, trying to anchor her, his own heart pounding with a mixture of fear for her and rising panic about the implications. He could feel the tremors running through her body.

His phone continued its frantic buzzing on the table, a relentless digital heartbeat drumming out the rhythm of their exposure. Lira stared past Ollie's shoulder towards the sound, her expression numb, the acute panic momentarily eclipsed by a chillingly blank detachment, a familiar defense mechanism kicking in.

The news detonated across the drivers' private networks almost as quickly as it hit the public feeds. Lando Norris, buzzing from a simulator session at the MTC, saw the trailer notification pop up on his phone propped against the rig. "No way!" he yelled to the empty room, instantly pausing the simulation. He watched the clip, eyes widening at the pass reveal. Räikkönen! Kimi's daughter! He grabbed his phone, immediately messaging Oscar Piastri and firing the link into the main group chat, thrilled by the confirmation of his earlier suspicions. 'WHOA! RAIKKONEN?! 🤯 Dude, you kept that quiet! Need the full story later! 😉' he typed rapidly, eager to stir the pot and dissect the gossip.

But concern quickly followed the excitement elsewhere. George Russell, mid-way through a grueling interval on his cycling trainer in England, glanced at the flurry of notifications lighting up his phone mounted on the handlebars. Seeing Lando's message and the trailer link, he paused his workout, his brow furrowing. He watched the clip, saw the screenshot of Lira's pass, and felt a cold knot form in his stomach. Damn it, DTS. His immediate thought was for Lira, remembering her vulnerability around cameras, and for Ollie, facing this immense pressure as a rookie. His protective instincts kicked in. 'Mate, just saw the DTS trailer. You okay?' he typed quickly into a private message to Ollie. 'Call me if you need anything. Ignore the noise.' He then added his dismissive comment to the group chat, hoping to pour some cold water on the inevitable frenzy, knowing how quickly things could spiral.

Relaxing at home, likely surrounded by his beloved cats, Alex Albon saw the news explode on social media. "Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, genuinely shocked. Having navigated his own share of intense media scrutiny, his immediate reaction was empathy. DTS revealing something so personal felt like a low blow. He quickly opened WhatsApp, finding Ollie's contact. 'Bloody hell, DTS! Hope you guys are alright, that's rough,' he typed. 'Shout if you need to escape the madness.' A simple offer of solidarity.

In Italy, Kimi Antonelli was deep in a simulator session at Brackley when his engineer relayed a message during a short break. "Trailer for DTS just dropped online. Seems to have caused a bit of a stir regarding Bearman." Antonelli, focused on his virtual lap times, initially just nodded. But later, checking his phone during a longer pause, he saw the specific reason for the 'stir'. The screenshot of Lira's pass. Räikkönen. His own middle namesake. The puzzle pieces he'd been turning over in his mind clicked into place with finality. Fiorano. The tyre knowledge. The Finnish. The privacy. It all made perfect sense. He felt no surprise, only a quiet confirmation of his suspicions and a renewed wave of empathy for the couple. He understood the pressure of a famous name, the desire for normalcy. He sent a concise, direct message to Ollie, mirroring the respect for privacy he'd decided on earlier: 'Saw the trailer. Hope you are both okay.' No questions, no exclamation points, just quiet support, though a part of him wondered how Ferrari, and Vasseur, would react to this complication around their junior driver.

Across the grid, reactions continued to vary. Liam Lawson, training hard between continents, saw the news less as personal drama and more as a potential competitive advantage, adding a popcorn emoji to the group chat, hoping the distraction might throw Bearman off his game for Spa. Esteban Ocon, glancing at the chat while focusing on his own team's preparations in France, mentally filed it away as irrelevant to his race weekend, though a fleeting thought acknowledged the sheer difficulty of maintaining any level of privacy in F1, let alone a secret involving Räikkönen – a challenge he was glad wasn't his.

In Monaco, Charles Leclerc was scrolling through social media when Alexandra Saint Mleux came into the room, her phone in hand, her expression troubled.

"Charles, have you seen this?" she asked quietly, showing him her screen displaying the DTS trailer reveal and the ensuing online chaos.

"It's Lira… Ollie Bearman's friend, the one we met? They found out her name… Räikkönen. Oh, mon Dieu, the poor girl. Remember how she seemed so private, how uncomfortable she looked with the cameras even in Canada? This must be horrible for her."

Alexandra's empathy was genuine, recalling their brief conversation and Lira's quiet intensity. Charles watched the clip, the freeze-frame of the pass confirming the name. Räikkönen. It instantly connected with Alexandra's story about Lira explaining tyre temperatures with such surprising clarity.

So, that's where the insight came from.

He felt a flicker of understanding, but also a professional concern about the potential disruption. He texted Carlos Sainz – 'Seen the DTS trailer? quite the legacy.' He didn't join the group chat frenzy; Ollie's situation, now entangled with the Räikkönen name and revealed so publicly, added a significant layer of complexity, especially given his Ferrari links.

He preferred to observe how Vasseur and the team would handle this unexpected drama surrounding their junior driver, wondering if this added pressure would impact Ollie's performance or his standing within the academy.

Isack Hadjar, characteristically blunt, sent Ollie a pragmatic WhatsApp from his training camp: 'So that's the big secret. Explains a few things. Good luck with the media storm.' It wasn't exactly warm, but it was a direct acknowledgment of the difficult reality Ollie now faced.

The sheer volume of the reactions, visible even on Ollie's lock screen notifications, painted a terrifying picture of how quickly the news had spread, how deeply it had penetrated the F1 bubble and beyond. Friends offering support, rivals expressing surprise or grudging acknowledgment, management demanding answers. Ollie could only imagine the frantic calls Tim was likely fielding, the terse conversations happening in team principal offices across Europe.

Through the relentless buzzing from the phone on the table, specific notifications flashed across the lock screen.

A Missed Call: Ayao Komatsu notification glowed ominously – the Haas boss, demanding answers, his reaction unknown but likely leaning towards frustration.

Another Missed Call: Tim Wright followed immediately – his manager, undoubtedly already deep in crisis mode, scrambling to formulate a response.

Then, a stark Message Alert: Fred Vasseur appeared, the text preview chillingly concise: 'Oliver. My office. First thing tomorrow morning when you arrive at Spa. Do not be late.'

The summons he had dreaded.

It felt less like a request and more like a sentence being handed down, confirming his worst fears about Ferrari's reaction to this breach.

Finally, almost mocking in its timing, an Instagram DM Request: Chloe Daniels popped up, the notification a small, sharp stab of anticipated malice; he didn't need to open it to imagine the toxic mix of feigned sympathy and unconcealed glee lurking within.

Each notification was a hammer blow against the fragile peace, reinforcing the magnitude of the disaster.

The silence in the cabin stretched, thick and suffocating, broken only by the insistent vibration of the phone and the sudden, sharp crackle of a log settling in the fireplace. The peace of the Finnish wilderness, their fragile sanctuary, had been irrevocably shattered. The outside world, the world they had tried so desperately to keep at bay, had smashed through their carefully constructed walls with brutal, digital force.

Lira slowly pulled away from Ollie's supportive grip, her breathing still slightly uneven but the initial paralyzing shock receding, replaced by a familiar, chillingly calm mask. She sank slowly onto one of the kitchen chairs, her legs unsteady. She wrapped her arms around herself, her gaze distant, unfocused, as if seeing not the rustic cabin walls but the impending media storm, the flashing cameras, the probing questions, the life she thought she’d escaped rushing back towards her like an unstoppable tide.

Ollie felt rooted to the spot, caught between the urge to comfort her further and the paralyzing grip of his own panic.

Fred.

The name screamed in his mind. The message alert confirmed it. ‘My office. First thing.’ This wasn't a close call.

This was detonation.

His career. His future with Ferrari. Everything felt like it was dissolving, slipping through his fingers like fine sand. He thought of Vasseur’s stern face, the explicit warning. What would happen now? Would Haas issue a statement? Would Ferrari pull their support? The questions swirled, nauseating, overwhelming. The insistent buzzing of the phone on the table felt like a physical pull, a demand for immediate action, for damage control.

His hand twitched, the driver's instinct to react, to manage the crisis, warring fiercely with the desperate need to shield Lira. He took a half-step towards the table, his gaze fixed on the vibrating phone, his mind already racing through potential explanations, excuses...

"Don't,"

Lira’s voice stopped him, low and strained, but regaining a sliver of its usual command.

"Don't look yet." She raised her head, her eyes meeting his. The raw fear was still there, swimming beneath the surface, but overlaid now by a flicker of something else – a familiar resilience, the steel inherited from her father, perhaps.

"Just… give us a minute. Before it all starts."

Torn, he hesitated. The immediate crisis screamed for his attention from the relentlessly buzzing phone, but opposite sat Lira, his Lira, her face pale and strained, the composure a fragile shield over the turmoil he saw churning in her eyes. He looked from the frantic device back to her, the woman who meant everything to him. Slowly withdrawing his hand, he let the phone continue its frantic dance on the tabletop – a tangible symbol of the chaos now unleashed. He sank into the chair opposite Lira, the small wooden table suddenly feeling like a vast, unbridgeable chasm separating them.

The silence descended again, heavier this time, pregnant with the knowledge that their carefully guarded world had just ended, and the storm was no longer gathering – it had broken.

The camera's eye had found them, and the accidental frame had sealed their fate.

Like a frozen lake under sudden weight, the surface gave way, the cracks spreading outwards uncontrollably.

Masterlist | Previous chapter | Next chapter

#oliver bearman #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #ollie bearman x reader #f1 fanfic #ollie bearman x oc #f1 x oc #oliver bearman x oc #formula 1 #ob87 #Paddock Confidential

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nhaneh · 3 months ago

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@idalenn kea may be smol but she is stronk!

So I have thoughts on miqo'te tails, yeah? Like I don't think they're directly prehensile - in fact I think the lore directly speaks against that possibility with occasional statements like "ain't that just the way the tail curls"? But given how miqo'te also canonically use their tails to help with balance and agility much like real world felines, those tails are inevitably going to have both mass and muscle to them.

Now sure, we're not talking arm wrestling muscle here - they are neither monkey tails nor elephant trunks, but they still have enough heft to be able to impart momentum? Let's look at a fairly well-known clip of a cheetah as an example.

During that sequence the cheetah goes from a left-leaning banked turn into a right-leaning banked turn, and then back to a left-leaning banked turn again, and in both cases it starts the transition by first shooting the tail out to the side and swinging it in a half-circle rotation in the opposite direction that it's rotating its body. By doing so, it's effectively using its tail as a reaction wheel, using its rotational momentum to help counter that imparted on its body, helping it maintain the stability and traction to stay upright rather than fall over on its side.

Let's take another example, this time of a leopard!

If you look closely, you can see how the tail starts shooting upwards just as the front paws push off from the ground, only to then swing downwards at the apex of the jump in order to impart just that little bit extra rotational momentum to keep pushing the pelvis upwards.

During high energy motion, the tail basically operates a bit like a counterweight, imparting both stability to keep upright as well as extra momentum to jump just a little bit higher, reach just a little bit further, turn just a little bit faster. And none of this is particularly exclusive to felines - you can look at pretty much any animal with a tail with enough size and mass to be used to aid in stability and you'll likely see much of the same kinds of motions and behaviour - it's ultimately much more a question of how physics work than how cats work.

Of course, this means that you could also easily imagine some miqo'te being notoriously clumsy and prone to falling over due to the motor control for their tail being a bit jank and often ending up doing the precise opposite, imparting instability rather than helping to keep them upright, or other awkward issues like their tails being prone to push chairs away from them when they try to sit down.

Thing is, too, most of our limb control is actually pretty automatic - it's usually pretty rare to find yourself directly thinking about where exactly each hand and foot and arm and leg is or what it is doing, you just do the thing without putting all that much thought or focus into it. In fact, one of the key aspects of proficiency in mechanical tasks, whether that is driving a car or typing on a keyboard or even just walking somewhere, is reaching the point where the actions become so much of a practiced routine that they no longer take up a notable amount of cognitive load. Most of the time, a tail would be just another limb running on autopilot - you might be able to physically direct it like you might an arm or a leg if you focus on it, but most of the time it'll just do what it does, whether that is to help maintain balance and stability, or to communicate and express yourself, or even randomly be a nuisance.

And I figure for most miqo'te, a lot of this is just things they learn pretty early during childhood without thinking about it or having to be taught how it works - it's like how you don't have to think about the righting reflex to help keep yourself upright, it just kicks in to do its thing.

Chances are there would probably also be certain kinds of quirks and habits you might see in some miqo'te depending on what kind of environment they're used to or were brought up in - a miqo'te that's used to cramped crowds might be much more likely to have an unconscious habit to keep their tails close to themselves, while one that's spent most of their lives in more open spaces with plenty of uncertain footing might instead have their tails move about more openly, never more than a twitch away from trying to counter a stumble or fall.

I realize this is a lot of paragraphs simply to say that yeah I definitely think Kea has a fair bit of strength in that tail of hers; underneath the floof it's nearly all bone and muscle, and likely takes up at least a couple of percent of her total body mass - quite possibly even comparable to that of an arm. It might not have the rigidity necessary to impart or resist force or impact the way an arm or a leg can, and I don't think it could support her full weight, but there's definitely some strength behind it.

#kea lurvis #miqo'te #ffxiv

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carsthatnevermadeitetc · 2 years ago

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Gateway Bronco LUXE-GT, 2023. A restomod 1970s Ford Bronco that has been bought up to date using a Ford 5.0 Coyote V8 with a 10-speed automatic gearbox and two-stage shift-on-the-fly all-wheel drive system. The body has been reinforced with a new ladder chassis, there's also anti-lock brakes, electronic stability and traction control. The Gateway Bronco has been developed in Australia with 2 years of testing behind it and will be built at the rate of 25 cars per year. Gateway Bronco has bCeen operating for 7 years and claims to be the highest-quality builder of vintage Broncos, having earned an official license from the Ford Motor Company

#Gateway Bronco #Gateway Bronco LUXE-GT #restomod #Coyote V8 #restored #Ford Bronco #1970s style #retro style

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lysaisland · 1 year ago

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sidekick? more like sidechick!!

pt 1, pt 2

There were three main outcomes Tomura had prepared for, when he schemed to attack USJ.

One: the ideal result was that he would succeed in killing All Might with his state-of-the-art nomu, and move onto the next stage of his plan to world annihilation. The world would hail chaos in one move. He would be known to everyone that he was the bringer of fear; the one who destroyed their precious peace.

Or two: All Might would, annoyingly, not die, but would be fatally injured by the nomu. This would still be partial success, as the Symbol of Peace would be out of commission, and this would mean that society would be well on its way to falling without its stability. Not only that, his League of Villains (well two villains right now, counting Kurogiri) would gain traction in the media, and publicity is always a plus. Tomura could use this to expand the League and his influence across Japan.

As much as he wanted his plan to go in any of these ways, Tomura knew he had to be prepared for any scenario — even his failure.

His third outcome was that if All Might defeated his nomu (which should not be possible due to its extraordinary power), then he should retreat and build up his forces again for another attack.

Unfortunately for Tomura, his attack on USJ resulted in the final outcome.

He escaped with three-ish, four-ish, five-ish bullet wounds, no USJ underlings and no nomu, not even its bloody body.

At this point, he was just glad he had the foresight to plan his failure. Not only were his underlings arrested, the nomu was apprehended by All Might, and he proved to be stronger than ever, despite Sensei insisting All Might has been drastically harmed in their last battle together.

He needed a fucking drink.

“Kurogiri, I’m heading out.”

The door slammed shut and Tomura disappeared into the night.

oOo

You, on the other hand, were having the time of your life.

Exams were finally over and that meant you could finally release your inhibitions, in the form of obnoxiously loud music and sweaty clubs.

You had just finished a lovely evening out with your boyfriend and friends. After a night of raving and dancing and (fairly) responsible drinking, you were just coming out of the club and on your way home.

Your boyfriend went to his apartment earlier before you, a few hours ago due to “something”. You couldn’t hear him clearly above the booming music, you assumed it was because of his chronically weak stomach. He always said that, whether it be nights out or dates. You brushed it off like it was nothing because his health mattered first.

He’ll make up for it.

Probably.

oOo

It was around 4am when it happened.

“What the fuck?” You yelped and found yourself sprawled on the floor, outside a closed bar. The street was empty, save for a few stray cats, occasionally yowling into the night.

The mass you ended up being entangled with was wearing a black hoodie. Dishevelled hair could be seen peeking out from the hood - light coloured, a stark contrast to his hoodie.

You sat up straight on the floor, trying to make sense of what was happening, veins pulsing. You could hear shallow breaths coming from the body turned away beside you.

You tried to shake the person awake, he groaned and the stench of alcohol and iron greeted you. His shoulder felt slightly damp too. You raised your hand up slightly to the yellowing street-light. Your hand had a tinge of orange, leaning more to the red side.

Blood?

“Oi, get up,” You frantically whispered into the person’s ear, “You’re fucking bleeding!”

He started mumbling incoherently under his breath. You could make out weak swears and a few mentions of “stupid fucking heros”.

You stumbled to your feet, pulling him up with you, surprisingly warm and pliant against your shoulder. You wrapped his arm around yourself to steady the two of you.

“Come on, we’re off to the hospital.”

As if snapped out of a trance, the man tried to tear himself from you and shook his head furiously. The both of you barely managed to stay standing, leaning against the nearest rough wall.

He was already facing you, when you looked at him, his eyes glaring at you, as if you were the scum of the earth.

Your hand gripped onto his wrist to steady your centre of gravity. His fist was clenched, so tightly that each knuckle looked like they would burst from his skin to reveal blood as dark as his eyes.

His brows were furrowed furiously.

You frowned at him back.

You could make out the dry skin on his forehead and, despite this, his face was surprisingly good-looking. A faint scar trailing from his cheek to his mouth caught your attention. You started to wonder where he got it from, an accident? Or was it a self-inflicted wound from scratching?

You were a bit drunk still, but the situation was causing you to sober up.

You sighed and tried to signal to him that you were only here to help.

“No hospitals,” he croaked, words low and slurred, “h-hate them.”

You agreed as to not agitate him further, “Let’s go to my boyfriend’s then. His apartment is only a street away from here.”

The man’s face contorted into a look of scepticism, as a strained “why” was pulled from his lips.

“First aid kit.”

He stared at you for a moment, debating on something, before mumbling, “I can walk by myself.”

oOo

Tomura should’ve just drank at the hideout. It was a literal bar after all, however he wanted to get away from all the scheming, nagging and his failure.

And so, into the barrel he went.

“I’m hungry.” He mumbled, eyes glazed over slightly as he stared at the head in front of him.

He was met with a hum in agreement.

“We’re almost there,” You took a breath, “but there’s a convenience store on the corner.”

He doesn’t know why you’re even doing this.

Helping him outside that bar and trying to care for his wounds brought you nothing. You looked so soft.

Stupid sidekicks and their idiot saviour complexes. Tomura was starting to get annoyed. It would be so easy to just turn you into dust.

Poof.

He concluded that it was pity driving your actions.

You looked non-threatening enough and you were still slightly buzzed. He would go through with this and then you would part ways and never see each other again. It didn’t seem like you recognised him.

A roll of bandages came into his view. The convenience store lights were harsh white and made the bandages seem brighter than they were. His head was starting to throb a bit.

“The big roll or the small roll?”

“Small.”

You raised an eyebrow.

Out on the dark streets, you couldn't see him very clearly, let alone his injuries, but in the store, it looked like his hoodie was drenched with blood from his shoulder to the middle of his chest. Even his black sweats were glowing in red if you looked at him from a certain angle. You were still deciding whether you should just cart him to the hospital after all.

You chucked the big roll of bandages in your basket. It was already full of a variety of sweets.

You giggled at the basket.

“What are you laughing at?” Tomura accused, miffed due to his answer being ignored.

“You don’t seem like a sweets guy.”

“Anyone can have sweets.”

“Just saying.”

“Right.” He answered dryly.

“Why are you all bloody?”

“Why are you buying bandages?” He shot back, “I thought your boyf had a first aid kit?”

“Because I don’t think he’ll have enough,” you gestured to all of him. “for your situation.”

“Stupid sidekick.” He muttered.

You rolled your eyes and leaned towards him, “So! Why are you head to toe in blood?” You said with a slight lilt in your voice.

Tomura wondered if you were still a little drunk. He was one to talk.

“Because I ripped a few stitches while drinking.”

“And how did you rip them?”

“Some guys were yapping about how hard ‘All Our Heroics’ was — even when he downloaded the helpers mod for it.” He answered in disgust, “All I did was engage in a conversation with him and told him how stupid he was. And then, we ended up in … disagreement.”

“Clearly.” You deadpanned. “Still. Where did you get your stitches from?”

“Work.”

“Work?”

“Yes.”

“Ah. Sue them?”

“Sue them.”

“Annihilate them?”

“Sure, annihilate.” He gave a faint smile.

OoO

By the time you arrived outside at your boyfriend’s place, the sun was starting to rise. A melody of colours took to the skies: swirling clouds painted the perfect picture of peace.

You stopped in your tracks and gazed upwards. Tomura ended up walking into your back. He cursed, as the two of you stumbled.

“This again?” He hissed, “We already knew you couldn’t walk straight at that bar and now you're sending me flying?”

You laughed at him.

“Just look up. Isn’t that pretty.”

“No.”

“Zip it before I push you.”

“Technically, you did.”

“Even more technically, you pushed me. You walked into me.”

“Yeah, exactly, walked into you, not pushed.”

You grinned at him and rolled your eyes.

You walked into the elevator and Tomura followed you in. The two of you were in a comfortable and easy silence.

You were walking to the door before you just suddenly stopped. Tomura prevented himself from bumping into you.

“Seriously? Again, again? I almost dropped our stuff.”

“Sorry about that, but I just remembered, what’s your name? I’ve just been calling you the bloody-hoodie guy in my head.” You questioned.

“I don’t give my name to strangers.”

You stared at him incredulously and gave him your name.

“There, we’re not strangers anymore.”

He was silent.

“People also don’t follow strangers to their homes.” You pointed out, “What’s your name?”

“S-Shimura Tenko.”

“I feel like you just made that up just now.”

“Aw. Shucks.”

You shook your head at him while you opened the door.

The two of you walked in and what greeted you shocked you both. You dropped your plastic bag full of junk food and bandages on the floor and stormed further into the apartment.

Two bodies were on the couch, near the balcony, heads close together and lips touching. Unneeded sounds of pleasure could be heard from where the two of you were standing. They were kissing. Very passionately.

Ouch.

You yelled out your boyfriend’s name in flaming anger.

Two heads turned so quickly to look at you, you could’ve sworn you heard a crack.

It all became clear as you slotted the puzzle pieces together.

“So, you never had chronic diarrhoea,” you sneered, words dripping with sarcasm, “you had a chronic case of cheating scumbag!”

Your boyfriend’s face was flushed when you came in, but it became even redder as you glared at him.

A resounding smack made its way through the room, making you turn your attention towards the other person on the couch.

“I was with you for two years! You fu-“

“What?” You exploded, “You literally asked me out a few months ago. How dare you do that to your partner!” You followed that with curses.

Out of nowhere, laughter echoed. And three heads turned towards Tomura. His laughter was bright and full of amusement.

When he finally stopped, a stunned silence filled the room and he spoke, “So,” he started in the same tone as you when you spoke to your boyfriend, “you’re no sidekick, you’re a sidechick!” He started to laugh again.

You stared at him in pure shock, anger dissipating into slight amusement.

“That was a shit joke.” You said after you managed to dig some words out.

“Who’s he?” Your ex-boyfriend accused, “Were you cheating on me? With that?”

It was your turn to laugh as you told him that you weren’t cheating on him but you were only helping a poor guy out, while he was being scummy.

“I’ve had enough of this,” you frowned, “We’re leaving Shimura!”

You marched over to him and grabbed his wrist.

“No, don’t use your quirk here!” Your ex pleaded, “The landlord is going to have my head.”

You huffed out a self-satisfied puff of air. “Watch me!”

“I hope you don’t mind too much. We’re off to my place.” You muttered to Tomura.

“Oi! What are you trying to-“

Tomura was cut off before he finished his sentence.

He fell through the floor with the convenience store bags grasped tightly in his hands, with your hand gripping his wrist. His pinky was aching and his head ached even more.

He yelled as he found himself on the floor with you once more, legs tangled and things rolling around on the now-dusty ground.

The two of you were laying on the ground, looking at the white ceiling. Tomura could see the walls in the corner of his eye, the colour of it matched your top.

“Sorry about that.” Your voice coming from his right, “My quirk is Rabbit Hole. I can teleport by creating literal holes in the ground. That’s why we are at mine right now and not at that idiot’s.”

“I couldn’t have guessed. Ha.” Tomura replied, oddly calm, “If I touch things with all of my fingers, I can make things turn to dust. That’s why the ground is all dusty.”

You hummed in reply.

“I’m really fucking tired.”

“Same.”

“What’s the time?”

“Shit, if I know.”

“I hoped I left a massive hole at that asshole’s. I hope that it went through all his plumbing and that his apartment is flooding right now!”

“He’s going to sue you.”

“So? Sue me!”

pt 2 here

#bnha x reader #bnha #shigaraki x reader #tomura shigiraki x reader #tenko x reader #shimura tenko x reader #this has been waiting in the wips for god knows how long #ugh #i need sleep #mha #mha x reader #crack #fluff #fluff kind of #seafloor script ❧

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phyx-m · 6 months ago

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Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 15: All The Hands At Dawn

Content warning: blood, wounds.

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

Digital Bath - Deftones Heartbeat - Gazelle Twins

Chapter 14 | Chapter 16

Fragmented sensations, distant moments—almost too faint to grasp—fade in and out.

You feel the cold, hard floor give way. Four arms press you against a wall of heat. Weightlessness. You hear the heavy thud of footsteps on polished wood—the rustling of fabric. Smell the sharp scent of copper clinging everywhere.

Nearby, a door slides open. You sway, boneless, to the sound of crackling.

Two voices murmur in the distance—one deep, the other calm. “She’s dead.” The deeper voice, a vibration, a warm exhale against your cheek.

A door slides shut.

You’re placed on something soft. Four hands move, gently mapping every sore, every hurt on your aching body. Light, gentle touches—barely there.

Something pleasant.

You must be dreaming, or perhaps you’re dead. Either way, you could stay like this—floating in nothingness, comfortable, safe, protected—feelings you’ve rarely known.

It’s nice.

Until it wasn’t.

Fingertips press into the bruised tenderness of your throat, shifting broken cartilage. The pain is sharp and bright. Sharp like a blade—a blade shining in the darkness.

All at once, you remember.

Midnight. Sayuri. The knife. Stabbing. Bleeding. Ren.

Something glows behind your eyelids—a dull white light, followed by a horrible pressure sinking into your neck.

Someone screams—a jagged, painful sound that hits your ears. Then it fades, replaced by a searing heat pouring down your throat, like swallowing fire.

Burning. Someone is burning you.

Eyes snapping open, you come to, thrashing wildly.

And then, you realize the person screaming is you.

“Stop!” Sukuna barks from behind—no, above you. He’s hovering over you.

Confused, you try to rise, desperate to escape the fire that’s consuming you. But as soon as you move, a keening wail rips from your throat—every wound on your body pinching, pulling apart.

Four hands force you down to your stomach, holding you still—one on your hip, two gripping your wrists, the last curled around your throat, keeping your head steady.

I can’t move. I need to move.

Panic cracks open your mind as a memory flickers: Sayuri trapping you in the dark, her body pinning you down as she stabs into you, hurts you, makes you bleed.

You squirm, frantic, on—what? A futon?

Where am I?

The world narrows to the silk cushions under your face. The edge of a folded sheet lies nearby. Yes, you’re on a futon, and it’s massive. Your body sinks into layers of soft padding, indulgent and thick. With a sweeping glance, you see you’re in an unfamiliar room, lit softly by a lantern just out of sight. You trail your eyes downward. The sheets beneath you are soaked. Flaring your nostrils, you catch the scent of sweat and—

Blood.

Heart hammering, you wheeze, sucking in as much air through your mouth. Breathing hurts, the sound ragged, crunching and crackling—like your windpipe had under Sayuri’s hand when she crushed it.

Mouth opening wider, you gasp for more air, but it’s useless. That’s when you realize—the collapsed passage of your throat is obstructing your breath.

Air. You need air.

Dizziness numbs your head, panic setting in. You lash out, fighting against Sukuna’s grip, chest heaving, nostrils flaring.

“I can’t—I can’t breathe.”

His four hands tighten, pressing you deeper into the futon.

His touch.

The sensation overwhelms you. There were already too many fucking hands on you tonight. Too many.

You try to rise again, and he shifts his weight.

“Stop. Moving,” he hisses, “do you want to make this worse?”

You dig your feet into the futon, searching for traction, for stability—for anything.

“Let go—” you choke out. You need air, to get up, to help Ren. “Please. I can’t—”

The hand at your hip shifts, bracing the small of your back. He applies careful pressure, keeping you still while avoiding the fresh wounds decorating your body.

“Stop!” His voice lowers, breath skittering across the back of your neck. You can’t see him, but you know he’s kneeling beside you, his body curving over your back. “You’re not helping yourself by writhing.”

His hands adjust their grip, uncurling and curling again as if anticipating your next attempt to escape. You flinch, struggling once more, clawing at the sheets beneath you until the wounds on your palms bite with pain.

“My Lo—”

“Stop!” His head dips, voice dropping right beside your ear. Despite the harshness of the command, there’s a softness to it. The hand on your lower back slides to your hip, and his body leans closer. “Stop …” His voice grows quieter, trailing into something strangely gentle. “…stop fighting me.”

As if toppling from a great height, your body stills, and impossibly, you soften beneath him. Your throat's thorny breath quiets as you surrender, melting into the damp sheets.

Sukuna breathes a tight exhale. His grip loosens, but it doesn’t fall away.

A calm settles over the room, broken only by the soft crackle of the lantern's flame.

Warm fingers tilt your head, keeping it elevated. Sukuna’s face swims into view.

The dim, shadowed light picks out his tense expression—brow creased, mouth set into a thin line, red eyes studying you with a searching, troubled look.

“I’m going to heal you now,” he murmurs, brow furrowing more deeply. “You need to remain still.”

All you can manage is a faint incline of your chin.

Hands clutching you tightly, he shifts closer, and the futon dips beneath his weight, pulling the two of you nearer, his knees brushing against your forearm.

“This will be painful.” With that warning—and to your relief—he turns your head away, positioning it forward.

He had healed you once before, and that had hurt. You don’t want him to see your face when the pain comes. Because you knew this time, it would be tenfold.

Sukuna’s fingers adjust, tracing the contours of your throat, splaying out as if gathering all the shattered pieces of what had been broken—like holding tiny, fragile seashells in his palm. Then, just below your chin, and out of sight, a soft white glow begins to diffuse.

The heat builds gradually, crawling from the hollow of your neck and up. And as before, it burns hotter and hotter.

You wet your lips, breathing heavily through your nose. Sweat collects on your forehead as the fire encroaches, filling your lungs and throat. A grimace tugs at your mouth, pulling and cracking painfully at Sayuri’s blood still crusted to your face.

Beneath Sukuna’s fingertips, the delicate rings of your throat shift, rearrange, draw together, and break apart.

It becomes unbearable, and you can’t help but whimper as bile threatens to rise from your stomach.

“Don’t,” he mutters, his three hands gripping your body, likely sensing your urge to pull away.

A coarse, grinding sound fills your ears as the passage of your windpipe finally knits itself back together, muscles aligning painfully. Then, a wave of numbness washes over you, easing the torment.

The soft glow fades from his fingers, and you inhale. The jagged sensation, like glass shards scraping inside your throat, is gone.

Sukuna lowers your head to the futon, turning it so your cheek rests against the cushions.

He doesn’t stop there.

With his lower hands, he reaches for his haori, which you’d forgotten you were still wearing, and carefully begins sliding it off your body.

He’s silent as he maneuvers you, lifting the fabric from under your torso and freeing your arms from the cavernous sleeves, his expression unreadable. Yet, there’s a horrible tenderness in each movement. Every lift, every pull, gentle. It’s as though he understands how fragile you are, and despite everything, he’s careful not to break you further.

It doesn’t make sense.

This should be nothing more than a formality, a simple transaction, this union between the two of you.

And still.

When he finally slips the garment off and tosses it aside like an afterthought, only to refocus on you, something deep inside your chest shatters. The vulnerability becomes too much.

“Ren,” you sob, the name spilling from you before you can stop it.

Tears gather at the corners of your eyes, and you try to fight them back.

His gaze flickers to your face.

Don’t cry. Do not cry in front of him.

You manage to hold most of them at bay, but one slips free.

Sukuna watches intently, his four eyes following the tear as it rolls down the swell of your cheek and lands on the cushion beneath you. His eyes narrow as though he’s never seen anyone cry before. He must be no stranger to it—he’s likely seen hundreds cry, beg, and scream for mercy before killing them. But the look he gives you now is different, more complex. He seems both confounded and confused.

But that doesn’t matter, for what you’re about to say would make you cry a thousand more tears if needed.

“Please,” you whisper, voice breaking. “Sayuri, she—” Another droplet slips free, and his gaze hardens. “She stabbed Ren. She stabbed her, and she’s in my chambers… please—” Your bottom lip quivers as his nostrils flare. “You have to help her. You have to heal her.”

He doesn’t respond; he simply watches as a third tear falls, tracing the length of your nose, curving, and sinking into the dip of your mouth. As it settles, he reaches toward your face, his thumb extending as if he wants to wipe it away.

For a moment, a shameful part of you wants to lean into him. His sexual desires you can handle, but this—this tenderness—you can’t. Allowing it would tarnish the way you see him, and that would be a mistake.

Before his hand can reach your skin, you flinch, brow furrowing. He stiffens, the veins in his neck standing out, and he pulls back.

A beat of silence follows.

Then, two more.

“Your back needs to be healed,” he mutters, the distance between you two once again set in place. His four eyes sweep over the bloodied yukata covering your torn skin. “I need access to the wounds.”

Understanding his intent, you swallow, steadying yourself.

“That’s fine,” you whisper.

Leaning down, Sukuna clasps the blood-stained fabric with his lower hands but releases it when a sliding door opens. He turns his head toward the sound and slips off the futon.

With his body now out of your line of vision, you try to make sense of the room, but it’s too dark. You do, however, see Uraume’s stark white kimono as they press into the dim light.

“Master Sukuna,” their soft voice precedes their light footsteps as they enter further. “Ren is settled in her chambers. She’s resting for now.”

Your heart nearly stops.

“Ren?” Your voice cracks. You try to sit up, but Sukuna’s glare keeps you in place. “She’s… she’s alive?”

The pounding of blood in your ears drowns out everything else.

Uraume steps closer, their eyes sweeping over your body.

“Yes, my Lady,” they confirm quietly, bowing their head. “Her wounds were severe, but Master Sukuna healed her before you.”

You glance at the King of Curses, and a strangled sob breaks free from some deep, raw place inside you.

“Thank you.” You know he didn’t do this for you, but the words are choked and unexpected.

His broad nose scrunches slightly, his top lip curling back just enough to show a hint of teeth.

Before you can read his reaction further, you quickly turn away, burying your face in the cushions.

Ren…

You blink hard, relief dragging the remaining tears down your cheeks.

Behind you, Sukuna and Uraume exchange a few quiet words before his subordinates’ footsteps fade, and the door, once again, slides shut.

Heavy footsteps approach. The futon dips as Sukuna returns. You shift slightly, turning to watch him from the corner of your eye.

He picks up where he left off, gathering your yukata into his hands. He pauses for a heartbeat, considering it, then he begins to tear it. The fabric rends apart easily, exposing your back from shoulder blades to tailbone. You cringe as the cool air nips at the incisions.

One of his hands moves. Coming down to trace the small of your back, then up, fingertips dipping along your spine and stopping just shy of the damage inflicted. The wound, so close to his touch, throbs, its edges pulsing with heat.

Sukuna exhales deeply, the sound betraying perhaps more than he intends.

“Healing this will hurt far worse than your throat.” Thick anger creeps into his voice.

The words have your gazes finding each other.

Guard yourself.

You nod, taking in his warning. Then, you whisper your response. It’s simple, mirroring what exists between you two.

Which is nothing.

“Okay.”

* * * * *

Birds chattering.

The sound circles around you—warbling, fading, then pulling you awake.

Slowly, slowly, you open your heavy eyelids. Wooden beams of an unfamiliar ceiling greet you.

You squint at them, confused.

You don’t remember falling asleep on your back. Then again, there’s much you don’t recall—only a few vivid details: Sayuri is dead, Ren is alive, and Sukuna spent most of the night mending your broken body. By the time he finished, you had collapsed onto your stomach in exhaustion. Given the early morning birdsong, that must have been only a few hours ago.

Lifting your hands, palms up, you search for any signs of the attack—raised skin, marks, anything—but there are none. It’s like it never happened. But you know better. The internal scars are there, buried deep alongside so many others.

You tilt your chin down, ignoring the dull ache that follows.

A thick, inky blue quilt, dark as a river at night, weighs heavily across your body. Strange. It’s another detail you don’t remember. You run your fingers over the fabric, feeling the richness of its texture before pulling it aside.

Underneath, your yukata clings to you. The gaping hole Sukuna tore in the back to access your wounds, along with splotches of blood and sweat, serves as your physical memento of the attack.

Pushing yourself to sit on the futon, you feel something beneath you—a massive kosode spread like a makeshift sheet. Your fingers trace its carefully arranged folds, forming a barrier between you and the soiled bedding below. It’s so small a thing, and yet oddly comforting.

More birdsong draws your attention, and you lift your head.

You’re still unsure where you are, but judging by the sheer size of the futon you’re lying on—which is raised off the floor—you have a feeling you know whose chambers these are.

The only time you caught a glimpse inside Sukuna’s room was on your wedding night—and even then, it was brief.

You lift your gaze more.

The room is large—much larger than the others in the shrine. Every surface, from the walls to the floor, is dark wood. It swallows the light and gives the space a cavelike, oppressive feel—much like the private dining room. But despite its somberness, it feels lived-in.

Stretching across the dark walls is a mural depicting the changing seasons. The colours have dimmed over time, parts faded, and once-bright gold accents are muted and dull. Still, it remains hauntingly beautiful—a place where time has slowed, allowing only traces of its former grandeur to remain.

To your right, wooden furnishings occupy the space: a desk, a low table, a few cushions, and shelves lined with items of varying sizes. Though you can’t discern what they are, you’re not about to sift through the King of Curses' personal belongings.

A cool breeze draws your gaze to the left.

A garden door stands slightly ajar, allowing the first bit of light to bathe the room in a hue of softening blues. It feels as though a lifetime has passed since midnight, since the chaos was unleashed. Now, only a grounding calm remains—a deceptive calm.

You scan the room once more.

And there.

To one side, tucked into a corner, two enormous feet, ankles circled with black ink, peek out from the waning shadows.

You hadn’t expected him to still be here, but Sukuna sits sprawled in a low chair, legs extended. Three hands are clenched into tight fists, resting against his bare chest, while the fourth curls near his face. He only wears his umanori hakama, which means the kosode you’ve been sleeping on… you glance down at it, then back at him.

He doesn’t move. He’s so unnervingly still that you’re unsure if he’s even breathing.

However, as you sit up a little more, you catch the faint rise and fall of his shoulders, the expanding tattoos on his chest, and the soft rhythm of his breathing.

He’s… asleep and so vulnerable.

Your body is already moving.

Edging closer to the side of the futon, you feel the torn fabric of your yukata hanging open, swaying with each movement. As you place your feet on the floor, you accidentally nudge a basin of muddy water beside it. It sloshes, and you quickly bend down to steady it, careful not to wake the monst—

Your eyes fall on a pink, blood-tinged cloth draped over the basin’s rim.

Removing your hand, you look down at yourself and realize you’ve been cleaned. A quick touch to your face confirms that it, too, has been wiped free of blood.

Someone has tended to you, cared for you, wiped away every trace of where your wounds once were.

Your gaze drifts back to Sukuna, his four eyes closed.

Stepping across the room, you notice his hair is tousled. It’s messy, as if he’s been running his hands through it over and over.

Moving closer still, you see that the fingers of the hand resting against his face are stained a ruddy pink, with a smudge of dried blood clinging to them.

He’s the one who cleaned you. He could have had Uraume or any other attendant do it, but he did…

You tilt your head.

Why? Why are you still here?

You step closer, coming to stand at the edge of his feet. The broad span of his chest seems to glow in the pale dawn filtering through the garden door.

For the first time, you glimpse something in him beyond his terrifying nature—a quietude that makes you pause, wondering if this side of him exists anywhere but in these fragile, fleeting moments of sleep.

Impossible.

And then you feel it—the familiar prickling in your fingertips—a reminder of what must be done.

You raise a hand and place a foot between his extended legs.

What murder attempt is this? The third? Fourth?

You exhale quietly, leaning in a little closer, all the while debating whether to aim for his head again or try something different—like touching the spot where his heart might be.

But as your eyes drift between his face and hand—the hand he used to care for, clean, and heal you, you pause.

This should be simple. You can kill him right now.

Take it.

You sense a change in the room immediately—a subtle pressure tightening around the back of your neck growing… harder.

By now, you recognize this awareness all too well and know there’s not enough time to react. Because it’s clear, even in his peaceful slumber, his true self is always awake, even if only partially.

Sukuna's fiery crimson gaze snaps open and cuts through the morning haze.

Your heart dips, outstretched hand dropping to your side.

His eyes find yours, and you stare at each other—husband and wife, yet worlds apart.

Eventually, you shift on your feet.

“I’m sorry, my Lord. If I woke you, it wasn’t my intention.” You offer quietly, growing uncomfortable as he has yet to blink.

Saying nothing, all his hands uncurl from their clenched confines, and he stands in one smooth motion. You step back, almost forgetting how tall he is, how completely crushing he is.

He steps forward.

You step back, retreating until your calves hit the edge of the raised futon.

One, two, three steps. He closes the distance until he stands right before you. Tilting his head, he looks down at you.

You swallow.

“About healing me, I wanted to—”

Before you can finish, his hands move. The bottom pair slips to your waist, while the upper pair slides through the tear in your yukata, pressing against your back. You tremble at the contact, feeling how your newly healed skin moulds into his palms, the space between you shrinking.

Your blood drums in your ears as he lifts you gently, placing you back on the futon, laying you down on his kosode as if you were the most delicate creature he’s ever touched.

Fuck…

As you lie back, his massive body follows, four powerful arms caging you in. Worse yet, he leans in, the tip of his nose brushing against your hair, nudging the top of your skull.

“Rest,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. Your heart wrenches, pulling in a direction you can’t allow.

Slowly, he pulls back.

When your eyes meet, tension builds in him again.

Backing away from the futon, he strides toward the door.

“Wait, my Lord.” You fight the urge to call him by name.

He glances over his shoulder, the brief crack in his façade now sealed.

“What?” His voice is flat, emotionless.

“Sayuri...” You swallow. “She mentioned someone else trying to kill me. Do you know anything about this?”

Sukuna tilts his head toward the ceiling, and the muscles in his back tighten.

“No.” He takes another step, then slides open the door. He doesn’t turn around as he adds lowly. “No one else will harm you here.”

With nothing more said, he leaves, disappearing from the room, and you’re left alone.

🔗 Chapter 16

#sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #dark content #heian sukuna #beneath the silk #dark fantasy #jjk fanfic #sukuna smut #true form sukuna #sukuna fanfic #soft sukuna

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