artslettercommunication

[sxgakookie]

Summary: You're an author giving a talk for your newest published work, when you're asked a question about your recent engagement to Kim Namjoon. The question gives you an opportunity to relive the chance meeting and the sweet moments that made you fall for your fiancé. Genre: Fluff, Smut (softdom! and idol!Namjoon x reader) Rating/Warnings: Adults Only (Strong language, oral [male and female receiving], riding and missionary sex, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms) Word Count: ~5.6k words

“Our conversation is about to wrap, and I know that we have questions from the audience, but there is one more thing I’d like to mention.” The interviewer, Ji-ah, said with a bright, white smile. “Your recent engagement to Kim Namjoon. I just wanted to say congratulations.” 

“Thank you.” You blushed, not expecting your fiancé to come up in the interview. The audience clapped, with smiles, clearly happy to see you happy. 

“I just wanted to ask, what is that story?” Ji-ah asked. “How did the two of you get together?” 

“Well,” You laughed, thinking back to past moments, like flipping pages in your memory book. You look out into the audience, speaking to everyone there with sparkling eyes. “We met in this beautiful city, actually. It was during my first trip here, to Seoul.” 

You stood in your hotel room, slipping on a newly purchased pair of black patent leather heels, perfect for your planned night out. It was something you were looking forward to, after working all day, signing Korean-language copies of your most recent best seller. Ever since landing in Seoul, you had wanted to explore the city, particularly its art scene, as art has always been a love of yours, wherever you traveled. 

After you slipped on the heels, you did a quick check in the mirror, making sure your makeup, hair and dress were to your liking. You threw on a beige coat for the cold, winter winds outside, and made your way down the hall of the hotel, to meet your driver outside. 

Seoul was beautiful at night, especially when the snow was light and fluffy. Flakes collected on the glass of the backseat window, where you watched the buildings pass by. The streets were illuminated by the soft glow of street lights, and, despite the cold temperatures, people were bracing the weather, still out and about. You sent a quick text to your literary agent, to thank her for getting you into this exhibition opening, barely being able to press send before you had arrived. 

The gallery was small and intimate, with bright white walls and dark, black floors, giving it a modern yet still warm feel. When you entered, a polite employee took your coat for you, and offered you a glass of red wine. You accepted with a smile and a ‘thank you’ in your best Korean, before heading off into the crowd. 

If there were anyone there that you knew, you wouldn’t have noticed with the way your eyes latched to the work of Agnes Martin. Beautiful, minimalist works graced the white walls, etches of grids with a human touch. You stood in front of one, its color a deep blue, and allowed yourself to get lost in the work. 

A man, who had been walking the circumference of the room opposite of you, had met you in the middle, at this deep blue piece. He stood next to you, towering over you with his rather tall height and toned body. He raised his own glass of wine to his lips, and caught glimpses of you out of the corner of his eye, noticing you were doing the same. 

“This one is gorgeous, isn't it?” You finally spoke, being the first to break the ice. 

“Yeah.” He nodded, taking another short sip. “It’s so easy to just get lost in her work.” 

“Mhm.” You hummed in agreement. “Like you’re melting into it.” 

The man turned to face you directly, making the size difference even more pronounced. He had sparkling dark eyes, and thick black hair, styled well. He was more casually dressed than many of the people there, and like yourself, one of the younger attendees, though you felt he was a couple years older than you. 

“I’m Namjoon.” He introduced himself with a smile. It was infectious, you noted, as you mimicked with your own smile. Your eyes flashed to his deep dimples on his cheeks. 

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.” 

“Y/N… Y/L/N?” Namjoon asked, his eyes widening. “You just published a book here, didn't you?” 

“I did.” You smiled warmly. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to know me here.” 

“Actually, I had read it only like, a day or two after it came out.” Namjoon explained. “Hidden Places, right? Yeah I um, to be honest, I don’t usually read essay collections but your book may have changed my mind.” 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” You said. “And also, you’re Kim Namjoon, right? The musician?” 

“Yeah.” He flashed his dimples. “It’s hard to be a stranger sometimes, right?” 

“Definitely.” You laughed. “But, it’s ok. I suppose you get used to it. So, you collect her work?” You asked, your head motioning towards the work. 

“Not yet.” Namjoon said. “That’s why I came tonight, seeing if anything stuck out to me.” 

“And?” You asked. “Did it?” 

“Maybe.” He said, looking back at you. You smiled under his gaze, and there was a moment of pause, as Namjoon’s eyes lingered on you for just a bit. “Do you, uh… Do you collect her work?” 

“Not really.” You shook your head. “But I’m a fan. Just haven’t sold that many books yet, you know?” 

“Right.” He nodded. 

“I read Olivia Laing’s essay about her, and I really became a fan of hers through that.” You mentioned, walking to the next piece together. 

“Yeah?” Namjoon said, his brows raised. “Why?” 

“Because it’s amazing to me how a woman with such a complicated and chaotic life, could create work that’s so… still.” You said, as though talking to yourself. “It’s peaceful. Y’know, sometimes, we say that we try to see ourselves in art, but I don’t think that’s true. I think we try to see our ideal version of ourselves in art. So if we live messy, chaotic lives, we’re drawn to something like this. Peaceful. Simple. Because that’s what we’d like our lives to be.” 

Namjoon listened intensely, his focus on your lips, as if he were reading the words you were speaking directly. 

“Is that what you’d like your life to be?” He asked, with another sip of his wine. 

“Maybe.” You shrugged, before realizing how long you’ve talked. “I’m babbling, sorry.” You blushed.

“No, it’s great.” He confessed. “I think you’re right. Maybe that’s why I like her work, too.. I think I’d like my life to be more simple.” 

“Same.” You laughed together, and sipped your wine. 

You continued chatting throughout the night, content to meet a friend in a new city. Namjoon carried himself with a warmth to him that was so genuine, and it radiated throughout the whole room. Many people came up to speak to him, and you couldn’t tell if he knew each one or not, because he spoke to each person as though they had been friends for years. It was nice, you thought, to meet someone so personable in a world that seems so isolated. 

The night was coming to a close, and tipsy patrons were making their way out of the gallery. Namjoon walked out with you, both of you with your hands in your coat pockets. You could see your breath in the cold air, and your driver parked parallel on the street. 

“It was lovely meeting you. Thanks for keeping me company tonight.” You smiled. 

“Any time.” He responded. “Hey, um… How long are you in the city for?” 

“About a week or so,” You said. “I’m here for work, but my nights are free. Next weekend, I’m leaving for some events in Busan.” 

“While you’re here, I was thinking I could show you around.” Namjoon said. “If you’d like to.” 

“Yeah, for sure.” You nodded. “That would be great.” 

You exchanged numbers, and Namjoon gave a promise to call you. He stood on the sidewalk, and watched you run through the falling snow to the black SUV that was waiting for you. When you closed the door, you could see that he was still there, smiling at you and waving you goodbye. 

“Wow.” Ji-ah smiled. “What a chance meeting, right?” 

“It was.” You said gently. “To be honest, I assumed we’d both be too busy and forget to call each other, or I just thought, ‘Hey, I have a new friend in a new city. Sure, he’s cute, but whatever. It’s fine.’” You laughed, and the audience laughed too. 

“But, he obviously did call.” Ji-ah said with a grin. 

“He did.” You nodded. “Just like he said he would, the very next day. And me, being as oblivious as I am, didn’t realize we weren’t just making plans to ‘hang out.’ I never even considered he had more in mind.” 

“You didn’t realize it could’ve been a date?” Ji-ah laughed, alongside you and the audience. 

“No!” You giggled. “I seriously thought he was just my new friend.” 

“So… What happened?” Ji-ah asked. 

Namjoon glanced at the time on his phone, knowing he was early. The reservations weren’t for another fifteen minutes, and as he watched his own breath escape his lips, he cursed his own excitement for bringing him here this early. But, he wanted to make sure you weren’t waiting for him so, here he was, alone and cold in front of the restaurant. 

He watched as people went about their evening, trying to take his mind off the chills he had. Kids across the street laughed as they played in front of the convenience store, where two men in suits ate instant ramen from cheap to-go bowls, seated in front of the window. Namjoon noted their loose ties, and wondered if they worked together, getting food to decompress after a hard day, or if they just found each other in the same place, at the same time. 

“Hey!” You yelled with a wave, snapping Namjoon out of his daze. You were on the other side of the street, waiting for the traffic light to change. He smiled and waved back, and watched how your hair bounced with every fast step you took across the crosswalk. 

“Hey.” He greeted. “How was your day?” 

“Busy.” You smiled. “Yours?” 

“The same.” He said. “I think it’s almost time for our table to be ready. Let’s get you in from the cold.” 

Namjoon opened the door for you, motioning you in with a playfully exaggerated wave of his arm. You giggled at his antics, and entered the warm, dimly lit restaurant. The building was beautiful, clearly upscale, and not a casual “hang out” spot, like you had assumed. 

“Table for Kim Namjoon.” The host smiled politely, gathering a set of menus in his hands. “Right this way, please.” 

Namjoon followed behind you as the two of you made your way to your table; an intimate, private table near the back of the restaurant. Namjoon politely helped you into your seat, before sitting down across from you. You thanked the host, and then began looking over the pages of the menu. Namjoon, however, was looking at you; the woman who had occupied his mind for the last twenty-four hours. 

“I thought about what you said,” Namjoon finally spoke, causing you to glance at him. “About our lives, and if they’re messy and chaotic, we seek out the opposite.” 

“Yeah? You remember my babbling?” You chuckled. 

“I agree with your babbling.” Namjoon corrected with a dimpled smile. “I think, with my own life, I search for peaceful things to try to balance out the chaos.” 

“And are you successful?” You ask. 

Namjoon just smiled warmly, staring at you, wondering how it’s possible for a woman to be that beautiful. “I’m trying.”  He finally answered. 

Throughout the dinner, you were lost in conversation with Namjoon, and Namjoon was struck by just how easy it felt to be with you. The two of you laughed, enjoyed wine and food, and Namjoon knew with his best instincts that you were someone special. Intelligent, personable, beautiful. The ingredients of the girl of his dreams. He knew you were barely an acquaintance, and he cursed himself for always jumping the gun when it came to love. But he also knew how he felt with you, and he couldn’t ignore it. He wanted to get closer. 

“…So, yeah, I have to go to Busan soon.” You said. “I’m sure it’s lovely there, but I have to admit, I just love Seoul so much.” 

“You could come back.” Namjoon suggested, trying to play it off as a nonchalant thought. “When you’re done with work, just come back and spend some more time here.” 

“Maybe.” You smiled at the thought. “I’ll think about it.” 

“And did you think about it?” Ji-ah questioned, leaning in to hear your answer. 

“I did.” You nodded with a laugh. “But, Namjoon isn’t known for his patience, and came to visit me in Busan instead.” 

“Are you serious?” Ji-ah laughed alongside you. “He went all the way there just to see you again?” 

“He really did. I thought he was out of his mind.” You joked, making the crowd laugh too. “But, in all honesty, it was maybe the most romantic gesture I’ve ever had, and it sealed the deal for a first real date.” 

“Excuse me, Ms. Y/L/N, could you sign my book please? I’m a big fan.” 

“Of course!” You said, not looking up at the man in front of the book signing table as you took his paperback copy. “Who can I make it out to?” 

“Did you really forget me that quickly?” 

You furrowed your brows and looked up, to see Namjoon standing at your table with a goofy, shy grin on his face, and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Your own smile grew and your eyes widened in surprise as you took him in. 

“Oh my God, seriously? What are you doing here?” You laughed. 

“I wanted you to sign my book.” Namjoon playfully answered. “I…um, I wanted to surprise you, too.” 

“You really made a trip down here, and stood in line to surprise me? It definitely worked, I’m surprised.” You giggled. “And… you have flowers?” 

“For you.” He said, his nerves showing. “For um… It’s to congratulate you, on your book and everything.” 

“Thank you.” You said softly, standing up to take the flowers. “I don’t know what to say, that’s so sweet of you.”  

“We can chat in a minute?” He suggested. “I think I’ve taken up my time in line, some women behind me are getting upset.” 

“Ok.” You giggled. “Let me sign your book though, you came all this way.” 

Namjoon watched with complete adoration in his brown eyes as you scribbled a note onto the page of the book. 

“I’ll meet you in a little bit, ok?” 

“Ok.” He nodded, and walked to the side of the bookstore to look at your note. 

“To Joonie, the sweetest man I know. Love, Y/N.”  

Namjoon grinned ear to ear like a schoolboy with a crush. He was nervous to come to Busan, worried that it was too much, and that you wouldn’t like the gesture. But with the validation little note and a soft laugh, he knew he did the right thing. He watched as you signed the books of the rest of the people in line, and listened to each of them compliment your work. You handled yourself so gracefully, he let his mind drift into places it rarely goes with anyone. Could he let you into his world? The public, the paparazzi… Could you handle it? He can only protect you from so much, with so many things out of his control. It was a long way to that point, but he thought just maybe, you would be the right one for him.  

When you were finished, you went over to him with a wave, just as you had the night of your dinner together. 

“What did you want to chat about?” You asked with a sweet tone. 

“I know this might be a lot but,” He paused, looking into your eyes as you looked up at him. “I’d really like to take you out. If you want to.” 

Your smile slowly creeped on your face, and blush painted the apples of your cheeks. 

“Yeah.” You nodded. “I’d like that.” 

“So yeah, I went out with him.” You smiled, recalling the story. “That first date turned into the two of us going out every night that I was in Busan. We would just meet at places in the city, and spend as much time together as we could.” 

“That’s so cute.” Ji-ah cooed. “I still can’t get over that he went all that way just to see you.” 

“Me either.” You laughed. “But I’m thankful every day that he did.”

“So then, how did the two of you finally become a couple?” Ji-ah asked. “You’re running around Busan together, having fun, getting to know each other… and then what?” 

“Well…” You said, blushing brightly at the memories of that night. 

“I think you’ll love this wine.” Namjoon smiled, walking over to you with a bottle in hand while you sat on the sofa. His hotel suite was more like an apartment, with a spacious living room. He asked you to stay over for the night, after you extended your business trip into a personal vacation, just to stay with Namjoon. You knew it would sound crazy to your friends back home, but being with him just felt right to you. It came so naturally. 

“Yeah?” You answered, watching him sit down next to you and pour a glass. “I really love white wines like this.” 

“I know.” He smiled. Namjoon knew so much about you now. Your favorite foods and drinks, the books you liked and the ones you didn’t. He knew details about your family, and the funny stories of your friends. He told you about himself, too, opening up in a way that usually never comes easy to him outside of his music. 

You snuggled into him with a throw blanket tossed across your legs. Namjoon rested his arm on the back of the couch, allowing you easier access to rest on his shoulder. He smiled when you did, and when you looked up at him, he gave you a soft, slow kiss on the lips. 

You had only kissed Namjoon a couple of times. Your first kiss was at the end of your first date, when he walked you back to your room, and asked permission before moving in a little closer. Ever since, he’s stolen kisses from you whenever he could. He was obsessed with your lips, and how he felt connecting them to his own. His heart raced, and every part of him was begging to get closer. 

“Joonie…” You hummed into the kiss. “I’m happy I’m here tonight.” 

“Me too.” He smiled, deepening the kiss. You gently placed your wine glass down on the coffee table in front of you, so that you could rest your hands on his strong chest, over the soft fabric of his sweatshirt. Namjoon reacted to the touch by placing his own hands on your waist, daring to hold you where your shirt raised up just enough where he could directly feel your skin. 

The kiss never broke. But you found yourself growing braver, moving in closer, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting him position you onto his lap to straddle him. You had never felt so close to him, and both of your bodies were pleading for more…more…more…

“Y/N,” He murmured in the kiss. “I hope you know, I’m not expecting anything tonight.” 

“I know.” You said, kissing him again. “But, do you want to?” 

“I do.” He whispered onto your lips. “But only if you’re ready for it. We don’t have to rush.” 

“But I want to.” You whispered back. “I want you. So, why wait?” 

Namjoon responded with a deep breath for his nerves, followed by a passionate kiss. Deeper and stronger than the ones you’ve felt him give you before. He lifted you off the couch, allowing your legs to wrap around his waist as your arms stayed draped around his shoulders. He carried you through the hotel room, into the bedroom, where he laid you down delicately.

He stared down at you, smiling up at him from the bed. Namjoon quickly tossed his sweatshirt off and onto the floor, revealing his toned body, before helping you out of your own shirt. He swooped down and began kissing down your neck and onto the top of your breasts, his large hands cupped them through your bra. “Can I see a little more of you, honey?” 

“Please.” You answered. Namjoon wasted no time unhooking the back of your bra as you raised yourself for him to do so, and pulled the straps from your arms to show your chest. Before you had time to react, Namjoon’s lips were back on your body, licking and kissing your soft breasts, excited to have them to himself. 

“Baby, you’re so fucking beautiful.” He whispered, in between taking a perky nipple in between his lips. “So… Fucking… Beautiful…” 

“Joonie.” You whimpered. His trail of wet kisses moved down your stomach, until he reached the cotton fabric of your lounge shorts. 

“Can I?” He asked, a finger impatiently on the waistband. You nodded and hummed a ‘mhm’ in consent, lifting your hips to help him reveal just your panties. 

“You’re already so wet for me, honey.” He teased, showing his dimples. Namjoon kissed up your thighs, building anticipation with each soft, wet, slow kiss to your skin. You whined, needing him at your core. He wrapped a strong arm around each thigh, keeping you held down for him. “A little wet mark on your pretty panties, and I’ve barely done anything.” 

“Please.” You whined, and Namjoon pushed the wet fabric to the side, locking eyes with you as he slowly began applying long licks to your opening, before adding pressure and quickening movements of his tongue. You threw your head back onto the bed and let out a gasp, responding to the expert flicks of his tongue by grabbing onto the dark locks of his hair. 

“Joonie… Joonie… Please, baby…” 

He slipped a finger into your opening, breeching you for the first time, as his tongue focused on your clit. Namjoon felt your legs shake, encouraging him to add another finger, listening to the pretty noises leaving your lips. His own length was hard and pressed against the fabric of his sweatpants, aching to be released, but he ignored his own needs. This was about you; the way you gripped the sheets, chanted his name, and tasted so, incredibly sweet. The way you squeezed your eyes shut so tightly when his fingers massaged the places you needed him most, and the way you held his head in place as he gave your sensitive bud loving rolls of his tongue. Namjoon could both feel and hear your orgasm; the heaviness of your breath, the tightening of your opening, the way you dripped on his tongue. 

“That’s my girl.” He praised, nibbling your still trembling legs. He slowly pulled out his long fingers, making you shudder. 

You watched as he stood up to remove his own pants, but before he was able to, you rolled on your tummy to be eye-level with his erection, looking up at his face innocently. Your hands were already at his waistband. 

“Honey, you don’t have to.” 

“But I told you, Joonie. I want you.” You responded, slowly helping him lower his pants, letting them fall to his ankles, followed by his underwear. He kicked them to the side, watching with anticipation as your lips were level with his length. 

You started slow, just content to tease him, and to really feel the size of him. He was large, and you knew he’d fill you well. You began to kiss his sensitive, leaking head, tasting the drops on your tongue. Your lips pressed to him, working a trail down the shaft, then back up again. Namjoon’s large hand was now on your head, not forcing, but gently encouraging you to touch him. His breath was heavy, deep inhales and exhales that were audible as he grew more aroused with how you seemingly worshipped his cock. You looked up at him as you took your time working him into your mouth, your tongue caressing his most sensitive areas. 

“Babygirl… Fuck…” Namjoon’s deep voice groaned, and his hand guiding your movements. A steady back and forth, with your fingers wrapped around his balls, giving him just enough pressure to be pleasurable. “Just like that, baby… Can you go a little further for me?… Good girl.” 

Namjoon had never felt so turned on by a woman before. The way you made eye contact with him, and enthusiastically worked to please him the way that he had you, made him feel so wanted and equally aroused. His eyes flickered back and forth from your lips, watching the way his cock disappeared and reappeared, wet and throbbing, to then looking at your curves. Naked on the bed, he could see the dip of your waist, your hips and soft skin of your bottom. Every inch of you, he wanted to kiss. As he let his thoughts drift, he could feel himself go closer to the edge. 

“Wait, hold on honey.” He stopped you.“You’re gonna make me cum, baby.” 

Namjoon leaned down and gave you a quick kiss before finally meeting you on the bed. He laid down, resting his head on the pillow, and letting you straddle him and touch your lips to his. You could feel his cock pushing up against your opening, and Namjoon sighed feeling your skin on his. 

Keeping your lips close to his, but not quite touching, creating a heavy tension, you gently slid his tip into you, causing both of you to let out a quiet noise at the feeling. You sank down on him, working yourself to his length, and Namjoon held your hips, allowing you to take control and be comfortable. You felt so full, every inch of him filling you perfectly. It was as though your body was made just for him to touch, taste and fuck. 

“Fuck, Y/N…” He breathed out. You raised yourself up, and began moving on his length, switching from bouncing to grinding. Namjoon kept one hand on your hip, and place another between your thighs to touch your clit. 

“Joonie… Oh my God, Joonie… Don’t fucking stop.” You whined loudly, throwing your head back. Your hands rested on his chest to keep yourself steady, but you were coming undone again. Your pace quickened as you unraveled, your hips snapping fast as his cock reached right where you needed him most. As sensitive as you were, you both knew it wouldn’t take long for you to hit another high. 

“Cum for me, angel.” Namjoon’s deep voice dripped with arousal. “I’ve got you, baby. Just let go.” 

Your eyes shut tightly and your lips parted in pleasure, and Namjoon throbbed as you came again. He watched as your breasts bounced with every movement, and took in the feeling of your soft skin on his. As soon as you came down, he gently wrapped you in his arms, and laid you down on the bed, knowing you were almost at your limit. 

“Wanna love you just like this.” He whispered, kissing your neck as he took his place on top, resting in between your legs. His tip brushing against your entrance. “Are you too sensitive, honey? Can you take a little more?” 

“I can take it.” You whispered back, smiling as he continued painting your neck with kisses. 

“That’s my pretty girl.” He praised, sliding himself into you gently, listening for noises of discomfort. But none came, and as he bottomed out into you, he groaned and tucked his face into your neck to mark your skin and whisper in your ear. “Your pussy’s so good, babygirl. So fucking beautiful… so tight and wet just for me, aren’t you?” 

Namjoon learned that night that your neck was particularly sensitive, and you loved being kissed there. As he thrusted into you, he littered your skin with nibbles, licks, kisses and love marks. Each deep, hard hit and mark on your skin was proof that he felt something for you. Was it love? Not quite…at least, not yet. But he was falling, and he was prepared to make love to you throughout the night if that’s what it took to make you understand. You were meant to be his, that much was sure. The way you held him, kissed him, touched him, spoke to him, pleasured him was everything he’s ever wanted in a partner and a lover. 

“So close, angel.” His voice said softly, giving you a gentle kiss. 

“Cum inside me.” You whispered against his lips, deepening the kiss. “Fill me up, Joonie. Don’t fucking stop, want you to cum deep-” 

“Oh… Oh…” He groaned, his length throbbing against your walls. “Y/N…. Y/N, baby…. OH, FUCK… I… Ah…” 

You held his body close to yours as he buried his face in your neck, coming down from his high. His tanned skin was sweaty, his heart pounding and his breath heavy, as was yours. Namjoon couldn’t remember the last time, or any time, he had made love that intensely to anyone. He couldn’t remember any time he had chanted a woman’s name, or felt so desired, or was held so lovingly. It was beyond sex; it was intimacy. 

Afterwards, laying next to you, he pulled you in and the two of you drifted off to sleep as he held you in his arms, as though protective over you. As if, if he were to let go, you’d slip away. So he kept you close, and kept you safe. 

The next morning, sunlight peeked through the drawn curtains of the bedroom, illuminating everything in warmth. Namjoon had woken up before you, choosing to hold you as you slept, playing gently with your hair and occasionally caressing your bare back as you rested on his chest. Namjoon realized he could easily wake up like this, nude under the  covers with you in his arms, forever. 

After a little while, your eyelids fluttered awake. Namjoon pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, and snuggled you closer. 

“Hi.” He whispered delicately. “How do you feel?” 

“Amazing.” You replied in a hushed tone, still coming out of sleep. “Last night was… yeah.” 

“Yeah.” He smiled, his hand absentmindedly tracing your skin. “I’m really happy right now. With you.” 

“I’m happy with you too.” 

You looked up at him, still resting on his chest. Namjoon raised a hand to your face, running a thumb along the outline of your jaw, appreciating how lucky he felt in that moment. Your hair was tousled, you wore no clothes or makeup, and this was the most beautiful he had ever seen you; well rested and happy, after a night of love making. 

“Be with me.” He whispered, the words leaving his lips before he could catch them. 

“Be with you?” You repeated with sparkling eyes, making sure you heard his request correctly. 

“Yeah.” He confirmed. “I think we should be together. What do you think?” 

“Yeah.” You smiled. “I think so, too.” 

Namjoon smiled wide, showing his dimples that you’ve grown to adore so much. He sealed the deal with a soft kiss, hoping it was the first of many together. 

“…So, I spent some time at his hotel, and when we woke up the next morning, we just knew.” You explained, not giving too much information about what happened behind closed doors that night. 

“You just knew.” Ji-ah smiled, clearly giddy with the fairytale love story.

After the interview ended, and the audience had dispersed, the only person waiting for you was Namjoon. He stood in the empty auditorium by the stage where you had spoken just minutes ago, waiting to take you back home. 

“You ready?” You asked, making your way to him. 

“Yeah.” He replied. Namjoon’s eyes were sparkling and warm, filled to the brim with love for you. “Come here.” 

“What?” You smiled, before giggling as he picked you up and gently sat you down on the edge of the stage, where he could stand between your legs and look up at you. “Why’d you do that, Joonie?” You laughed. 

“I just wanted to look at you.” He said softly. You blushed under his adoring gaze. 

Namjoon had been in the audience tonight. It was your first event after the publishing of your most recent book, a essay collection on falling in love. It revealed your relationship to Namjoon to the world, after several years of dating in private. When he proposed to you one night in total surprise, during a private dinner party with all of your friends and his in attendance, that was when you both decided to go public; when you knew for sure that you both were in love for the long haul. 

Listening to you publicly describe the beginnings of your relationship, brought a flood of memories back to his mind. He wouldn’t change anything, and he was so thankful that somehow, he managed to have you for himself. He felt like he wanted to say a million things, but only one sentence seemed to come out. 

“I love you, Y/N.” 

“I love you too, Joonie.” You replied, meeting him halfway to kiss his lips. 

[igotfatter]

Here’s a series im starting called “ real life stories about my fat ass ex” due to popular demand.

Please note: I am not a writer and I am severely dyslexic, I am trying my best to give you guys a cohesive story with no spelling errors . ALSO we are no longer together. It was an awful break up. but I would want the stories too if I saw the transformation and I owe you all something, so I’m gonna give you what I got periodically. I’ll try to attach a few photos.

A big 410lbs

There are a few pretty hot stories I haven’t really shared before. One of the best examples of his narcissism (he’s my ex, and no matter what, he’s always going to be a narcissist to me) is when our scale didn’t go past 400 pounds. He never weighed himself regularly, but I could tell even he was starting to get nervous about his weight. He was clearly outgrowing his clothes, yet he stuck to the same brand every day. I couldn’t tell at first that he was going up in size because he kept replacing his shirts with bigger ones. However, he couldn’t replace his work shirt, and eventually, his belly got so big that he had to wear his own personal shirt underneath. That’s when I started really noticing how much weight he was gaining.

The best part, I swear, was like something straight out of fate. I’d never noticed it before, but in the building next to ours, there was this industrial scale just sitting there. It ended up being the building’s recycling scale, but it was there for anyone to use. (It was as random as im making it sound). At first, I didn’t go down there with him, but he was so excited when he weighed 410 pounds. I thought, “Really, babe? You sure about that?” It had been a while since our home scale broke, but the only joy I got from his weight sexually was observing and enabling, (in our four year relationship we had sex one time that’s where we were at ) so if he wasn’t concerned, I wasn’t going to be concerned.

What I later realized was that his “weight loss journey” was just keeping the scale from going up. As long as the number didn’t change, he could keep ordering Uber Eats while never leaving his recliner. I absolutely loved this man 80% of the time , but if I brought up his eating habits or simply walking downstairs or to the door because I was busy doing something, he became a different person if I was not serving him. And all honestly in a messed up way, I kind of got off on the domination. I accepted that his life choices were his to make, and I wasn’t going to trying to save him from himself. That’s when I decided to just love him for who he was, even if he claimed he wasn’t gaining any weight… fine.

Over the next six weeks, he went from kind of trying to limit his Uber Eats orders and making “butter dogs” (packs of hot dogs fried in lard that he snacked on throughout the day) to back to ordering Uber Eats four times a day, constantly eating in total gluttony. I noticed his clothes were fitting even worse, and he started having trouble with basic hygiene in the bathroom. I thought, “Either I’m losing my mind or something’s up.” So, after a particularly bad hygiene issue, I went down with him to the recycling scale.

This guy, who is truly brilliant when it comes to book smarts, didn’t realize that when the dial on the scale stopped at 410 pounds, it was because the scale didn’t go any higher. He had long blown past 410, That’s when we finally got a bigger scale for the house. And he was just over 500lbs

(Photo of him, making the butter dog with the shirt underneath the work)

[corazondebeskar-reads]

fall, with you: part one - field trip

Joel Miller x gn! reader

main masterlist |mini-series masterlist | prev | next

words: 777

summary: you meet mr. miller when he chaperones his daughter's first field trip.

warnings: pre- and post-outbreak, death, cordyceps, loss, grief, outbreak day, fluff weaponized for angst

note: anything in italics is either during or post outbreak. everything else is pre-outbreak. this story is not told chronologically and skips around a lot. i'm experimenting for fun.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

“Excuse me. Pardon.”

“Pardon,” Mr. Miller says, a hand hovering over your shoulder—not touching, never touching. He keeps his hands to himself even if his instincts tell him otherwise. 

But you don’t hear him, because the ringing in your ears is so loud. No, that’s people screaming. Why are people screaming? Why are you standing here holding a bottle of pop while a man writhes on the floor, clutching his arm? Why is there so much blood?

But you don’t hear him, because Mrs. Wilson is telling you for the fourteenth time how when her mother was a Kindergarten teacher, their fall farm field trip involved real elbow grease labor, not petting animals and drinking cider.  

“I’m sure that had great educational value and was a wonderful experience for those kids,” you say again. “We’re really limited by the insurance company—”

As she starts to interject with a comment about pansy-ass lawyers, her daughter Jessica tugs on her sleeve. “Mommy, it’s Mr. Sarah’s Dad’s turn to talk.” 

Mrs. Wilson looks taken aback, and you give her a polite smile before turning to face the man in question.

The man grabs you by the shoulder. 

“What can I help you with?” you say automatically, hand clenching the neck of the bottle. 

“Go,” he says. “Go home, run, get out.”

“Why, Mr. Sarah’s Dad, what can I help you with?” you say, to peels of giggles from the girls. 

“I, uh,” he stumbles, rubbing the back of his neck, “the, uh.” His cheeks are a little red, now. He hadn’t anticipated an audience.

But you, endlessly patient from spending your days with five-year-olds, just smile and wait.

“The uh, the bales are wet, so I thought, um,” he tries again, and then just gestures clumsily at where he’s laid his jacket down on the hay bale in the center of the row. “So your clothes don’t get dirty.” 

You hold back your amusement, another skill honed from years of trying not to laugh when a kid says “fuck” instead of “truck” or gives themself a Crayola makeover after sneaking a marker into the bathroom. “That’s very kind of you,” you say, “but you don’t need to dirty your jacket for me.”

“It’s already dirty!” chirps Sarah from his side. “Dad’s always dirty.”

Mr. Miller turns, if possible, redder. He groans and ruffles her hair.

A hint of a smirk turns your lip up at the corner, unable to smother it completely as you ask, “Do you do a lot of dirty work, Mr. Miller?”

“My dad is like Jesus,” Sarah says.

Sarah. You turn on your heel and run for home. Sarah. Sarah. Sarah. 

But it’s too late. The house is empty, the old neighbor lady’s corpse in the driveway. 

You’re alone. 

“Sarah,” he groans, eyes to the sky like he’s hoping for a divine intervention. He looks at you, pleading with those pretty hazel eyes. “And I’m not a carpenter, baby girl. Contractor. S’different.”

She puts a hand on her hip. “You build things. With wood.”

“I build houses, baby, not cabinets and shi—”

He catches himself too late, and she holds out a little grubby hand, which is already somehow sticky even though you haven’t passed out the apple cider yet. He pulls his wallet out, a ragged thing that was brown leather once upon a time, and puts a dollar in her hand. She wraps it in her fist and runs off to show her spoils to her friends. 

But when he turns back to you, you’re being dragged away by a horde of tiny, chaotic, chattering children, each vying for the privilege of being the first to show you the baby goat. 

It’s stuck to the bottom of your shoe, remarkable in itself for having any stick left after everything. Hello, it says in big blue bubble letters. My name is… 

But the sharpie underneath is smeared from the layer of moisture that clings to everything in this place. The surviving green ink has nothing left to say. But for a moment, you’re not in an abandoned hotel ballroom, amid the ghosts of a continental breakfast at a dental conference. 

You’re looking up as Joel sits beside you on the hay bale, grinning as you take in his nametag, proudly worn. Mr. Sarah’s Dad, he had scrawled, and Mr. Sarah’s Dad he had stayed for the school year. And the one after that, a distant entry in the Hot Dad Hall of Fame.

You drop the tag, watching it drop to the sodden carpet, and disappear through a door into the back halls of the hotel, leaving thoughts of them behind again.

part two

[willows-writings]

Of Butterflies and Consequences: An Until Dawn Interactive Fanfiction

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Chapter 1: Friendship: Ten Hours Until Dawn

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OBaC Masterlist

a/n: Ok guys hi!! So this chapter is gonna start with a bit of world building I won't lie. It's really just to establish who you are in this world and where you stand with everyone.

cw: past death, mental health struggles, mentions self inflicted pain

tags: @lousypotatoes @moyo5653 @morgy3456 @pecxiebu @ohantonia (I'm so so sorry if I didn't get everyone!!)

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one year later

Blackwood Mountain was a gorgeous as you remember it to be. You had been there more times than you could count, more than anyone else in the group. Either with Hannah and Beth for a weekend of gossip and hot cocoa, the entire Washington family who treated you as one of their own, or just you and Josh who would insist on lighting every candle in the house to establish a "romantic atmosphere".

All those visits and none of them took place in the past year.

Hell you don't think anyone has been up to this lodge this whole year except for the police.

Josh had invited you up here two days before everyone else got here to "tidy it up" was his excuse. But really you think it's because he knew he wouldn't be able to handle the first few days here alone.

Ever since the incident you stuck by each other. Your parents knew what had happened had been traumatic for the both of you and more often than not let you sleep over at the Washington's house. On the nights when you didn't, you would often wake up to Josh crawling through your window to sleep with you close to him.

God, you would do anything for Josh, anything at all, but at the same time you were mourning your best friends as well. That's why the two of you clung so close to each other. Having been dating almost a year before the incident it drove your already close relationship even closer together instead of farther apart like most people thought it would. You know even if you hadn't been dating and still just friends you would have stayed with him through thick and thin.

Josh had a hard time, had moments of rage, where he's punch a wall till his knuckles bled and either you or his parents would have to patch him up. His moments of depression where he would scream and cry and tear at his skin and all you could do was hold him and sob with him. Bargaining where you would both sit up at night and ask the universe why? Why them? Why not anyone else?

Inseparable as you were you know Josh had his moments, where he needed a few hours, or a day or two alone. You did too. You always knew to keep an eye on him during those moments, sending him little texts that reminded him that you loved him, asking him how his day was. It worked, and you know no matter how long those moments were he will always greet you with a hug and kiss as well as whispers about how much he missed you and loves you.

You think therapy helped, Dr. Hill seemed like a nice man, and even though at first Josh just seemed worse after the sessions he gradually started to get more and more positive. You know even before the incident Josh had struggled with mental health but before it had been manageable with some therapy, coping strategies and a few pills. After the twin's death, he was prescribed a butt load of pills to take. Sometimes it baffled you how he could remember even the smallest detail about you but completely forget to take his pills for a week straight! You took to writing reminders around his and your room, setting reminders on yours or his phone or just reminding him when you were together, which was often. But in the past few months, he had really been improving. You would show up at his house and he would proudly exclaim he took all his medicine for the day without you even asking.

You were proud of the both of you. Josh hadn't talked to anyone but you and his parents for the first six months but after that, he slowly started to reach out to Chris again. Josh even told Chris a bit about his therapy which is a huge leap in the right direction! He even started talking to Matt again in recent months. He had texted all the girls recently as well! Just little things like a post that reminded him of them or a "how's your day?" As for Mike... you knew he had reached out but not as much as he did for the others. It counted, it was all steps toward healing.

As for you, well, it was hard to talk to them at first. Logically you knew it wasn't their fault but a part of you needed to blame something other than the cold weather so you lashed out on them. It was easy to forgive Sam and Chris, you can't remember much from that night but you know Chris had nothing to do with it and you're pretty sure Sam even stood up for Hannah. Everyone else, it took you a few months to be able to talk or text them more than small talk or a passing comment. Eventually, it got easier and things almost felt like they were before.

About 4 months after their death you walked into the nearest tattoo parlor and walked out with a new tattoo. A butterfly on your right arm, the exact same one Hannah had. You remember going with her the day she got hers and holding her hand through the pain of the needle. Since you had been a few months younger than her at the time and therefore still 17 she had looked at you, winked, and said.

"Y/n the second you turn 18 I am making you go through the same pain I just did. Don't worry I'll let you squeeze my hand this time."

You had laughed and Josh and Beth had laughed when you told them Hannah's promise. But when you showed Josh the tattoo this time he just hugged you and cried.

Since then life has been as close to good as it can get, you had started taking classes at the local community college and you and Josh had been talking about moving out from your parents to buy an apartment together. It was good, you were doing good. That's why it took you by complete shock when one night, as you lay on your side scrolling through your phone and Josh spooned you and watched over your shoulder, he announced he wanted to go back to the lodge.

"What?" You had exclaimed, turning the phone off, sitting up and turning to face him.

He lay on his back and made a noise of affirmation "Yeah, and I wanted to invite the whole group up too, the good ol' annual trip." As he talked his eyes slowly drifted from yours till he was staring at the corner of the room nervously.

"Josh... I want whatever you want you know that, but are you sure this is something you want or do you feel obligated?" You remember once Dr. Hill had told you that if Josh says something out of character you should ask him to clarify if it was him saying it or the grief.

"I-I think it would be nice. You know like a one year anniversary thing, to celebrate them and their lives." His eyes moved and met yours again, "I can't keep avoiding them forever, they are my friends, and even if we're not as close as we used to be I still want to see them. Besides I think Hannah and Beth would have wanted us to be happy at some point."

You stay quiet, shocked by his sudden vulnerablity. But Josh, being Josh, opens his mouth again in a poor attempt to crack a joke.

"Can't stay wallowing, swaddled in blankets forever can we?" He grins lightly.

You let out a groan and bend down to meet your lips with his. After a few seconds of kissing you drawing away, but only a bit so your face is still leaning over his.

"Josh I think it's a great idea, I'll help you plan it all, I love you."

He smiled and leaned up to meet your lips.

And so after helping him set up a quite dramatic video (on par for him) inviting all your friends up and arriving two days early, it is now the day everyone is set to arrive.

"Today is the one year anniversary of the dreadful tragedy that took place on Mount Washing-"

You turn off the small radio you had been listening to and sigh. You're standing in the kitchen with a glass of water in your hand wearing pants and one of Josh's various band t-shirts. At least Josh had seemed chipper this morning, you couldn't say the same for yourself but that might just be slight elevation sickness.

Speaking of Josh he had left a bit a go to see if anyone had arrived yet. You suppose you should go out and join him but it's sooo cold out there.

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Stay inside, stay warm

Try to find Josh

[drdemonprince]

Hey Devon. This is related to community-building ask, as I feel it kinda hit something in me, and that is my frustration with my local queer "main community", who is mostly made up of people who can work/hang together (people in visual and performative arts, LGBT NGOs, event organisers and so on). It's so closed off and so circlejerk-y that it's demoralising. I've been trying to fit in ever since I started being an adult, almost ten years ago, but I have never made any progress on getting to any of its members. I have made queer friends who are wonderful people, and as you said in the previous ask, that is enough and makes a community of our own already. Nevertheless, it is frustrating for all of us to go to a queer space/show/event just to see that the crowd there is made up of people who know each other and talk to each other and make big groups, while we're just sitting there. It brings us down to know that for queer political events like protests (which are ofc organised by them), we have no one left to fall back on except us. It makes it weird when only one of us is able to go protest, they'd rather not go because it feels so lonely to be sitting around all those people who just know each other, who have been passing by us for so many times over the years, and yet never take interest in even saying "hi" or whatever. It makes us think that they're fucking disingenuous and their "community building" is a load of crap. And I don't really want to feel like that about my people, but look at me, after almost ten years in my city, I fucking do.

Hi there, thanks for your message.

Let me just say that while I understand where the perception comes from, the queer people who put on shows, run nonprofits, and go out clubbing are not "The main lgbtq community" in your city. They're just a bunch of cliquish, careerist, young, privileged people who market themselves as such because they've been convinced that's what the "queer community" is and because doing so helps them get butts in seats at events.

I've seen theater kids, drag performers, DJs, comedians, party promoters, and other various people of the attention-seeking arts (said neutrally) do this all my fucking life. They stake a claim on building "feminist spaces" and "anti-racist" spaces, too, among other things, and use those higher values to sell tickets to their shit too. It's a way to make every tragedy that strikes oppressed people into an advertisement for their burlesques and shit. Don't let the self-important myopia get to you.

The real queer community? In any given city? Well, it's not any one thing. There is no singular "queer community". What people often refer to as the LGBTQ community or the queer community is a demographic, not an actual community. That demographic is marketed to, including by fellow queer people, but that does not a community make.

A community consists of people who know one another, and have enduring bonds, and who have shown up for one another mutually in multiple ways. A lot of these hot cool stylish young queer people are actually merely colleagues of one another. When there's a conflict, or a cancellation, or a venue that closes, they will be tossed to the wind like so many dandelion seeds. Compare that to you and your friends, who can and do remain in contact as the seasons of life change.

It is demoralizing to see so many people who talk a big game about community fail to show up to do activist work that is meaningful to you. I can't deny feeling the same way. For many years, I dated an actor who was very plugged into the local scene, and while his theater company had a reputation for being progressive, trans inclusive, even left-leaning, almost nobody in that collective did anything for the broader 'community' at all. They were all too busy being overworked five nights a week for like a $200 per week stipend, writing plays in which they repeated leftist platitudes but did relatively little.

I'm being a big overly cynical here -- the theater did just put on a big pro Palestinian fundraiser -- but the fact is that running a club, a theater, a local education org, or a regular drag show is a business, and in the end the business always comes first. Even when the members of that business might not want it to. They're often extremely exploited and underpaid, which is part of what makes them so hungry to market themselves and maintain their careers. I have sympathy for it. But meaningful social connections and local impact it does not make.

All of which is to say: please try to remember that these people presenting themselves as the symbols of the local "community" are just a bunch of artistic kids who are trying to make a living doing what they love. They're naive, exploited, a little self-absorbed yes, but they're ultimately not that important. they just deal in a very self-important line of work.

There are SO many queer people all around you who never go to those fucking clubs and shows and aren't even on instagram. The "main" queer community, demographically, is more like the nerdy 40 year old gay couple that lives down the street from you who goes out to the movies once or twice a month and holds board game nights with their friends. The "main" queer community is volunteering at the zoo, going camping with their fraternity brothers that they met 20 years ago, working at the car dealership, planting tomatoes at the local community garden, taking care of elders with dementia, organizing weekly running groups.

You can find people like this -- total normies -- who will care about causes greater than themselves and want to contribute to community building efforts. Many of those people are already doing a ton to make community. It's just less sexy and less self-consciously queer than like, the dance parties. It's also more diverse, accessible, and capable of meeting people where they are at.

It does sound like you would like to meet more activist friends / politically engaged friends, and for that I'd say try looking at pro-Palestinian (for example) events and spaces and seeing who turns up there, checking out a local food not bombs chapter, looking up local mutual aid groups or buy nothing groups, getting involved in hyper-local initiatives, and putting what feelers you can on local forums and personals boards (like Lex, local Facebook groups, local Meetup groups, etc). You probably wont find a perfect space, but you will find worthwhile people scattered everywhere you look!

[dashofmonsters]

Cream Tea Pt.1

Male Werewolf x Female Reader

It was time for a change and time to get away from mom and dad. Your life had been carefully constructed to a tee down to where you would work and what sort of man you were to marry. This was all you had known until you visited a small town during an exhausting weekend. It was quiet and peaceful and everything you wanted and felt deprived of. Back home you did everything in your power to make this secret move happen and it is happening. It's now or never though and with the help of your only friend, you make your move.

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Loading a moving van in the middle of the night is an absolute nightmare but you can't stand to be here any longer. Your folks had been irritating you with one thing after another. First it was the gala, then showing up at your office and demanding that your boss give you a better position, and now they're wanting you to meet with the eligible sons of their friends to find Mr. Future Husband. That had been the last straw in your opinion and there had been many many more prior.

Leighann, your only friend and savior had been helping you put together 'Operation Runaway' for the last year. It has been a labor of love and freedom and now it's in full force. You had everything planned out and ready and there have been no hiccups at all. Everything was boxed, your notice at work had been given in secrecy, and your parents have been none the wiser.

"That's the last of it," one of the movers grunts, shoving the last box into the van.

"Alright, thank you," you tell him as you fish out tips for the guys. They had worked fast and efficiently and more than deserved it. Their faces lit up and one of them tipped his cap to you.

You look around the parking lot at your apartment and cross your arms, your nerves on fire but in the best possible way. You're about to be hundreds of miles away from here and out from under your parent's thumb.

"I can't believe this is actually happening," you sigh.

"Feels kind of surreal huh? Just last week you were rubbing elbows with an elite crowd and now you're about to move to butt fuck nowhere that no one has ever heard of," Leighann wraps an arm around your shoulder and swings you around.

You laugh and roll your eyes, "It's a nice small town and it's the exact change I need."

Leighann pokes at you a few more times as you let the relief settle into your bones. You're finally getting out from under your family's thumb, you're finally getting away.

You've been the baby of the bunch, having four older brothers who tower over you physically and financially. Your parents saw you as an investment, something to make pretty and to show off to their equally well to do friends with sons.

For years you put on a mask, a well created facade of happiness as you went through pageants, galas, auctions and whatever horribly boring events you were dragged to.

Last year was the worst though, when you started having enough of them parading you around. The three of you had flown over to this beautiful resort where they had showed you off to every bachelor, for a couple years younger than you to nearly sixty!

You had to quietly retire saying all the mingling had made you light headed, something your mother understood quite well after enough glasses of wine.

Instead of heading up to your room, you went down and had your rental car brought to you. No matter where you were, you always made it a point of having your own vehicle, something your parents so painfully allowed you to have was your own freedom.

You drove around and around for a little over an hour until you ended up in a sleepy little town surrounded by trees and had cottage like homes and buildings. There was a group of elderly ladies walking together and they smiled and waved as you passed by.

For some reason that made you cry. You had to pull over at a nearby shop because you could barely see past your tears. You started rubbing your eyes and you knew at that point your makeup was absolutely ruined.

Someone tapped on your car, a little old lady with red cat framed glasses and red and white striped apron. Her grey curly hair was puffy and had a cartoonishly large red ribbon on the side. You rolled down the window and she shook her head at you and handed you a wad of napkins.

You couldn't help but to laugh as you took them and cleaned up your face.

"Now now, why don't you get out of that car and come and tell Mama Joy why you're crying the paint off your face?" she nods her head to the building she came out of, a small little tea shop.

You double check your face real quick before you unbuckle and exit the car. Mama Joy has you follow her into what is possibly the cutest tea shop you've ever been in. The front is filled with potted flowers and bells and wind chimes hang from the ceiling where fairy lights dangle. The tea room has mismatched chairs and tables giving it a whimsical personality.

"You like spiced tea dear?" she asked.

"Yes I do but-"

"Thomas! Throw on a pot of that spiced stuff you made earlier, we have a guest," she hollers towards the kitchen.

"Roger that," Thomas hollers back to her.

Mama Joy has you sit down in a comfy green chair and takes your hands, "Now then, why don't you tell me what's got you so upset today?"

You sigh and feel your chest tighten, "It's...it's a lot."

She smiles and gives your hands a reassuring squeeze, "Then you best get to talking then."

And you do, you tell her about that evening and all the other parties and galas you've been shown off at. About your parents and your brothers, about all the men your parents tried to set you up with. You told her everything.

You don't know when you finally calmed down but when you did, Mama Joy places a warm cup of tea in front of you. It smelled like oranges and chair and you couldn't wait to try it. You added in a little cream and sugar and took a sip. It warms you up instantly and you try not to cry again.

"I can't say that I've been in your position but it sounds to me that you're at the end of your rope with your folks. You're your own person, not a little doll or show dog. Why you haven't tired of this sooner is beyond me," she shook her head and sighed.

"I've been tired of it, but I've had to put on this fake smile for so long... I forgot how miserable I am," you frowned and ducked your head.

A cinnamon roll slid right in front of you as you're looking down causing you to look back up at the man who placed it there.

He was tall with long honey brown wavy hair that looked like it went down to the middle of his back, he had a well kept beard and the most gorgeous amber eyes you've ever seen.

"You look like you need a little pick me up," He smiled with so much warmth in his eyes.

"Oh and none for me?" Mama Joy huffed at him.

He laughed and tsked at her, "You know you can't have any Mama."

"I am nearly eighty, I can do without a foot," she scoffed before cackling.

He gave her a knowing look before rolling his eyes, "If she bothers you too much you can always leave."

You couldn't help but to smile at that, "No no, she's been... nice."

Mama slapped the table, "Why the pause? Did you really have to think about that?"

After that you, Mama, and Thomas spent what seemed like forever just talking, having tea and trying to keep the sweets away from the owner of the cutest little shop you've ever been to.

The night dragged on with Mama having you and Thomas accompany her to a little restaurant her cousin owned. It was a little bit of salsa club mixed with just the appetizers of a Mexican restaurant. You and Thomas had a mocktail while you both watched Mama Joy dance with a Mr. Emmitt.

"They have been into each other for so long I'm surprised they haven't started dating," Thomas commented.

"How long is so long?" you asked.

He shrugged, "Three years give or take."

"Wow, and this is as far as they get?" you watched Mr. Emmitt spin her around as she laughed.

"Yup. Though I think that they're both happy with this arrangement. I think they're still in love with their late spouse but too scared to try to love again," He sighed.

"Tragic and beautiful," you muttered.

"That it is, that it is. What about you? I came in on the ass end of whatever was making you cry, was it some jack ass?" He asked.

You laughed, "More like the lack of a jack ass. No, my parents want to marry me off and age doesn't matter anymore. I think the oldest guy was in his sixties."

Thomas cringed, "That's horrible!"

"I can't take it anymore, I just want to get away from them," you said, finally voicing the one thing you've been wishing for your whole life.

"Then why don't you?" he asked.

You smiled, took a sip of your mocktail and shrugged, "It's not that easy... I have very little in my name and I had to fight tooth and nail just to have my own apartment to have my own space."

Thomas shook his head and sighed, "What if you just up and left? Said nothing and got the hell out of dodge?"

You opened your mouth to argue with him then shut it.

"That," you started. "That's not a bad idea."

"Seriously?" He raised a brow at you.

"No no, you're onto something. I just started a job too and if I save up enough... This might actually work!" you set your drink down and fished out your phone.

"Woah hey, don't you think you should think something like this over a bit more? Make some plans first?" Thomas took your hand with the phone in it.

"Oh gods, you're right. I just... I feel like this will actually work and I just... I feel so stupid for not even considering just leaving," you smiled at him.

Thomas' eyes widened and he withdrew his hand, "Don't call yourself stupid, if anything call your folks' choices stupid. It's costing them a daughter."

Your lip blubbered and you felt like crying again just because you're not used to people being genuinely nice and sweet to you aside from your childhood best friend Leighann.

"Hey now, come on no more crying," Thomas extended his hand and nodded towards the floor. "How about it? Care to dance?"

For a brief moment you consider turning him down but something inside of you seems thrilled about dancing with him. He's rugged and absolutely sweet and saying no just doesn't feel right. So you took his hand and let him lead you to the floor.

He danced with you like you were two awkward teens slow dancing at prom. Your feet got stepped on so often that you laughed each time he shuffled onto them. He nearly ran you into the elderly couples who giggled at his horrible dancing. And he was so off beat.

But this was the most fun you've ever had dancing with anyone, ever.

After a while the dancing died down and Mama Joy pulled you both aside after Mr. Emmitt kissed her hand and waved goodbye.

"I said it once and I'll say it again, you have two left feet boy," Mama Joy poked at Thomas and he grinned.

"Well I was hoping that tonight I might have found my right foot, looks like it's still lost," he shrugged.

The two of them bantered until Thomas got a phone call he couldn't ignore from a relative leaving you and Mama Joy alone.

"You seem to have brightened up a lot, feeling better?" She asked.

"Much," you nodded. "I think I have a plan now."

You tell her the idea Thomas had given you earlier and Mama's face lit up with intrigue. She threw in a few other ideas and her phone number as well saying that she knows some people with homes for sale or rentals for when you start looking.

By the time Thomas got back you had a sense of relief fully settled into your bones. You had the base for a great runaway plan, support, and a place in mind. Things were looking up.

Mama Joy suggested that you head back since it's getting late but not without giving you the strongest granny hug you've ever received.

Thomas walked you back to your car at the tea shop and when you held the door open for you, you felt this odd sense of sorrow like you're really really going to miss him. You think of giving him your number but you fear he might take it the wrong way.

As you settled into the car and strapped your seat belt on you see Thomas from the corner of your eye kneel till he's at eye level.

"Whatever happens, just remember that change isn't easy, especially if it's for something you need. Sometimes it seems easy in the beginning until things destroy your expectations," He gave you a sad smile and took your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I'll try and keep that in mind," you said, squeezing his hand back.

Moments passed with the both of you holding hands not sure when either was going to break away, but eventually, Thomas did. He stood up awkwardly and bumped his head on the car but laughed it off.

He waved you away after telling you goodnight and walked back into the tea shop.

You drove back to the hotel and passed out after you peeled your heels off and bounced into bed.

The next day, you wasted no time getting things started. You called Leighann up and told her everything that happened last night and she was all ears. Things only got better once you were back at your apartment in New York. Leighann had a full on financial plan, movers, and so on planned out in a little according file for you.

A few months later, you called up Mama Joy and she was excited to hear that not only were you planning to move but you wanted to move to her sleepy little town.

Her friend Linda owned a few homes for sale and one of them was in your price range. After some back and forth conversations online, you eventually sign the papers. You'll have a house, you're own house, in a few months!

You spend time packing when you can and selling decor you don't really care for online for cheap. Most of the decorations you own were terrible holiday gifts from different relatives saying that your apartment lacked any personality.

Surprisingly, you made a good bit of money from selling the horrid things that adorned shelves and walls. Enough money to top the movers and for gas to get to the new house!

To keep your parents off your back, you'd kept up your attendance at their stupid events until a few days ago. You feigned being too sick to attend, saying that someone at work brought in a cold their kid had brought to them from school. Your mother sounded horrified and suggested that you rested for at least a month with little to no contact with the family. You feigned sorrow with a touch of understanding.

And now here you are, packed up and ready to move. Leighann was going with you to help with the long drive and to help get the boxes and furniture into your new place.

"Do you need to go back up and double check the place?" Leighann asks.

You shake your head, "Check listed everything. I think we're good to go!"

"Then let's do this," She grins and the both of you pile into the moving van.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took three days to go from New York to the sleepy little town of Daire Glen. Autumn leaves scattered about as you drive down the main road. Leighann points out to a group of little old ladies in hiking gear and bright colored scarves. You instantly recognize one of them as Mama Joy and quickly roll your window down to wave.

"Look who's finally arrived!" Mama shouts as she waves at you.

You feel a smile spread then and all the other ladies greet you as you slowly pass the group.

"Was that Mama Joy?" Leighann asks, having talked to her on the phone quite a bit.

"Absolutely," you reply.

Leighann then recalls all her conversations with her, from the hottest gossip from the tea shop to the little updates about Thomas she'd give you.

That, that was another thing.

As far as Mama Joy said, she hadn't told Thomas you'd be moving here. Something about a pleasant surprise for the both of you though you have no idea what she meant by that.

You did know that you'd be working with him though. Mama Joy had decided to hire you even though you had no background with the restaurant service or anything of the likes. But she did know that you'd need a job, even if it was part time when you got here.

"Turn right at the next light," Leighann gasps, having nearly forgotten she was on direction duty.

You follow the directions she gives you until you're in the nicest little neighborhood you've ever seen. All the houses were one story and had lush wildflower gardens and flowering trees. Some houses had large stones bordering their garden beds while some had moss covered grey bricks.

Slowly and in near disbelief, you pull up into your new driveway and almost start crying.

"I'm home," you smile, your lips still quivering.

"Yeah no, none of the photos did this place justice. It's gorgeous," Leighann gapes as she opens her door.

As you step out the first thing you notice is the smell of rain and spiced tea. The smell is so familiar that you're instantly taken back to the first night you were here.

"Want to unpack first or walk around the place and let it soak in that you've escaped your parents?" Leighann asks.

"You and your tough questions, but we should probably start unloading," You shrug and head back into the van to repark it to make it easier to unload.

You pull up the latch and the second you see your boxes and furniture, you realize you should have probably called some people over to help unload.

"Want me to see if there are any strong men around here to help us unload?" Leighann puffs out her chest a flexes jokingly.

You laugh and shake your head, "This is a retirement town Leigh, I doubt there will be a lot of any strong men around here."

Leighann groans but quickly perks up, "Oh really? Then what about him?"

Raising a brow, you look in the direction Leighann pointed to with her thumb and your jaw nearly drops.

"Thomas?" you say in disbelief.

As if he heard you, Thomas looks your way and drops whatever was in his hands and dashes over towards you.

Leighann tries to pull you away but you wave her off.

"What in the world are you doing here!" Thomas asks as he sweeps you up off the ground and into a big bear hug.

"I'm moving in," you squeak.

"Moving in? Here? At this house?" He asks, his brows high up on his face.

You grin, "Yes, I am moving in at this house, in this neighbor, in this town. Mama Joy helped helped me."

He squints and kneels to he's at eye level, "This isn't good, do you know what this means?"

You shake your head feeling nervous for the first time in a while.

"We're neighbor's now which means Mama Joy knows where you live which means she might try and kidnap you and convince you to give her sweets," he makes a fake pouty face then laughs.

"I'm messing with you of course, but she might come to bother you from time to time. She gets lonely when Mr. Emmitt gets too busy with his stained glass gig. Anyway are you waiting for help?" He asks, noticing the mountain of stuff and two noodle armed trust fund babies.

"Ah, about that...," you blush in embarrassment. "I kind of forgot to call ahead of time and-"

"We need help, like really really bad," Leighann butts in.

Thomas cocks his head to the side and pats his pants until he pulls out a phone, "I got a couple buddies who owe me a favor or two I can call over."

"That would be amazing," you clap your hands together.

"On one condition though," Thomas raises a finger and winks at you. "We all have dinner at my place afterwards."

You grin and nod, "Sounds like a deal."

Within fifteen minutes a group of guys show up and start pulling the boxes and furniture into your new house with you directing them where to put everything.

Thomas of course helps but with much more enthusiasm. He lifts the heaviest pieces of furniture, brings in the most boxes and even helps unpack some things. The other guys poke at him like they know something you don't but right now, you're just thankful for the help.

"Me thinks you've unintentionally made the very handsome neighbor fall for you~" Leighann elbows your side.

You glare at her, "I highly doubt that, he's just really nice."

"No no, I think your friend might be right," one of the guys, Tyler, agrees.

"Oh for sure, I've never seen him act all...," Rick starts and waves his hand about, "Swoony was it? Mama Joy said he pouted for days after you went back to wherever you went and regretted not getting your number."

Tyler laughed, "I don't think I've ever seen him that mopey either."

You roll your eyes, "I doubt that... And that," you pause and take a box from Ricks hand, "That is personal and I will be taking that."

Stomping off you feel a bit insulted for Thomas that his friends would joke about him like that, especially to you. For the short time you've known Thomas, and it was very short, you got the impression that he's just genuinely nice to everyone.

Sighing, you take your very very personal box of toys to your bedroom. Thomas is in there setting up your mattress on your bedframe and without a shirt on.

You nearly drop the box when he turns around and smiles at you, "Got everything in here."

"Oh um, great, thanks," you smile and try to casually toss your top secret toy box into your dresser.

"How's everything going out there?" he asks, running a hand through his thick hair.

"Pretty uh good, nearly got the kitchen set up. Leighann and I thought we'd be unpacking all week. At this point she'll be here just to visit," you shrug, still doing your best not to stare at his bare and hairy chest.

"That'll be nice for the both of you then. It gives you more time to settle in and find a job if you haven't already," he replies, grabbing his shirt off the bedframe and tossing it on his shoulder.

"Oh uh well about that, Mama Joy already sort of hired me," you give him a nervous grin.

Thomas' face goes blank for a second before he lets out a barking laugh, "Oh of course she did!"

"I'm really wondering why she didn't say anything to you," you groan and slap your face. "I feel like a nuisance just popping up like this now."

"Woah hey hey, none of this is your fault," He walks up to you and puts a hand on your shoulder. "And you're not a nuisance. Mama Joy just got bored and thought this might be funny or something like that. You're fine and it's great that you're here."

You want to believe him but you feel like he's just being nice about it again.

"Isn't it annoying though? I'm certain you had plans for the day and I show up out of nowhere like I did and you had to call in a favor an-"

Thomas puts a finger over your lips quickly silencing you, "Nothing about this is annoying, I promise you."

His amber eyes look stern on his uncharacteristically serious face. His finger on your lips moves slowly until it's under your chin, tilting your head back just a little, "Now say it back, that you're not a nuisance."

For a few moments you forgot what words are until you blubber back and repeat what he just said, "I-I'm not a nuisance."

Thomas smiles and before he can say anything there's a knocking sound behind you.

"We're not interrupting anything are we?" Leighann coos as she leans on the door frame with Rick and Tyler behind her with raised brows and kissy faces.

You instantly feels embarrassed and cover your face with your hands. You know how that looked, Thomas without his shirt on and right up in your face! You hear Thomas coming to your defense swearing up and down that nothing happened and that you were worried you were being annoying.

The guys pick on him relentlessly then while Leighann tries to coax you out from behind your hands, "Come on I was just teasing you."

"I know but now I really feel like a nuisance though," you mumble.

"Come on, why don't we leave these three weirdos to act like teenage boys and you and I will crack open a bottle of red," Leighann tugs on you and drags you to the kitchen.

You still hear Thomas talking to Rick and Tyler though their conversation no longer sounds lighthearted.

Leighann pulls out a few bottles onto the counter and has you take your pick though you just mindlessly point to whatever. Leighann rolls her eyes and grabs a different bottle, something that you usually like.

"Alright come on, spill," she says as she opens the bottle with a pop.

"I just... Maybe coming here was a mistake," you pout.

She rolls her eyes again and sets the bottle down, "No, the only mistake that was made was your parents not letting you have a fucking life."

You cringe at their mentioning.

"You have no preferences, no real likes or dislikes, and it took you till yesterday to admit that you actually don't care for salmon! They fucked up, they failed you, and now you have the greatest opportunity to be you! The real you that you've even hidden from me, your best fucking friend!" She tosses her hands out before grabbing a couple of mugs out of a cabinet a filling them to the brim with wine.

She's absolutely right and it hurts. Living a carefully crafted life you weren't allowed the luxury of preferences or opinions. Everything you had was what everyone else thought you should have. You were never really you. You cried for a solid hour when you admitted you hate salmon. What else do you not care for, what things do you actually care for?

You take the wine filled mug and chug some of it down before Leighann quickly grabs it from your hands, "Slow down girly, we're just taking the edge off."

"I know... I know," you sigh.

"Ugh enough of that ju-"

Leighann stops and looks over your shoulder with a curious expression. You turn around and see Thomas holding Rick and Tyler by their shoulders.

"Hey uh sorry about earlier, we uh went a little too far with the teasing," Rick apologizes.

"Yeah, we didn't mean to embarrass you or anything," Tyler adds.

"Oh uh... it's uh fine now, I'm just not used to getting teased like that is all. I know you were only joking," you try and smooth things over seeing how nervous both guys look.

Tyler and Rick breathe a sigh of relief but Thomas still looks somewhat upset. That's a bit unsettling to you.

"Well with apologies out of the way and the house basically unpacked. What's next on the agenda?" Leighann breaks the silence with grace.

Thomas snaps out of his mood and gives you a nervous smile, "If you're still up for it we can still have dinner at my place?"

Smiling back you nod.

He too breathes a sigh of relief then.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thomas' house is almost as nice as he is. His house is well decorated and he has an impressive library and a large photo of his family at the entry. You were surprised to find out that he's a triplet and how different he and his brothers look.

His kitchen is cute with a wonderful forest green color that has copper pots and pans hanging above the island.

He has Rick and Tyler help with the grill while you and Leighann lounge poolside with fresh made lemonade.

"Not going to lie, I'm now thinking about moving here," she laughs as she steals a glance at Tyler.

She's been messing with him since they've met and you can see something there. They bantered like they've done it their entire lives earlier and Rick and Thomas just stood watching impressed at her while you were impressed at Tyler for keeping up with her.

"If and when that happens are you going to move next to Tyler?" you ask.

She chuckles and sighs, "Oh no, I'd move across the street."

You roll your eyes and look over at Thomas. He was placing some steaks on the grill while talking to Rick. He turns his head enough and catches you looking at him so you just awkwardly smile at him.

Trying to play off that weird moment you turn to Leighann to say something but you're unable to get a word out before Tyler approaches her and the two walk away and start to conversate.

"He is really into your friend there," Thomas says as he approaches you.

"He's in big trouble then, Leighann's a tough cookie," you shrug.

There's a long stretch of silence then that's eventually broken by Thomas clearing his throat, "I'm uh sorry about earlier, that was really inappropriate of me."

"Oh it's f-"

"No, it's not. I also hear what Leighann said earlier as well. About not having any preferences. You told me last time you were here about how little control you had over your life but I didn't think it was that bad. What kind of pack would allow that?" Thomas looked at you with confusion then.

But now you're confused, did he just say pack? Maybe that's some slang for family around here.

"Rich families do this sort of thing all the time. I got too used to it and maybe I feel too guilty if I upset or annoy someone because of how often it was beaten into me," you shrug.

"Beaten?" Thomas asks, looking like he was about to explode.

"Not too bad either, just the usual ruler or pointing stick. And nowhere that would be visible. It stopped when I was fourteen though so it's been a long while," you reassure him as if this was perfectly normal.

Thomas looks like he's really about to explode now, "Your pack allowed that? What the hell is wrong with them? You were just a child!"

"I was expected to act a certain way and if I didn't, there were consequences," you reply though a bit more unsure of yourself than before.

He shakes his head and gets down to your level, "Are there any other children in your pack dealing with that?"

You shake your head, "No, there's none. I'm the youngest in my family so th-"

"Not your family, your pack," he repeats.

Furrowing your brows you cock your head to the side uncertain what he's asking now. Could it be a community thing then? You knew a lot of girls your age also went through what you did, often comparing stories at camps or pageants when you were younger. But that also doesn't feel like the right answer.

Seeing you take so long to answer, Thomas takes your hand ever so gently and gives it a squeeze, "You can tell me ok, I promise I won't mention you to your pack leader but the council doesn't tolerate the mistreatment of children. They can help."

Now you know that neither of you are on the same page. In fact you're one hundred and one percent confused.

"I'm sorry, I haven't any idea what you're talking about," you tell him.

He looks away from you for a moment and sighs, "I know it's not easy for you to open up but our kind has to stick together. You said you're from New York and I know the packs up there aren't the best but I didn't know they'd be that bad. How about this, I just list them off and if I say the one you're from just nod your head ok?"

Before he starts listing packs off you hold up your hands with panic running through you.

You remember your parents talking about the other folk at a gala they were at. Vampires, moth men, liches, and werewolves, how they actually existed and lived amongst us. Your dad swore up and down he was close with a werewolf pack.

Pack...

"Thomas, I think there's been a big misunderstanding here and please forgive me for my next question if it seems a bit odd, but you're a werewolf right?" you cringe your face hoping you're wrong.

"Of course I am... Wait a moment, oh goodness are you not one? Are you a different were or perhaps a vampire? No that can't be it's day time, then a li-"

"No no, none of the above. Thomas, I'm human."

[wethotcrazy]

SYMPATHY IS A KNIFE

pairing: Yuki Tsunoda x Fem! Driver! Reader

word count: 3727

this is loosely based off of sympathy is a knife by charlie xcx, it’s a lot of world building please bear with me i have a vision (-﹏-。) also expect cursing. this is quite a long one (im working on multiple parts), i'll try to post as much as can.

part ii part iii part iv

All children are encouraged to do their best, dream big, and reach for the stars. But let's be honest: how many kids actually achieve that goal? How many adults can say they have been fighting for their place for far longer than they can remember?

Not a lot.

That kind of passion was rare. But perhaps it was more than passion; maybe it was the sick sense of wanting something bigger than yourself. Maybe she was just a workhorse that never learned when to stop. 

Growing up karting was where Yn found a love for motorsports, it was her dad that introduced her to it. A part of her felt for the older man; this had been his dream as much as it was hers. Back then, it had always been just a hobby, even though she had already achieved multiple wins. She never thought it would come this far.

At 16, she was picked up by the Red Bull junior team to race in various junior categories, eventually making it into Formula 3 and then Formula 2. Even then scoring points and race wins came easy. Years of hard work and dedication had done her well, with many saying that a Formula 1 career was surely in the cards for her.

And if she was being honest, Yn was hungry for that Formula 1 seat.

Yn’s laptop lit up with an email, enclosed was her contract with VCARB. She was going into Formula 1.  Was it arrogant to say she had been expecting this? Could you blame her for asserting it wasn’t a matter of if, but when? 

But signing the contract should have felt like a victory, a promise fulfilled, a chance for everything she’d worked toward to pay off. But as the seconds flew by, Yn could already feel the weight settling over her, heavy as a storm cloud. The stakes had never been this high, and the whispers were already there, quietly accusing, scrutinizing. Her entrance into F1 wasn’t just a testament to her skill and ambition; it was a flashpoint, a reason for some to undermine her achievements and question her right to be here.

F1 wasn’t just a men’s world—it was a battleground where “passion” for her felt dangerously close to “obsession,” and her relentless pursuit of victory was both her strength and her vulnerability. Yn knew that she couldn’t just be good; she had to be perfect, ruthless in her pursuit for wins and podiums, and undeterred by every sly remark and skeptic. Sympathy, after all, was nothing but a knife in disguise, and she’d long since learned not to expect it from anyone, even her team.

Her first day at VCARB was a whirlwind of meetings, briefings, and countless faces both excited and skeptical. The engineers studied her, sizing up the girl who was stepping into a seat she’d earned, but one they seemed to question if she could keep. Her jaw tightened with determination—she would prove every one of them wrong, and not out of spite but out of an unyielding hunger to carve her name in F1 history.

Yuki arrived in the afternoon, a familiar face in a sea of unknowns. With an easy grin, he crossed the garage, his demeanor effortlessly lighthearted as he joked with the engineers before catching her eye. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you here so soon,” he teased, a glimmer of pride in his eyes that he knew she’d earned.

She let a small smile slip, and for a moment, the walls she’d erected came down. “Surprised? I thought you’d know better,” she quipped back, crossing her arms.

“Not surprised,” he replied. “Just excited. Maybe I’ll finally have someone here to keep me on my toes.”

But behind their friendly exchange was an edge, a reminder that this was a competition and that teammates or not, they were both vying for survival in the world’s most ruthless racing series. They had both clawed their way here, and no amount of camaraderie could change the fact that every second on the track was a chance to prove they deserved to stay.

Underneath Yuki’s easygoing nature, she knew there was a fierce competitor. She’d seen him race, seen the raw talent that made him as unpredictable as he was quick. Yn knew they’d push each other to the limits, that their friendship would inevitably become a duel of ambition. And she wanted that—it made her hungrier, sharper.

But there was something different about her fight. Being the first female F1 driver in years meant her wins were never just hers; every success and failure became ammunition for those who doubted women in motorsport. There was no room for mistakes, and any slip-up would be amplified, dissected in the press, on social media, even in private conversations she was never meant to hear.

One night, as she stared out at the empty track after hours, she felt Yuki’s presence beside her. “They’re going to be watching everything I do,” she said, voice low, a rare admission of vulnerability.

“They watch all of us,” he replied softly, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “But I know how hard you’ve worked to get here. And… well, if they think they can beat you down, you’re gonna prove them wrong. Just… stay hungry, yeah?” He nudged her shoulder gently.

“Hungry?” she scoffed, steeling herself. “I’m starving.” 

Yuki chuckled, but it was laced with respect. “Good. Because that’s what it takes.”

The season had started on fire for Yn. Her first four races saw her consistently in the points, an impressive feat for any rookie, let alone one under as much pressure and scrutiny as she was. Headlines praised her talent, with journalists and fans alike marveling at her ability to keep up with more seasoned drivers. Her team, too, seemed to start letting their guard down, seeing her not as a gamble, but as an asset. But as is often the case in Formula 1, the success didn't last forever.

Her fifth race began with promise, but Yn knew almost from the start that something was off. The car felt different, twitchy around the corners, each lap feeling more and more like she was on a knife’s edge. Halfway through, she could feel her grip on the track slipping, but she pushed harder, unwilling to lose ground.

With just a few laps remaining, the inevitable happened.

The crash was swift and brutal. The car spun out in the third sector, her back tires skidding as she lost control. She hit the barriers hard, the sound of carbon fiber breaking echoing through her helmet. Her vision blurred as the world spun, then finally stopped, leaving her breathless in the cockpit, staring at the wreckage around her.

Her engineer’s voice came through her headset immediately. “Yn, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said breathlessly, trying to steady herself, adrenaline still pumping as she felt the sting of defeat sink in. “I… I’m sorry. I lost it. The car just—slipped.”

There was a pause on the other end, a moment that felt like judgment even through the crackling radio. “We’re glad you’re okay. We’ll get you back to the garage. We’ll review the data,” her engineer replied, his voice careful.

Yuki’s voice came through on her personal channel moments later, after seeing her crash on his onboard. “Yn? You alright?” His tone was laced with concern, stripped of the usual playfulness.

She swallowed, fighting the frustration building in her chest. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… pissed off.”

“You’ll be back next race,” he assured her, but she could only respond with silence. The shame of letting her team, her fans, and herself down weighed heavily on her.

In the post-race interview, Yn struggled to find the right words. The cameras focused on her, the flash of lights overwhelming as journalists fired questions, each one cutting a little deeper.

“Yn, it was a tough day. Do you think the pressure got to you out there?”

She clenched her fists, forcing a composed smile. “I don’t think it’s about pressure. Today just… wasn’t my day. The car was giving me some issues, and I did my best to control it. Sometimes, that’s just racing.”

“But after four races in the points, are you worried this is a sign of things to come?”

The question sliced through her like a knife, and she could feel the weight of the implication: that she was fragile, a fluke who’d just been lucky.

“No, I’m not worried,” she replied, her voice steady but tense. “One race doesn’t define my season. I’m here to compete, and I’ll be back even stronger next race.”

When the interviews ended, she caught Yuki’s eye across the paddock. He gave her a nod, a silent show of support that reminded her she wasn’t alone, even if it felt like she was carrying the world’s judgment on her shoulders.

The news coverage the next day was ruthless. Headlines screamed with exaggerated disappointment: “Yn Cracks Under Pressure?” and “First Female F1 Driver in Years Falters After Promising Start.” A few outlets were kinder, chalking up the crash to typical rookie mistakes and downplaying any concerns over her ability to handle the car. But most took the crash as an invitation to dissect her every move, doubting whether she could handle the demands of the sport.

Social media was ablaze, fans and critics alike chiming in, and Yn could barely stand to look. She knew this was part of the game, that everyone in F1 was under scrutiny, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that for her, the stakes were higher. Every failure she faced felt amplified, a reason for the world to question her right to be here.

Yuki called her that night, his voice calm and soothing against the chaos swirling around her.

“I’m just so pissed,” she admitted finally, her frustration cracking through her voice. “I wanted to prove that I belong here, and now… it feels like all anyone sees is this one mistake.”

“You know that’s not true,” he replied, a hint of warmth in his tone. “Everyone makes mistakes, even the greats. They’ve all crashed at some point. Don’t let them take that fire from you. Because once the season’s over, they’ll see what you’re made of.”

She took a shaky breath, comforted by his words. It was strange—she’d started this journey expecting every teammate to be a rival, another barrier to overcome. But in Yuki, she’d found someone who understood the relentless, hungry drive that fueled her, and who respected it.

The next morning, her team’s engineers ran a debrief, analyzing the telemetry and tire data from the crash. They assured her that she’d made the right call in pushing the car, that the twitchiness wasn’t imagined. Yn felt a flicker of relief; maybe she hadn’t just cracked under pressure, maybe it had been an unfortunate mix of circumstances. But no matter the reason, she knew she had to rise from this stronger than before.

It had been a long race, Jeddah was grueling and relentless, yet Yn had been on the verge of a breakthrough. She was fighting tooth and nail for P8, going wheel-to-wheel with Fernando Alonso in the final laps. She’d been holding her own, each move calculated, each corner taken with the precision she’d been honing for years. This was her shot, her chance to show everyone she wasn’t a fluke or a face in the crowd. She was ready to prove herself.

Then it happened.

They clashed in the final sector, both fighting for space. Fernando took the inside line, edging her out, and she, desperate to hold her position, stayed close, too close. Their wheels touched, and in a flash, her car lost stability, skidding and spinning before colliding with the barrier. The jolt left her breathless, her hands gripping the wheel as the rage took over.

Her engineer’s voice cracked through the radio. “Yn, are you okay? What happened?”

She clenched her jaw, trying to control the fury building up inside her. “That fucking guy, Alonso! He squeezed me—left me no room!” Her voice was shaking, frustration and adrenaline spilling over. “I had that position!”

There was a silence on the radio as they processed her words. “Copy, Yn. We saw the incident. Just stay calm.”

Stay calm? She’d given everything, and now, twice in a row, her race had ended in ruin.

After the race, Yn felt the press of cameras and microphones on her as she trudged toward the media pen. She could barely contain the frustration bubbling inside her, a storm barely held back as reporters closed in, questions already on their tongues.

“Yn, this is the second crash in a row. Are you feeling the pressure of Formula 1?”

“What’s your take on the incident with Alonso? Do you blame him?”

Yn took a steadying breath, but the calm she'd usually conjure wasn't there. “Look,” she said, voice tight, trying to keep her tone steady, “I know what happened out there, and Alonso gave me no space. I was holding my line, fighting for position like we all do. I’ll review the footage with the team, but if people think I can’t handle the pressure—they’re wrong.”

The next question felt even more loaded. “Is it challenging to maintain focus, given the scrutiny you’re under as the first female driver in years?”

She forced a smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m not here to be a spectacle; I’m here to race. Everyone’s under pressure in this sport. It’s what makes us competitors. The scrutiny just makes me hungrier.”

Her words were pointed, but she could already feel the twisting of her words forming in the reporters’ minds, their pens scratching away, headlines already buzzing to life in their notebooks.

The news the next morning was merciless. Some articles analyzed her crash with Alonso, calling it a “rookie miscalculation,” while others openly questioned whether Yn’s composure was “cracking” under the scrutiny. The worst were the opinion pieces, suggesting she might be better suited to junior categories if she couldn’t handle the rigors of F1.

Yuki found her in the paddock later that evening, her expression set as she packed up her things, clearly wanting to avoid any more eyes on her. He walked over, hands in his pockets, a gentle smile on his face.

“Hey,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “Rough race out there. I saw the footage—Alonso really gave you no room.”

She shot him a look, her expression unreadable. “Thanks, Yuki, but I don’t need anyone to say it wasn’t my fault. I should’ve handled it better.”

“It wasn’t about fault,” he countered softly, unfazed by her edge. “It was a close fight. You held your ground. Besides, you’re doing something none of these people could even dream of.”

She let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shoving her race gloves into her bag. “Spare me the pep talk. I don’t need anyone’s sympathy. Especially not yours.”

He took a step closer, not backing down. “This isn’t sympathy, Yn. You’re one of the best rookies on the grid. Every one of us has crashed. I know what you’re going through, and I know how much you want this. But maybe don’t let their voices drown out what you already know—you deserve to be here.”

She wanted to tell him to stop, to remind him that it was different for her, that every mistake was fuel for those doubting her existence in this sport. But instead, she looked away, unable to bring herself to speak. She didn’t want to be seen as weak, as someone who needed reassurance.

Yuki sighed, catching the conflicted look in her eyes. “Alright,” he said quietly, his gaze softening. “Just… don’t forget that you’ve got people here who believe in you. No matter what the headlines say.”

She gave him a brief, reluctant nod, her voice a whisper. “Thanks, Yuki. But belief isn’t going to get me P8.” She turned and headed for the exit, leaving him behind as the words hung in the air, heavy with the reminder of just how high the stakes were.

Yuki knew things had changed since those days in the Red Bull junior program. Back then, it was just him and Yn, two kids pushing limits, sharing laughs and late nights studying data, feeling like the world wasn’t so big, like maybe they’d take it on together someday. She’d always been determined, sometimes stubbornly so, but she’d had that spark, that glint in her eye when she talked about F1 like it was the only thing that mattered. But now, standing at the pinnacle they’d dreamed of, Yuki could feel the distance growing between them, a wall she was building with every race, every misstep, every setback. 

He tried to remind her of those lighter times, even when the racing got intense. On weekends, he’d linger in the garage with her, cracking jokes, trying to coax a laugh out of her, like they used to do after tough sessions back in Formula 2. But it felt different now. She had this look, as if there was a weight pressing on her that no amount of lightheartedness could lift. 

The night after her crash with Alonso, Yuki tried again, catching up to her outside the paddock as she was leaving. “Hey!” he called, jogging to catch up. “Thought maybe we could grab a bite together. There’s this place nearby that serves ridiculous ramen—reminds me of the spot we’d hit after races.”

She hesitated, her gaze distant, before letting out a sigh. “Yuki, I’m tired. I just want to go back to the hotel and review the data. It was a messy race, and I don’t think I have much appetite.”

Yuki’s shoulders dropped, but he shrugged, forcing a smile. “We could just hang out, then. No data. Just us. I mean… it’s been a while since we’ve really relaxed, you know?”

She gave him a weary smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I appreciate it, really. But I need to focus. I can’t afford to mess up again, not with everything they’re saying.”

He could hear the bitterness in her voice, the resentment barely hidden beneath. It killed him to see her like this—so hardened, so guarded. She was always the toughest of the rookies, fearless, but now it seemed like her own passion had turned against her, trapping her in a never-ending battle against herself. 

He tried again the next day, lingering by her side during their briefing, sending her a grin every chance he got, trying to bring back that easy dynamic they used to have. But it was like she was somewhere else, somewhere far away where his words couldn’t reach her. She’d nod along, respond, but always with that distracted air, her eyes flicking back to the screen, the telemetry, the data, anything but him.

By the time they were heading out after debrief, Yuki couldn’t hold back anymore. “Yn,” he said, his voice softer, catching her arm as she went to turn away. “I know you’re frustrated, I know it feels like everything’s on the line, but… this isn’t like you. You’re carrying everything on your shoulders alone. Let me be there, like we used to.”

For a moment, her expression softened, a glimpse of the Yn he remembered, the one who used to nudge him in the ribs and joke about who could get pole on the practice track. But it faded just as quickly, replaced by that same stony determination.

“I appreciate it, Yuki. But you don’t understand. It’s different for me.” She pulled her arm back gently, looking away. “Every mistake I make gives people more reasons to think I shouldn’t be here. Every crash, every missed point. Sympathy’s a knife in this sport, and I can’t afford to need anyone’s help. I just… I have to handle it.”

He let her words sink in, feeling the sting behind them, realizing that every race, every session was turning her into someone he barely recognized. But he understood, maybe better than she thought. Yuki knew that in F1, there were those who supported you, but there were also those who’d gladly let you fall, especially if you didn’t fit their mold.

“Maybe it’s different for you,” he said quietly, keeping his voice steady. “But you don’t have to do it alone. We’re teammates. We’re supposed to be here for each other. I’m… I’m supposed to be here for you.”

She looked up at him, and for a second, he thought he’d broken through. But she just shook her head, a faint, sad smile on her lips. “Thanks, Yuki. Really. But I need to be strong enough on my own. If I rely on anyone too much, they’ll use it against me. I have to prove myself, no matter what.”

Yuki watched as she turned away again, shoulders squared, that unyielding resolve back in her posture. He knew there was no convincing her, no getting her to see that it was okay to lean on someone every now and then, that it didn’t make her weak. But as she walked away, he felt the weight of her words settle on him, a sadness mingling with frustration. This wasn’t the Yn he knew—this was someone who felt like she had the world against her, like every race was a fight to justify her existence in F1.

Later that night, Yuki found himself with Pierre, staring at his untouched bowl of ramen, his mind churning. He’d always known Yn was strong, maybe even stronger than him in ways he didn’t fully understand. But it was painful to watch her shoulder that strength like a burden, pushing everyone else away, including him. 

He thought about what he could say next time, some way to convince her that she didn’t have to do this alone, that he wasn’t there out of sympathy, but out of respect and genuine friendship. But deep down, he knew that as long as she felt the world’s expectations pressing down on her, she’d keep her guard up. For now, all he could do was be there, waiting, hoping that one day she’d let him in, let him remind her that even in the ruthless world of F1, there was room for someone who’d stand by her side, win or lose.

[citrusses]

10 incredible fics by @oknowkiss 😘🎈

elaine's work was some of the first to grab hold of my arms and drag me headfirst into the full-on drarry hyperfixation. picking only ten fics I'm obsessed with was basically impossible--how dare someone be so talented??? if you've already read all these, go read the ones you haven't!!

9 to 5 (E, 2K)

Draco Malfoy hates Mondays.

e's microfic may is a genre in and of itself.

Hyacinth (M, 7K)

Draco receives a letter. Inside is a note from a lawyer and a single, purple petal, the same color as the hyacinths his mother used to grow. This is what happens after.

this fic broke my heart. it's so beautiful, you have to experience it to understand.

the long ways (M, 10K)

Five times Harry thought he was seeing Draco for the last time, and one time he didn’t. OR: what it’s like to fall in love, slowly and without realizing it, over the course of 20 years.

Falling in love over 20 years! Need I say more????

draco malfoy's substitute murder service (E, 10K)

When Harry joins the Curse Breakers shortly after his twenty-fifth birthday, he’s surprised to find himself assigned to the Department of Creatures, Cryptids, and Associated Calamities. OR: the one where Draco goes goblin mode, and Harry has a thing for monsters.

who else could come up with something this perfect, strange, apt, hilarious and tender?

a licence to kill (M, 11K)

Draco Malfoy has a licence to kill. Unfortunately, it expired last Tuesday. OR: how Draco Malfoy learned to stop worrying and love form AK-86-G

once again, the world-building this author is capable of in a fic of 11K is beyond comprehension.

any day now (E, 16K)

Draco supposes he should be grateful.  The rehabilitation centres were the Minister’s idea, or that’s what the Prophet said anyway. Their stated objective is simple: to provide a safe space for low-tier Death Eaters and high-tier sympathisers to reconsider the entirety of their life choices. All guests–because no one is a prisoner here, the literature brags–are to be provided with shelter, food, clothing, and the guided support of a Mind Healer via a programme they call “ideological restructuring,” which is, of course, mandatory. 

funny and clever and biting and sharp and a kick to the heart. one of my favorite fics.

Historians (E, 29K)

It’s the Dumbledore’s Army Reunion Holiday, and Harry’s found himself in hot water with his friends once again, after telling them he has a boyfriend he definitely does not have. In an attempt to fix things, he’s made it his colleague on Level Nine, Draco Malfoy’s problem too. Featuring a ski chalet in Switzerland, a pair of bunk beds, and an agreement that should’ve been simple, were it not for all the bloody feelings getting in the way.

I've made it this far into the list without mentioning that elaine writes the. hottest. sex. ever. see: how i raved about this fic when it was still anon.

À Bon Chat (E, 35K)

Draco Malfoy didn’t intend to lead a life of crime after the war. It’s just that being good had turned out so incomprehensibly boring. Now he's thirty-five, a fully redeemed member of society, the darling of the wizarding social pages, and a newly minted consultant for Gawain Robards' Investigative Research division. In his spare time, he enjoys good whisky, casual sex, and moonlighting as an art thief. His biggest score yet is fast approaching and he's got everything planned down to the minute. Everything, that is, until the unexpected appearance of a newly-divorced Harry Potter. Now that Potter's in the picture, Draco's no longer certain if he's the pursuer or the prize.

Cat and mouse Drarry! Art thieves! Such a true delight of a fic.

The Waiting (E, 43K)

It’s been almost ten years since Draco Malfoy disappeared during a routine Curse Breaker training exercise. Harry, his partner in more ways than one, is determined to figure out why. As the past resurfaces and the present fades into confusion, Harry discovers the only thing more unreliable than memory is love.

I can't do justice to this fic with my words (even though I, at one point, tried to). i stayed up all night to read it, crying silently into my pillow. it's an all-time favorite, it is a fandom classic, if you haven't read it i am begging you to (and dm me so we can scream)

The July Tree (E, 51K)

Neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor hail… nor well-meaning friends, nor questionable communication skills, nor seven years of hating each other’s guts can keep Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy from falling in love.

The rec post I wrote for this fic two years ago is as true as it ever was.

[russellius]

While British success stories in Formula 1 tend to centre around Lewis Hamilton – as well they should, he’s a legend – George Russell has quietly been making a serious name for himself. At a fresh-faced 26 years old, he’s one of the younger racers on the grid and, when we caught up with him ahead of the Hungarian Grand Prix back in the summer, was still revelling in the best season of his career. So, how was he finding the season so far?

“It’s been… I wouldn’t say a rollercoaster, but it’s been one that we’ve been climbing,” says Russell. “At the start we were at the bottom of the mountain and been steadily getting closer to the top. There’s so much excitement and motivation when you’re on a team like this, like we have a visible return on everything we’ve been putting in, that momentum we’ve been building up.”

We were talking shortly after his second F1 victory in Austria, which was a bit of a hairy one. After spending most of the race in third – still a respectable podium finish – Lando Norris and Max Verstappen ahead of him got a little too close to one another, crashing to take them both out the race. It was a far cry from Russell’s incredibly convincing first win. But was there a difference to him?

“Each win is incomparable. Every race is a completely different scenario. My first, in Brazil, was where I was ahead every lap. I’d done fantastically the day before and the pressure was there. Near the end I had Lewis on my tail and it was a relief to get across that finish line. In Austria I was happy to be in third – and then it all kicked off ahead and the opportunity arose. Every race is different and you never really know how it’s going to go, even when you’re behind the wheel.”

With that kind of uncertainty, it has to be hard to prepare yourself for racing at this level. There’s the danger of course, as that crash in Austria – and a multitude of other times – shows. But none of these guys would be racing if that put them off. Instead, we were more interested to find out of the pressure ever got to him – and more importantly, what Russell did to cope with it.

“I’m a little obsessive. I try to make sure I’ve gone through all the preparation possible with my engineers, taken a look at last year’s data, gone over the car, the weather conditions, anything I feel I need to be looking for. Once I’ve ticked them all off, I’m at peace, mentally. I know I’m at my peak physical condition, I know every race is going to be tough. But there are 19 other drivers and hopefully they’ll find it tougher than I will. After that, what will happen, will happen, it’s out of your control.”

With that huge amount of pressure every single week, the intense training regime to stay in that physical condition and the sheer hectic nature of a globe-trotting racing competition, decompression seems like a necessity. Russell though seems to want to take decompressing very literally.

“I love being by the sea, so I’ve started free diving, which is a bit of a random hobby, but when I’m out in the water I’m just so focused on my breathing, on being underwater that I just disconnect from the world. Once beneath the sea, down there with the fish and coral, you’re not thinking about anything else – except having enough breath to get back to the top!”

Russell isn’t the only British racing legend around. We’ve had a long, illustrious line of champions of which Hamilton is only the latest and Russell could potentially be next. For Russell, there’s something in the inspiration of champions of old, and having seven of the ten Formula 1 teams based in the UK helps. But for him, the key to British racing success is British racing green grass roots.

“I remember racing with Lando [Norris] and Alex [Albon], and alongside other racers who didn’t make it to Formula 1 but have made professional racing careers. There’s definitely something about the grass roots level here that works. But it needs to stay at that level. This isn’t the most economical sport in the world, so we need to make sure that we can give kids that don’t have the opportunity otherwise the funding they need to get behind the wheel and try go-karting.”

That said, go-karting is never going to be cheap for most would-be podium contenders, and whether it’s that or sheer space, it’s an opportunity sadly few kids have. E-sports on the other hand, is different.

“Simulators have advanced so much now. The Formula 1 game is fantastic and there should be ways we can identify talent sooner, instead of just having financial backing to push you through the ranks.”

Whether coming from the classic karting angle or from killing it online with photorealistic driving games, kids are going to need to have to contend with one of the most intensely competitive sports in the world – if not the most. According to Russell though, they shouldn’t be afraid of making mistakes; quite the opposite.

“The one piece of advice that I try to embrace myself is: don’t be afraid to fail. The times I’ve failed have been the times I’ve progressed the most, the times I’ve really pushed my limited. It doesn’t matter what you do, failure is necessary. It’s how we grow, how we learn about ourselves. There’s so much pressure not to let people down, especially with younger people, but you don’t want to go through life never making a mistake or knowing where your ceiling is.”

And any advice for those of us not thinking of a career in racing? Even shaving a few seconds off a track day would help for a few more bragging rights.

“No matter what you’re driving, stay relaxed. I’ve driven with people that have never been on a track before. They tense up, hunch over and it makes everything erratic. Smooth is fast, smooth with the steering, throttle and brake. It’s not necessarily how we drive in Formula 1, but if you want to speed up on a track day, stay relaxed.”

Obviously, it’s not lost on Russell just how many kids and F1 fans alike look up to him as a sportsman. He’s young, he’s hungry and his experience is starting to pay off. But for Russell, there are other sportspeople in other sports – and one in his own who I’m sure you can guess – that he looks up to.

“I have a huge amount of respect for [Cristiano] Ronaldo. He’s without a doubt the leader in his field. The same with [Novak] Djokovic, they’re fighters that push their physical performance. Then there’s Lewis [Hamilton], obviously. He puts his platform to great use and I admire him for that as much as his wins and what he’s doing off the track. I hope to be one of those leaders in years to come.”

Now he may well get a chance as Lewis will, in 2025, be moving from Mercedes as Russell’s teammate over to Ferrari. It’s a bold move, but on the other hand it means that Russell will soon be able to race his former teammate as an actual rival. Will that be weird?

“He’ll be wearing a different suit, but I’ll still recognise him! We’re at different stages in our career but we have massive respect for one another. For now, I’ll see him on the track.”

Speaking about wearing things, what watches have been on his wrist?

“I wear a lot of watches, actually. Right now, it’s the Ingenieur! I wore it for the first time at Wimbledon when it was still super fresh. I’ve also got my annual calendar and Top Gun back home. I like my team watch during race weekends to go with my suit, I wore it when I was on the podium in Austria. It fits so well.”

[newx-menfan]

NYX #4 Review

*Spoilers!* 

First…can we just appreciate how great Hellion looks on the cover….? Model contract dropping any minute, if villainy doesn’t pan out…lol 😂🤣

The issue starts with David narrating his lecture notes while tagging the side of a building in secret, while his boyfriend is asleep back at the apartment.

The statement “Generations of mutants stuck in this binary. Integrate or dominate” is especially poignant….as is the statement about mutants now being on the streets homeless, with no where to go…

The allegory definitely, I would say IS affectively used in the writing, when you look at the current displacement of refugees from certain war torn countries… Idk if the writers meant it to be seen that way…but it can definitely be read that way and I was rather impressed by this subtle statement.

We cut to David sneaking back to the apartment and then talking on the phone to the dean about mutants in NY and the possibility of mutant housing…

Alleyne is interrupted by Kamala FINALLY figuring out the identity of the Krakoan (literally EVERYONE else GUESSED this by now, Kamala, lol) and has basically zero reaction to the news… (Look how cute the Hellions HS group photo is though 🥺!)

“Telekinetic. Green energy signature, same build. Psych profile all over the place” should definitely be on a teeshirt guys… (I am 100% using it for a meme lol)

David DEFENDING Julian is kind of sweet- I definitely THINK the writers could have gone with “David is still bitter over their NXM days” and I am glad they didn’t and instead showed that David and Julian have grown up and developed a weird respect and understanding for one another… (or IS THERE ANOTHER REASON??)

Kamala keeps pressing, saying that Julian might possibly be committing small assassinations, while using the theatrics as a distraction…(Don’t know how I feel about making Hellion a killer…but DAMN, Emma would be so proud! 🥹)

Kamala figured out he’s running on a timer, and with Sophie and the Morlocks help, figured out that Julian is going to hit time square (I am not sure that’s much of a loss lol…)

Kamala thinks Julian is obsessed with her… (OH SWEETIE. 😬😂🤣) and wants her to know what he’s planning…

David has the same reaction I DO (totally making a meme of that TOO!🤣🤣)

Kamala tries to convince David to try talking with Hellion before it gets ugly, and David reminds her of his delicate position at the school (I mean…come ON David…we ALREADY know you’re going to do it 🤣🤣)

Kamala then goes and bitches about Prodigy to Sophie (oh if only Elixir was here 🤣🤣), before taking off to stop Krakellion…

Ms. Marvel runs into Krakellion chewing the scenery… (I really can’t tell if Empath is controlling him…or he’s just being this dramatic now 🤣)

Kamala figures out Sophie is working with Empath because she had a yearbook from the year after she died…(kind of wish they had done more WITH this, since it actually makes sense Sophie would want to know what she “missed out” on… but I do also wonder if it’s to hint that Manuel is controlling Kamala AS well…)

While they’re having a “heart to heart”, the Hive reminds Sophie why they’re doing this and Sophie betrays Kamala’s friendship by alerting journalists of the mutant brawl in Times Square.

Ms Marvel tries to appeal to Julian, but Julin  just calls her a “mutant traitor” and ties her up with Telekinesis- humiliating her on the news. (So pretty much how EVERY conversation goes when someone tells Julian to do anything… 😂🤣)

Krakellion ends the fight, knocking Kamala out with a telekinetic fist…which is REALLY cool! (I mean…Sophie kind of already gut punched Kamala EMOTIONALLY Julian…)

(Poor Kamala…Sophie was like the first person besides Bruno and Nakia, who truly seemed to want to be her pal 🥺)

We go back to David’s field notes, while Prodigy has decided to SPRING into action after watching Ms Marvel’s beat down on the news! (Sorry Kamala- David’s taking back his arch-nemesis!) 

David shuts down the Cuckoos with a trick he learned at Xavier’s and plans to brawl it out with Julian… (is Julian actually an Omega level? Or is he just BS-ing right now lol??) 

Prodigy knocks off Julian’s helmet in like one sweep and basically beats the shit out of Julian… (😂🤣🤣) 

The effect of the arrest is positive- Krakellion goes to prison (BOO!) and Prodigy is hailed as a mutant HERO!

Meanwhile, Sophie has taken off and Manuel is PISSED….

Review:

Obviously- this was the issue EVERYONE was waiting for! And it did NOT disappoint!

I have no criticisms. No complaints. (I mean… I always have complaints, but at least not MAJOR ones lol!) 

This really IS AN ISSUE that allows Prodigy to shine!! I was really impressed with how they handled David; it’s definitely on PAR with KYOST and DeFilippis and Weir! It’s really great to see David being an ACTUAL character and THREAT. 

I know people aren’t going to agree, but it’s also nice to see him in a story NOT revolving solely around his sexuality or getting killed- I know representation is important, but it’s nice to see writer remember there is MORE TO this character than just being brutally murdered all the time….

It was really hard to choose art scans from this issue- they were all pretty great!! 

Almost EVERY line in this book was great and hysterical! It REALLY reminded me of the old NXM days 🥹! These guys really did KNOCK this issue out of the PARK! Congrats Jackson and Collin!! 🎉🎉

I really can’t think of a time recently that I have been THIS HAPPY with a comic book…let ALONE an X-book. All I can say is- the X-office should really hold on to Kelly and Lanzing!… And thank you Tom Breevort! 

If you’re not currently reading it and an NXM fan- I would 100% recommend you try it!

Theories: 

Hellion HAS to be working with Prodigy- I LOVE David… but Hellion went down WAY TOO easy…they GOT to be cahooting!

Basically this book is now just a series of questions…..

Is Empath controlling Hellion?? Is Empath controlling Kamala or Kamala’s cousin?? Is Mojo controlling Empath?? Is Empath controlling Synch?? (Check out future solicits!)… 

How will Krakellion survive in prison without his moisturizer and hair gel and his cool guy helmet?? 🥺🥺💚

Does Hellion still love Laura? (Probably…) Will Laura at least visit him in Prison?? 

Did Kamala burn the friendship collage and bracelet she was most likely making for Sophie…? (Again, probably…)

Is anyone gonna use that yearbook to call out Anole for lying about being a Hellion?? 

Yet none of these questions will even actually matter… because I have a feeling next issue will be all about the Mojoverse!! 

[eddiemunsonsmum]

Just saw this comment on a story posted a month ago.

*cries in Eddie Munson Solo Series no one wanted to read, interact with or request for*

No shade to the person that commented this on their own fic if you recognize it. It's not their fault. I'm not mad at them. More crying in the tags.

[crossbackpoke-check]

re last answer: please don't stop, being very unhinged about these two pretty white boys is helping distract me from the sharks losing streak rn so bring it on

https://www.tumblr.com/bondedpairs/764566430180147200?source=share

(sideblog woes but there's the link for you) anyway in the vid they talk about going over to each other's houses to have dinner and things and while that is a delicious example of their codependence i love it bc through an rpf lens there is definitely some old man ******* going on. they can have the dilfs and each other.

(someone else mentioned kept boys which i could write an essay on but i fear being Perceived™️)

anyway if you have anything to add to this please do, if not ignore me and i will hide under a rock until the stress-related insanity has worn off and i am a functioning member of society once more 😂

- @bondedpairs

ty for the video!!! and please, WRITE THE KEPT BOYS ESSAYYYY i promise i will read it with my hands over my eyes if you don’t want to be perceived. do it scared!! do it anyway!! we’ll all love you for it!!!

[calvins-dad]

about to cry on this bus because it just hit me this morning how much of my current Problems are coming from work

[foldingfittedsheets]

When I was working at the sex shop I was pulling poverty wages. I loved my job but I was on food stamps and still barely getting by. When they hired the stores first male employee and he started at my pay rate after I’d been there for three years I quit.

I was initially really nervous when I saw the post for the mattress job. It listed a pay scale that I couldn’t even conceptualize and I appeared qualified. When I got an interview I was over the moon but also petrified. Reactions to my line of work often varied but most people were very embarrassed or skeptical. I worried about how I’d address it in the actual interview.

I lived far to the north of their headquarters and drove almost two hours to get there. When I finally arrived it was in the nicest thrift store clothes I could find, but I shrank inside to see a room full of older white men in nice suits waiting to be interviewed for the same job.

Why did I bother? I was decades younger than anyone else in the room, shabbily dressed, and I suspected I was the only afab person in the entire building. I stewed in my insecurities until I was called in.

The second I met my interviewer I was instantly put at ease. The man had the energy of a therapy dog, he was abound with positive, good natured energy. He was also incredibly beautiful. I grinned back at his welcoming smile as we said our pleasantries. But still. This very beautiful polished man seemed very innocent. How would the sex shop question go?

“I see here you worked at STORE?”

“Yes,” I said hesitantly.

“And that was sales? Or you just rang people up.”

“No, it was sales. I’d help people find products, we were encouraged to upsell, there was sales spiffs, and most importantly we educated customers on products to help them find what they liked best.”

He grinned approvingly and asked, “Can you give me an example of a time you successfully upsold a customer?”

I paused, wringing my hands before I asked, “How vague would you like me to be…?”

“Not at all!” He assured me. “Go for it!”

“Well. A man came in looking for something to make his fingers vibrate so when he was touching his wife it would enhance that sensation. We had cheap $10 cockrings that I showed him first. But we had a rechargeable waterproof one made of nicer material, and after I showed him a demo he bought that one.”

“How much was that one?”

“$110”

“Wow! You had an upsell of 100% from what he came in looking for! That’s incredible!”

He was so truly genuinely stoked and not at all embarrassed that for the first time I saw a tiny glimmer of a future where I didn’t have ramen and peanut butter tiding me over between paychecks.

He asked me to wait then came back to tell me he liked me so much that he wanted to send me right into another interview, if that was okay. He didn’t want me to have to drive back later, it was terribly considerate and exciting. I beamed and told him it would be lovely.

I then had the second worst interview I’ve ever had. The worst goes to the time I applied to be a store manager for a pet food place years later. The district and store manager interviewing me passed notes and texted while I was speaking. When the district manager called to inform me I didn’t get the job I told him I’d never have accepted anyway because I’d never had such a disrespectful interview.

The new man sitting behind the desk radiated an aura of a brick wall. As someone with anxiety I’m highly keyed into the emotional states of people I’m talking to. To receive no feedback at all was my personal hell. After a perfunctory greeting he asked me with no inflection to sell him a pen.

I gathered the shreds of my courage and attempted the Herculean task he’d set me. Through my whole improvised spiel he resisted all attempts at engaging him, regarding me with a cold apathy as I touted the benefits of my fictitious pen.

Halfway through I broke into a cold sweat. My smile didn’t waver but it grew strained as I projected friendliness and warmth into the black hole of his heart. My thoughts scattered and my sales pitch grew redundant in the face of his nothingness. I finally concluded with a hard close and he simply nodded.

He glanced at my resume and commented, “You didn’t ask me to touch or hold it. Though I suppose I can understand from your previous line of work why you wouldn’t.” I shriveled and died inside knowing that I encouraged people to touch dildos all day long and had been too frazzled to offer him the pen.

He bid me a cool farewell. I made it to my car before I started sobbing. I had never been so rattled. I couldn’t understand what I’d done to make him so unfriendly or if my threadbare clothes were what had made him treat me like dirt. I drove an hour and a half to get home, weeping intermittently.

I was therefore taken by complete surprise to receive a call the next day inviting me on board for their five week training program. The first man who’d interviewed me gushed on the phone about how the second guy had loved me and that I was going to be fantastic.

I was in shock. When I showed up to training the second interviewer was charming my new classmates, beaming and laughing. He was an utterly different person. To my dismay I learned he was the trainer for my district and would be my point of contact if I made it through training.

He joked with me later that his interview facade was just a tactic to see how people held up under pressure and I filed him into a category of my deepest enmity. I never forgave him for how small he made me feel that day, but I never showed him the depths of my fury.

I aced every test and went on to be valedictorian of the eight people who had survived the rigorous training process to earn a sales position. When I got my first paycheck I bought myself new clothes, the first non-thrifted things I’d owned in years.

[thehmn]

Here’s a job you probably never even knew existed but is perfect for episodic stories.

Years and years ago I worked for a substitute/temp company, meaning other companies could ask for, say, five workers for any kind of job for anywhere from a day to a month and my company would then pick out five of their employees with suitable skills and ask us if we wanted to take the job.

You can imagine I ended up getting all sorts of wacky experiences. This was the job where I was hired to clean a dirty old kitchen with 10 other people at a mansion but got lost one day and walked into a cultish room with an altar and thrones lined up along the wall.

And when I say any kind of job I mean it. People asked for all sorts of unskilled work but the company also got requests for specialized work that only certain workers could do. I spent a week in an empty building where I only saw the other worker who had been hired along with me attaching wheels to carts. At another job we were sent up through a hole in the ceiling at a mall where we cleaned out old boxes. A particularly beautiful job entailed “braiding” small transparent tubes down a wall at a temporary closed factory while the sun was shining through ceiling windows which made the tubes glitter like glass. No idea what that job was about. We did anything from cleaning to preparing food to clearing a building site to factory work to hauling fish to painting to looking after animals to-

And if you like dressing your characters up you’re going to love this; our company didn’t have their own uniform because we were always dressed in the uniforms of the companies we were hired out to, or the companies would dress us in work appropriate clothes like overalls or aprons. I was once handed a cute long dress to wear while I sold pancakes.

I realize some of it sounds dangerous but it was all perfectly safe. Sometimes companies just needed extra help with something for a few days. The only reason why I stopped was because the work wasn’t stable and you never knew how far you’d have to travel to the next job. It was fun though.

[kentopedia]

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ SAFEGUARD — dazai, chuuya, akutagawa

summary . . . they save you after you've been injured and captured by an enemy.

contents . . . sfw, f!reader (chuuya & dazai) and gn!reader (akutagawa), violence / blood, threats, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, and it's pmboss!dazai bc i can't help myself — 3.5k total

notes . . . i got this request so long ago lol. not my best work, but i have been in the worst writing slump ever and just wanted to finish something. i've also never written for akutagawa before so pls be nice <3

𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 . . .

there are very few times that chuuya feels he’s been outsmarted. he knows he’s not the mastermind of the port mafia, but he certainly isn’t a fool. when it comes to you and your well-being, though, his mind short-circuits, half of his intelligence draining away while his emotions take hold. 

your relationship isn’t a secret to anyone in the port mafia, which means that it isn’t a secret to your enemies either. and while most people know it’s hard to land a finger on chuuya directly, his pretty little girlfriend doesn’t have the power of a god nestled inside of her.

the rage sparks through him, growing fiercely into the blaze of a forest fire, until all he can think of is getting you home safely. he thinks of your sweet smile as he rips the door of the enemies’ base off the hinges, crushing it into a million pieces with the force of gravity. 

the men are quick to react, but chuuya hurtles the crushed door towards them, knocking three of them to their feet. another group charges at him, but their guns do little against his skill. after years of fighting some of the strongest ability users, simple criminal organizations are as easy to step over like ants. 

chuuya kills them all — except for one.

the man’s knees are wobbling, hand shaking around the gun as he realizes that these will be his final moments. there is fear in his eyes, brown ones that rest wide open, and chuuya almost hesitates. his remorse doesn’t last long, though, before he’s wrapping a hand around the man’s throat, thrusting him backwards. 

“where is she?” chuuya asks, voice sharp and commanding. 

he can feel the man swallowing. 

chuuya knows that backup is probably on the way, but it won’t matter whether they show up or not. he’ll crush the rest of his enemies just as he’s crushed the last twenty men. the poor soul in his leather hold seems to know that as well. 

“i-i’ll take you to her,” he rasps, dropping his gun to claw at chuuya’s hand. 

he drops him, lets him take a few heaving breaths and coughs, before he’s kicking at him, forcing him back to his feet.

the young man takes him up the elevator, weaves him through a hallway as chuuya leaves a scattering of bodies in his wake, not hesitating to kill a single man that gets in his way. there is nothing that can keep him from you. 

how fiercely and loyally he loves you — it drives him to near insanity. 

finally, with blood coating his face and his clothes, the young man enters a room, locked with a code, revealing you. 

chuuya’s rage is almost as blinding as his corruption, as he gazes at the sight of you. bloodied and bruised, tied up in a chair, so visibly harmed. his hands clench into fists. “get the fuck away from her,” he says to the man who seems to be monitoring you.

“what are you doing in here?” the men left in the room panic, but they don’t have time to react before chuuya throws them back at the wall, so quickly, with so much force, that their spines snap. they hit it with a sharp crack, skulls shattering against the plaster, the wall crushing beneath the weight of them. 

limply, they fall to the floor. 

chuuya rushes over to you. 

the young man that led him here disappears, but chuuya isn’t worried about him. he’s a coward; he’ll likely flee from the country and never look back. the men that truly hurt you are already dead, and he’ll burn this building to the ground once he’s gotten you away from it. 

“hey,” chuuya says, cradling your cheeks gently, trying to coax you back awake. he’s not sure if it’s exhaustion, blood loss, or the obvious head trauma that caused you to pass out in the first place. but you’re still breathing, so he counts that as a blessing. 

“hey,” he whispers again, kissing your forehead, like it will heal all your ailments. “wake up, baby. we gotta get you out of here, okay?” 

it takes you a few seconds to come to, eyes glazed over and shell-shocked as you blink at him. “chuuya?” you say; your voice is so hoarse it makes chuuya want to keel over and vomit. “is it really you?” 

guilt gnaws at him, almost crushing, at the fact that thirty-six hours passed, and you’re delirious enough not to recognize him. you probably haven’t eaten, either. 

he should’ve been there. no one should’ve ever had the chance to hurt you, yet…

“it’s me, i’m here,” he says, kissing your lips, your temple, brushing your hair away from your face. the strands are sticky with blood. “shit,” chuuya nearly shouts, pulling a knife from his pocket, sawing through the thick ropes around you as quickly as he can. “i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry.” 

he can’t get you free fast enough, and you smile at him, drowsy, your eyes fluttering shut once more. “it’s okay, chuuya,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “you’re here now.” 

“you have to stay awake,” he says desperately, realizing your head is still bleeding. he doesn’t know how hurt you are. chuuya’s no expert when it comes to medicine, but he’s smart enough to know that internal injuries could be even worse than the external ones. 

“stay awake for me, okay, honey? i’ll get you back to the boss and we’ll find you a doctor. you’ll be just fine.” 

“okay, chuuya,” you hum, weakly gripping his back. seconds of silence pass before you mutter, “i just want to go home.” 

"i know." his heart pulls, and he almost lets out a cracked sob. but he refrains, knowing that there is plenty of time to drown in his sorrows later. 

finally, he gets the ropes under, lifting you from the chair. you’re so much lighter, weaker, and it makes him sick as he carries you. “let’s get you home.” 

𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀. . .

the call comes just as akutagawa is getting ready to head home for the evening, his tasks completed, eyes heavy with exhaustion. 

normally, he doesn’t stick around to say any goodbyes, sneaking off into the darkness of the night like a shadow, blending right in. but, something about the evening, so gloomy and drizzly with spring rain, feels off. 

with a heavy knot in his chest, so much different than an incoming fit of coughs, akutagawa heads back up to mori’s office, if perhaps to only ensure that everyone else’s jobs had been completed. he’s a lot of things, but he’s never been a slacker; and he’ll do what it takes to ensure that his position in the mafia is eternally secure.

though, he doesn’t have the opportunity to get all the way upstairs before he run into the boss, who is calm, but with an air of irritation clouding him. 

he explains the current situation to akutagawa in a clipped tone, bored — an enemy group has kidnapped you, holding you hostage. 

“how rude is it to bother a man, just as he is getting ready to go to sleep?” mori says, sighing histrionically.

but what is a minor inconvenience to mori sends an entire wave of dread through akutagawa, his entire body feeling as if it’s been dipped in ice. he can’t explain the horror that washes over him, not really, because he shouldn’t feel so panicked. it is rare for him to get worked up about the danger his subordinates find themselves in, save for his sister, of course. 

but you… you’re different. 

“can i trust you to diffuse the situation?” mori asks, impatiently glancing at his watch as if that will change anything. “i can call someone else, but they will not be so quick.” 

akutagawa doesn’t even think before he accepts the job, hating the way he sounds pathetically desperate for more details. his hands flatten the edge of his cloak, as if his ability is going to take on a mind of its own. 

he calls for a driver, calm but breathing so heavily that an aching cough rises up in him. his throat feels as if it may begin to bleed, but he swallows, glances away from the driver and gets himself under control.

there’s a ransom — bring them the money and they’ll return you, mori had told him. you’re only a lower ranking member of the mafia, and someone that makes for a pretty poor bargaining chip, so the motive is questionable. 

mori probably would’ve let you die, akutagawa knows, his teeth gritting together, so much so that a splintering sound comes from it. but the boss, in his infinite, concerning wisdom, seems to also know that his loyal dog has an soft spot for you. 

as regrettable as that may be.

akutagawa has no doubt that whoever the enemy is, they are no match for him. still, a twinge of anxiety settles in his stomach, fingers jittery as the driver, despite the decreased traffic of the hour, seems to drive impossibly slow. 

“are we not in a rush?” akutagawa snaps, leaning forward.

“apologies,” the driver, says, not daring to even look at akutagawa from the mirror. but the car speeds up, enough for akutagawa to be able to notice, at least. it cools the simmer that has already begun deep in his chest.  

even so, the car seems to go at a snails pace, minute upon minute flying by, with you in the clutches of an enemy. 

akutagawa doesn’t care who they are. he doesn’t care why, or how they captured you. he wants them dead. he’ll rip them apart, easily, and he’ll make them suffer — they’ll be alive for all of it, for every second that he peels the skin from their bones, ripping the smaller ones out of their sockets. 

what he feels for you… well, it’s too hard for him to admit to himself. he has no experience with what it means to care for another person, doesn’t even know if that’s his goal. he just knows he wants to protect you.

and he can’t do that if you’re dead.

finally, the car pulls up to an old warehouse, one at the very outskirts of the port, beyond the docks and the shipping carts. it’s tucked far back, an obvious lair for some villainous organization that doesn’t want to be found. 

akutagawa gets there, but there is nothing. he hears nothing, feels no signs of life as he trudges through the puddles left behind from the earlier rain. 

a small string of panic begins again, as he wondered if maybe the call that mori had told him was only a ruse. maybe this entire time had been a distraction, a way to lure him away. there are other skill-users in the mafia, but none quite as dangerous as him. 

though, he hears it, then. a small little sound, muffled and hoarse, full of pain. 

he ducks into another corner of a warehouse, and you’re there — bound with chains and a gag across your mouth, one of your eyes blackened with bruises, your nose bleeding. 

his heart aches. never in his life has he so quickly made his way over, used the sharp edges of his ability to shear through the chains, falling to his knees as he unbinds the cloth from your lips. 

“where are they?” he rasps, mouth opening and closing, hating the sound of his own voice. he recognizes his desperation, his anger, but the affectionate sound that clips at the end is unfamiliar, as he shakily pulls himself closer to you. 

you glance up at him, eyes glossy and wide, and though you are scared, hurt, he’s so thankful you are alive. his heart flips once, as you grasp at his cloak, the material that has the blood of so many staining the threads. 

“gone,” you say, throat chalky, words nothing more than a note against the wind. “they fled when they heard it was you coming.” 

“and left you?” he asks, jaw clenching, as he hopes that the emotions aren’t as visible on his features as he thinks they are. “were you not a ransom?” 

“no,” you swallow, hard, as if in pain. he notices bruises around your neck, the shape of fingerprints indented there. “i was bait.”

anger rises up in him like a wave, engulfing him, wholly and relentlessly. he is no stranger to that, like he is the kindness you show him, the way you look at him as if he is your protector, rather than a bringer of destruction. “i’ll go after them. where are they headed? they’ll pay, i’ll slaughter—”

“ryunosuke,” you say, reaching for him as he stands, expression pleading as he backs away. “stay.” 

he has half a mind to ignore you — the enemy escaped, after all. but your voice. your eyes… you look so small sitting there, bloodied and bruised and broken. 

“please,” you try again, near tears, and though he has never been good with obvious displays of emotion, something within him snaps at the desperation in the word. 

he nods, slowing his pace as he returns to you, lets you wrap yourself in him, cling to him. his hands fall, naturally, to your waist, somehow knowing where they belong, even if akutagawa never has a clue what he’s doing with you. 

“i’ll call hirotsu,” he says simply, before pulling out his phone, not bothering to untangle himself from you. 

𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 . . .

dazai is not a forgiving man, and will never learn to be. forgiveness is not a luxury he is often able to indulge in in his line of work, and his heart has hardened enough that until the end of time, those that are branded his enemies will remain his enemies. 

though, in his blackened heart, one soured over the course of time, you have carved out your own little space, lit it up with golden rays of light that are fiery enough to melt the stone casing of his chest. 

his only love — his only weakness. but it is a weakness that his enemies know about as well. 

dazai tries his best to keep you safe. he always has, and he knows that, sometimes, his grasp on you can be a little too tight. that the way he tries to keep you under his watchful eye can sometimes be stifling, frustrating. 

but he can’t always be there to protect you. and it is in times like these, that he regrets letting you go without a bodyguard. he regrets that he listened to your insistence that you could keep yourself safe. 

he should’ve at least told you to take a friend. 

“boss,” his subordinate says, bowing his head, his voice pleading, desperate. “i’m so sorry. your wife—”

“if anything… anything happens to her, you will be the one responsible, do you understand?” dazai says, his eyes cold as he glowers down at the man, only a few inches shorter than him, but feeling so much smaller. “i will personally see that this act does not go unpunished.” 

“of course, sir,” the man says, and he, at the very least, has the decency to sound resigned. to accept his fate and suffer the consequences, for allowing the boss’s wife to get herself into such a situation. 

and dazai means it, every last word; if he finds you in a state closer to death, anyone who put you in harm’s way will be torn apart from the inside out. he isn’t able to think of anything but bringing you home safely, his hands shaking with rage as he sends more than enough people out on a search to find you. 

with all the strings he’s able to pull as the mafia boss, it doesn’t take long to find you, for those that have bravely — or stupidly — used his wife as bait to come forward, and offer an attempt at some sort of negotiation. 

there’s little of the conversation that dazai remembers on the phone, even less that he remembers after that. the anger bubbles up in him and grabs hold of his conscience, the emotion directing his movements with a mind of its own. 

he’s already sent out every last one of his people into the field, ensuring that the organization that had the gall to threaten you is wiped off the face of the earth. deleted from every corner of the world, buildings flattened to the ground. by tomorrow, they won’t have ever existed. 

today, he doesn’t care what happens as long as he finds you alive. 

you’re held hostage by two men — so completely beaten that they’ve given up on any restraints. whatever they wanted from you, you seemed to refused to have given up, lip bleeding, eyes swelling so badly that you can’t even open them. 

dazai doesn’t hesitate before pulling the trigger on the first man, then turning to the other, shooting the hand that holds the pistol. the man recoils, shouts, and drops the weapon completely, as dazai lands another bullet to his knee, causing him to fall. 

slowly, dazai walks up, firing again to his other arm, a loud snap echoing throughout the room. the man winces, trying to crawl to the gun, one last desperate attempt to stay alive. 

he kicks the gun away, watching, as, pathetically, the expression in the enemy’s face changes — any of his remaining hope vanishes. 

“you told me she was unharmed,” dazai says, bending down, his coat flaring out behind him as he squats. 

the man coughs, gasping for air as the blood seeps out of him. “we lied.” he smiles cruelly, and though he shares the same sort of darkness as those in the port mafia, there is something even more twisted in his smile. 

dazai hums. “you the leader?” 

the man doesn’t give an answer, but the slight twitch of surprise on his face is all dazai needs. he’s no one — just a grunt whose life was put on the line to guard you. 

“didn’t think so.” dazai shoots him once, straight through the forehead, instantly killing him. but he is vindictive, angry, and the man he truly wants to destroy, the one who took you, is nowhere to be found. another bullet lands, tearing apart the flesh of his temple, then another, and one more, his skull beginning to cave in from the force of it all. 

dazai heaves, letting the gun clatter to the ground as it runs out of bullets, and then he realizes, all this time, you’ve just been watching him. the ugliest side of him — the worst side of him. 

you’re no stranger to it, of course. how can you be, when you’ve shared a life with him for years? but that doesn’t mean he wants you to see it, see how bloodthirsty he can become. 

he stumbles over to you, where you’re still sitting on the ground, your wrist in your lap, bent at an angle that he knows isn’t right. bruises are littered across your skin, and your hair is matted from the blood that pools at your temple. 

it takes every ounce of restraint he has to stay calm, a million feelings swirling under his skin. ones that he was never familiar with until he met you. 

“i’m sorry,” he says, taking your face in his hands so, so softly, worried that he’ll hurt you even more. “i’m sorry, darling. i should’ve — i should’ve been there.” dazai notices his hands are shaking and he balls them up into fists, leaning back. “fuck. fuck — i’ll kill them all, just tell me who it was. anyone who laid a finger on you. i’ll cut them down one by one.” 

“osamu,” you say, and your voice is raspy, cracking, as your unbroken arm reaches for him, squeezing his shaking hand. “i—”

you open your mouth to continue, but only tears come streaming down your cheeks, over your bloodied lips, saltiness soaking your jawline. no words don’t leave you, but a soft sob chokes itself up your throat.

“hey, hey, hey.” dazai’s voice softens, every muscle in his body relaxing as he draws you nearer to him, into his chest with a touch that’s barely there. “you’re safe. i’m here, okay? they’re not going to hurt you again, sweetheart.” 

you sniffle, barely making a sound, but he can feel the tears drop onto his clothes, soaking the material.

“can you walk? are you hurt anywhere else?” 

you hesitate for a moment before answering; he’s not sure if there’s a reason you only answer the first question. “i can walk.” 

dazai nods, and though the rage is still bubbling there, underneath the surface, there is a coolant streaming through him at the vision of you alive. the men who did this will pay the price, but he still has you — and that’s all that matters.

thank you for reading !!! ❤︎