#not too interested in joining the thread...

[winreyplace]

Thank you for this AWESOME rebuttal write-up in regards to that terrible strawpage’s info. You did a good job addressing many of the points, not too dissimilar from some I addressed in my “Soulbonding is not just Metaphysical/Spiritual” post.

I’d love to add some things from my own research, if I may? I've been a soulbonder for over 8 years along with my partner, and I've found SO many archived links around soulbonding, and am also listed as a co-helper on the info carrd that @the-soulbonded-teaparty made.

Multiplicity and Soulbonding So Ib-Lee has a really good post on the history of soulbonding that kind of goes into how it went from non-multiple to multiple. There was originally a decent amount of animosity between the early multiplicity community and soulbonders, with the early multiplicity community making mocking parody blogs around soulbonding and dismissing them, and the early soulbonding community having their own problematic sanist and ableist opinions and misinformed ideas around multiplicity as well.

It's true that Livejournal was when the two communities truly started intermingling and talking with each other though. There are some good essays that were originally part of Pavillion Hall that talks about the relationships between soulbonding and multiplicity that are worth looking at. Some soulbonders even dropped the soulbonding label altogether and claimed multiple instead (and later on, plural) and that is *how* the terms fictive and headmate (headmate link 2) became part of the plural community even when they both originated in the soulbonding community. I will say, by my research, there were and are some soulbonding experiences that I'd say aren't all comparable to multiplicity. There were soulbonders that had no direct relationship or communication with their soulbonds (as it's an option to pick from in the old SB code). There were some soulbonders with experiences most similar to immersive daydreaming (which some immersive daydreamers might be plural, but that's neither here nor there). There were some soulbonds that weren't sentient or autonomous, having no or only partial free will, but still were considered soulbonds too. There are some interesting experiences on the kurai forum, the Soulbond Sanctuary forum, and on this archive of the SB database that are interesting to read about and cover a wide range of experiences! There is also my old post talking about some reasons why a soulbonder might not identify as plural. Regardless though, soulbonding and plurality will ALWAYS be cousins, siblings, peers, and connected to each other. Anti-endo soulbonders should not be a thing, imao.

Tulpamancy and Soulbonding

I have the suspicion that when soulbonders dropped the soulbonding label, for whatever reason, some did not pick up the multiple/plural label and instead joined up with the tulpamancy community. Regardless, there has been a lot of overlap between soulbonding and tulpamancy. On tulpa.io, a tulpamancy forum that has existed since ~2010, there are a number of soulbonding threads to read from, some that are recent and some dating back to 2012. The r/tulpas subreddit also has a lot of overlap and discussions on soulbonding, with the oldest soulbonding related post going back 11 years ago. Most tulpamancers consider [psychological] soulbonding and tulpamancy to have no or minimal differences between them, as they both fall under "thoughtforms". But those who have both tulpas and soulbonds (whether psychological or metaphysical) seem to discern a lot more differences existing. There is also such a thing and possibility as soulbond-tulpa hybrids, called tulbonds (though only a few have picked up that specific term for it). I and my partner actually have 3 tulbonds as part of our soulbonding family.

Multiverse Theory and Soulbonding

While it is true, as indicated by the soulbonding tripod link, that the multiverse was a theory for soulbonding since even the early days, it was not exclusive, and by all my research, soulbonding, was not intended to be purely spiritual/metaphysical and that there was some regrets in making it sound as such. Fromfiction (aka fictionkin.org aka soulbonder.tumblr.com) does seem to be the one responsible for presenting it as exclusively metaphysical/spiritual for the first time, around 2015-2016. It seems they briefly mentioned the theory of mental originating soulbonds here, but all the rest of their content has always distinguished soulbonds as spirits from 'somewhere else', even saying tulpas are what you have if the soulbond didn't come from 'somewhere else'.

Yumeshipping and Soulbonding

While some soulbonders since even the early days of the community definitely had intimate and romantic relationships with their soulbonds (e.g. the site headvoices talking of their soulbond husband), that has never been across the board the case and was a little uncommon to find. It is a little irksome that the selfshipping/yumeshipping/waifuism community has hopped head first into soulbonding in such a way as to tie the communities more explicitly together and give the implication that all soulbonds are romantic in nature or that they are synonymous with yumeshipping. To be fair, I do see a lot of the new soulbonders try to say "hey soulbonding is not yumeshipping/being a riako" or try to distinguish themselves from that experience, but many of them still openly intermingle with the yumeship community, bring over habits that are culturally a part of the yumeship community (like the concept of "non-sharing" and the aesthetics), crosstag their posts under both communities, and I've seen yumeship Discord servers pop-up on Twitter that accept soulbonds too, so it's all still messily connecting them together.

I don't think discovering you are [metaphysically] soulbonded to your yumeship f/os is wrong or anything, I can definitely see that happening, but optically, I do wish formerly-yumeshipper soulbonders were more careful with optically connecting the concepts, intentionally or unintentionally. But that's more of a gripe than a "debunking" or "rebuttal". ---

So there, just a couple more links and info to support the OP's post. Thanks again for your work, especially that Livejournal mirror 👀 Going to need to look through that for the archives.

I finally looked at that soulbonding strawpage so it's time to disprove it. Feel free to link this if this discourse ever comes up over there I don't really care

This is also highlights why you really shouldn't trust anything presenting itself as an informational resource that doesn't have sources. Don't worry everyone, I spent way too long going through websites that were made for a monitor the size of a shoebox to get them

so the reason is moreso that the term system wasn't known to the soulbonding community at the time and it's a case of two separately developed communities. Think like otherkin and therian developed separately but started to share terms later.

Unfortunately, LiveJournal was being a bitch, and the soulbonding LJ was not archived well. Thankfully I did find a mirror that let me search, and here are the earliest results.

The most blatant one is sourced 08.07.03: "(I have SoulBonds, and one could say I'm part of a multiple-ish system. It's *not* DID, though. I guess most of you know about empowered multiplicity and SBing anyway.)"

You can find a lot more references to soulbonds as systems from around this time too! and nothing really saying they aren't systems (even in early accounts of discourse).

You also have this essay, likely from around that time, that discusses directly this combining between soulbonding and multiplicity.

"If you look through the annals of history, you'll notice that much of the soulbonding community thought itself very far removed from plurality, and the multiple community out there didn't even address soulbonding at all. Recently, all of this has been changing very quickly. Now, you don't have to look very hard to find multiple systems who admit to soulbonding, or soulbonders who have acknowledged themselves as multiple."

(Also "Hopefully in a year or two, we'll be writing another essay called 'Our Thoughts on the New Friendship Between the Multiple and Soulbonding Communities.'" BUDDY I AM SORRY-)

I also actually found a comment on Psych Forums, a DID community, that discusses soulbonds in 2010 and having soulbonds with alters, which was very interesting.

But anyway either way it seems like when soulbonders learned about the term system and multiple, they started using it.

Similar to what happened with fictive actually but that's a whole other topic to explain.

I wasn't going to acknowledge this because I don't know fuck all about tulpamancy, but stuff about the overlap kept coming up in other sources so here you go.

From Soul Whispers in at least 2004 (context being a semi-conscious creation element to soulbonding): "This theory also has its own basis in ancient spiritualities; there is a belief in some Eastern religions, such as Tibetan Buddhism, that people can create and shape "thought-forms" that take on a spirit-realm life of their own as animals, mythological creatures, or other people."

From Living Library in 2015: "Still other soulbonders deliberately set out to create a soulbond (which often overlaps to some degree with tulpamancy, the practice of deliberately creating new consciousnesses as mental companions)"

So like there is a known overlap, but I couldn't give you anything super insightful on that.

Not inherently, no. This personal essay from Soul Whispers earliest archived in 2004 points out how complicated soulbond theories are, acknowledges psychological theories ("One theory that once used to be popular, and probably originated from the old Multiple Personality Disorder idea (or else was just suggested because it seems simple and obvious), is that a SoulBond is just you personifying a part of you which you refuse to acknowledge or which might need an outlet"). While it acknowledges the multiverse theory, it also concludes with an imaginary-created world turned real theory against the multiverse theory.

This essay from 2000 also highlights the early writer/muse focus that the community has.

The spiritual-focused view was popularized by From Fiction. I don't have a source beyond "system joined the soulbonding community in 2016", but if you look up anything from them, it is very spirituality/multi-verse focused, and that can also be seen with their fictionkin stuff.

If you want a newer example, Living Library's site from 2015 directly acknowledges this: "Some soulbonders see soulbonding in a psychological light, whether by considering their soulbonds aspects of their own personality or as conscious psychological entities like themselves."

Also from experience, some of it came from other systems seeing the term and assuming soul = spiritual.

You can see the above essays and sources to see that that's not a universal view that all soulbonders have. Actually a few of those acknowledge the view that soulbonds might be a part of the host.

Though that is true that soulbonds can be anything!

This is another yes and no thing. If you're coming at this from a strictly multiverse view, yeah, but again not all soulbonders view it like that.

It can also get a little muddy if you have a soulbond who doesn't really acknowledge you as a headmate (i.e. seeing you as just a headvoice on their end).

From what I've seen personally, the divination thing is relatively new in the community, and I think came from the overlap with reality shifting and that bringing in more spiritual beliefs? At least looking through the LiveJournal archive I couldn't find jack shit for divination and soulbonding.

Interestingly I also see this a lot more with the self shipping overlap, which seems to be reinforced by the StrawPage including links for that, but I don't know anything about self shipping culture or yumeship.

Likewise this is genuinely the first time I've seen it compared to deity worship.

I have seen it compared to pop culture paganism sometimes, but from our experiences having some spiritual soulbonds and pop culture deities... not really? I can kind of see it though? But I wouldn't say it as a universal thing. Cool if you experience it like that though!

Anyway all that aside, the only other terms they have being like self shipping focused is a little annoying, especially since soulbonding actually does have a lot of interesting terms that's developed within it

[lcbyuri]

oh, a glitter bomb!! hopefully that wasn't hard to clean up... and that manager dante helped you after you staggered. good prank, though! but, uh, how did you make a glitter bomb?

[kerosene-in-a-blender]

Others have talked, very rightly, about Bells Hells having an extremely Us vs. Them style of morality and one thing I find interesting about all that is many of their most virulent (read: actively nasty towards other fans) defenders are also taking this stance. The party line has become that the segments of the fandom that are disappointed with how this campaign shook out have never been happy with anything Bells Hells did from the beginning and have been actively hating on people who do like it for just as long. Us, the beleaguered Campaign 3 lovers versus Them, the mean c3 haters (who are often characterized as being hung up on the Mighty Nein and simply mad Bells Hells aren't the Nein again).

What's been quite funny for me personally is that I have seen vague posts clearly targeted at myself giving me the above detailed characterization of the c3 hater when I: have never seen Campaign 2 (though I did watch Campaign 1 back in 2019), started watching live with the first EXU, got into the fandom (as a lurker) at the start of Campaign 3, didn't make any of my own posts about it until late 2022 and didn't start really posting in earnest until mid 2023. Practically none of the characteristics applied to the archetypal c3 hater certain fans have created actually apply to me, other than of course thinking Campaign 3 actually isn't very good. So it's been interesting to watch people draw lines in the sand and create an Us vs. Them narrative that I know isn't true based on existing as myself.

[marianettes]

okay guys. if i made a discord server to talk about ocs & random tidbits of lore, would you join? for context, i have a personal server where i store all the info about my ocs so i don't lose it, and i think i could turn it into an actual server for us! nothing to big or crowded, just a small thing, bc i know a lot of my mutuals are each other's mutuals anyway LOL

[reinabeestudio]

I think that despite having a selfless heart, Cee has also lots of Repressed Emotions inside her due to the events that led to her current situation (namely the bastard father of her twins. She has a lot of Feelings on the matter).

But being raised as a "proper lady" ('always appear quiet and content while looking effortlessly beatiful, be a caring wife and loving mother'), she just bottled everything negative up and instead focuses on her kids. Surely this is a healthy way of living and won't end up taking a toll on her health 👍

[violetrainbow412-blog]

A fair payment [W. W.]

Willy Wonka x fem!reader

word count: 1.5k

People who might be interested: @strugglingwriterwattpad @cattail5 [Timothée masterlist]

some minor Wonka spoilers I guess! If you like it, tell me in the comments, that will make me happy :)

“Can you mend it?” Willy asked, carefully holding his emerald green jacket that had the sleeve seam torn.

The boy had arrived a couple of weeks ago to turn the world of everyone present in the laundry upside down and, honestly, you were already beginning to enjoy his presence. You looked in the background at the blackboard that Noodle used at night to give him lessons in the hope that he would learn to read because, according to the girl's words, because of that he was almost eaten by a tiger. But in the man's words, what was important was the almost part. 

However, tonight he had asked you especially to go to his room, because he had a problem that he thought only you could solve.

“I think so, I just have to pass the needle a couple of times” you smiled.

Since your arrival Mrs. Scrubbit had used your sewing skills for her own benefit, because after all you had ended up in that mess trying to save a little to be able to buy the necessary materials to make a pretty dress that would be worth enough to advance in the business. Although, obviously, that had not been possible.

"Thank you! I'm afraid that's my only jacket."

“It will be ready in no time. I’ll just go to my room and come back, okay?” you said kindly, placing the garment in the boy's lap and earning a sweet smile from the aforementioned.

Just as Willy had his little briefcase for his chocolates, you had your own, full of threads, needles, and buttons, which you just had to grab from the floor to get everything you needed. When you arrived back you settled at the little table and he remained attentive to your every movement, pulling out a chair so he could observe what you were about to do.

“There was a boy on the ship who helped me with these things,” he began to tell you, keeping his curious nose on your shoulder “But I never thought about learning. You know, for when I had to be alone”

“Well, it's lucky you ended up here. We are a curious collection of workers,” you murmured ironically, referring to all the people gathered there against their will by the work of fate "What did you do on the ship?"

"Cook. Mostly sweet things, but I also know a couple of useful non-chocolate-related recipes. I was the chef,” he said, and you laughed at the exaggerated way he pronounced the last bit.

Willy began to tell you about some of the adventures he had had on the high seas and you listened attentively as the tip of the needle went in and out to join the fabric. It only took a few minutes to get his clothes looking like new, taking the liberty of repairing other places that also needed it.

“Put it on,” you asked, trying not to look at him too much when he did so or pay attention to the way the jacket fit him perfectly.

"It is perfect! You can't even tell it was torn, huh?” he said with emotion, feeling with his hands as much as he could. “How much do I owe you?”

“Oh, it's nothing.”

“I insist,” the man murmured. His curly hair bounced across his cheeks as he sat next to you and he lifted his small briefcase off the floor, opening it to reveal all the little bottles of ingredients. “Your talent for mine. It's a fair exchange."

You had to admit that the chocolates you had eaten were a complete delicacy, but a part of you didn't want to get used to that luxury or you knew that when Willy was gone you would miss his sweetness. In the literal and figurative sense.

Locked in that laundry it was impossible to meet many people your age and Noodle was your greatest company, as if he were a little sister to you. But now that he was there, there was a certain happiness in chatting with him, much more now that his ingenious mind had devised a way to get you out of there even if it was just for a few hours to see the light of day and get coins from the sale of the chocolates to free you of the enormous debt to Mrs. Scrubbit.

“What flavor do you want to try today? Do you want me to add some unicorn skin glitter? Rays of sunlight from a twilight on the seashore? Tears of an African crocodile?”

“Just give me something you think I need,” you replied softly.

Willy thought about it for a moment, because it wasn't the kind of answer he would have expected. What was he supposed to give you that night? A little hope? Happiness? Nostalgia? It was difficult to decide.

Through his bright eyes you watched him reflect and just a second later his hands began to work. You noticed there was a hint of mischief in his smile as he poured milk, chocolate, and the contents of a couple of jars into the processor, glancing at you from the corner of his eye from time to time.

“What are you going to do when we get out of here?” he asked suddenly, not neglecting the tasks.

“Working in a sewing workshop, I guess.”

“Why don't you open your own fashion house?” Willy suggested carefreely, as if it were a very easy thing to do, “You are a great dressmaker.”

“And you are a great dreamer”

“It's my best quality,” he exclaimed, almost offended. You waited a moment before answering.

“I just don't think it's that simple. It requires effort, time, and a lot of money…”

“We will have everything,” he interrupted you, with that optimism that characterized him. Suddenly he stopped what he was doing and one of his hands traveled to take yours. “When I open my factory, we will all be able to fulfill our dreams. And you are going to have a fashion house, I promise you.”

“You make a lot of promises,” you responded, blushing.

“And he planned to fulfill them all. I always do it"

Maybe there was something about the softness of his grip on your hand or perhaps the sparkle in his eyes that made you look away out of sheer nervousness. He seemed to be good and innocent, to the point that he probably didn't even realize how close he was to you or how inappropriate the position would be if Noodle ever walked in.

A tap interrupted your moment and then he abruptly pulled away, excited to show you the product he had just made. It was a pretty circular candy that was bright pink and seemed to be emanating smoke from the inside.

"What's that?"

“You'll have to try it to find out,” he murmured, as he extended the treat in your direction.

You had to admit that you were somewhat curious to discover what the man was offering you, so you took it between your fingers carefully, and even under his watchful gaze you took a bite.

At first it tasted like ordinary chocolate, but then it took on a strange tone, which made you feel a certain warmth in your chest that spread to your cheeks. It was a most pleasant feeling, like bubbly joy combined with the embarrassment of a hug.

You thought for a moment about what flavor that could be, without any success, until after a few seconds you realized that it wasn’t a flavor in itself, but a feeling, an experience... Was it love that Willy had given you?

“How does it taste?”

“Yummy,” you responded, covering your mouth so he wouldn’t see the wet chocolate on your tongue, but also to hide your smile “Delicious, actually. What does it contain?”

“A special and secret ingredient”

"Oh, come on! Aren’t you going to tell me?”

“I just want to know if I got it right,” he murmured and you frowned slightly, not understanding him “About what you asked for. Did I give you something you needed?”

You had to bite your lip to keep from smiling again, your cheeks feeling hot from the simple fact that he was looking at you. You thought that this could even be a love potion that you had consumed without thinking about it, just because he was the one who was offering it to you.

“We could say yes”

“We're even, then,” he exclaimed as he waved the sleeve of his jacket and you nodded in amusement, eating the rest of the chocolate he had made for you.

A yawn leaving your lips made you aware of how exhausted you were and although you didn't love the idea, you knew it was time to leave.

“It's late, I should go to sleep before we wake anyone up.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Willy said quickly, getting up from his seat to accompany you to the exit. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Rest,” you said kindly, and, gathering courage, you leaned forward a little to say goodbye with a hug that he gladly returned.

As you walked down the hall to your shabby, damp room, you thought that it probably wouldn't have even taken a love potion to fall for the charms of the pleasant chocolatier. You just needed one of his smiles.

[ozzgin]

Omg bro yk whats been on my mind for do long?? A demon king trying to court a hero reader. Like the hero has already fought and defeated the king but somehow he comes back and he's desperately trying to get the hero to join him (in more ways than one). He wants the reader to be his spouse and leader of his army against the corrupt human race and the reader (now fallen from stardom due to the evil kings defeat) just wants him gone and to be left alone. Idk if this makes sense but I need to see SOMEONE write abt it before I lose my last marble.

-Doll

Yandere! Demon King x Hero! Reader

As it goes with villains, they always find a way to return. This time, the Demon King has a different plan in mind. You were prepared for anything, from evil schemes to ancient conjured weapons...except for a wedding ring cordially placed before you. Do you say yes? Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, 🔥proposal (literally)

[Part 2]

You still remember everything so fondly. How you crawled out of that enormous crater, body battered and weak, as everyone watched in horror and held their breaths. Finally, you raised your fist victoriously. The Demon King had been, at last, defeated. The people cheered and cried and pulled you up under thundering waves of applause. Peace was no longer just a dream.

A sweet, innocent memory, even more so given its fleeting nature. The genuine smiles of gratitude quickly turned into crooked grins asking for favors. Before you knew it, you became some sort of political accessory to convince the masses. Posing for photos, shaking hands, being interviewed with bizarrely planned questions reeking of propaganda. You suddenly felt burdened, heavy, disappointed. This was not the kind of fame you envisioned for yourself.

Thus, you gradually vanished from the limelight, keeping your distance from everyone else and spending most days in solitude. Better than having to look into those unscrupulous, opportunistic eyes measuring up your worth. You had fulfilled your job and purpose.

This morning you're woken up by the sound of your belongings rattling in their shelves. The wooden frame of your bed is creaking, and you struggle to get up. An earthquake? A wave of nausea flushes over you. You recognize this feeling all too well, though you never expected to deal with it again. This is a disaster alright, yet the forces of nature have nothing to do with it.

You rush outside, swinging the door open and nearly tripping in your hurry to confirm your suspicions: the demonic creature is approaching your humble adobe with heavy steps, as the ground crumbles and shatters underneath. The Demon King himself, in flesh and blood. Although the blood splattering his armor is most likely not his. Same for the visceral remains threading his weapon. Regardless, your jaw tightens nervously, and you stand back, in a defensive pose. "You're a stubborn one", you say smugly, trying to maintain your composure. "Can't say I'm a fan of dying, that is correct." A ragged, monstrous voice erupts from the tall, armored figure.

"What brings you back?" You demand. The surroundings are too peaceful for him to have tampered with the city. Did he stop by to formally announce his destruction? "I have an offer that might interest you." The Dark Overlord has closed the distance between you, now looming above your much smaller body. You shiver. "I don't barter with Demons!" You conclude, turning around, prepared to leave. "Even when your precious people are on the line?" The horned beast warns with a grin. "If there's nothing better to do as a Ruler of Realms than killing petty humans..." You swiftly retort, going back into your house and slamming the door shut.

He stands for a moment, speechless. "Y-your Majesty? Should I take care of the humans, or (Y/N)?" Only now he notices his scaly butler, bowing to his side with claws resting over the weapon. The Demon King raises a hand, shooing the servant away. The annihilation of the human race can wait. There are more important matters to deal with presently. He'd expected your rejection, naturally, but not in such fashion. The indifference, the flat voice, the empty eyes devoid of emotion. Have the city dwellers tampered with his hero? He expected to see your fierce rage and in return he was met with a hollow shell.

Bright blue flames erupt from the openings of his armor, resulting in a menacing show of lights. He's known it for the longest time, of course. Humans are rotten to their very core. Vile, deceitful creatures that have slithered their way up, exuding undeserved arrogance. He's been trying to show you this very fact, yet you were blinded by naïve faith. Your unwavering, honest heart that won him over has turned out to be your early demise. Not anymore. His vengefulness knows no bounds when it comes to traitors.

The sudden spike in temperature alerts you. Was it your rudeness that angered the Demon? You don't care anymore. Whatever happens to the city is out of your hands. And yet...you're buckling the straps of your old suit made for battle. Sword in hand, you gaze at your reflection. What could the Beast want? The fortified city no longer holds the value of its olden days. Just like you've left your hero days behind. Without much contemplation, you run out and head for the main gates. The path is paved with ash and rubble and your grip on the weapon tightens. Regret immediately wells up in your chest, ready to burst out. Is it too late? The entrance is engulfed in fire, charred corpses toppling against the ruins of the walls.

You reach the town hall - or rather, what remains of it - and face the Demon King. Has he gotten stronger since your last encounter? You hold your breath as the horned monster turns towards you. "I've tried to tell you, again and again. Time after time." He sighs, defeated. "Between the two of us, I'd say you were the stubborn one all along." His voice is softer than what you would've expected from someone that had just massacred an entire settlement. There's not a single scratch or sign of struggle. Was he merely holding back during your last fight? One thing is certain: you're his final obstacle. You raise your sword, determined. Hot sweat trickles down your face as the flames surround you. "Well, at least you've convinced yourself now, I hope. There's nothing left for you here." The Demon King lowers himself, extending a fist towards you. A spell? Secret weapon? Your leg muscles contract in anticipation.

His fingers open and stretch out, slowly. In his palm, a barely noticeable ring. Given the ridiculous size difference, you assume this is better fitting for a human. You stare at it in confusion, discerning the wedding vows carved in the noble metal. "What's the meaning of this?" You mutter, glancing at the Beast now resting on one knee before you. "What? Is it not your human custom?" He looks away for a moment, clicking his tongue. "That useless butler. He told me- Forget it! You are to return with me to my Kingdom. As my spouse."

Of all the things you've prepared yourself for...Your brows furrow and your mouth hangs open in shock.

What is your answer? The Demon King will not leave empty-handed.

[almostwisegalaxy]

On my knees In front of you standing for you

Yeon Sieun x Depressed fem!reader

in this story the reader is baku's sister

..................................................................................

The small restaurant, though modest, resonated with a familiar commotion that evening. Hu-min’s laughter, always too loud, drowned out the crackling radio playing an old Korean trot song. Gotak finished his bowl of ramyeon with fervor, and Jun-tae meticulously cut his kimchi, as if it were a surgical operation. Yeon Si-eun, for his part, kept his arms crossed, his eyes skimming the table, pretending to be interested in the texture of the wood.

He wasn't there for the meal. Not really. Since they had entered, he had sensed something—a weight, a draft, an extra heartbeat—something dissonant in that narrow space. He intermittently stared at the slightly torn curtain that led to the back of the restaurant, where Hu-min had disappeared shouting a “Be right back, gotta check something!” too exaggerated not to be a habit.

Then she had appeared.

Not in a beam of light, not with her hair floating in slow motion like in dramas. She was just there, suddenly, standing in the doorway, barefoot, arms hanging loosely. Her eyes were vacant. As if she saw no one, or perhaps everyone at once.

Y/N.

Yeon Si-eun didn't know why his stomach had turned. She wasn't doing anything. She was just there. He felt a cramp at the base of his neck, a strange tension he had only known once before, facing an unpredictable opponent. But there, it wasn't about strategy or threat. It was something else. A subtle panic. A curiosity with fangs.

She had approached her brother silently. Hu-min had turned around, surprised, then immediately smiling. A smile that, Si-eun now realized, was too rushed, too automatic. The kind of smile that says, "Don't fall apart in front of them. Please.”

"Aren't you sleeping?"

She shrugged almost imperceptibly. And in that simple gesture, Yeon Si-eun saw more than he had seen in some of his former enemies. A nameless weariness. A broken mechanism. Someone who wasn't made for words but had too much to say.

"I heard... you were laughing too loudly. I thought... you had fallen."

Her voice was cracked, like a silk thread stretched too tight. Hu-min caught her by the shoulder and massaged the back of her neck as one calms a wounded animal.

"I'm fine, Y/N. I'm just loud, you know that. Go back and rest, huh?"

She didn't answer. Her eyes slid across the room. They met Si-eun's.

It was only a second. But for him, it was enough.

There was nothing romantic about it. No projection, no idealization. Just a look, full of fatigue, shame, stifled anger. A frozen storm. And something, deep inside him, started to scream.

"Why her? Why now?"

He didn't know her story, but he knew that expression. He had seen it on the faces of some comrades before they disappeared. Before they left messages that no one really understood.

While Gotak wrestled with a sauce stain and Jun-tae tried to understand a math memo, Si-eun kept his eyes on her. She wasn't smiling. She wasn't doing anything to be noticed. And yet, every detail of her presence electrified him: the sleeves that were too long, the dark circles under her eyes that shouldn't exist at her age, the way she stood as if breathing was an act that required permission.

Hu-min had gently pushed her back towards the curtain.

"I'll join you in a bit. Promise."

She had turned her head. Another moment. Just long enough for Si-eun to feel his breath catch in his throat.

She wasn't pretty, in the classic sense. Not radiant, nor gentle. She looked absent. Like a photograph too many years old. But that absence, that was precisely what had captured him. That void that called out. That void that screamed.

Since that night, he hadn't been able to shake it off.

He didn't yet know if it was attraction, compassion, or an obsession born of his own loneliness. But Y/N now haunted his silences. His analyses crumbled as soon as he thought of her. He had surprised himself by returning to the restaurant two days later, alone. Pretending he had forgotten something. Then another time. And again.

But she didn't reappear.

He understood that she rarely went out. And only to follow her brother's voice, like a cracked compass.

This made her absence more present than any presence.

He began to observe Hu-min, to dissect the moments when his mask slipped, when his laughter was too high-pitched. He told himself that he had to know. That he saw her suffering. But that he couldn't do anything. Not alone.

It was then that Yeon Si-eun felt the first real shiver of fear in a long time.

Not for himself.

For her.

And something within him stretched, slowly, painfully, like a promise being born in the dark: he would see her again. He would understand her. He had no right to ignore her.

Not her.

---

That day, Y/N rose slowly, as if each movement was a struggle against gravity. The curtain of the small room where she and her brother usually slept was drawn, and light barely filtered through the holes. She knew it had been too long since she had felt Hu-min's presence. It was a sensation she couldn't ignore, a void that wouldn't disappear. Usually, he was there, with his loud laughter and his voice too loud to be ignored. But today, it was as if he had gone silent.

She got up, her legs trembling with the effort, her bare feet softly hitting the cold floor. Each step brought her closer to the door, but she felt as if her body was resisting this movement, as if it didn't want to let her cross that threshold. Yet, she went out. The house felt different when Hu-min wasn't there to fill the space with his noisy presence, his incessant attempts to make her smile.

When she arrived at the school, the boys were in a classroom at the end of the hallway. The place, like everything else, was steeped in a heavy, cold atmosphere. It was where they often gathered, together, away from prying eyes. When Y/N entered the room, she paused for a moment on the threshold, her eyes frantically searching for the three boys.

Jun-tae looked up and, before Si-eun and Gotak had even reacted, he noticed her, his face hardening for an instant. She wasn't supposed to be here. Not now. Not in this state.

"Hu-min…" Her voice, trembling, broke the heavy silence of the room. "Where is he? Where is my brother ?"

The boys exchanged a quick glance. Si-eun didn't need more to understand. He knew this question was coming. He also knew what it implied. He couldn't tell her the truth, at least not bluntly. Not yet.

"He… he went somewhere. But he'll be back soon." Si-eun's answer was measured, almost cold, as if it belonged to a different world than Y/N's. He didn't dare worry her too much, but he felt a heavy truth beneath his words. "Don't worry, he just has some things to take care of."

Y/N looked at him, deep confusion in her eyes. She frowned. Her lips tightened, an expression of vulnerability that didn't suit her. "He promised me we'd go to the aquarium... We were supposed to… he was supposed to come back." She lowered her head, then, suddenly, her gaze fell on Gotak, whose face was graver than ever, and who looked away.

"He'll be back, Y/N. Don't worry," Gotak repeated, trying to sound reassuring, but his tone betrayed a worry that even he couldn't hide.

Y/N didn't answer immediately. She stared at the floor, her mind lost in a thick, distant haze. She wasn't in this room. Her thoughts were elsewhere, further away, towards a place where promises were broken, and where Hu-min was no longer the person she had known.

Sadness, an unbearable weight, slowly seeped into her. She felt like a spectator of her own life. She could no longer connect with others, understand laughter, understand words. She only knew that, without Hu-min, this world became too vast and too cold for her.

Yeon Si-eun finally stood up, his gaze fixed on Y/N with an intensity he hadn't yet dared to show her. He had seen the hidden suffering behind her eyes. He had seen the way she fled from herself, the way she hid in silence, as if she were afraid of everything that was alive. But he couldn't leave her in this state.

"He'll be back," he repeated, but this time, it wasn't a promise, it was a statement. He didn't know exactly what was happening, but he knew it wouldn't be easy for any of them.

Y/N didn't answer. She turned slowly and, without a word, left the room. The sound of her footsteps faded in the hallway, taking with it some of the heavy air in the room.

The boys remained there, not knowing what to say. Jun-tae sighed deeply. Gotak clenched his fists on the table. Si-eun, for his part, found himself once again facing the reality of the situation. He knew Y/N wouldn't see it this way, but he now understood that everything was connected: Hu-min, his laughter, his secrets, and Y/N's invisible suffering. They were caught in a vortex far more complex than they could have imagined.

But for now, they only had one thing to do: protect this fragile balance, protect the facade they were maintaining. Because it was all going to collapse soon.

That night, Y/N went to bed early, as was her habit. Her body was heavy, almost numb. But before closing her eyes, she thought of a promise Hu-min had made her. A promise he hadn't been able to keep.

"I'll be back."

---

FLASHBACK – About ten years ago

Little Y/N was barely five years old at the time. Two big, curious eyes, round cheeks, and that clear laugh that sounded like a jingle bell shaken a little too fast. She was shy, yes—she hid behind her brother when strangers spoke to them—but around him, she transformed.

With Hu-min, she was a sunbeam.

"Oppaaaaaa! You're running too fast!" she cried one day, arms outstretched, struggling to keep up with the two boys who were dashing ahead.

"You're too slow, Y/N! You're a slug!" Baek-jin teased, laughing.

"Am not!" she retorted, puffing out her cheeks. "You're cheating because you have dinosaur legs!"

The three children burst into laughter, collapsing onto the park ground, out of breath. Hu-min had grabbed his little sister and spun her around in the air before setting her down, laughing.

"There's my super flying Y/N! Faster than a hungry pigeon!"

She started laughing so hard that she got the hiccups.

In those days, Y/N thought life was simple: running, laughing, teasing Baek-jin calling him Jin-nie, building forts under the sheets, and eating candy stolen from the cupboard when their father hadn't come home yet.

But the house changed when the sun went down.

And especially, it changed when their father came home.

The sound of the key in the lock froze the air. Silence fell like a contained storm.

Y/N would freeze. Always. Like an animal that hears the predator approaching. Hu-min, on the other hand, would switch to autopilot. He would go get their father's slippers, discreetly remove any bottles from the table, grab Y/N's hand, and take her to their small room.

"Close the door, okay? Don't say a word. Even if you hear shouting."

She would nod, trembling. Her hands were icy.

And the shouting would begin.

Not howls of pain. Not blows. But words that sliced through the air like blades.

"Two parasites. The girl sleeps all day. The boy plays the hero. You're ruining my life."

Y/N would cry silently. Her body curled up under her blanket. Hu-min would come join her, sliding next to her like an invisible barrier between her and the walls of the world.

And then he would start. The little theater.

He would begin to whisper in the dark.

"You know what I saw today? A magpie trying to steal a sandwich! I swear, it looked guilty. Like it was about to be arrested by the police!"

Y/N sniffled.

"Magpies... do they go to prison?"

"Unless they write a ten-line poem to apologize. But yours just said 'caw-caw,' so it was put in a cell with a pigeon with a bad reputation."

A small laugh escaped Y/N's throat. Weak, but sincere.

That was all he wanted. A spark. A tiny ray.

Sometimes, he would make faces in the dark. Other times, he would mime a fight between a sock dragon and a sock knight. He would invent absurd songs that rhymed "kimchi" with "spaghetti" and "rocket" with "holey socks."

He would have given anything for her to keep that laugh.

But every year, he saw her close in on herself a little more. Every insult, every silence that followed the outbursts, chipped away a little more at the light she carried.

And he, Hu-min, fought back. In his own way.

He became louder, more alive. He laughed loudly for two. He rolled his eyes at every criticism, pretending it didn't affect him. But inside, he was slowly collapsing.

Y/N, on the other hand, was fading away.

And he clung to her as to a silent promise. That he would get her out of there. That he would always be there.

Because she was more than just a little sister.

She was the only person who had ever looked at him like a hero.

And he had no right to disappoint her.

Even if she no longer laughed.

Even if she was slowly fading before his eyes.

He would continue.

Until the end.

---

The Next Day

Yeon Si-eun hadn’t slept a wink all night.

He had replayed the scene over and over—Y/N’s figure, frail, worried, standing in the middle of the empty classroom, her voice cracking with fear as she asked, "Where's my brother?"

She had only stayed for a few minutes. But since then, she hadn't left his mind.

He hated himself for it.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Not to him. He had built walls, erected defense strategies more complex than those of any opponent. He had always kept his distance. Observer. Neutral. Cold, some said. Prudent, he corrected.

But with her, there had been a hole in the armor. And through that hole, she had slipped. Not with words or smiles. But with her silence. With that pain suspended in the void of her eyes.

That morning, he had waited for the exact time he knew she would be alone. He had unconsciously memorized Y/N’s schedule. He knew she didn't eat in the morning. That she slept most of the time. But today, he was going to knock on her door.

Not out of altruism.

Not out of kindness.

But because he couldn't bear not seeing her anymore.

**

Hu-min had absentmindedly given him the address of the small apartment above the restaurant. Si-eun went there with a precise, almost military step. His hands were in his pockets, his thoughts hazy, but his heart beating fast. Much too fast. He hated this loss of control.

He knocked twice.

No answer.

He was about to leave, but the door finally opened. Slowly. As if it weighed a ton.

And Y/N was there. Her hair disheveled. Her face still blurred with sleep. She was wearing an oversized sweater, its sleeves falling over her hands. He read in her gaze the effort each step towards that door had cost her.

"Si-eun…?"

She seemed surprised. Almost wary.

He could have said he was passing "by chance." He could have made up an excuse.

But that wasn't his style.

"I wanted to see if you were okay."

She didn't answer. She blinked. Once. Twice.

And then, she stepped aside without a word.

He entered.

**

Silence settled in immediately. Si-eun didn't break it. He observed. The apartment was cramped, almost bare. Two mugs on the table, curtains permanently drawn, a mattress in a corner. And that smell of stale tea, of stagnant sleep.

She sat back down on the bed without looking at him. He remained standing at first. Then sat down on the floor, facing her, at a good distance.

Not a word.

And in that silence… something was born.

It wasn't a game of glances, nor an exchange of confidences. It was something else. A contained tension. A raw intimacy, without justification. A strange calm. He didn't need to understand her, nor to find the right words to soothe her.

She wasn't crying. She wasn't talking.

She was simply there.

And he was there too.

Then, slowly, her shoulders slumped. She rested her head against the wall, her eyelids half-closed. Si-eun didn't move. He watched her for a long time, until he felt her breathing regulate. And suddenly, he understood: she was asleep.

She had fallen asleep.

In his presence.

And it was an insane victory.

A shiver ran through him. Something feverish. Unhealthy perhaps, but irrepressible. She had granted him a trust that no one else had. She had let her guard down. He had become a fixed point in her blurry world.

And in his, she had become an obsession.

**

Since that day, he returned. Every day. At the same time.

He never warned her. But she always opened the door a little before. Sometimes barely conscious, other times already sitting, her eyes vacant. As if her body had sensed him. As if a part of her wanted to see him.

He always brought something. Jasmine tea. Pieces of sweet bread. A novel. A potted plant. Discreet, almost ridiculous things. And yet, every detail had been weighed, considered, chosen for her.

But it wasn't the objects that mattered. It was his presence. Constant.

He didn't ask questions. Didn't force anything.

Sometimes they talked.

About trivialities. The weather. A memory. A dream.

And sometimes not at all.

But he felt that something was changing. Slowly. A crack in the marble.

She was beginning to wait for him.

And he… he no longer thought of anything else.

The outside world had faded. Even his strategies, his fights, his calculations were erased. He no longer recognized himself. He would catch himself looking at his phone, listening to the slightest sound, hoping it was her. He observed the smallest details: the way she pushed up her sleeves, how her fingers absentmindedly twisted a strand of hair, how she stared at the ceiling when she thought he wasn't looking.

He didn't just want her close. He wanted to be everything to her.

Her thought. Her refuge. Her center.

And that thought, although he kept it silent, consumed him.

**

But Y/N was getting increasingly worse.

Some days, she didn't even get up. She would lie there, turned towards the wall, her eyes open without really seeing. Other times, she would talk about herself—rarely, but with a sharp lucidity.

"It's weird," she said one evening, her eyes vacant. "I feel everything. And nothing. As if I'm transparent… and heavy at the same time."

Si-eun didn't answer. He was too afraid that the slightest word would break this moment.

She continued:

"Sometimes, I just want to sleep… for a long time. And for everyone to forget I exist."

His own heart clenched. A dull ache. An icy fear.

And anger. A furious anger at this world that had broken her. At that father, at that indifference, at the weight she carried alone.

He wanted to scream for her. Fight for her. Pull her out of this abyss with the strength of his arms.

But he only did one thing: he placed his hand against hers. And this time, she didn't pull it away.

**

Since then, he woke up every morning with only one thought: to see her again.

He lived for that suspended moment between them, in that narrow room, where nothing hurt anymore. He didn't say it, but he knew: he was falling. And it wasn't pure love. It was deeper. More twisted.

He wanted her to see him.

To need him.

For him to be the only thing standing in her collapsing world.

And without realizing it, Y/N was letting him in a little more each day.

She didn't smile. But she listened to him.

She didn't always speak. But she stayed.

And for Si-eun, that was all it took.

He had promised himself, in silence: he would never leave her alone again.

Even if she didn't love him.

Even if she didn't look at him.

He would stay.

Until she no longer needed anyone but him.

---

POV Hu-min

That night, the air reeked of grease, stale tobacco, and lies.

Hu-min, now called "Baku" in certain circles he should never have approached, watched the purple neon lights of the bowling alley flicker like a warning. Each flash seemed to tell him: "You're no longer who you pretend to be." But he went in anyway. Because he had no choice.

Na Baek-jin was there, of course. Sitting on the worn leatherette bench, surrounded by two guys older than him. One was cleaning a baseball bat with a dirty rag. The other was finishing a bowl of tteokbokki with lazy gestures.

"You're on time. That's new, Baku," Baek-jin said without looking up.

Hu-min didn't answer. He had learned not to.

The game had changed a long time ago. Baek-jin was no longer the kid who ran around the park with him and Y/N. He had become the kind of guy who spoke softly but whose silences killed more than words. Hu-min knew what was hidden behind that calm. Anger. Resentment. A will to dominate that was no longer childish.

And he also knew one thing: Baek-jin was using him. But he also had everything he needed to destroy him.

"We spotted a guy delivering for a rival gang. He goes through the river road around 11 PM. You stop him. You get the bag. And if he resists, you shut him up."

Hu-min clenched his fists. "You mean I have to beat him up."

"You've always been quick to understand. That's what I like about you."

A sneer split Baek-jin's face. He loved this power. This control. And Hu-min felt every fiber of his being scream in despair. He wasn't that kind of guy. He had never been that kind of guy.

But he did it anyway.

Because one day, Baek-jin had come knocking on his door, a smile plastered on his face:

"Your old man owed money. A lot. Now you pay. With your time, your body, your loyalty. And if you try to run... I know guys who know how to make silent girls talk."

He hadn't needed to say her name. Y/N was the ultimate leverage.

Since then, Hu-min had taken it all. The blows, the orders, the shame. He smiled like an idiot at the restaurant. He cracked jokes with his friends. But he lost pieces of himself with every night spent with these guys.

And he had believed that as long as Y/N stayed out of all this, he could keep going. Until he found a way out.

But he hadn't expected her to look for him.

***

Bowling Alley, a few days later

Y/N had had to gather all the energy she had left to go out. A rare thing. But her brother's absence was a dull ache that grew with each passing hour. He hadn't come home for two days. He wasn't answering. He hadn't left any messages.

Something was wrong.

So she had gotten up. She had put on an oversized sweatshirt, her worn sneakers, and gone to where her friends said he sometimes hung out: an old bowling alley near the canal. A den of delinquents. She knew what people whispered. But she didn't care.

She walked through the door into a din of cheesy music and crashing pins. The smell assaulted her immediately, but she held her ground. She scanned the room, her throat tight.

And then she saw him.

Baek-jin.

He hadn't changed. Well, physically maybe. He had grown taller, broader, but his eyes… they were the same. Cold, calculating. And she immediately felt a mixture of annoyance, pain, and memories she wished she could erase.

She walked forward, straight, awkward, but determined. "Where's my brother?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly, but firm.

Baek-jin stared at her slowly. He tilted his head. "Y/N? Is that you? I almost didn't recognize you."

He smiled, but there was nothing kind in that smile. "Your brother is busy. He's doing what he needs to do to protect you, you should be grateful to him."

"Stop your bullshit," she murmured, her eyes shining. "You have no idea what he's sacrificing for you."

And that's when he arrived. Hu-min. Out of breath. Dirty. His jaw clenched.

"Y/N… what the hell are you doing here?!"

She turned to him. Her eyes pleaded. "I'm looking for you. You disappear. You don't come home. You haven't eaten. You don't look at me anymore. What are you doing, Oppa? Huh? What are you doing?!"

Y/N only saw her brother. And what she read in his eyes wasn't anger. It was shame.

And that's what broke her.

"Why are you doing this, Hu-min? Why are you doing this for him?"

"Because I don't have a choice!" he blurted out. "Because if I don't, he'll destroy you. He's pushing our shitty father to the edge. He's offing the guys I care about."

His voice trembled. "So I get dirty. Instead of you. For you. So you can just… sleep. Breathe. Without him taking away what little you have left."

She looked at him for a long time. And it wasn't anger he saw on her face. It was pain.

Naked pain. Raw. Immense.

"But you're destroying yourself," she whispered. "And I can't… I can't lose you too."

He wanted to tell her it was nothing. That he would handle it. But his words died in his throat. He couldn't lie to those eyes. Not to her.

He stepped closer, grabbed her shoulders. "You have to get out of here. Now."

"You think I sleep to forget? I sleep because I already feel dead. But you're not helping me come back. You're leaving."

The silence that followed was heavier than the shouts.

And Baek-jin, behind them, was amused. "Your sister's brave. I like her. She's grown up."

"Shut up," Hu-min growled without turning around.

He turned towards the exit. Spotted a familiar figure. Si-eun.

He waved him over. "Take her home. She shouldn't be here. She's not made for this."

Si-eun hesitated. Y/N struggled a little, her eyes wet, her body tense. But when she met Si-eun's serious gaze, she understood. He wouldn't force her. But he would protect her.

She nodded. Just a small nod. A silent pact.

And she went out.

But as she crossed the threshold, she swore one thing: She would find out everything. She would no longer let her brother sink into the darkness alone.

---

Outside, the air was glacial. A cutting wind. A fierce silence.

Y/N walked ahead, arms crossed, face closed off. Si-eun followed her without a word. He always kept that distance of a step or two, never too close, never too far—as if he were walking a fragile ridge between modesty and instinct.

But tonight, something was different.

Y/N hadn't uttered a word since they left the bowling alley. Her back was stiff, her fists clenched, and her figure seemed to float, as if she were walking without really touching the ground.

Si-eun felt it. A tension too strong. An invisible weight bending her over. And that, he couldn't ignore.

"Do you want to sit down for a moment?" he finally asked, his voice softer than usual.

She didn't answer. But she stopped.

They were in a quiet alley, a little off the road. A wooden bench, under a pale streetlamp, creaked in the wind. She sat down without a word, and he did the same beside her.

Silence settled in again. But this time, it wasn't a comfortable silence. It was a threatening void, filled with echoes.

Y/N hugged her knees to her chest. Her face turned towards the ground. And then:

"I don't recognize him anymore."

Si-eun didn't answer.

She continued, more softly:

"Hu-min. He smiles like everything's fine. But it's not true. I saw him tonight. He's not my brother anymore. He's a ghost. And I didn't see it coming."

She bit her lip, tears welling up in her eyes. Her voice trembled:

"He protected me, Si-eun. I didn't know. I slept while he got dirty to keep me away. I should have fought for him."

He looked at her, his heart aching. His throat tightened. He hated seeing her like this.

"You don't sleep to escape," he said gently. "You sleep to survive."

She turned her eyes to him, surprised.

"You do what you can. Like him. You're the same."

She looked down again. A tear rolled down her cheek.

"I hate myself for it."

Si-eun inhaled slowly. His body tense, but his voice calm:

"Then I'm going to tell you something you often forget. It's not your fault."

Y/N closed her eyes.

"Yes, it is."

"No, Y/N. It's not your fault your father was violent. It's not your fault your brother sacrificed himself. And it's not your fault you care about them so much it hurts."

He turned slightly towards her. She didn't dare move.

"You think you're weak. That you're a burden. But you're still here. You've survived things that would have destroyed other people."

She hugged her arms to herself, and her voice broke:

"And you, aren't you afraid of me? Of what I am?"

He barely shrugged.

"I'm afraid you'll disappear."

That sentence did something to her. She finally turned her head towards him. And what she saw in his eyes wasn't pity. It was deeper. Sharper. A mixture of contained obsession and wild tenderness. Something that said I'm here. And I won't leave.

They stayed like that, looking at each other for a long time. As if the world around them was fading away.

Then Y/N spoke, almost in a whisper:

"When I'm with you… I don't need to pretend. No need to talk. And yet… I feel less alone."

Si-eun lowered his eyes. A part of him wanted to take her in his arms. To hold her so tight she couldn't escape. But he held back. Instead, he murmured:

"It's the same for me."

**

The cold deepened. So they started walking again.

They walked side by side, in silence, their shoulders sometimes brushing against each other. Y/N seemed a little more present. More grounded. But a new fatigue weighed on her. An emotional fatigue, deeper than sleepless nights.

They crossed a small metal bridge, their steps echoing on the rusty plates. The street wasn't very well lit. A pale light filtered through the bare branches.

And then, everything changed.

A dull, brutal roar. An engine rumble that tore through the silence. A sound too fast. Too close.

Si-eun's phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out mechanically, just a glance… and that's when he saw it.

A truck.

A heavy truck, speeding, without headlights, without brakes. Heading straight for Y/N.

His heart exploded in a flash of panic. He yelled:

"Y/N!"

She didn't have time to react.

He lunged. Pure instinct. He threw his phone to the ground. His arm shot out, grabbed Y/N by the waist.

And he pushed her.

But not far enough.

The truck hit them.

A dull thud. A metallic crash. Then silence.

They flew. The world spun, turned upside down, blurred.

And everything stopped.

**

Y/N's body rolled onto the asphalt, inert. Si-eun's, further away, lay at an odd angle, his arm bleeding, his head against a post.

The wind whistled softly.

The neon signs in the distance still flickered, indifferent.

And everything sank into darkness.

---

Seoul University Hospital — Intensive Care Unit

The white ceiling pulsed gently beneath the neon lights, like a heart hesitating between beating and stopping. The sharp smell of antiseptic floated, mixed with the more subtle scent of dried blood, plastic, and anguish.

In room 407, two beds side by side. Two still bodies. Connected to machines that made the muffled sound of survivors being held back.

Y/N.

Si-eun.

Hu-min’s hands had been covered in blood when they found them.

He still remembered it. He was running, his feet slipping on the wet asphalt, his breath catching in his throat. Gotak was shouting behind him, but he wasn’t listening. He had just seen Y/N’s figure, lying in the pale light of a streetlamp. And next to her, a body. Stiff. Blood.

He had screamed.

He hadn’t remembered screaming so loudly since the last time their father had thrown a plate against the wall.

Juntae had called the ambulance. Gotak had crouched down beside Si-eun. But Hu-min hadn’t moved. He was looking at Y/N’s face. His little sister. Silent. Broken.

As if death had finally managed to catch up with her.

And he hadn’t been able to do anything.

Again.

**

He had been at the hospital for two days. He slept little. Barely ate. He spent long hours simply staring at the heart monitors, watching for the slightest sign. He spoke to no one. Even the doctors no longer dared to ask him questions.

He had sat down between the two beds. A metal chair. A wall behind him. His eyes fixed on the ceiling.

When Si-eun opened his eyes, it was first a flutter of eyelids, then a painful grimace on his face.

He moved. Slowly. Like someone returning from a long journey deep within themselves.

"Y/N…?"

His voice was hoarse. Crushed. He tried to sit up, but a groan escaped him.

Hu-min stood up abruptly, his heart pounding.

"Si-eun? You're awake? Damn… you're awake."

But the other barely looked at him. His eyes went from one wall to the other, then settled on the figure in the next bed.

"She… she is…?"

"Still in a coma," Hu-min replied in a grave voice.

Silence fell like a leaden blanket. Si-eun stared at Y/N without blinking. Her face didn't move, but her hands were trembling.

"I tried to push her."

"I know."

"I didn't make it."

"I know."

A breath. Hesitant.

"I should have… been faster."

Hu-min approached. He placed a hand on Si-eun’s shoulder, without saying a word. A simple gesture. But heavy. Full of unspoken gratitude.

Si-eun looked away. His teeth clenched.

"Why was she in the street that night? Why is she like this? Why does she… let herself drift as if she wants to disappear?"

He broke off. He couldn't speak anymore.

And Hu-min understood that this moment was coming. That he could no longer put off the truth.

So he sat down. Slowly. And spoke.

**

"She met a guy a year ago. Someone older. A literature student, I think. He had that charm… you know, the kind who speaks softly, recites poems, makes her feel seen."

"And then?"

"Then he started locking her in her own guilt."

Hu-min closed his eyes. The pain rose, thick, suffocating.

"He would self-harm. He told her it was because of her. That if he wasn't okay, it was because she didn't love him enough. That his suffering was proof of his love. And that if she left him, it would mean she was cruel. A bad person."

Si-eun froze.

"He made her feel guilty… for his own wounds?"

"Yes."

A long silence. The kind of silence that hurts.

"He broke her," Hu-min finally said. "Not with blows. But with words. He turned her insecurities against her. He dug into her weaknesses, gently, until she collapsed."

He inhaled. His fists clenched.

"And I didn't see it coming... I thought she was getting better. She was making an effort. She even smiled. But it was fake. She carried all that inside her… alone. Because she didn't want to worry me."

Si-eun looked at him, his eyes shining. He understood too well what that meant.

"She believed she had to earn love," he said slowly. "That she had to sacrifice herself to be accepted. That she had to fix broken people, even if it destroyed her."

"Yes."

The two young men looked at each other.

Si-eun looked away first. He wanted to scream, to hit something. But all he could do was grip the sheets until his knuckles turned white.

"I love her," he said in a calm, almost strange tone.

Hu-min stared at him.

"I know."

"But it's not a sweet, pretty little thing. It's not a simple love. It's a need. It's… visceral. As if I grew up to find her. As if everything in me had waited for her. Her sadness. Her silences. The way she speaks as if she doesn't want to disturb the air around her."

He began to tremble slightly.

"And it drives me crazy, because I want to save her. But I know I can't do it alone. And I don't want to become like the other one, the one who hurt her. I don't want her to think she owes me anything."

His voice broke.

"I just… want her to live."

**

Hu-min stood up slowly. He looked at Y/N. She didn't move. But her chest rose. Slowly. Weakly.

"Then you've already done more than most," he murmured. "You protected her without demanding anything. You put your body in the way of hers. And she'll remember that. When she comes back, she'll know. That you were there."

Si-eun closed his eyes. A tear rolled down his temple.

"She's going to come back, right?"

Hu-min didn't answer immediately.

Then:

"She's strong. Stronger than me. She holds on. Even in the dark. She'll find her way."

**

And in the blue light of the hospital room, two hearts beat slowly. A brother and a lover, sitting at the bedside of a girl who couldn't hear them.

But who, somewhere, far away in the darkness of her own coma, felt their presence.

And that, perhaps, was already a beginning.

---

Three weeks later

The days had blurred together. A bottomless hourglass, where the light only served to remind of the absence. Y/N had not woken up. But Si-eun had not left her bedside.

Every morning, he arrived with books. Crime novels, poetry collections, manhwas folded in half. He read aloud, even when he was sure she couldn’t hear him. He gently placed his hand on hers, as if trying to transmit a bit of human warmth.

He also talked to her. Not too loudly, just enough for her to know he was there. That she wasn’t alone. He told her about the taste of cold coffee in the cafeteria, Juntae’s nonsense, Gotak’s nervous silences, Hu-min’s dark circles. And sometimes, he shared his own thoughts, unfiltered. The regrets. The memories. The silly dreams. As if he were confiding in her his personal diary.

And even though she didn’t move, even though she didn’t speak, he felt that something was happening. A link. Silent, but real.

Hu-min also visited. Less often, lately. He had said he had "things to take care of." But in his eyes, there was something more. A fire. A decision.

And this morning, it was finally over.

***

It was a pale hour, almost silent. The sun was barely rising over the concrete rooftops. In an abandoned warehouse, somewhere near the port, four of them dragged themselves against the walls. Four bloodied silhouettes, clothes in tatters, muscles burnt out.

Baku.

Si-eun.

Gotak.

Juntae.

They didn’t need to speak. They had held on. They had won. Baek-jin was nothing more than a name to erase, a specter that would no longer have control over them.

Hu-min collapsed against a metal barrier, gasping for breath, his hands covered in blood, his eyes red. He felt as though the world had stopped. That there was nothing left to prove, nothing left to hide.

Then his phone vibrated.

An unknown number. The hospital.

He answered without thinking.

— Hello?

A soft, calm voice.

— Mr. Park Hu-min?

— Yes.

— I’m calling from the University Hospital. Your sister… she woke up.

The world stopped for a moment.

He didn’t respond right away. He couldn’t.

His heart was pounding like an alarm.

— What…?

— She’s still weak. But she woke up. She opened her eyes. She asked… "Is my brother here?"

He let out a laugh. Choked. Halfway between a sob and a sigh of relief.

— Thank you. Thank you. Thank you...

Gotak and Juntae froze. Si-eun straightened up, his face tense.

— What? What happened?

Hu-min lifted his eyes to them. And despite the blood on his face, the bruises, the crushing fatigue, he smiled.

A true smile. Rare.

— She’s awake.

No one spoke.

Then Si-eun sprang to his feet, unsteady. He barely managed to grab the edge of the wall to avoid falling again.

— Y/N?!

Hu-min nodded. His eyes shining.

— She opened her eyes. She’s waiting for us.

Without another word, they all set off.

Broken. Trembling.

But standing.

And alive.

Heading toward her.

---

The soft afternoon light barely pierced through the drawn curtains. The distant hum of machines, almost imperceptible, filled the room. The hospital, like a quiet prison, hung suspended between life and suffering.

Si-eun waited, silent. He had settled in a corner, arms crossed, his eyes fixed on Y/N’s frail figure, lying on her bed, a blanket draped over her legs. Her features had changed, as if everything about her breathed the fragility and gentleness of a return to life. She seemed lighter, closer to the stars, as if the depression that had gnawed at her for so long was, at least momentarily, behind her.

The others, Gotak, Juntae, and even Hu-min, were not far away. But no one wanted to be the first to cross that boundary. The crucial moment, the one where you know you must leave space, breathe, take your time. It was a miracle. But also a moment of absolute fragility.

And then, in an almost imperceptible breath, Y/N’s eyes opened.

She didn't remember the pain. She only remembered the void. Days, weeks where reality was nothing more than a blurry place. But there, suddenly, she could feel the light of the world penetrate her soul.

She blinked, disoriented. Then, she turned her head. She knew. She felt the familiar presence. She felt it before she heard it.

Hu-min.

He hadn't changed. He was still the same, the brother she had always loved. The man who, even in his darkest moments, had stayed there, by her side. And despite the pain that could still be read in his eyes, despite the scars that marked his soul, he was there. He was there for her.

"Y/N!" he cried, with such force that he could have knocked down the walls. A cry of relief, of pure joy. He threw himself on her, without thinking, taking her in his arms.

She smiled, weakly at first. Then a burst of laughter escaped her lips. A sincere laugh. A child's laugh. The one that used to fill their house with happiness. That laugh she had forgotten, but found again like a buried treasure.

"I… I'm here, Y/N. I'm here, don't worry. Oppa is here" he murmured, his eyes shining with tears. He caressed her hair, as he had done when she was little. An infinite tenderness, a raw, sincere, almost selfish love. Because he never wanted to lose her again.

The others were there too. Gotak and Juntae had stepped back, observing the scene with respect and a touch of awkwardness. Si-eun, for his part, couldn't even breathe anymore. His heart was beating faster. Too fast. Emotions overwhelmed him. He had seen Y/N suffer, get lost. He had seen her dark, broken, and there, before him, she was alive again.

She was there. She was breathing. She was smiling.

For him, for Hu-min, for everything he had always wanted. And yet, this scene, more than anything, gave birth in him to a sweet and fierce rage. A rage to want to protect her, to want to be the one who could save her from everything. He wanted to be the man by her side, the man she could lean on, the man who could make her smile forever.

He approached them, despite his pain. He stopped just behind Hu-min, and in an almost timid voice, he said:

"She… is she okay?"

He couldn't look at Y/N. He couldn't. He felt that if his eyes met hers, he wouldn't be able to contain everything he felt. But Hu-min then turned to him, as if inviting him into their bubble. He knew that, in a way, Si-eun was part of their family. He had understood that after everything that had happened. It was the first time he had seen him so vulnerable. Because Si-eun, all that calm, that inner strength he exuded, looked, at that moment, like a lost man. Like a man who had lost himself in a sea of feelings he no longer knew how to control.

"Yes, she's okay," Hu-min replied, with a smile that wasn't quite happy, but was that of a man finding peace again.

Y/N turned her eyes to Si-eun, almost instinctively. She stared at him for a long time. As if she sensed that depth in him, a form of pain he hid, but which she perceived perfectly.

Si-eun, slowly, moved to the bed, and leaned slightly, placing a trembling hand on the edge of the mattress.

She looked at him with an uncertain air, wondering what had driven him to stay. Why him? Why was he there?

Si-eun didn't have the courage to speak. He shook his head, a little lost, but her gaze made all the difference. He wanted to say something. To break the silence. But he couldn't. He didn't have the words.

So, in a surge of uncontrollable emotion, he leaned down slightly and placed a kiss on her forehead. A light kiss, almost like a caress, a kiss that carried all the warmth of his heart. That kiss was a promise. A silent promise. He would be there. No matter the cost.

She closed her eyes under his kiss. And, for a fraction of a second, she felt safe. She felt that presence, that warmth… He didn't need to speak. It was enough for him to be there.

But everything wasn't that simple.

***

Later, after the others had left the room to rest and tend to their wounds, Si-eun stayed. He was there, silent. He couldn't leave. He couldn't leave her.

He got up and went to the shelf. His eyes fell on an old photo of Y/N. She was a child, with round cheeks and a radiant smile. He had never seen such a sincere smile. A smile that wasn't tarnished by pain. A smile that still resembled her, despite the time.

"Was that you?" Si-eun asked, his voice soft.

Y/N joined him gently, her gaze locked on Si-eun's. She nodded.

"Yes, that was me. Before… before all this. Before I forgot everything."

He turned to her, touched. This photo represented the young girl he had always seen in his dreams, the person he had always wanted to protect. His heart ached.

"You still look a little like her," he said, his voice full of tenderness.

For the first time, Y/N felt her heart warm. It was the first time someone had spoken of her like that. Not as a victim. Not as someone broken. But as a person. A real person.

She looked at him, a slight smile on her lips.

"It's the first time anyone's spoken to me like that."

Si-eun approached, his eyes shining with emotion. He leaned down gently and caressed her face, his fingertips brushing the scratch that marked her cheek. He was hurting, but he didn't want to show it.

"Are you okay?" she asked him, her gaze worried.

He laughed softly, but his smile couldn't hide the pain in his eyes.

"Yes, it's nothing. But you… are you okay?"

She placed her hand on his face, feeling the warmth of his skin. It was her, this time, who wanted to take care of him. She gently took a small bandage and placed it on his bruised face. It was a simple gesture, but it had something significant about it. She was healing him, for the first time.

Their eyes met. Then, all of a sudden, he couldn't hold back anymore. He leaned down and, in a gesture filled with passion and affection, placed a kiss on her lips. That kiss… it was more than a declaration of love. It was the fulfillment of a dream he had kept within him for weeks. A tender kiss, almost desperate, but filled with promises.

Y/N closed her eyes under that kiss, and her heart began to beat faster. A shiver ran through her body. She felt, for the first time in a long time, a warmth, an inner peace. Something that made her feel whole, even if everything was still blurry around her.

They barely moved apart, their foreheads touching, their breaths mingling.

"I'll always be here," Si-eun whispered, his voice broken with emotion.

And she, without hesitation, placed her hand over his heart.

"Me too."

And for the first time in so long, she felt at home.

Because yes. Between the scars, there is love.

..................................................................................

New Geum Seongje fanfictions

@mariii-0001

[bullet-prooflove]

Dick Pics: John Shen x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989

You’re already waiting for John when he steps out into the ambulance bay, a Starbucks Double Shot Espresso can in one hand and a mocha Frappuccino in the other. It’s one in the morning and you’re grabbing a breather between ambulance call outs while your partner gets some shuteye in the back of the rig.

“Heard you’re seeing someone new.” John says as he hands you the Frap bottle before taking up residence alongside you. “I also heard he’s an asshole.”

“I was seeing someone.” You admit as you pop the lid and take a swig. The rich chocolate taste blossoms on your tongue, invigorating your senses as the caffeine winds it’s way through your veins. “It turned out he was also seeing Ivy, one of the nurses on the day shift.”

“Ouch.” He winces as he pulls the tab on his own drink. “Gotta hurt.”

“It’s gonna hurt him.” You respond, your ass coming to rest upon the wall that lines the ‘decorative’ part of the hospital. “We collaborated and put the dick pics he sent on the pinboard for the med students so they can see what syphilis looks like.”

“That’s who’s they were?” He huffs out a laugh, his palm rubbing over the nape of his neck. “He’s fucking terrible with those angles, who takes one straight down the barrel? It’s not a good look for any man.”

“Philanders.” You tell him, the radio on your hip crackling with call outs to other rigs. “And you sound very well versed in the photogenics of dick pics.”

“It’s an art form.” He informs you, draining his can of coffee. “But I never send unsolicited, I don’t wanna foist my junk on some unsuspecting person eating their hoagie.”

You choke out a laugh.

“You’re a king amongst men, you know that?” You say raising your drink up in homage. “A real diamond in the rough.”

“I try.” He says before his phone chimes indicating the end of his break. He tosses his coffee can into the trash before turning to face you. “Be safe out there tonight alright? Mischief Night, it’s no joke.”

“I know.” You say, using your palm to brush your hair back so he can see the neat scar tucked in against your hairline. “Abbot stitched me up real nice last year after someone through a brick through the windshield of the ambulance.”

“Christ.” He says his fingertips brushing over the indented flesh. “Nice work through.”

“Yea, that man knows exactly what he’s doing with a needle and thread.” You say softly as his fingertips trail lower to the one at the edge of your eye socket that’s barely visible.

“And this one?” He asks, his gaze meeting yours and that’s when it happens that lightning bolt you hear about in all those romance books you read. That moment of recognition, of connection. You don’t understand because you’ve hung out with John Shen hundreds of times since he’s become an attending and although there’s always been chemistry, there’s never been intimacy, not like this.

Your radio crackles again, your call sign being hailed over the line as he pulls away and you feel the loss acutely as you take the radio off your hip.

“You can tell me later.” He tells you as he heads towards the entrance at the hospital. “Over breakfast after shift.”

“EMS don’t get the cushy shifts you doctors do.” You remind him, bring the radio to your mouth, finger resting on the button. “I’m on til 11am.”

“Alright, we’ll do brunch then.” He responds, walking backwards towards The Pitt. “You’ve got my number, text me when you’re off and I’ll come out and meet you.”

“You’ll be too tired John.” You call out across the ambulance bay.

“Baby, I’ve got stamina for days.” He informs you as he ducks back in through the entrance. “Trust me I’ll be there.”

Fuck me, you think. No unsolicited dick pics and stamina for days. You might just fall in love with this man.

Love John? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[theineffablesociety]

"Perhaps one day we could... I don't know. Go for a picnic." ~Aziraphale, 1967

Good Omens 35th Anniversary Worldwide Fandom Picnics - May 10, 2025!

Crowley and Aziraphale may not have had their picnic yet but we can show them how it's done! The Ineffable Society invites all Good Omens fans to join us on Saturday May 10th wherever you may be to celebrate Good Omens' 35th Anniversary!

How to have your own Ineffable Picnic:

* Minimum of one person, you!

* Minimum of one tasty treat, preferably eaten or drank outdoors; theming encouraged but optional

* On Saturday May 10, 2025 at any time of day... or night!

Will it be you and your hereditary enemy picnicking on a tartan blanket at a park? Or several friends to a private affair in your back garden? Will you enjoy some cosplaying? Will you theme your beverages, meal, snacks, and dessert with Good Omens themes?

Or will you invite any local fans to join you at a more organized public fandom event?

There's HUNDREDS of fans planning and seeking picnic meetups on our Discord server, linked below. You're welcome to post about yours in there as well but it is not mandatory, especially if you are planning something more intimate. Just by having a little picnic on May 10, you too have become part of the celebration!

DISCORD LINK

https://discord.gg/wJqEsk9tnD

Current Planned and open to the fandom picnics

Check out the google spreadsheet for the most up-to-date info.

Europe

Leuven, Belgium (10am-2pm, Sint-Donatuspark)

Prague, Czech Republic (See NOTES in spreadsheet)

Berlin, Germany (2pm-5pm, Volkspark Wilmersdorf)

Utrecht, Netherlands (11:00am-16:00pm, Lepelenburg Park)

Madrid, Spain (11:30am-4pm, Entrance of the Ritz Hotel, then El Retiro Park. Weather may change Park plan!)

Zürich, Switzerland (12pm-TBD, Platzspitz Gärten)

London, UK (12pm-4pm, The Bench, St James's Park)

United States

San Francisco, California (1pm-3pm, San Francisco Botanical Garden. There is an admission fee for non-SF residents. Buy your Botanical Garden tickets HERE if you're a non-resident.)

Washington D.C. (2pm-6pm, Farragut Square)

Atlanta, Georgia (11am-3pm, Fernbank Science Center. Followed by 2pm Planetarium show "Forward to the Moon".)

Itasca, Illinois (11:30am-4pm, Springbrook Nature Center)

Hell, Michigan. (Yes. Hell. Michigan.) (10am-2pm, Halfmoon Lake Day Use Facility, Willow Pavilion)

Eastampton, New Jersey (2pm-7pm, Historic Smithville Park and Smith's Woods)

New York City, New York (1pm-4pm, Central Park, "We'll meet near the W 72nd St entrance and find a nice spot near there or near Bethesda Terrace.")

Rochester, New York (12pm-ending no later than 4pm, Highland Park, at the Lilac Festival)

Apex, North Carolina (10am-2pm, Crowder County Park)

Seattle, Washington (11am-2pm, Caffe Vita KEXP by the Space Needle.)

VIRTUAL

Virtual - The Ineffable Society Discord (All day, on the #Virtual Picnic thread)

Current Plans-In-Progress and open to the fandom picnics include:

United States

Los Angeles, California

Portland, Oregon

Dallas, Texas

Current Areas Seeking Plans open to the fandom picnics include:

Europe

Tampere, Finland

Kempten, Germany

Frankfurt, Germany

Birmingham, UK

Canada

Ontario

Oceania

New Zealand

United States

Northern Arizona

Arkansas

Connecticut

Kansas City, Kansas/Missouri

Boston, Massachusetts

Southern Nevada

Las Vegas, Nevada

Oklahoma City or Tulsa, Oklahoma

Tennessee

Southern Utah

That last group? At least one person is interested in meeting other Good Omens fans for a picnic in their area. THEY NEED SOMEONE WHO IS READY TO PICNIC WITH THEM. Come join us in the server to meet your new local fave fan.

We shall add more to this list as people organize!

If you enjoy a picnic on May 10: we'd love to hear about it! Share your deeds of the day with some pictures using the tag #GO For A Picnic, or #Ineffable Picnic.

Want to get involved with art, fic, cosplay with a picnic theme? That's also encouraged for any and all Good Omens characters!

AO3 collection archiveofourown.org/collections/GOforapicnic

[bloodrvvvsh]

I Have No Shame. | Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

Synopsis: Spencer joins the Mile High Club with your help.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

Warnings: Handjobs, semi-public sex, they get caught (sort of?), soft sub!Spencer, soft dom!Reader, Spencer being a whimpering whining mess, facials, cum eating, established relationship, pet names (baby, sweetheart, angel, honey, good boy), literally so much praise, a little bit of crying from Spencer, like one (1) use of Y/N, slight dumbification, begging

Word count: 1.5K

Notes: My first Spencer fic wow!!!! It’s been so long since I’ve written an actual fic, I missed it so much. Anyways I hope you all enjoy! For this I imagined like s1-s4 Spence but could technically be interpreted as any season

Cross-posted on A03.

Spencer Reid was not a bold man.

In fact, he would go as far to say he was the total opposite. At least, in his personal life he certainly was. He never made the first move, always waiting for that perfect time that never came.

He didn’t like taking risks. Even calculated ones were too much for him sometimes. So he stayed in his little bubble of comfort and safety. He liked it there. Sure, it might make him the subject of a bit of teasing and he missed out on a few things, but at the end of the day he still liked it there.

Until he met you.

You were everything he wasn’t. Outgoing, daring, bold. In some ways, you could even be described as a bit of an adrenaline junkie. It’s actually partly what led you to joining the FBI. You liked the thrill, the high stakes, the way it got your blood pumping when you had to chase down a criminal on the loose. 

You lived for taking risks. The idea of never truly knowing what might happen made your spine tingle, every one of your hairs stand on. There wasn’t a better feeling than feeling a little sick to your stomach with nerves and excitement for you.

It's an interesting dynamic you and Spencer had - he was all for playing it safe and keeping to himself, while you could be a wildcard. Spencer learned that very quickly after you two started dating. And while it wasn’t that you were trying to change him (you would never!), you were simply opening him up to things he wouldn’t have thought twice about.

Everyone else on the jet was fast asleep. Slumped over and curled up in positions that would certainly give them a knot in their neck later. Spencer had his head laid over your lap, curls sprawled across your thighs while you mindlessly twirled the strands around your fingers. 

You were still wide awake. The rush of the case just closed still ran hot through your veins. You’d most definitely crash later once in the sanctity of your apartment, but for now you were full of energy. You tried to distract yourself by staring out the jet window, watching the world go by, but it wasn’t working.

You glanced down at the pretty boy sprawled across you like a sleeping angel and a little thought popped into your head. You shifted in your seat, sitting up straighter, before you gently threaded your fingers into Spencer’s hair. Your nails scraped across his scalp and you almost swore you could have heard a little purr rumble in his chest.

You leaned over him, breathing slowly in vain attempt to settle your already racing heart. “Spence,” you crooned softly. “Spencer, wake up, baby.” Once Spencer actually fell asleep, he was a fairly light sleeper. It didn’t take much before he was stirring awake with a quiet groan.

“What is it?” he asked, voice thick with sleep. His hands raised to rub at his eyes and you could only smile. “Did we land?”

“No,” you said a little too quickly, “No, I just..” You trailed off a little as your teeth sunk down on your bottom lip. “I had an idea.” You stood to your feet and offered your hand out to him. He quirked an eyebrow, glancing between your face and outstretched hand, before slowly placing his in your grasp.

There was a little bit of a bounce in your steps as you led him in the direction of the bathroom and in that moment, Spencer regretted agreeing to whatever you were about to do. He squeezed your hand and you tossed  him a smile that reeked of mischief over your shoulder.

It was a tight squeeze once inside. Because, like most airplane bathrooms, it was meant to only fit one person at a time. That didn’t stop a lot of people, though. And you were one of them.

You crashed your lips against his the minute the door locked behind the two of you. It was hot, full of passion and lust as your hands roamed over his body. He whimpered softly against your lips before relaxing into the kiss. His hands were warm and broad against your body, sending shivers down your spine.

You didn’t waste time when you wanted something, and you wanted him right here and now. Your hands drifted until they hit their target - his belt. You broke for air, panting heavy and hard, as you tried to make quick work of shedding the layers between you and his dick.

“Y/N-” he gasped. “Wait, wait-” He took hold of your wrists, halting your movements. His eyebrows pinched together and his bottom lip jutted out ever so slightly. “What if we get caught?”

You grinned at him. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to be quiet so we won’t.” You knew just how much of a struggle it was for Spencer to keep himself under control when he was feeling good. The noise complaints from your neighbors were proof enough. 

Your hand dipped into his pants and underwear and you tried to suppress the smirk that threatened to spread over your face when you wrapped your fingers for his half-hard cock. He gasped, but quickly slapped a hand over his mouth when you shot him a look.

His eyes rolled back as you began to stroke along his length. Your thumb brushed over the tip, smearing the pre-cum gathering and Spencer’s knees buckled. Your pace was slow, almost languid, teasing.

“Please,” Spencer whined. You grinned once more.

“Please what?” you murmured. You leaned even closer to him, somehow, hovering over his lips. You were both breathing heavily and practically sharing breaths. You took a moment to look over his adorably flushed face. “You’re so pretty, Spence..”

“Please.” He wasn’t even sure what he was begging for, pleasure clouding his usually bright mind. “Please, please, pl-ease.” His voice cracked when you sped up, his head lulling back. “F-feels so good, oh god.”

You cooed at the state of him. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Faux pity coated your words, making Spencer whine again. “Come on, use your words, honey. I can’t read minds.” You snickered.

His hand jumped to grab your wrist, not to stop you, no. He was too far gone to stop you now. He simply held it there, keeping a tight grip on you as you jerked his cock. 

He looked like a total mess. An absolutely stunning mess, but a mess nonetheless. Curls sticking to his forehead and cheeks, plush lips parted in soft moans, eyes squeezed tight, face flushed shades of red. His hips arched into your touch, cock twitching in your hold.

“Are you gonna cum?” you asked and he nodded frantically. His lips twitched into a soft frown as tears began to well in his big brown eyes. God, he always the prettiest he was all dumb and fucked out. “Good boy,” you crooned at him.

You dropped down to your knees. You finally freed his dick from the confines of his underwear and he hissed at the feeling of the cold air. You didn’t waste a moment to resume your ministrations.

“Look at me, Spencer,” you commanded and he immediately followed the order. He nearly lost it at the sight of you on your knees before him. “Good boy, that’s it..” You picked up the pace even further, hand almost a blur stroking him.

“I’m- I’m gonna-” he stumbled over his words, unable to even form proper words as the pleasure grew. You shook your head.

“Do it, Spence,” you commanded again. “You can do it. Cum all over my face, pretty boy.” And that’s all it took for Spencer to tumble right over the edge. He tightened his grip on your wrist, back arching as he spilled over your face in thick spurts.

You worked him through his orgasm, stroking slow and gently, until he began to whine from overstimulation. You slowly rose to your feet and Spencer was already offering you paper towels to clean yourself. You ran a finger through one of the streaks of cum on your face and brought it to your lips, eyes fluttering shut and soft groans escaping you as you tasted him.

When you opened your eyes again, he was beet-red and looking oh-so shy and cute. You giggled. You gladly took the paper towels and began to wipe away the remnants of his cum.

You connected your lips in a chaste kiss when you were finished, making him blush even more. “You did such a good job, angel,” you praised before pressing another kiss to his lips. He tucked himself back into his jeans and buckled them back up. You entangled your fingers together, leading him out of the bathroom.

You made your way back to your seats, a sense of satisfaction settled in your chest. “Reid?” The call of your boyfriend’s name had you both glancing back to see Hotch awake in one of the jet chairs. “Don’t do that again”

Heat washed over both of your cheeks and you had to slap a hand over your mouth to hide the growing smile on your lips. “Yes, sir,” Spencer said with a nod of his head.

At least you had fun.

[lysarion]

━━━━━━ goodbyes and see you later ⟢

♱    |    you've known phainon for a long time—intimately to the point you anchor his inability of saying "goodbye" by turning them into "see you later."

𖤝 including  ⠀! ⠀phainon          ◟          𖤝 warnings ⠀! ⠀angst, spoilers for 3.2 and 3.3 trailblaze mission, its just sad bye, no beta we die like most hi3 characters

❝      tags     ⚜     .  if you'd like to be tagged please send me an ask off-anon!!!

phainon was not meant for goodbyes. they’re always cut-throat, too unpredictable, too quick, and bruised far worse than any mortal wound. it went against everything he had grown up with—soft sunny skies, picnic in the afternoons, and a heart meant for an eternity where goodbyes were merely guaranteed farewells. 

maybe that’s why phainon found you so enthralling—you made goodbyes beautiful. you, with that ever radiant smile on your face as you take the other person’s hand in yours as you wish them a safe journey. you made goodbyes a little more bearable with your hope by letting unnamed feelings linger just for a moment longer.

“see you later!” you always said, waving frantically at the disappearing figure before sprinting to your room that same day. with your knees scraping the dusty wooden floors, phainon would watch in worry as you clasp your hands tightly, elbows propped against the windowsill, while your lips moved in a hurried prayer. he once tried to approach you during those times—far too curious on what you were so desperately praying for, but cyrene would stop him by planting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

she’d hush him, and phainon surmised, cyrene must find you interesting, too. 

he’s seen you two interact on multiple occasions, always with flower crowns donned on your heads as cyrene had her favorite decks of cards splayed across the picnic blanket. you’d ask her about each and everyone of their meanings in earnest, and cryene would giggle and patiently teach you about them. sometimes, you’d catch phainon looking from afar and you’d smile.

“phainon, come join us!” you’d invite him with a shout. phainon in turn would smile—throwing his practice sword away haphazardly and jogs to where you and cyrene sat. you’d move just a pinch and pat the spot next to you before your focus landed back on cyrene’s words. and in phainon’s mind, as he sits next to you—so fixated on decoding the fate of the world with cards—he finds himself smiling at the beauty you often denied when offered compliments.

but there was something mysterious about you. maybe it was the way you greet goodbye with open arms as if you’ve done it multiple times, or maybe it's because you never really show how much it really hurts. you’d wait for every star to die out and for the moon to fall before you finally shed tears. but it still doesn’t stop you—from making “goodbyes” feel like they were simple “see you laters” as if you’re welcoming the sun at dawn and not watching it set forever.

phainon overhears a conversation you once had with cyrene on a full moon.

“do you think the stars get tired of shining so brightly, cyrene?” you sat on top of a roof while cyrene’s head laid in your lap. from a distance, the last lights of the day finally went out, leaving you alone with cyrene in the evening. your eyes remained strained on the blinking bubbles of heat that slowly started to show as the breeze kissed your cheeks. 

“you’ve always been so fascinated with the stars, [name],” cyrene muses with a smile. “but to answer your question: i hope they don’t! the nights would feel too lonely without them.”

you smile back, fingers threading into her soft pink hair as she cuddles closer for warmth. “i hope so, too.”

phainon wanted to chime in as well—contribute something to your always enigmatic conversations with cyrene. but alas, like when met with sudden goodbyes, he can’t find the right words to actually say. maybe that’s why you and cyrene are so special: you don’t let the pain sink in until the very last moment. but he wasn’t like that—he wasn’t meant to be like that. because unfortunately for phainon, he was born to feel the pain first before the moment fully sinks.

maybe that’s why you had to pull him out the black flames that ravaged your home. even as tears stained your cheeks, you will yourself to pull him out of the pain and suffering at the cost of your own—because you were born to be like that. maybe that’s why when a misty blade tried to cut you down and barely dodge, shimmering gold spilled from your veins. at that moment, phainon got the confirmation that you are special. 

the next events that followed were but a hazy dream. when he awoke in an unfamiliar room, the sound of water reaching his ears, he deluded himself into thinking that it was all a bad dream. cyrene was still alive and simply waiting for him to go down the creaky stairs of their shared home, cooking up their breakfast—and she wasn’t left in that desolate place filled with smoke because he knew how much she hated the dark. and you, you will knock on their door just as phainon finished setting up the plates and cups, greet them good morning with that same dazzling smile—you would not throw your arms around his shoulders as sobs stole away the last remainder of your hopes and home.

“this is just ‘see you later’, right phainon?” you asked in between sobs. you pulled away first, a hand firmly gripped his shoulder while the other furiously rubbed away the tears from your face. 

phainon remained still, unable to stomach what just happened—he refused to. because how? how did things happen so fast? in just a blink of an eye, everything he knows—everything he knew and loved is gone.

he bit his lip until the taste of iron dropped on his tongue. a shaky hand gripped at your forearm as his head dropped to your shoulder. his own shook and he pleaded, “tell me this is just a dream, [name]. please, let’s wake up from this terrible, terrible dream.”

phainon wanted you to say yes. you needed to say yes. because phainon was not meant for these quick and unpredictable goodbyes—you knew that better than anyone else. if this truly were reality, if cyrene was really left all alone in that crumbling house with burning floors, how could he ever live with the fact he got to live? 

“i was supposed to protect you,” phainon’s voice came out hoarse, dull and dejected, as sobs rocked his entire body. he was crumbling from the inside and out—golden blood seeping through the beds of the fingers he continued to bite in distress. “it wasn’t supposed to end—it was never supposed to end! cyrene would cook us breakfast and tell us stories; you’d accompany me to training and help me patch up my wounds; we were supposed to get married at home and cyrene would officiate it herself.”

he felt you take a shaky inhale. the arms that circled him hugged him just a tad bit tighter as he rambled on. and you don’t interrupt him—because you knew, this is how phainon said goodbye.

“what happened to see you later?”

you don’t reply. you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything because phainon was right. your usual “see you later” had turned into a cut-throat “goodbye” as you ran away from death’s embrace. a part of you felt guilty—even when golden blood pumped in your veins, were you so exempt from all this misery because you were one star that got named while the rest remained forgotten to time? and yet, you can’t help but grasp at that fraying silver lining: cyrene had warned you and you did all you could. fate just happened to make sure you and phainon were the only ones to come out alive.

maybe that’s why you slowly began to drift. not intentionally, never intentionally because you only have each other now. but even with divinity gifted at both your doorsteps, you are still human—and humans are susceptible to change. 

phainon hardened around the edges. he still reminds you of that boyish kid back at home who loved playing hero in your stories with cyrene; he still devoured food with such eagerness that he’d often end up choking like he did back home; he’s still determined and dutiful; he’s still kind because he was born to be like this. he hides all his pain behind a smile like how a blade is encased in its scabbard. 

and you on the other hand, you were a little quieter. you still smile when greeting even strangers; you fed the strays in secret even when aglaea had told you not to do so; you still remained faithful especially towards lady tribbie’s teachings; and you still loved the stars with a burning passion. because under the sky that no longer turned to a vast and rich blue, it's the only time you get to see phainon.

“do you think the stars miss watching over us?” you see phainon pause in his steps. his figure slightly shadowed by the billowing curtains of your quarters. phainon is rigid in his stance as a piece of parchment is crumpled under his vice grip. you force yourself to tear your eyes away—the death of aglaea has taken you all by surprise and you didn’t want to believe it at first. but that was the thing with goodbye—no matter how much you avoid it, it will always catch up and over take you.

phainon chuckles, hollow and a bit bitter as his footsteps lead to your side by the balcony, “i sure hope they do. i’m missing the times where you, cyrene, and i would stargaze until dawn.”

that comment pulled a smile from your lips as you lean your body to the side. on instinct, phainon’s arm wrapped around you in a small hug as you avidly avoid aglaea’s final farewell. “phainon, do you think they’re watching us?”

“they” meant cyrene, lady trianne, professor anaxa, and now, lady agalea. 

he doesn’t reply in an instant. the hand resting on your forearm gripped the flesh of your fraying existence as if he were cradling sand. phainon’s gaze hardened, a frown set on his lips, “i know they are, [name].”

you relish this moment like a dying man. because in truth, you are. only one coreflame remains and your prophecy looms over you like a delayed “goodbye”. 

“phainon,” you call out with uncertainty. “when my prophecy comes to be realized, will you come find me?”

‘you will lay in a bed of stars as you take your final breath. unable to distinguish between goodbye and farewell; unable to be named by your loved ones.’

“don’t say that,” comes his pained reply. phainon pulls you closer to his chest, your ear resting where his uneasy heart continues to beat, “i won’t let you die. i will not fail again.”

“i know you won’t,” you entertain him. “but in the slim chance it does happen, will you come find me?”

phainon was always like this when it came to your prophecy. always in denial because he wasn’t meant for goodbye. that’s why you’re here—to anchor, to remind him that goodbyes don’t have to last an eternity. 

the sea of stars is vast. everywhere you look and step, a blinking light will greet you. all unnamed and forgotten in the name of history, for the losers do not get the pleasure of being remembered. maybe, no, it’s for that reason that you try to make “goodbyes” simple “see you laters”. to be lost in a boundless ocean where even thanatos can’t follow nor can phagousa chart, it’s a heavy kind of pain to be forgotten. 

“i will,” phainon replies with conviction. for a moment you feel his lips press into the crown of your head as he lets the eternal afternoon breeze carry his promise, “i will always remember you. and when thanatos comes to claim you, i will find a way for us to meet again. i swear on it.”

at that you smile, reassured that at least one person will remember. “i know you will, phainon.” 

© 𝓵ysarion 2025 — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate works without the knowledge or consent of the creator in other platforms or websites.

[mayaree-darling]

mastermind

from aree: The Harbinger Trailer has consumed me yall are getting a brainrot. (I made this when the trailer first came out and have never posted it so here it is).

tw for yandere content

Yandere!Harbingers with a "darling" who is the right hand of the Tsaritsa herself. Not a Harbinger, but nonetheless important because they're the main strategist of the Fatui. I can just imagine the pain for the Harbingers because although darling is within arms reach, they're not allowed to make a move lest they anger their ruler.

Childe who first sees you akin to a younger sibling amongst the Fatui - you're no underling, on par with a Harbinger in importance if not more, protected almost as much as the Archon Herself - it would be hard not to be protective of you. And yet as you fix his wounds after another fight he started, telling him off in place of Her Majesty, giving him tips on how he could've fought better in whispers in between, his growing need for your attention consumes him. When he kisses your cheek (as thanks, he says) in front of the other Harbingers he's already looking forward to you treating the injuries they're sure to beat into him.

Scaramouche who grins when the Harbingers bristle as you walk side by side in the halls of Zapolyarny Palace - he says you should consider it an honor to walk with him, and it inflates his ego when you reply with a small nod and a smaller smile. Behind the others' backs, he follows you like a lost child, always walking behind you, gripping on to the back of your clothes like you might slip away if he's not careful. He's obsessed with the way you look at him and ask him questions about his creation. He fails to see that the adoration you hold for him is as hollow as he is.

Signora wonders if you know when she is at her lowest, that would certainly explain things, wouldn't it? She thinks she has lost her mind when she sees glimpses of her lost love when turning corners too quickly, haunting her when she lets her guard down but then you're in front of her, greeting her with a soft smile that feels all too familiar and she realizes she has gone mad in other ways (she welcomes that newfound madness like the lover that it is, finally coming home).

Pantalone who believes that one of life's greatest pleasures is to own what others cannot - to collect the rare, the exquisite and the hard to obtain - and to have you, a person of great mind and ranking, be dangled right infront of him on a piece of gold thread held by the Tsaritsa, who was he to resist the urge to make you his? (after all, he deserves only the best) The longer he does not have you, the more your worth rises in his eyes.

Dottore who initially wants to pick apart your brain (quite literally) but his interest shifts and doubles when he reaches an epiphany that what he truly lacked from the Akademiya was someone who shared his intellect, a genius to match his own. Maybe you don't share his affinity for biology, but he loves the way your conversations keeps him on his toes (if you weren't a being close to perfection for him before, then you certainly are now.)

Arlecchino who watches as you care for the children in the orphanage, checking in on them even long after they've joined the ranks of the Fatui and compares it to the frigid ways of the other Harbingers. For the first time since being a part of this cold nation, she is envious of the warmth you give (why must you have so much love to share?) She thinks that should the day come she turns her back on this frigid country, she would surely take your hearth with her.

Marionette who finds herself being drawn to the way you move around a room and hold yourself up in front of people, marveling at the intricacies of each part of your body and the way they make up the being that is you (you could trip and fall and she'd still sigh in awe). Her fascination turns you from muse to future subject. Surely such a specimen must be preserved, right? Not to mention, there would be no greater honor than to turn the Tsaritsa's best into a perfect unchanging doll.

Damselette who usually goes quiet when you're in the same room as her, always eager to hear you talk, almost hissing when a Harbinger tries to speak over you. She finds your voice is the one in her head who speaks reason to her when she gets a bit out of control (Does she listen? No, but your voice is always ever so lovely). Wouldn't it be so nice if you're the lone voice she hears always, the same way you're already always in her thoughts?

Capitano who is thankful his mask covers the fond look he gets when you turn to him - not with fear like the lower ranking Fatui or haughty like the Harbingers - but as an equal, leveling him with a gaze that leaves him fooling himself that it means something more. He's less thankful for his mask when someone calls your attention away from him and he can't control the glare he sends their way (maybe if they saw the way he looked at them, they'd finally be put in their place).

Pulcinella is quick to put you in a pedestal - you are someone to be respected and someone to be kept at a distance. And yet as he watches the Harbingers fall deeper and deeper into obsession, he takes it upon himself to protect the Tsaritsa's favorite and the Fatui's brain from whatever his co workers are plotting. As he spends more time with you (making sure the others do not occupy all of your time), the pedestal he keeps you on crumbles until all he sees is another child to keep under his wing. He fails to see he has only fallen into a different hole as the rest.

Strategist!Darling who may pretend to be oblivious to the Harbingers' feelings but is actually letting it all happen to make sure they all stay under the Tsaritsa's rule one way to another.

Does Pierro know what you're doing? Maybe. It's not like he is blind to how the Harbingers act around you, subtle as they try to be. If you spend enough time with him, you might be able to tell that he enjoys watching you play the part of a fool, dancing around the others and making them dance for you, too. He might even step in once he thinks the other Harbingers are stepping out of line, but it all depends on what he gets out of sticking into your business.

I also like the dynamic where although the Harbingers cannot make a move to claim what is "their's", darling is just as trapped. Although they always sometimes want to leave, they know as much as anyone that the Tsaritsa is the only thing standing between them and the others. The moment they try to leave the Tsaritsa's side or they lose her favor, it's all fair game for the Harbingers.

Everyone is stuck in a stalemate until someone makes a misstep.

✨ Masterlist ✨ 

Taglist: 💛@anime-allover  💛@faeriessky  💛 @prksolon 💛 @dai-tsukki-desu 💛 @wonpielle

Disclaimer: Characters are not mine and belong to their respective creators. Their portrayal is merely my own interpretation of them and may not be accurate to their intended characterization. I stake no claim to the original works, only to the ideas and plot of the fictitious stories I’ve written them into.

[willowed-wisp]

stitches [simon ‘ghost’ riley]

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x reader/you

Hopefully this doesn’t suck and makes sense for the most part. Thanks for anybody that reads this 🥰

WARNINGS: smut, descriptions of injury, body insecurity… a bit of plus size!reader

When you joined the Special Forces, you didn’t want to form attachments.

That was the only rule you held yourself to.

As a medic back at base, you thought it would be easy. Alas, fate had other plans in the form of Task Force 141.

Lead by Captain John Price- who had handpicked you for medical support- to stay back at whatever base looked like- whether it be a van or a safe house.

With that, you lived with the boys. John Price, Kyle Garrick, Johnny MacTavish and Simon Riley. You kept yourself to yourself at first, not confident among four SAS soldiers nor in yourself. Knowing of them only.

So you planned to stay huddled in the corner and quiet.

Then in the middle of the night, you came face to face with a black balaclava and a gruff voice, “Ya good?” You only remember the nightmares… more so flashbacks. They were relentless- creeping in the recesses of your mind, waiting for times when stress peaked. Unfortunately this entire ordeal was nerve-wracking.

You only noticed the warm hand on your shoulder, instinct led you to stare past the noir covering the majority of his face and into his eyes. Caring eyes.

He had no need to check if you were okay, he didn’t know you but, nevertheless, it was nice to see the lieutenant as something other than a looming figure.

The seriousness became too much to bear for you, “Do you sleep in that thing?” Using humour to take the edge off- well trying to.

“Soundly,” Earthy, rugged… British yourself, he sounded awfully English. That was when your eyes dawned on the clock- the time more specifically. 02:01.

“Do you sleep at all?” Another attempt but he didn’t laugh- your smile faded, maybe a tad intimated. He wasn’t exactly small.

He stood away, no longer crouching at your bedside. How tall was the guy? You tried to hide the wonder on your face, “Better than you… when I do get a kip…” Some pain in those words. “Better get some shut eye, Y/L/N… see ya at dawn.” You slept better knowing at least someone in 141 had your back.

After that you started integrating more with the lads. You learned that Johnny could clean his messes up exceptionally well, and that’s why he was called ‘Soap’. Price still thought the name was bullcrap but alas, not your problem.

You also noticed that Ghost never showed his face. Black face paint shrouding the skin showing around his dark eyes or his sunglasses. You preferred the face paint.

He had a habit of watching you from across the room chatting with Soap and Gaz- you blocked any possible avenues of relationships. Not that they’d be interested in you (your own thoughts). You didn’t find yourself attractive or good enough. A bit too much weight, you continued to think.

It was a good thing, you couldn’t get distracted.

That was until that day…

Supply checks… stock up on the sterilised needle and stitch thread. You barely had any use to 141, just a glorified nurse who had no business being given a code name.

“Stitches! It’s LT!” The brash Scotsman bolstered his comrade over to the gurney in the impromptu medical van. Blue eyes flashed over into yours, hulking the larger man to lay on his back.

Ghost wasn’t having any of it, attempting to sit up only for more blood to gush from his thigh. You rushed into action, “Soap, get us out of here,” said all too calmly for someone under such pressure. The man did as he was told and they were off. Meanwhile, you had pushed the lieutenant down on the bed. He grunted in pain each time he made a move, “For fuck’s sake, stay still so I can fucking see.” Blue gloves on, as he stopped wriggling, “Thank you.” You were still unimpressed but at least he listened. Unbeknownst to you under the mask he donned a pained smirk- unaware you could be so commandeering. Almost proud of you.

A grunt paused his pride, “Fuck…” Through gritted teeth. Your fingers working the tweezers with expert precision.

He went to sit up, your left hand pressed against his sturdy chest- pushing him down, “Want me to snag your femoral artery, Ghost?” In no time, a red-coated bullet laid in the metal tray and he sat there in his boxer shorts- watching you work and hitching a breath each time the needle breached skin.

They were the gentlest hands that had ever worked on him. “What happened?” Eyes boring into his as you cast off the stitch.

“Someone got the jump on me, should see ‘im,” you smiled at that, able to tell he was too. By his eyes.

The ones you dreamt of every night- except when the terrors returned. Johnny was too heavy of a sleeper to hear you, but Simon’s eyes were what you woke up to. In the flesh. He never asked what they were about, just comforted you.

When your deployment ended, and you returned home… you missed the guys. And his warm eyes whenever you returned to the land of the living.

Johnny contacted you. A pub crawl in Scotland, apparently Gaz, Price and even Simon were game.

Turns out you and Ghost didn’t live too far away. In ten minutes, a knock at your door and you met that deep gaze. “Johnny only just message ya, didn’t he?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I’m drivin’ us, don’t trust Gaz’s deathtrap…”

“Well… I just need to grab my stuff,” He started to walk away up the path to his 4x4. “You can come in and wait if you wanted?” Who was he to turn you down when you asked so nicely.

He helped you with your bags, “You sure ya gonna get through with that?”

“Haha,” dry humour, there was a reason you seemed to get on, “And if you want me to get more shit…”

You could see a glint in his eyes, “Nah, you’re alright, love…” That went straight down to between your thighs, the look on your face amused the man.

Surprisingly, the two of you weren’t awkward. Quiet here and there.

You assumed he wasn’t used to social interaction in general- especially wearing that balaclava, not good for conversation.

Simon was good to talk to, all waffled speech was redacted with him. Straight forward, sometimes sarcastic and wholly looking for banter- that’s what you preferred.

And there was no chance he would be interested in you. He has the aura of a guy who gets the attention of stunning women. Why would he want you? (You thought)

It was never going to happen.

By the end of that car ride, he learned about your messy string of exes and he had way too much Shania Twain on his playlist (and knew all of the words).

Johnny greeted you both with open arms, a tight hug for you, “You been ta’ing care of yourself, Stitches?”

“Better than you look, use more soap…” The laughs and hug came to an abrupt end- his stare directed over to Simon who loomed behind you. Was it just you, or did Johnny look scared?

“Let me show y’ where you’ll be sleepin’…”You went to grab your bags but Ghost already had it covered.

Poor you, you didn’t know what would await your stay at Johnny MacTavish’s.

The tip was a stretch, your head thrown back against the blanket pillow. Silent screams playing in your throat. He could feel the struggle and see the pleasure striking your visage. Murmurs of his name, “Si- Simon -!” Broken and whimpering. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t on the edge of losing his cool. You were pulsing around him so angelic.

“You’re takin’ me so well, lovie,” His hips took a full stroke, bracing your cervix. Thrumming and dripping wet. Another groan of his name.

The rhythm sank in, strangled moans trapped- your breathing wild against his ear. His thrusts swinging all the way back until they gutted you. Over and over. “Feels. So. GOOD -!” His hand covering your mouth, noting that the owner of the house was just next door and the other two at the end of the hall. Simon’s place supposed to be on the couch downstairs surrounded by Soap’s army memorabilia. Not right there, balls deep inside of you. Loving every second.

Cherishing every inch of you, kissing you in the moment to stay quiet so he could remain there for a while longer. So he may get some sleep, for the first time in a week.

Before you know it, his hand anchored around your ankles- spreading them to hook better. You’ve never moaned so loud in your life. Even echoing off the walls of the room. “Fuck it…” He was too far gone to care what the boys heard or thought. He had been thinking about that moment since he met you, looking so delectable with his cock hammering into you. Taking him so well.

You didn’t know if he would ever tire out, another rush of adrenaline and exhaustion swept over your limp body- numb to anything other than where his thighs slammed against your own and how raw you were going to in the morning.

Your legs fell, his grip focused at your jaw; leaning over- rubbing against sensitivity deep- and claiming your lips in a ravenous kiss that had your head spinning more than before.

Hands falling to your hips, thrusts sloppy as you tightened once again. “Where can I- ,” Drunk on how he tasted, your legs locked around his body.

“Inside,” Your hand found the base of his hair at Simon’s neck, holding on for dear life. Warmth spread downwards as your nails dug into his toned back and neck alike. A thick groan filled the air- enough to become addicted.

Neither of you panted, thriving in the silence. He savoured being hilted inside you, careful not to crush you beneath him. Hot breath spanning your collarbone. “Can’t tell ya how long I’ve wan’ed to do that…”

You felt so small against him, so yearned for. No face covering on his end, no boundaries. Laid bare to him and he wanted you anyway.

Fingers stroked at his thick hair, “Same, Si…”

Neither of you knew who fell victim to slumber first.

The morning came around, the boys had looked proud of themselves… too proud, too giddy. Especially Johnny.

“I think the gutters need check’ng, heard some weird noise last nigh’,” You’ve never threatened Johnny’s mohawk before but that day you grew close.

Price even had a glint of mischief in those clear eyes of his, “Vampires common in Scotland?” You didn’t check your neck, too caught up in the heat the previous night.

Gaz had a smirk on his face, “Not from what I know of, sir…”

Christ, you were never gonna hear the end of it.

______

masterlist

[aleskie]

I SEE YOU | Quinn Hughes x Reader

SUMMARY: Quinn sees you. Always.

Word Count: 993 Warnings: standard hurt-comfort fic

You don’t know what possessed you to pursue a Master’s degree. You want to hit your younger self for thinking she’d be able to handle this. What, just because she graduated a semester early, she suddenly thought a Master’s could be easy? Well, she was wrong. And you were left to deal with her life choices. 

You were on your third draft of your thesis and you predict it was going to take a million more to get it approved. You had gone into today’s meeting confident, thinking you had finally nailed it, only for your advisor to rip into your work. “The structure is there, but your arguments aren’t clear. There are too many ideas that aren’t well-developed or explained.” And then the nail on the coffin. “I still don’t understand the point of this research.”

You’d been passionate about this topic. You thought it was interesting. New. Fresh. It was hard to not have someone see that. It was hard to have your work grilled and picked apart. Their words, though constructive, blurred together as you nodded mindlessly, part of you zoning out of the meeting, your mind already spinning from the endless bulk of changes you’d have to make. 

“You’re a smart one,” your advisor had said, “But this just isn’t cutting it.”

It echoed in your head. This isn’t cutting it. You’re not cutting it. You’re not good enough. You spent the entire drive home replaying the conversation, the sting of rejection and doubt clawing at your insides. You had done your best—why wasn’t that enough? Would it ever be enough?

You’re hanging on by a thread, on the brink of losing it, by the time you get home. The walls of the apartment are a small sanctuary, but it still feels heavy. Everything feels heavy. You open the door, slip your shoes off, and flip on the lights—one of them flickers. Of course. You swallow the sob threatening to escape your throat, but it rises anyway. Hot tears spill down your cheeks. You crumpled against the door, burying your face in your knees.

At least the apartment was empty. Quinn had training—he wouldn't be back for a while. You could break down in peace. Or so you thought—until you heard the soft thud of footsteps approaching.

You look up to see your beautiful boyfriend’s face, brows furrowed and eyes filled with concern. 

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, moving closer to meet you at the door. He joins you on the floor, arms wrapping around you, warm and secure, pulling you close without hesitation. You bury your face into his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of him—your body wash and his cologne mix together to form a scent that’s distinctly…him. It’s almost enough to soothe the hurt that’s been growing all day.

He holds you tighter, his hand gently drawing circles on your back. “Rough day, huh?”

The rest of the emotions you’ve been bottling up finally spill over, your breath catching as frustration escapes in shaky, stunted sobs. Quinn holds you firmly but gently, soft reassurances falling from his lips. “I’m here, I’ve got you. You’re alright. Just let it out.”

After a while, he stood up effortlessly, scooping you up in his arms and carrying you to the bed. You curl into him, seeking warmth and comfort in the steadiness of his presence. His arms are a protective hiding place, and gradually, your breathing evens out. After what feels like an eternity, you pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your face still streaked with tears, a small pout playing on your lips.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I keep trying and I’m doing my best but no one sees it.”

He pulls you in closer, resting his chin on your head as you sling an arm around him. “You have this look on your face when you’re focused,” he says, “You scrunch your nose and bite your lip—pick it apart, actually.” He chuckles. “And you smile so wide and move your hands a lot when you explain your research to me even though you know I won’t understand much of it. You prefer to work in the living room. It doesn’t matter if I’m there watching a game or something else, you stay there and I think it’s because the noise calms you down.”

He moves to look at you, his eyes filled with love. “You like to wear that old UMich hoodie of mine as you write and you always have a bowl of trail mix next to you and you have an iced coffee with three shots of espresso to get you through the long nights.” He places a kiss on your forehead. “I see you. Always will.”

Tears prick at your eyes again. How did you get this lucky? 

“Hey,” he whispers, placing another gentle kiss on your forehead. “Let’s get you into something comfy, yeah?” 

You nod, your voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

“Then we’ll order your favorite takeout,” he continues, “And we can watch as many episodes of that vampire show you love. How’s that sound?”

Another nod. The thought of curling up with him on the couch and watching cheesy TV brings the first bout of peace you’ve felt all day. He places another kiss on your forehead, then leads you to the closet.

Before you know it, you’re wrapped up in one of his oversized hoodies, the fabric smelling like him, and curled up on the couch with Quinn snug behind you. The day’s chaos fades into the background as the dramatic music and over-the-top dialogue of your favorite show fills the room. His chest is pressed firmly against your back, his arms securely around you, and every now and then, he presses soft kisses into your hair. Wrapped in his arms, feeling his quiet, steady love surround you—it feels like nothing else exists. 

Right now, everything is perfect.

And that’s enough.

[fastandcarlos]

Bracelet Making : ̗̀➛ Charles LeClerc

summary: to prepare for the concert you're busy making friendship bracelets to swap, only for charles to suddenly decide he wants to join you too

Your eyes widened in confusion as the puzzled expression on Charles’ face shocked you. The endless number of beads that you had was more than he could have ever imagined, unable to take it all in. There were so many different colours, designs and letters, you had plenty in front of you to keep you both entertained for hours. 

“What do you think?” You chuckled as you picked up the elastic, taking some scissors and cutting two lengths of it before tapping the space beside you on the living room floor, inviting Charles to take a seat down beside you. 

He did as you asked, his eyes still wide. “How many bracelets do people actually take to these concerts? We’re going to be here all night making bracelets for tomorrow love,” he commented. 

“But it means we can swap them with other people there.”

Charles took the elastic from you, stretching it a couple of times. He followed your lead as he watched you tie one end so that the beads couldn’t fall off when you beaded them together, getting himself into a little bit of a tangle. 

“What’s the point of making these bracelets if we’re just going to give them to other people?” Charles pondered, running his fingers through some of the beads to get a good look at them. 

When Charles told you that he had managed to get tickets to Taylor Swift you were beyond excited, and as the big fan that you were, you wanted to make the most of the experience. Charles thought you were joking when you suggested making bracelets, but now he found himself with no way back. 

“Where do I even start?” Charles questioned as he picked up one red bead and threaded it through the elastic, watching it hit the bottom where he had tied up his knot. 

“Just make it look nice, trust your instincts,” you tried your best to tell him, “It’s fun being able to swap because loads of other fans will have made bracelets too, it’s a thing to swap them to show friendships amongst all of the fans.” 

Charles nodded as he listened intently to you, “that’s quite a sweet reason. I’ve seen a couple of fans doing this at the paddocks before but I never realised that was the meaning behind it,” he then added. 

The room fell silent as Charles looked through a few of your beads and placed them onto the elastic. His eyes looked closely at what he had done, tipping some of the beads off and rearranging the pattern again so that he was happy with what he saw. 

“You seem to be taking this quite seriously,” you laughed, nudging Charles’ side. His head nodded as he picked up another bead to make sure that his pattern was still followed. 

Once it was on, his eyes turned to look at you. “If I’m giving them to other people then I’ve got to make sure that they look nice, I can’t be given people a lazy bracelet that doesn’t look nice.” 

Charles had watched you for the past couple of days as you began to make bracelets for the concerts, dismissing it pretty quickly.

However, as he saw how focused you were whilst doing it, he began to pay a bit more attention, finding himself interested. When you offered the chance for him to do it with you, he soon said no, but it didn’t take long for you to twist his arm. 

“Do I have to give all the bracelets away or do I get to keep some of them for myself?” 

“You can do whatever you want Charles.” 

Charles hummed in acknowledgement as he reached out for another few beads, threading them on with ease. “I think the first bracelet that I make I want to keep for myself, well, I think I want for the bracelet to be yours rather than anyone else’s.” 

Your eyes flickered to what Charles was doing, noticing that he’d picked up a couple of your letter beads. “What are you writing on that bracelet?” You quizzed, putting your own down for a second to concentrate on him. 

“It’s for me and you,” he proudly smiled, twirling it around so that you could get a better look. “So that anyone who looks our way tomorrow knows that you’re mine.” 

Although Charles had managed to get you into the VIP section of the stadium, he still had concerns. He’d seen the way some fans had treated you at races before, and didn’t want for the same to happen at the concert, especially when you were there to enjoy yourself too. 

He’d seen how you played with some of your bracelets before when you got nervous and knew you’d love to do the same with a bracelet that you knew was made by Charles too. 

The silence that stayed between you both had Charles worrying, concerned that he’d done the wrong thing. “If you don’t like it, I can make it to give to a fan instead, I’m sure you’ll end up with hundreds of bracelets tomorrow night anyway love.” 

Your head immediately shook as Charles spoke. “No. I’d love to wear it. I just didn’t think I’d be the first person that you’d think about when making a bracelet.” 

“You’re always the one occupying my mind,” Charles mused. 

Your eyes rolled as Charles’ attention turned back to his bracelet, determined to make it perfect for you to wear, and hopefully want to show off too. 

It was fascinating for you as you watched the concentration on Charles’ face, a look that you had only ever seen before when he was behind the wheel and fighting for that P1 position. 

After a few minutes, and a bit of a mess from Charles as he tried to tie his bracelet together, he was done. He proudly called your name, stretching the bracelet so that you could slide your hand into it, letting it sit perfectly around your wrist. 

Your smile was wide as you turned your wrist to admire what Charles had made. “This is beautiful Charles; I don’t think I’m going to need any more bracelets for tomorrow now.” 

“Don’t be silly,” he laughed, relieved to see how impressed you were by what Charles had made. “I bet there’s some awesome bracelets that you’ll be given tomorrow, I barely know what I’m doing with all of this.” 

“But none of them are made by you,” you reminded him. 

Charles leant across and pressed a kiss to your cheek, only for your head to come down and rest on his shoulder, forgetting about what you were doing for a few moments. 

“You should make some more of these, I bet they’ll be a few of your fans there tomorrow who would love to have a bracelet from the hottest F1 driver in the world,” you teased. 

Charles’ eyes widened again as you spoke, poking against your cheek. “Maybe one day when I retire I can just go into the bracelet making industry, set up a stall at the entrance to the paddock or something.” 

A chuckle came from you as you listened to Charles’ suggestion, “you’d make a fortune, I bet. I’d say that the bracelet that I’m wearing right now is probably worth a million pounds.” 

Charles’ smile turned up as he watched you fidget with the bracelet that you wore, exactly like how he expected you to. “Come on, we’ve got more bracelets to make, I want to exchange as many of these as possible tomorrow to make some people smile.” 

“How are you somehow more enthusiastic about bracelet making them I am?” 

Charles shrugged, “I’ve got the bug now, I get why you enjoy it so much.” 

“By the way, Taylor would be proud of you making all of these.” 

“I bet she doesn’t even know who I am,” Charles protested. 

“Everyone knows your handsome face, trust me.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗