#//I figured this would be a good place to start

[wizardchampion]

There is no way there wouldn’t be famine, breakdown in manufacturing, and a completely unrecognizable culture.

Modern society and production is extremely interconnected and complex. Each thing you can see in your house was designed in one country, its raw inputs mined in another, its components manufactured in 3 different places, shipped to another country to make whole thing, etc. All of this would break down, because it would take time to figure out how to keep production going, keep shipping going, keep everything running with only half the population.

Remember all the problems the Evergiven caused, and it was just one ship blocking the Suez Canal for a few days? That was just one shipping lane blocked. The impact of half the population being gone is unimaginable.

I can’t imagine the impact on food production. Specialist medical equipment. So thus, it likely would cause death and famine of surviving people.

Even if it didn’t cause famine, house prices would tank, neighborhoods would empty out, as suddenly we have double the housing stock needed, stocks would tank, so suddenly the older population would lose their life savings. Massive deflation halting production causing massive economic downturn. Hard to get a ton of goods. All of this would have a huge impact on the material culture. On top of that is psychological impacts on the survivors. Think of what Black Death did to culture.

Then, five years later once everyone adapted, suddenly the population is double. The initial snap might cause famine and death, but the second DEFINITELY would. Food has a growing season. It’s not like they could suddenly double the food production. Even if somehow in Iron Man’s snap he increased the food stock, they still have to figure out where to store it and ship it to get it to people, etc. There is no way this wouldn’t cause famine.

Also, massive homelessness and loss of worker rights. All of a sudden, half the world needs a job, but it’s not like industry can just instantly start production again for double, and hire all these people right away. All of that would take time, so it would cause massive unemployment and homelessness. The government would need wide reaching programs.

On top of it, where would all of these people live? A bunch of houses would’ve been abandoned, it’s not like a house abandoned for five years would be habitable.

Also, huge inflation, as there would suddenly be double demand for goods, as manufacturing can’t instantly make them. Loss of workers rights, too. Remember how part of the factors contributing to the renaissance was negotiating power of workers after the population was halved? The opposite would happen here. Workers would have no negotiating power.

The globalized world is infinitely interconnected. It can’t just start and stop.

TLDR: the first snap would cause breakdown in goods, massive deflation, economic downtown, lack of goods, huge psychological impact on culture, and likely famine

Second snap would cause massive famine, homelessness, huge unemployment, loss of worker rights, and rapid inflation

The thing is that the most interesting and novel invention of the MCU is a universe where billions of people turned into dust and then were physically reconstituted on the spot five years later, in a world that had just barely adapted to their absence.

That is wild. That is intense! That is a series of pathos-ridden emotionally complex doorstoppers waiting to happen. Half the entire world! All dead! And somehow we coped with that! And now we have to cope with them all being back?

A whole street of empty houses--surely not everyone there became ash. Some of them moved to better places, now opened by the mass mortality. Some of them died afterward. Who will live there now? Even if inheritances are reversed by resurrection, surely leases aren't renewed. What the fuck happens to everyone who remarried?

What happens to the children snapped back to a world where their parents didn't survive, or the reverse?

But they had to then hastily smooth over this utterly batshit sci-fi premise and get the world mostly back to normal working order as rapidly as possible, without too much emphasis on how literally every person in existence has been placed in a mason jar by a narcissist and shaken twice in five years.

So they could get on with more superhero whack-blam business, which is customarily done against a background of Normality.

This is, tragically, the most Comics thing these movies have ever done.

It is beyond satire that they did this immediately before and during a worldwide pandemic that everyone was pressured to smooth over and 'return to normal' about within 2 years if not sooner.

[reysdriver]

Hello! I was wondering if it would be possible to write about Eddie coming over and you have cooked a big meal for the two of you and Eddie has never seen this much food. Used to a frozen meal or Mac and cheese, he is kind of scared to overindulge even though the food is mouth watering. Reader just wants to take care of him.

Eddie's stunned when you make dinner for him, and even moreso when it's the best thing he's ever tasted — eddie x reader fluff

warnings: ig just food and talks of Eddie's social status/living situation

words: 1.2k

Your multitasking skills were finally coming in handy for something important tonight. 

Tonight’s menu consisted of a main dish, sides, and dessert that you were making completely from scratch. And on top of all that cooking, you kept looking at the clock every two minutes to make sure you’re on track for when Eddie said he was coming over. 

Eddie Munson had never been a punctual person. He shows up late to class every day—which is part of the reason why he’s in his third senior year of high school—and all of his friends know to tell him to come at least a half hour earlier than everyone else because that’s the only way they can guarantee he’ll be there when they want. 

But he’s always on time for you. Whenever you have a date, he shows up exactly when he says he will. And when he’s even a few minutes late, he apologizes profusely until you promise that you’re not upset with him. 

You know he’ll be here at exactly seven o’clock, and it was almost time. 

Each tick of the clock reminding you that your boyfriend was on his way and you weren’t going to have dinner ready on time. 

You tried your best to rush the process, but the knock at the door caught you by surprise before you could fully finish cooking. 

You jogged over to the front door to let Eddie inside—even though you’ve told him before that he could let himself in—and you were met with his smiling face. 

He immediately snaked his arms around your figure and pulled you in for a kiss like he was a sailor coming back from a long voyage at sea. 

As much as you loved when he kissed you like this—and he did it quite a bit—you had to break apart because you had pasta on the stove that you were absolutely not going to let burn. 

“I’m almost done cooking dinner.” You told him as you jogged back to the kitchen.

“I thought you liked me.” Eddie says dramatically, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it aside. “Such a shame. I guess I’ll just go home.���

“This food took so much work. If you leave before trying it, I think I’ll cry.” 

“Well we can’t have that, now can we?”

Eddie waltzed over to where you were standing in the kitchen and leaned against your fridge, eyeing up both you and the food you were preparing. 

“What did you make?”

“Eddie, do you have any patience at all?” 

Your boyfriend shook his head, barely taking any time to think of his answer. “Little to none.”

Right after saying that, he started reaching for the covered desserts that you had placed beside the stove. 

“Yeah, I can see that.” You said while swatting his hand away and shooting him a joking glare. “Go sit at the table and wait until I’m done cooking.”

He sent you a flirty smirk before obeying what you asked of him.

“Yes ma’am.” 

As you plated up dinner, you and Eddie exchanged a bit of small talk since the both of you were trying to focus. You on dinner, and Eddie on how good you looked wearing that floral apron that was hanging from your waist. 

When you loaded plates and bowls onto the table, Eddie’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor. He couldn’t believe how much food you had prepared. It looked so colourful and smelled so damn good too. 

You hung your apron on the handle of the oven door and sat down across from Eddie. Noticing that he looked somewhat stunned and hadn’t yet taken a bite, you explained the dish like the chefs you had seen on TV. 

“It’s a creamy tuscan chicken. I found the recipe in a magazine.” You then pointed at the side dishes you made to go with it. “And then I made some rice pilaf and roasted vegetables to go with it. I know you don’t love vegetables but I added a balsamic glaze so it’s not so plain.”

He wanted to speak up. He wanted to thank you and tell you how excited he was to dig in. But he was still just so shocked.

Eddie had never seen this much food at once in his life. Especially not home-cooked food, and especially not on just a normal night. Neither Eddie nor his uncle Wayne had ever been good at cooking, and even if they were, their small trailer didn’t allow much room for food preparation. 

He was just stunned. No other word for it. Eddie saw all this food in front of him, but still couldn’t believe it was real. Or that his girlfriend made it for him for date night. He had to be dreaming, he was sure of it.

“Is everything alright?” You asked him, suddenly insecure about your work. 

“No! Wait, no, I mean ‘yeah’!” Eddie stumbled over his words, only now processing that you were across the table and waiting for him to say something. “It looks good, really good. Amazing actually.”

“It’s not too much? Or something you don’t like?” You asked, still unsure. “Because I could just pack it up for meals throughout the week and we could order a pizza or something?”

“No, it’s not that!” Eddie picked up his fork and eagerly scooped up some rice to prove he wanted the food. “There’s just so much, I wasn’t expecting all of this.”

“I made dessert too, brownies and chocolate chip cookies.” You said, pointing to the dish your boyfriend tried grabbing earlier. 

Eddie’s eyes widened, realizing that there was even more than what he was seeing. He didn’t believe you when you said you spent the whole day cooking—why would he? If a delicious pizza could be at his door in 30 minutes or less, how could anything good take longer than that?—but now he knew you were telling the truth. 

And now his mind was going a mile a minute trying to process everything. 

“Well now I feel like shit.” He said jokingly. 

“Why?”

“Look at this whole thing. Jesus, last week when I cooked for you, I made a can of Spaghettios!” 

“Well I liked that!” You told him, trying to clear his guilt. “I just wanted to do something special tonight and use what I know. I’m sorry it made you feel bad.”

“No, no, I was kidding about that, baby. It’s great, don’t worry.”

You smiled at him, happy that he was excited about the dinner.

“Okay.” You nodded. “Are you gonna try it, then?”

Without another word, he took a piece of the chicken and brought it to his lips. The second it touched his tongue, he felt like he had just eaten something made by Julia Child herself—and Eddie noted to himself that he should pull out that impression later.

It was easy to tell the emotions on Eddie’s face as he took that bite. So, satisfied with his reaction and proud of yourself, you started to eat too. 

With every bite Eddie took, he thought about marrying you just so he could eat like this more often.

[kissylec]

TO THE PLACES WE'VE BEEN AND THE NIGHTS WE'VE HAD.

directed by love you goodbye...

pairing . . . rafe cameon x pogue!reader in which . . . the bonfire always has surprises, but you never thought that one of those surprises would be ending up in tannyhill with the kook prince warning .ᐟ . . . (18+) smut, alcohol consumption, curse words, enemies to lovers, tension, dirty talk, praise kink, making out, oral (f), unprotected sex (wrap it up), p in v, first time writing smut and english is not my first language, so please, bear with me w count . . . 1.5k (NO PROOFREAD) kissylec says . . . write this in 3 days and i dont really know if i like it or not. my frist time writing smut! im tweaking! thanks to @rafesheaven for the tips you gave me, i hope this is okay i love u. and thanks to @rafeysbabydoll for the idea of this first extra! i also love u. hope you guys like this 😭

masterlist .ᐟ 𝜗𝜚 navigation .ᐟ

YOU WERE DOING THIS FOR JJ, and you repeated that to yourself over and over again. the bonfire was the last thing on your mind after the day you'd had, having to put on makeup and get dressed made your head hurt and your feet felt tired just walking to the vanity. but everything went to shit in a short time, which you expected, but at least you had that slight glimmer of hope that it won't happen.

it all started when topper – because of course it was topper – started bothering sarah. your and your friends' irritation was instantly aired, creating a tense atmosphere that was not lost on anyone. and between john b complaining, jj trying to fight, and kiara trying to calm down everyone who came near, you couldn't take it anymore.

the overstimulation ate away at you to the point that you left without warning, a habit that was ingrained in you. the sound of voices grew farther away with each step you took, and the cold and salty breeze became more and more present. that's when you thought about the beach, and that maybe it would be a good idea to stop by there.

the sand on your feet felt colder than usual and the wind was a caress on your exposed skin. you took long, deep breaths, making circles in the palm of your left hand as you tried to maintain a calm that you were afraid would slip away. the sound of the sea was in the background, and a relaxation alien to you had found you. until.

you okay?

the thick, familiar voice startles you, causing you to bring a hand to your chest and open your eyes, your gaze traveling to the direction the voice came from.

rafe cameron.

"you scared the shit outta me," you say, your gaze traveling all over rafe's body. a bottle of alcohol in his hand, his brow furrowed. His curtain bangs were gone, replaced by a neat buzz cut, which made him look more... mature, older.

rafe continues to scowl, looking away from you. "yeah well, it's creepier when a girl stands next to you and closes her eyes and all that shit you were doing just now." his lips take a sip from what appears to be a bottle of whiskey, his eyes fixed on the water.

you just rolled your eyes, mimicking his action of looking away. you never gave rafe much importance, but your annoyance for him was no small thing. he was nothing sacred among pogues, as if his name were a curse. "i may be creepy but you're sad" you started saying. "drinking by yourself on the beach? not really a very fun activity."

rafe takes another long sip from the bottle, his muscles flexing as he raises his arm. “shouldn’t you be there?” he asks, still not looking at you.

rafe knew about you, not much, but he knew enough. he always insisted that you stood out from any friend sarah might have had, you were not overlooked, you always left a mark. you had that something that takes a person a while to figure out. you were different, and it sounds corny and repetitive, but you were, and rafe liked that.

for a split second you considered telling him why you left the bonfire, but you didn't. "i got bored," you said simply, feeling rafe turn his head and his eyes burn into your cheek. "what's your excuse?"

rafe swore his heart stopped for a second when you turned your head to make your first eye contact of the night, his lips felt dry but he didn't have the balls to lick them in front of you.

he just shrugged. "i don't want to be there" he says.

you slowly nod your head, your eyes locked on rafe's blue ones, who didn't seem to want to take his eyes off you. the sound of clothes rustling and him handing you the bottle of whiskey caught your attention, raising your eyebrows.

parting your lips you take the bottle, the contact with rafe’s fingers leaving a rough feeling on your skin. still looking into his eyes, you took an unexpectedly long sip, your throat burning instantly, making you grimace in disgust and drop the bottle. he couldn’t help but laugh.

“what was that?” he asks, following with his gaze as you spit the amber liquid into the sand.

“that shit is disgusting” you say, wiping your chin, which had dropped drops of the drink.

you shake your head, your eyes falling on his face. you allow yourself to analyze the small details, how his eyes close when he smiles, the occasional mark on his skin, his hand wrapped around most of the bottle as soon as you handed it back to him.

rafe parts his lips, you could see his eyes drop to his lap, as if he was hesitant. “i have more bottles in tannyhill, of… other things,” he says, hesitantly. "if you want."

your eyes widened, letting out a laugh you couldn’t control. “are you serious?” you said, your smile taken as mockery by rafe.

rafe frowns, his gaze going to you, making you erase your smile. a tension began to be felt between you two, that tension which anyone who was there could feel, that tension that makes your stomach hurt and your heart race.

"did you really just ask me what you just ask me?" you asked, your eyebrows raising as you looked at him.

“what’s wrong with what i said?” rafe asks, his tone of voice harsher than he intended.

you frown, careful not to fumble with your words. “no, absolutely not.”

“why not?"

“because it’s you,” you simply reply, looking at him. “and i would never do anything with you.”

your words seemed to trigger something in rafe, who raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, as if he were studying you. you felt your pulse quicken, his jaw suddenly looked attractive, and his challenging eyes made your lower stomach feel warm.

"never, huh?"

those were the last words you could remember coming out of his mouth, because all you were focused right now, was him. on his tongue expertly moving between your wet folds, on how he flicked it against your clit. his fingers gripped your thighs to keep you from moving, the pressure was so strong that you knew there would be marks, but you didn't care.

you had tears starting to form at the corners of your eyes, your o-shaped lips letting out moan after moan, babbling every now and then as you felt his tongue fucking you as if it were the only thing he was useful for.

"prettiest cunt" he grunts against your center, placing open-mouthed kisses over your clit.

"fuck–rafe" was the only thing that could come out of your mouth.

you start to rub your pussy against him when you feel close, that delicious pressure in your pelvis growing as does the burning in your clit, your moans turning into soft cries, desperate to cum, and rafe notices it, but that wasn't going to happen.

his mouth leaving you, automatically going to the level of your face. his lips, chin and nose glistening with your arousal, his pupils dilated with pleasure, his breathing accelerated, all so sexy that you could have cum just from him.

before you could even protest he crashed your lips against his, moaning as you tasted yourself. your tongues danced deliciously, making everything more disgusting.

"wan' you to cum on my cock" rafe manages to say between kisses, and you never wondered when he took off his pants, but he did. "you're capable of doing that? huh?"

he wrapped his hand around his heavy cock, pumping it slowly, guiding his tip to your puffy and achy clit, teasing it, coating his length with your slick. "fuck–could you be any more fucking wet?"

the tip traveled to your center, gasping as it entered inch by inch to the brim, forcing you to take him all. your eyes rolled back in your head, feeling his cock caress your insides. you could swear you felt him kiss your cervix.

"so tight, all f'me, isn't that right?" rafe purrs against your ear, his hips moving almost instantly after filling you.

your brain blanked out, letting him handle you as he pleased, your legs on his shoulders as his pace quickened. “rafe,” you stammered, your eyes squeezing shut.

"grippin' me so tight, you gonna cum?" rafe murmurs condescendingly. "this sweet pussy gonna cum? huh?"

it was ridiculous, almost pathetic, but his words and the way your sweet spot was hit over and over again had you cumming on his cock, your back arching and a small cry came out. rafe groans, his face hiding in your neck, his cock twitching and painting your insides with his cum.

you felt kisses on your neck, the thrusts fading in rhythm, his hands caressing your sides. your eyes slowly opened, your lips dry as the light from the nightstand made its presence felt beside you.

then, and just then, it clicked.

"we can't do this again" was the first thing that left your lips.

but rafe had already taken you over. and there was no escape from that.

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© KISSYLEC. 2025 — please do not plagiarize, repost, translate or claim any of my work as your own.

[sylphidine]

@i-am-a-fish

From one of my longfics [it's dinner, not lunch, but it's delicious and everyone is happy]:

The vibrant, art-filled walls of SpaHa Soul never failed to send a shiver of happiness down Swatch’s spine. The Friday night after they got their job offer letter, they followed Uncle Julius to a corner glass-topped table, while Indigo pulled out a chair for Aunt Desiree. Catechu chatted with the guitarist setting up for the evening’s set and waved at Artist T., just emerging from the kitchen with plates for the group of diners in the opposite corner.

Uncle Julius had found this place about eight years ago and it had become THE go-to place for Dyer-Paletta family celebrations.   

And tonight they were here to celebrate Indo and Catto’s getting summer internships at the Wythe in Williamsburg, as well as Swatch’s internship.

“Chef’s choice tonight, sir,” Uncle Julius said to Artist T., after getting a hearty backslap from the proprietor. “All three of these fine young people, going out into the world and making their mark!”

“It’s a better world for you all being in it,” agreed Artist T., making a note on his pad and heading back through the swinging doors.

“I like the new eyeglasses, honey,” Aunt Desiree commented to Swatch. “You look good in aviators, and brown is a nice color for you.”

Swatch nodded.”The tint’s helpful for cutting out blue light, and since I expect I’m going to be spending a lot more time in front of screens with the new job, I figured they were worth a splurge.”

On the other side of the table, Indo was listing off all the different areas in the boutique hotel where he and his twin would be working during their ten weeks. “I don’t know how I’m going to keep a straight face when I’m answering phones and directing calls to ‘Le Crocodile’. It’ll probably get easier after a while. At least ‘Bar Blondeau’ sounds more normal. Only thing I’m worried about is getting there on time every day.”

“Better than the commute would have been if we’d gotten the gig at The Ludlow. That commute would have been a real bitch.” Catto caught his mother’s glare and muttered, “Sorry, mom.  It would have been a real bear .”

Uncle Julius laughed and then turned to Swatch. “You’re going to be cutting it awfully fine, between graduation and starting this new job. You’d better start looking at apartments now if you don’t think your landlady will extend your lease past June.”

“I know. Even with a decent salary, I’m either going to have to spend all my time commuting or all my money on a shoebox to live in.” They realized that it sounded like they were complaining, and quickly added with a laugh in their voice, “Or I could ask my favorite aunt to use her real estate agent superpowers and her mad networking skills.”

“That’s the spirit,” Aunt Desiree answered. “We’re not going to leave you out in the cold, even if you have to stay with us for a month or so while you’re getting your feet under you. You’ve got family, don’t forget."

Swatch smiled back at her. “I will never forget that.”

“And don’t forget we’re proud of you. All three of you,” Uncle Julius interjected, waving his hand to include his sons. “Not a bad apple in the bunch.”

“Thanks, Pop,” Indo replied for himself and for his brother. “Especially thanks for being such a good sport about us not working at Ambit Automation.” “Oh, you boys might still end up there if the economy tanks. Luxury disappears, but people always need manufacturing. Look at the Brooklyn Navy Yards. That’s as big a comeback as the Jazz beating the Nuggets.”

“But the boys are using their degrees,” Aunt Desiree pointed out. “Degrees that you and I both approved of, husband mine.”

“Yes, dear.”

At that moment Artist T. and Amber swooped in with platters of fried chicken, stuffed pork chops, coconut rice, spicy yams, and collard greens, enough to feed an army.

Catechu raised his glass. “To family.”

Four glasses clinked against his.

how would one of your OCs react to a HUGE burger and delicious seasoned french fries?

[specsthesecond]

🃏👑🃏

You were married off to the king as a young noble woman. The arrangement was rather rushed in your opinion, not that anyone asked for it. The king only needed a show wife, a quiet but present symbol for the kingdom and you suited well enough for that.

He didn’t need a wife for pleasure, he had plenty mistresses for that and he seemed to be in no rush for a successor. You suspected it was because he had no intent to hand over power to anyone anytime soon. Although, that's just what you assumed, others never blamed him for it. You were always the target of the hushed whispers and silent accusations of infertility, unruliness or even infidelity when it came to the subject of an heir.

The people's gossip aside, it was an easy marriage. You didn’t have to share a bed with a man you didn’t love and you didn’t have to raise his children. Many more deserving women would kill for such a life, which only made you feel worse about the utter discontent you felt. It was the loneliness, mostly. Such a privileged life and yet not a single companion in the world to share it with.

The king and his advisers only speak to you when they need you to make an appearance as their queen. Their orders always dripping with condescension and near mockery. They’ve made you smile and wave for hours, waltz until your feet blister and recite a holy text’s worth of pompous poetry but this most recent ploy was particularly discomfiting.

You sit on your throne next to your husband, hands in your lap, staring at the colourful figure in front of you. The bells on his ridiculous hat jingle as he bows his head so low they almost touch the marble floor. Quiet chuckles emit from the nobility crowding the massive ballroom and the unease in your stomach only builds.

When the jester picks his head back up, you can’t help fiddling even more with your dress, just like your husband's advisers have scolded you not to. The jester silently stares with a sheet white face, big red grin painted across his mouth. You want to shrink under the jesters stare, the blue diamonds painted over his eyes make his gaze feel piercing.

The king grins when he catches your nervous gaze.

“Do you like your surprise, my love? I thought you could use some cheering up lately. As did my advisers.”

He chuckles looking over at the old men in the corner of the room, amusing in a joke you're not a part of.

You just nod your head as politely as possible. You don’t know what's happening, but whatever they have planned can’t be good.

The jester skips up to where you and the king sit. He gives an exaggerated curtsy to the king, earning a chuckle from him and the various nobility.

The bells jingle as he springs up and steps closer to you. He stretches his hand out and you stare at it and then back to your husband.

“The fool wants a dance, my dear. Give him a dance.”

You try to hide the apprehension on your face and reach for the jesters hand. He doesn’t squeeze or pull you up like you expected, instead he holds it gently, waiting for your next move. You rise from the throne and cast one more glance at your husband, who only offers a self-satisfied grin in return. This whole time all they've wanted from you is a perfect queen and now they want you to dance with a fool?

The jester walks you to the middle of the room, encircled by leering nobility. He places your hand on his waist before dramatically correcting the mistake and placing it on his shoulder instead, looking bashfully to the audience who snicker at the joke. He takes your other hand in his and gives you a little nod before the music starts and he guides you into step.

Now obviously you know very well how to dance, you enjoyed it quite a bit when you were little although, now it’s just become another part of your queenly duties. Did any of that even matter now? Now that it’s clear the king and his peers see you as just as much of a joke as the man you’re waltzing with.

Your deep thoughts are broken when said man unexpectedly twirls you in a dizzying circle. You flail slightly in your surprise but you’re brought back into his arms just as quick to continue your steps. You fully focus on him now and you wonder what his features look like under that gaudy clown makeup. Even in the bright chandelier lights of the ball room, you can’t make out the colour of his irises. The dark circles look as if they could swallow all the colour from his face and your own. Has he blinked even once during this dance, or at all for that matter?

You’re not sure if it was your mistake or the jester’s but you step on his foot and he suddenly pulls away from you. He clutches his foot and jumps up and down in theatrical pain. The room bursts into laughter, bellows and cackles. These elite men and women delight in the humiliating performance you’re both putting on for them. It takes everything in you not to cave right there in the middle of it. Why are you being humiliated when you've done nothing wrong?

You try your best to steel yourself, replacing the need to cry with spiteful compliance. If they want a dance, they can have a dance. You curtsy at the jester, offering an apology and hold your hand out to him. He looks around and then points to himself. You can’t help but smile and nod your head.

He takes your hand and when the music starts back up again, you step in time to the beautiful melody. You try and put your full attention on the jester, not anyone else in the large room, which proves to be quite easy as he is by far the most interesting person present. You can just make out the small smile under the red painted grin, his soft relaxed eyebrows under the bright blue diamonds.

While moving in sync, you become almost lost in trying to map out his face under the paint. You look for imperfections in the face paint but can’t seem to find a single smudge or brush streak, in fact the paint looks impressively even, like it’s a second skin.

It truly does feel like its only you two and the music, for the first time in a long time you feel wanted by someone else.

But when the king grows bored he demands new entertainment.

He motions for the musicians to stop their music and you’re brought back to reality. The jester bows for the crowd and you offer a little curtsy before being escorted back to your chair to watch the rest of the strange performers routine.

You think about the jester all the way back to your courters. You think about him as you slip on your night dress and slide into bed, and you think of him as you stare up at the ceiling for possibly hours. There is too much on your mind. A sigh leaves you as you lift yourself up and open the doors to your balcony.

As you stare out at the starry night sky, you’re only thinking of the jester to distract yourself from the humiliation ritual you were just a part of. He could have been in on it for all you know and you're just naive enough to think he was being kind to you during the whole thing.

A shuffling sound from behind you makes you turn your head and it takes you just a split second to register the very colourful jester standing in the corner of your balcony.

The screech you let out is smothered by your own hand. You clutch the edge of the balcony staring at the slender man who has put his hands up, waving apologies while moving his chest as if laughing, nothing comes out of his mouth. You clutch your heart, breathing quite heavily as you stare at him bewildered. You look around trying to discern where he could have come from, and how you only now hear his bells jungle as he waves his hands, still apologising.

He steps closer and stands tall in front of you, he’s much more imposing than you remember him being. He holds up one finger and then mimics a waltz. His head bows low and he holds his hand out for you to take. He’s asking but in your mind there is little choice here. Has this also been planned? If you called for the guards would they even come?

Against your better judgement, you reach out and touch his gloved hand. He curls his fingers around yours and stands upright. You let him bring your hand to his shoulder, placing his hand lightly on your waist and stepping closer. This time is different from the last time. Now it really does feel like his attention is only on you, not with the other guests, not with the performance. It should be frightening, but you find no malice in his eyes, no ridicule in his demeanor.

As he steps into motion, you begin a slow waltz in the small space of your balcony. It's slower than in the courtroom, it's more intimate. While you dance with this complete stranger, your thoughts run rampant, you second guess your judgement again and again. Maybe the kindness you sense from him is a ruse. Maybe he is here on behalf of the king, setting up another degrading show. He could even be an assassin, come to rid you quietly in the middle of the night.

You would deserve such a fate for giving in so easily. You slowly spin in his arms and this time you don't hear the snide laughs of the nobility, just the sounds of the night. Both of you step in time and you let him guide you to the edge of your balcony. You hold your breath as he dips you over the ledge. Your eyes squeeze shut and you let out what could be your last breath ready for him to let go and let you fall.

But he doesn't let go, your grip on his shoulders never slips. You open your eyes, a bit blurry from wetness but you can make out his face, because it's right in front of you even though you're bent over the balcony far enough that your feet have left the ground. You stare back at his unrelenting gaze. In the dim light of the moon his eyes look even darker than before and something new swims in the deep black of his pupils, something sad.

They are lidded as they examine your face, your entire being. His hand on your back presses your chest further into his until you're sure he can feel your rapid heartbeat through your very flesh.

He lifts you upright again, turning you away from the ledge and out of harms way. You’re still chest to chest, he’s so close but you can’t feel him breathe. Your wide eyes stare up at him, trying to discern his expression. Your breaths are short and your grip on him hasn’t let up a bit.

He brings his hands up to your cheeks, the warm fabric of his white gloves on your cold cheeks has you easing into them far too easily. His eyes examine every inch of your face while his thumbs stroke your cheeks, you can just barely see the frown on his lips behind the painted smile. He brings your face closer to his, slow and methodical, making it very clear what his next move is. You’re not sure if this was due to his own hesitation or to give you time to pull away, regardless you let him inch closer and closer until his lips grazed yours and you finally feel him breathe out one long breath.

The kiss is deep. Despite being slow and gentle, it still forces a struggled sound from you. You would’ve thought he tasted like paint but he doesn’t, he’s warm and inviting. It’s nice.

You can’t will yourself to put up much of a fight at all. Your eyes are closed, fingers digging into the fabric of his puffy striped sleeves. You quickly learn to breathe through your nose, out of necessity and unwillingness to part from his affections.

You let him work your mouth open, slipping his tongue inside. The feeling is so foreign, you can’t help but whine. He pulls you even closer, placing a hand on your back and arching your chest further into his.

His tongue fills your mouth, sliding along yours and savouring your taste. The wet muscle reaches far into your mouth, farther than you thought normal but your experience is slim and you don’t have the awareness to fully question it. It’s overwhelming. Your knees tremble and he lowers you both to the cold stone floor. His tongue reaches into your throat, a feat you know is impossible.

You’re too lost to even think of the implications of this, as you gag and convulse around the thick muscle in your throat that no longer feels like a normal tongue. He reaches so far, your eyes roll back, your lower region warms uncomfortably and you forget how to breathe. You tap his shoulders quickly, a plea for air, and he retreats from your throat. He holds you as you cough and heave, wiping the spit from your chin.

You look at him with the an expression full of shock and fear and bewilderment and every other emotion shooting through you fuzzy mind. His expression is hard to discern but he seems both amused and sad.

He stands and brings you up on shaky legs. When he starts to back away, you panic and clutch his hands tighter. You don’t know what you were hoping for. That he would stay? That he would spend the night with you?

His face is full of what you hope is longing and not pity, you know what pity looks like. He holds you close in what you know is a goodbye embrace. He presses his forehead to yours and he places one last short kiss on your lips. Its playfull and very much not what you’d consider a proper good bye kiss. You search his gaze and you’re met with rather boyish mirth, lifting your spirits slightly.

He winks at you and takes your hand, spinning you around once, twice and three times before he lets go. When you rebalance yourself and look around the balcony there is no sight of the jester. It's just the pitying sounds of the night and your only other witness, the moon. Like he was never there at all.

[arietem]

sunset skies, bonfire nights

summary: you and jj have a will-they-won't-they thing going on for the last year. you are ready to take things to the next level on the first bonfire party of the summer. it's about to be steamy

jj maybank x fem!reader

ꕤ friends to lovers, smut, piv, unprotected sex on the beach (oops), sex in public ꕤ

You were slowly losing your mind, rampaging through your closet, looking for something to wear for the bonfire tonight. It was the first party of the summer and the night when you would finally make your move. You physically couldn't hold back anymore, and even if nothing came from it, you would at least know you tried. Either way, you just needed to wear something that you would feel a million dollars in (plus, something that would make your blondie feral).

Your plan for tonight was to look sexy as hell, have the best time ever, and possibly have some action in the Twinkie on the way back to the Chateau. (No, the rest of the gang being there will not deter you, you can be quiet when needed). Sounds like a good plan, right?

After what felt like fucking forever, your eye caught a sparkly silver bikini top stuffed in the back of your closet, still with the tags on. You bought it some time ago, but left it untouched since it was a little tight on you, pushing up your boobs, threatening to spill them out of the garment. You usually wouldn't go for something so impractical while on the beach, but, well, isn't tonight the perfect occasion for accentuating your girls a little bit? Finally, you decided on a high-waisted denim skirt and the bikini top, with cute flip-flops on your feet. You left your hair to dry naturally, with beachy waves ready for someone's fingers to go through them.

Since the beach was not far from your house, you decided to walk there, giving you ample time to prepare yourself for the quest ahead. Ever since you moved to this place a year ago, you have been playing this seemingly never-ending game of push and pull with JJ, which has honestly left you frustrated and ready to get to the next level. Sure, you hooked up with other guys in the meantime, but they hadn't been able to hit that spot (literally and figuratively). And yes, you've seen JJ with other girls, but come on, he had to feel this sizzling tension between you two.

When you got closer to the beach, you could see that the party had already started, and a pretty big crowd was gathering. Excitement bubbled in your stomach, giving you a good feeling for tonight. "Babe!" You turned around when you heard your name, spotting Sarah walking towards you. "OMG, you look incredible!"

"Hi, Sare! So do you!" You pulled her in for a big hug. If Sarah was here, John B was not too far from her, and if John B was here, that meant JJ must have been somewhere close too. "But do you really think so? I haven't worn this top yet. Isn't it kinda too much?"

"God, no, it's perfect", she wiggled her eyebrows. "I'm so glad you're here! Kie is somewhere having fun with some Touron, and I need some girl power with me here." She nodded her head over your shoulder, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. You turned to see what she was referring to and saw exactly who you expected to, John B and JJ, of course. JJ was doing a handstand over the keg, with JB holding his legs. Typical boy shit.

"Why are they such boys?" You rolled your eyes too, but in reality, you didn't mind that they were having fun, you knew how hard their lives could be. You took Sarah by the hand and walked in the boys' direction, not wasting any time. You reached them just as JJ was wiping his mouth on his hand, a proud look on his face. Guess he was the keg king for the night.

"You done yet?" You made sure he could hear the playful tone in your voice and waited for him to look your way.

"Just getting start-" Yeah, he saw you, alright. "Whoa!" Seeing his reaction to your outfit boosted your confidence in the direction this night could go in. His breath hitched, and his blue eyes sparkled while he looked you up and down. Yeah, you couldn't lie, you were drinking in his attention, loving the butterflies his gaze unleashed in your stomach. You purposefully fingered your necklace, dragging his eyes to your cleavage again, not that he needed that push anyways.

"So, we're gonna get something to drink that is not a beer. Have fun, you guys!" Sarah wiggled her fingers in a goodbye and winked at you, dragging John B towards the coolers. You gave yourself a split second to sigh in her direction before turning towards JJ once again. This is what you wanted, and you were not going to chicken out this time.

When you turned around, JJ quickly looked up at your face. You narrowed your eyes, knowing what he was checking out. "You like what you see?" You could also be cocky when you needed to be. Why should he have all the fun? Remember, the goal for tonight was to have fun together.

"Oh, I like it very much." JJ smiled, and his delicious dimple came into focus. You wanted to lick it and trace his jaw with your teeth. It was getting harder and harder for you to contain yourself. It had to be now or never, baby.

"Come on, JJ, I gotta show you something." You grabbed his wrist and started heading towards a quieter part of the beach, further away from the fire. There, you could tell him what was on your mind and hopefully do something about it. "Someone's impatient today, huh?"

You ignored his muttering behind you and led you two to a tree you could mostly hide behind. "Soo, what did you want to show me?"

"Who's impatient now?" You couldn't help but tease him just a little bit. Still, he was right, you were impatient, which is why you crashed your lips to his, not letting him say anything else. At first, he was frozen, taken aback by your advance, but then…then he woke up and grabbed the back of your neck, deepening the kiss. His other hand wrapped around your lower back, playing with the strap of your top.

After what felt like a long time of heated making out, you gasped and broke apart. He put his hands on your shoulders, towering over you. "That was…intense", he chuckled and nudged your chin up with his fingers.

You felt drunk, unable to find your words for a few moments. Intense was the right word, and you needed more of it. "Please, JJ, less talking and more whatever this is." You hooked your pointer finger in his shark tooth necklace and brought him closer again, leaning back on the tree.

This time, his hands wandered under your skirt, where the real surprise awaited him. You could tell the moment he discovered you weren't wearing any underwear. He let out the hottest whimper and pressed himself harder into you. It was impossible to ignore the bulge in the front of his cargo shorts, but when you reached for his belt buckle, he stopped you.

"Are you sure?", JJ whispered in your ear, nibbling slightly. "I was sure for literally this whole year, I just didn't know if you wanted it." You gasped slightly when he blew cold air on the wet spot on your neck.

"Fuck, I wanted to do this forever." He turned you over so you were now facing the tree, hitching your skirt up, giving you a little slap on your ass. God, he was turning you on so hard. You bent a bit so you could graze the tent in his pants. The belt unbuckling and zipper sliding down sounded so loud in the night, but you knew nobody could actually hear you over the music and laughter. Still, you loved to hear it, and it was making you even wetter, if that was possible.

JJ lined himself up with your slit, gathering your hair in a makeshift ponytail, pulling slightly and making your back arch. You can hear him moan when he enters you and starts pounding, slowly at first and then faster and faster. Both of you are on a high right now, messy and sweaty, skin on skin slapping in the dark night, only the glow of the fire in the distance.

You can feel your core tightening, a sure sign that you are close to the finish line. "JJ, I'm so clo-o-se", you panted out, reaching behind you to grab his thigh. At that, JJ pulled the string on your bikini, making it unravel from your back. With his free hand, he pinched your nipple. The zap you felt when he did that was the last straw. You clenched around him and cried out when your release hit you.

JJ let go of your hair and grabbed your hips, bottoming out inside you. A few more thrusts and you could hear his grunts, "fuuuck yes, baby". He stilled behind you and trailed faint kisses along your spine, catching your top and tying it at your back.

You finally found your voice, "this, this was fucking intense." You laughed hard and straightened your skirt when he pulled out. You could feel some dripping going down your leg, but honestly, you couldn't be bothered, it was too dark for anybody to notice anything.

You turned to face him, still breathing hard. "Why the fuck we haven't been doing this for the last year?"

"We better get caught up then."

"Yes, sir." You gave him a mock salute and turned to get back to the party, to mingle with your girls a little bit. Right when you started walking, knowing he would follow, he smacked your ass again, a little stronger this time.

"JJ!" You threw a glare in his direction but couldn't stop your lips from growing into a smile.

Mission officially accomplished. ;)

[sunsburns]

wait no because trying to compete w joaquin to look the best in sams eyes? that 100% would happen.

always showing up to work early if sam needed you there, always doing things "better" than the other to be picked to go out on missions, but in reality both of you were always gonna go, sam just likes to rile you both up!!!

you and joaquin arguing is sams entertainment, but he would always call you out on how y'all should just kiss or smthn, just so you would both get out of his hair, y'all are kiss asses 🙂‍↕️

THE biggest ass kissers the world has ever fucking seen!!!

it starts with small things.

beating joaquín torres to the debriefing room first, standing at attention just a little straighter when sam walks in. being the first to volunteer for a recon mission, making sure your reports are turned in before joaquín’s—little victories, small triumphs that keep the score tilting just slightly in your favour.

and joaquín? oh, he knows what you’re doing. he feels the competition just as strongly, meeting you beat for beat, smirk for smirk. if you show up early, he shows up earlier. if you get in a well-placed quip that makes sam chuckle, joaquín makes sure to drop a comment that gets him a full laugh, a shoulder clap.

sam catches on quickly, because of course he does. he thrives off of it, if anything, watching you and joaquín try to one-up each other over the most mundane things with the kind of patience only an older brother figure can have. half the time, he doesn’t even need to pit you against each other; you do that all on your own.

but here’s the thing—you and joaquín don’t actually hate each other. if anything, there’s an underlying respect, an unspoken acknowledgment of how damn good the other is at what they do. on the field, you’re an unstoppable duo, reading each other without a word, moving in sync in a way that only comes from deep familiarity. you know each other’s strengths, weaknesses, the little things that make the other tick—and you know exactly how to push each other’s buttons, whether it’s to provoke or distract.

and sam? oh, he knows it too.

it was why he has the two of you as his second hand. he sees how well you work together, how efficient things become when you’re not locked in some petty competition. hell, sometimes he even thinks you two are kinda cute together—just too damn stubborn to admit it.

but sometimes, sam stirs the pot just for fun. like when he lets it slip that he needs a file retrieved from the archives, and suddenly, you and joaquín are racing through the hallways, elbowing each other out of the way, nearly colliding into bucky in the process. or when he casually mentions needing someone to drive him to a meeting, and next thing he knows, both of you are already in the car, fighting over who gets to drive.

“y’all are exhausting,” sam sighs one day, watching as you and joaquín argue over who got the better shot during training with isaiah. he leans back in his chair, eyes flicking between you. “why don’t you just kiss already and get out of my face?”

that shuts both of you up real quick. joaquín’s face flushes, his lips parting like he wants to argue but can’t quite find the words. you, on the other hand, scoff, rolling your eyes before looking anywhere but at him.

sam just grins, kicking his feet up onto the table. “uh-huh. that’s what i thought.”

bucky, passing by with his coffee, gives sam a long look. “aren’t you being too hard on those kids?”

“nah,” sam replies easily, smirking. “they love it.”

[writingwithgeoffrey]

It was all fun and games, always. you would have your silly little monologues, they would chase you around your little town—his slice of happiness, as you called it—you would push back, they would catch you … the usual routine for a Monday morning.

They knew you never caused any real harm. Mostly, you used your telekinesis to pluck a feather from a chicken or tickle a cow’s nose. Occasionally, you’d pull out something really devilish and paint someone’s entire house after they’d asked for it—the wrong color, obviously, just to make them mad.

Your laughter could often be heard filling the streets, a mix of pure enjoyment and mischievous debauchery. People would smile and wave, and often look the other way, just because, admittedly, your antics brought them joy, as well.

Not the superheroes. They always deemed you a waste of time, a nuisance that needed just one more day behind bars to stop you antics. They always scolded you, told you to stay out of trouble.

Really, though, on their days off, you were friends. It wasn’t ever a surprise to see you sitting outside a little diner with one of the superheroes, just chatting it up and enjoying your morning coffee. The superheroes always seemed to be fond of the more vegetarian options, opting for a “save as much life as possible” mindset. You ate meat because you thought bacon was delicious, nothing more.

It was an idyllic life, and you would’ve been content to continue well into your golden years. You should’ve known it was too good.

It started as a soft rumble through the ground underfoot, but you could feel it as clearly as if you were on a boat in the ocean. It rocked you, silenced you in your daily breakfast with a superhero, and drove you to stand. The superhero asked what was wrong. You silenced them.

A moment later, the town square erupted in a burst of magma, spewing molten lava across the cobblestones—cobblestones you’d helped shave and place as part of the renovations.

From within the fire emerged a single figure, one whom you recognized as a villain. Not a small-town villain like you, but a true-blue, willing-to-kill, supervillain. You stood, nervous, watching as the villain raised their hand, and your breath caught. In the villain’s grasp hung one of the local superheroes. Even from a distance, you could see they weren’t breathing.

“N-no …” You took a staggering step backward. You were supposed to have lunch with them tomorrow.

“God, these superheroes are annoying.” The villain tossed the body aside. You watched it roll to an unceremonious stop. “I thought there’d be less of them out in the countryside.”

“Stay here,” the superhero told you, and in a rush of wind, they flew toward the villain.

You could only watch as the superhero was caught by a hand through their stomach, coughing up blood onto the villain’s already crimson coat. Your breath hitched as you collapsed against the table.

“Hmph. A waste of my time, honestly. If I’d have known you would be this easy to dispatch, I would’ve just built my base already.”

A flick of the wrist was all it took for the superhero to be tossed aside. They landed at your feet, bleeding out, with no way to help them. Before you knew it, they were gone.

“Hmm. You there.”

You lifted your gaze to meet the villain’s. His eyes were full of boredom, with only the vaguest hint of intrigue. Yours was full of hatred, and rage, and a thirst for vengeance. This was your town, and the villain would pay.

“Ooh, I like that fire in your eyes. Why don’t you become my henchman?”

You raised your hand. Your powers rose to their fullest potential. You swore you’d never do this again, but now, you had no choice. He had decided to mess with the town you called home. The town that you loved and that loved you right back. You would show him just how wrong he was.

“What, you think I’m scared of a little person like you? Did you not see what I just did?”

You didn’t honor him with a verbal response. All you did was grab onto his limbs with your power, focus it, narrow your gaze, and in an instant, he was gone, compressed into a ball of nothingness less than a micrometer across. Whatever matter he may have once been turned into energy, but even that was contained by your power.

It didn’t matter, though. You dropped to your knees beside the superhero, brushed the hair from their lifeless eyes, tried your hardest to smile through the pain, and failed. Your tears still came. Nothing would ever stop them. Not even a return to the life you had once loved.

All because some fool thought they could intrude on your turf.

You pretend to be a small-time villain. At most, you annoy the local supers, but your crimes never hurt anyone. To you it's all good fun. Things change when a truly sadistic supervillain invades your turf and murders a few of the supers. No one has seen the extent of your true powers until now.

[psychhound]

announcing spiritkeep: a therapeutic ttrpg

howdy all! some big announcements!!!

first, im nearing the end of my master's program, studying rhetoric and writing, games, and educational psychology. im about halfway done with my thesis, and figured it was time to make an announcement …

my thesis, entitled "designing ​spiritkeep​: therapeutically applied RPGs as a discourse community" is … about what it says on the tin :) in it, I look at the practice of TA-RPGs, which are TTRPGs run for the express purpose of inducing therapeutic growth. TA-RPGs are usually run by a clinician, like a therapist or counselor, or a certified therapeutic game master. my thesis is looking at the needs of therapeutic game masters as a community and asking … what do they need from TTRPGs that isn't currently available?

the thesis takes concepts from rhetoric, linguistics, game studies, literature studies, psychology, and more to ask the question … what would a TTRPG specifically designed for therapeutic use look like? i examine concepts like bleed, close to home characters, dramatic rehearsal, performative speech acts, fixed vs growth mindsets, information processing theory, and more. i also look at criteria set forth by current TA-RPG practitioners for what makes a good TA-RPG, and examine five current games against those criteria. then, i put together the research into a foundation for spiritkeep, a dedicated TA-RPG

spiritkeep is designed around the goal of helping teens and adults heal from complex trauma

that said, its perfectly suitable for a homegame as well, as long as everyone is on the same page and approaches it with the mindset of collaborative growth. all in all, it's still going to be a fun game and a good TTRPG!!

in spiritkeep, you play as a smalltown taskforce with the shared goal of restoring your currently struggling community to a thriving state. you go out on missions like finding resources, diplomacy with neighboring cities, researching ecological problems, and more, while you slowly make your town a better place to live. spiritkeep includes collaborative worldbuilding, a large assortment of playbook options like the Wayfarer, the Knight, the Ghost, or the Shepherd (all designed to hit where it hurts, at least a little!), and a brand new system inspired by PBtA, FitD, BOB, WoD, and more. while the game is designed around grappling with identity and learning how to grow, it can also get a bit tactical and crunchy!! the new dice mechanic makes you think on your feet with every roll

this announcement is also to say that i am beginning the initial crowdfunding of the game through itch. right now, im trying to raise funds to pay the fee to my school to make my thesis open access, meaning anyone can read it. then, remaining funds will go towards things like resources, consultants, art for the kickstarter, and everything else i need to get this project off the ground. ideally, ill be able to team with a publisher to cover the logistics of business while i can focus on the game itself. once the game is finished, there will still be plenty of playtesting, consulting, and other work to do. but!!! this post marks my first steps towards what has been my dream for years now

this sale is how im starting the funding process. it includes the zine preview of my thesis, covering my chapter outline and big concepts, and also my first TA-RPG: with breath & sword, a solo game to help players calm down from anxiety. both items have community copies available: please feel free to grab one if you can't contribute !!

questions, comments, or partnership offers can be sent to psychhoundgames @ gmail(.)com

thanks y'all!!! wish me luck!!!! 🥰🥰🥰

[maskedcrawford]

Green Eyed Monster

G-Dragon x Reader x platonic! Jackson Wang

Summary: You and Jackson Wang get close through work and your ex isn't too keen on the fact that it looks like you've moved on.

Warnings: Some angst, fluff at the end.

A/N: Thank you to anon who requested, I got to try my hand at writing for Jackson Wang and I'm going to OPEN requests for him if you guys want something. Leave a like and/or a reblog if you enjoy! Much love <3

Requests are OPEN

You’re sitting in the makeup chair when you feel a pair of hands delicately touch your shoulders. You look up from your phone in the mirror and you see his big dark eyes and light brown hair in the mirror.

“Well, it took ya long enough, J,” you say with a teasing smile as you get up and hug him. You and Jackson Wang had been working together for the last 4 months on a song for your album and today you were shooting the video.

“Always a pleasure,” he says genuinely and returns your hug. Were you and Jackson together? No. Were there rumors about such things? Absolutely. The song being about love didn’t help matters. You guys had known each other briefly through mutual friends but when you had the idea for the song, you knew his vocals would take it to the next level.

“Jackson, Y/N!” the director shouts and you two spring into action with the video. The video itself was pretty intimate; the two of you on a bed tangled together in the sheets, touching, be all close and having no sense of personal space whatsoever. But, Jackson is a professional.

“So if I put my hand here,” he’s talking to the director and looks at you and you give him a nod before he touches your hip.

“And then I can slide it up like this,” he does the motion and pulls you closer to him.

“Yeah, that’ll work perfectly,” your director says and you roll with it.

“Let’s move on to the kiss,” the director announces after that scene. You blush as the time comes for the practical make out session that’s needed for the scene. Jackson was obviously cute, and him so being so respectful and kind? That only made it worse.

You can’t help the nervous laugh as you two are placed together and he starts smiling at you.

“You ok?” he asks genuinely, “We can figure something else out if we need to, find another way to,” you put your hand on his chest to stop him.

“I’m fine, seriously. Just don’t eat my face,” you wink at him with a chuckle. He gives you a gorgeous smile while shaking his head.

“Might be hard, you’re lookin extra good in that outfit,” he subtly looks you up and down. You two had a flirty relationship, but both of you knew it wouldn’t really go anywhere. The scene commences and you lock lips passionately and for a brief moment you forget its for a music video, that is until you hear the director call cut and you both slowly separate, a slight blush on both of your cheeks.

“That was great, guys. We’ll pick it up tomorrow!”

The video is done after a few days and the album dropped four months later. Your adventures continue with a world tour together, but tonight you were performing at the infamous MAMA awards. Since you two were doing a love song it was known that you would have to kiss for the sake of the performance.

“Look, people love us together,” you smile as you show him a picture you posted with a bunch of likes. He smiles as he clicks on the comments.

“This isn’t helping the dating rumors ya know,” he winks at you playfully and you roll your eyes.

“Us kissing every night doesn’t either, not to mention neither one of us have confirmed or denied anything. Besides, who we go out with really isn’t their business.”

“Ever since you made headlines with G-Dragon though, they think it is,” he corrects you.  You raise your eyebrows with a sigh that confirms he isn’t wrong.

You and Jiyong had been together 4 years, until the beginning of this year. Schedules got in the way, and Ji had admitted to kissing another woman at a party when he was drunk. It was a one-time thing and for a while you were able to move past it, but eventually, everything came crashing down.

“How could you still not trust me?” he shouted. You were in tears, your nerves were shot and honestly you didn’t want to have the argument.

“You were all over her, Ji. Tell me I’m lying! You kissed another woman before, it’s not like you couldn’t do that and more,” your voice was bitter and weak from tears.

“Oh my god, are you ever going to let it go?” he looked annoyed, he looked weak and desperate to escape the mistake that played through your mind more than you cared to admit. You loved him more than anything, more than life itself practically. But who was he to tell you how long it took to heal? Who was he to say that he atoned for what he did just because of a few ways he tried to make it up to you. Girls were constantly all over him so it wasn’t like he was in short supply. It had caused you to feel insecure, regardless of whether or not he was drunk.

The two of you stayed silent, deafeningly silent, until Ji finally sighs and rubs his temple with his fingers.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he mumbles, “I can’t keep paying for this when I think I’ve proven I’m not that person,” his eyes are cold, depleted of life. It broke him to do this, but he didn’t see any other way.

“We’re done,” he said before walking out of your house with nothing more than a kiss to the forehead.

“Earth to Y/N,” Jackson calls out and you shake your head pulling yourself out of the intense flashback.

“Huh, oh, sorry,” you sheepishly rub the back of your neck.

“Let’s practice one more time,” he takes your hand helping you stand up.

“Ji, have you seen this?” Taeyang was over at his house and pulled up the love song you and Jackson put out.

“Hmm?” he glances away from his phone and furrows his brows at the video. He see’s the two of you kiss on screen and he feels, that pang of jealousy. He’s seen the video before, he seen it the day it came out, actually. But he didn’t tell anyone. He didn’t want to think of it.

He hadn’t seen you since that night, not in person anyway. On TV shows and award ceremonies, he would watch, quietly support you and your career, even liking the first picture or two you posted of you and Jackson.

“They are performing tonight at the MAMA awards, so you’ll probably get to see her,” Taeyang calls out as he heads to the kitchen.

“She’s going to be there?” His voice is rushed, excited almost.

“Yup, we better go too, we’ll be late.”

You and Jackson are at the venue preparing for the show, hitting the choreography perfectly multiple times.

“OK, we gotta get dressed,” you say as you two come out of each other’s embrace

“We got this in the bag,” you both high five and he brings you in for a hug.

“You should really layer a little more deodorant,” you say with a giggle. He sniffs his shirt and makes a twisted face.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he laughs as he jogs off stage. As you walk off to go to the dressing room you stop as your breath hitches in your throat.

Ji-yong laughs as he feels someone stop and stare, he looks away from his manager and he spots you. His smile fades as he takes in your shocked face.

It’s still as beautiful as the first day he met you. He gives you a small wave and smile and you can’t move. His gaze is friendly and lingers for a moment. He starts to walk towards you, until he see’s Jackson come up behind you with his hand resting on your back. You look up at him directly and he can see the smile on your face when you look at him.

He feels the aching jealousy well up inside him but he pushes it down. You nod your head at something he says, and Jackson flits his gaze to Ji before giving a pursed lip smile and dragging you off with him in another direction.

“What could she possibly see in him?” Ji yong asks out loud not really expecting an answer.

“Hyung, did you really think she wouldn’t,” Ji-yong shoots Taeyang a glare, “Move on?” he finishes carefully.

“It’s been 8 months,” he tries to be gentle with Ji’s feelings, but the sting is too much. Jackson Wang was in a place he was supposed to be in. One he’d still be in most likely if he hadn’t of screwed up.

“Still fucking stings,” he grumbles. Taeyang sighs and gives his friend a hug.

“You both,” he pulls back and looks his friend in the face, “Need to move on. It’s time.” He tries to encourage him, tries to show him it’s healthy to move on, but the way Ji-yong loved you, despite his mistake, he was sure he’d never love anyone the same way.

“It’s not that easy, hyung.” He sighs as he sits down for the stylist to do his hair.

“She was everything, my muse, my rock, my reason for breathing. There were days I only got out of bed because I knew I would see her and that it would help make my day better,” he remembers fond memories as he talks to Taeyang about you. One of you and him riding the ferries wheel and getting stuck on top, that’s where your fist kiss was. When you accidently spilled ice cream on your top and he gave you jacket to cover it. When you’d both grow bored at parties after a little while and want to leave to just spend quiet time at home. He missed the way your touch made him feel like everything would work out, the way you made him feel like he was enough for exactly who he was. He sighs as he finishes getting ready for the show.

“Ok, are you ready for this?” Jackson asks you with anticipation.

“Absolutely, just don’t kiss me with tongue tonight,” you swat his arm and he laughs.

“No promises,” he winks and kisses your temple. You both get into position and the song starts as the lights go up. You follow the normal dance routine, spinning and swaying your hips to the beat, and kissing at the end of the song.

As the song is performed Ji can’t help but watch from the side of the stage, the way your body moves so gracefully and how it fits to Jackson’s so well when he had to wrap his arms around you, but it wasn’t the perfect way it fit Ji-yong’s. No, your body wouldn’t fit to anyone else’s the way it did his. He noticed the happy smile on your face, only noticing it falter when your eyes locked as you look his way.

The song ends and the lights go back down. You and him rush off stage and as soon as you are out of view you jump into his arms, adrenaline running high. He catches you with a huge smile on his face and he kisses your cheek sweetly. Ji-yong watches just off to the side and he rolls his eyes. He walks past you and you catch him out of the corner of your eye, his face deadpan.

You stay to the side of the stage to watch him perform. As he looks off to the side, he catches you watching, swaying your body to the music and nodding your head. He gives a half smile your way and you return one. His performance ends and he runs off stage he takes his mic off and before he can run to you, Jackson once again is in the place he wants to be, by your side.

“So, I was thinking, we could go down to the club and celebrate,” Jackson’s excited nature was infectious.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” you glance at Ji-yong who’s giving you a glare again and you furrow your brows at him.

“We’ll leave in a few, get changed!” He runs off to get his stuff together and you go to walk off, but before you can you feel a hand around your wrist pulling you back. You look back and see it’s Ji-yong who has an unreadable expression on his face. You look at each other for a moment.

“I really need to talk to you,” he pleads.

“I,” you look in the direction Jackson went and back at Ji who looks slightly hopeful you’ll stay.

“I can’t,” you say tearing your arm away. He lets you go and for a moment lets you walk away before following you.

“Y/n,” he catches the door to your room. You look over at him, he still takes your breath away, the way his hair clings to his forehead from the sweat, the way he looks at you with his dark eyes, the way his clothes somewhat soaked with sweat cling to his body.

“What, Ji? I have somewhere to be, Jackson isn’t going to wait on me forever,” he scoffs and looks off to the side, mumbling something to himself.

“You want to share with the rest of the class,” you sass him.

“Not really,” he sasses back. You roll your eyes.

“I’m changing so at least shut the door. He walks in and shuts it.

“I meant with you on the other side of it,” you shoot him a glare of annoyance.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen, held or tasted before,” he smirks and you roll your eyes with a sharp exhale.

“Whatever,” you pull your top off your head and his eyes go directly to your body, not in a sensual, sexual way, but in a way that he’s curious. He notices you’ve put on a just little weight in the last 8 months and you instinctively wrap your arms around your torso.

“Can you not, stare,” you pause looking away from him, “at me,” you hear his footsteps come closer and he lifts your chin with his thumb and index finger.

“You’re beautiful,” he slowly reaches for your arms to pull them away and he’s inches from your face.

“Ji-yong,” you put a hand on his chest pushing him back slightly. His eyes flash with hurt before he recovers.

“Be honest with me,” he says standing back further as you find a different shirt. While you’re slipping it over your head you hear him ask, “Does he touch you better than I did?”

“What? Who?!” You all but shriek.

“Your little fling,” he motions his hand as you pull the shirt over your head you take off your pants next and put on some comfortable leggings.

“What ‘fling’,” you ask bewildered by his audacity. He rolls his eyes, saying his name makes him feel ill.

“Your little affair with Jackson Wang, y/n, I know about it, and so does the rest of the world, besides with the way you were sucking face out there, you don’t try to hide it.” You can see his jealousy and you quirk a brow at him. You decide to have a little fun at his expense. After all if he’s going to be nosy and a jerk at the same time, why not have a little fun.

“What Jackson and I are, or aren’t,” you pause and stare at him directly into his eyes, “doing is none of your concern. You left me, Ji, who I’m with now is none of your business.” You strap on a pair of sandals and walk out the door leaving him standing there.

“Jackson,” you call out and race to him. You can feel Ji-yong watching you so you slip your hand in Jackson’s as you walk off.

At the club the music is loud and the drinks are good, but you start to let your mind wonder back to your ex-boyfriend.

“What are you thinking about,” Jackson yells over the music as he see’s you staring into space.

“Ji-yong,” you huff.

“He nods his head understandably. He heard about all of it, multiple times, and he knew you still loved him.

“You wanna dance?” His offer is intriguing and you decide it’s better than sitting there thinking of the guy who broke up with you. As you and Jackson dance you happen to look over your shoulder and see that face that makes your knees weak.

“Holy shit,” you yell and Jackson notices your body tense as he looks at you concerned.

“What?” you point to Ji-yong as the answer to his question.

“Go talk to him.” He tries to push you forward.

“No, he was a dick.” You pout. He nods and walks over to Ji-yong for you. You watch as he gets closer, and even buys your ex a drink.

“Listen, man, I don’t know what you’ve been told, but me and your girl,” you see him gesture to you, “We ain’t together.” He throws back a shot and so does Ji.

“She isn’t ‘my girl’,” he corrects solemnly.

“Could’ve fooled me. She talks about you constantly,” he chuckles and Ji-yong quirks his brow. Jackson knew you’d either thank him or kill him for this, but he wasn’t worried about that right now.

“She does?” he looks over to you, seeing you dance alone.

“Oh yeah, how bad she misses you, wishes things would’ve been different.” He nods his head and looks down at the bar.

“So what’s with the rumors and the kiss and,” Jackson nods interrupting him.

“We did the song together and just became close friends. As far as the kiss, management thought it’d be good for the song if we kissed like in the video. We’re completely platonic though.” He downs another shot, Ji-yong decides not to, he wants his head clear when talks to you.

“Go get her, man,” he encourages and Ji-yong nods his head as he makes his way to you. He slides in behind you while you dance and the intimate smell of cologne and cigarettes wafts to your nostrils. You feel his hand on your hips as he moves with you.

“Can we talk,” he asks in your ear and you just keep dancing, ignoring his words but not his touch, you bring his hands around your torso so he encapsulates you.

“Jagiya,” his voice is soft, sultry even, and once the music ends you sigh and turn to face him.

“Can I please talk to you,” you see Jackson at the bar smirking at you. You give him a half smile as you find an area in the club away from all the people.

“What is it,” you don’t know how else to ask.

“I miss you,” he’s straight to the point and you didn’t expect that.

“Ji,” you sigh.

“Look, I wasn’t planning on telling you, but I seen you with him tonight and I hated it. He had you the way I should, the way I did.” He steps closer to you; you back up hitting the wall. He closes the space, your mouths just inches apart. He’s intoxicating, the way he looks at you, smells, and just the feeling of his body near yours is electric.

“He kissed you the way I did, the way I still want to,” he mumbles as he caresses your cheek.

“Not really,” you utter barely above a whisper.

“Hmm,” he asks like he doesn’t understand.

“He didn’t,” you look into his dark, beautiful eyes, “kiss me the way you did. It wasn’t the same passion or love. It wasn’t the same feeling I got with you.” You feel your cheeks blush as you confess to him.

“His touch,” you runs your hands over his arms that are locked onto your hips now,“Isn’t the same. Its not as electrifying.” You look at him through your lashes.

He looks relieved.

“So, you really aren’t with him?” you shake your head no.

You bring your forehead to his and whisper to him, “I’m not with anyone, I’m yours Ji-yong, I always have been,” and before any other words can be said his lips are on yours, smoothly moving in sync and he pulls your impossibly closer as you fist his shirt.

“Aegiya,” he practically whimpers when you separate.

“I need you to come home.” You smile at his confession.

“Promise me something,” you say cautiously.

“Anything,” his desperate eyes search yours.

“You’ll give us time to rebuild trust and be patient with me,” you’re asking more than telling.

“As long as you want to trust me again, I’ll prove you can.” He smiles.

“Then lets get out of here,” you grin as he takes your hand and leads you out of the club.

If you enjoyed consider buying me a coffee

[lostintransist]

The Boys' Home | Part 6

*If you asked to be on a tag list and you haven't been, please ask again. Somtimes I think Tumblr eats my comments.

Part 1 | AO3

You loved them. Swear to any God you love your boys but FUCK! Sometimes the urging from childhood, the lizard brain screaming for peace, made it really hard to not lose your mind at them. All four of your boys were whining, fighting, and being a general nuance to each other and you. The grocery store would never be the place for them to fight like this.

Once a week during the summer you had to make a grocery run. Four growing boys at home every day meant they roved through any accessible food like locusts. If your local store offered pickup you would pay a decent amount to use it. It would save you from days like this.

Seth, at eleven, should have known better than to let Darren, at six, cause him so much distress. But being a preteen is a bit like being in hell so who knew how much he could hold back the yelling? Darren also fought with Sam, also six, and Reggie, ten.

Frankly, they all needed a nap and would argue they didn’t. The full moon incoming tonight helped only to fuel the chaos in their small bodies.

They had argued over who got to sit where and then during the drive over Reggie looked too long at Darren who screamed about the offense. Sam had started screaming that Darren was being too loud and then Seth tried to make them stop, by yelling. The nitpicking and annoyance at the others existing continued into the store. Halfway down the freezer aisle and that much closer to freedom. Glancing down at your list you curse in your head— you forgot about the milk and butter you needed. Of course, those marketing masochists had to put them in the back corner of the building.

As always you made note of where your boys were in relation to each other, the cart, and any other customers. Not many people in the freezer section today; a teenager who slowly read labels through the glass, two old men, shock white hair figuring them to be grandfather age, and the one man in a hat who ran numbers on the calculator on his phone.

Pushing the cart, and all four boys who have lost the privileges of walking without holding on, just beyond the freezer you needed you turned your focus away for two hells-damned seconds. No sooner than the blast of chilled air cooled against your skin than the yelling started.

The crinkle of the vegetable bag below your fingers did not drown out the sound of a different plastic screaming and small, roundish objects hitting the ground. Side-stepping and slamming the door shut you held back the yell by the thinnest of margins.

“Boys!” The mom voice came out in full force. “Enough! Clean up every grape you spilled.”

Four panicked faces stared up at you.

“Now!”

They scrambled to pick up each of what now appeared to be one hundred-plus tiny fruits rolling away in every direction. Movement had you looking up from the offending mess you see every man but one disappearing around the corner. You would call them cowards but you were interrupted.

“Powerful mum voice you have there,” John remarked as he watched your boys pick up every grape flung wide in their tomfoolery.

Glancing at your new neighbor you gauge the sarcasm as low. The tilt of his brows reads more as impressed and slightly annoyed than anything else.

“It’s a talent. My mom voice is stronger than my teacher voice.”

When Sam lifted a handful of grapes, bad intentions in his eyes, you let out two quick hisses of air. All the boys paused and glanced at you. Everyone but Sam turned back to their task as they realized they were not the child in trouble. Eye contact with your boy and a quick head shake were enough of a redirect to avoid further problems.

“Never could quite figure out how my mum could call us all to order so easily. Watching you do it makes me wonder which is stronger, my captain voice or your mom voice.” John has now joined you as the boys scoop and deliver their mistreated goods back into the bag.

A light smile drifts over your lips, even as your chest remains tight.

“I bet the mom voice would work well on your Johnny, and probably Kyle. Jury’s out on Simon,” you wink when John catches your eye. “Bet if I caught you with it I would get a reaction though.”

John let out a belly laugh, big enough to drift. An older woman toddled past the other end of the aisle. Well guess the conversation would be town-wide by desert.

“You know what? I’ll take your bet. What are you offering?”

The boys were nearly done. Thinking fast you blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“If I win you agree to man the grill for the neighborhood meetup you can make it to. Next one is in two weeks.”

They were always hosted at your house, which is fine but that meant you were in charge of the grill. Mostly you were in charge of the grill because the last time any of the men had touched it they left it so gross you banned them from touching it again. You hated cooking meat. It freaked you out that everything might not be fully cooked.

Folding his arms John nodded slowly, as if thinking it over.

“Seems like a good offer. If I win I ask for deserts for our next poker night.”

A fair offer. Equal in labor, skill, and expectation as to what you would demand as your winnings.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” offering John your hand, you shake on it.

“Got a good grip there teach,” he patted you on the shoulder.

Something about that interaction tickled your brain. But as the boys were finally finished cleaning up the mess they had made you needed to leave it.

“Good. Hands on the cart,” you fired off the command.

“But mom!” Seth cried, affronted in only a way an eleven-year-old can be.

“But Seth!” You whined back before dropping into a deadpan expression. “Kid we have two things left to grab. You can grab the cart or I can ask John here to take you home.”

Neither looked terribly impressed with the option. They made eye contact before Seth grabbed the wire of the cart with a sigh.

John lifts a brow at you.

“Welcome to small towns John. You can and will be used as punishment by other people’s parenting,” you reply with a shrug and a grin. “Alright boys, let’s go.”

He chuckles behind you as you push your full cart and the four dour-faced children who want nothing to do with the buzzing lights of the store. Once the milk and butter were secured the boys convinced you to buy some popcorn. Shareable snack acquired you were able to direct the chaos toward check out.

This step moved fast. Seth and Reggie both scampered to the end of the second conveyor belt and bagged all the groceries the cashier sent their way. Darren and Sam touch every fucking thing within their limited reach until you threaten them with getting put in the cart.

Mary Ann is your cashier today. She had been one of your students two years ago, passing math and even taking online math courses through the community college two towns over. Her dad, Richard, talked about her going off to a fancy college once her associates were done. You had offered to write her a letter of recommendation if ever she needed or wanted it. Mary Ann was a good kid. She might now be twenty but until you were dead, she would be one of your kids.

“Heard you snapping at the boys in the freezer aisle. Everything going okay?” Her hands don’t stop moving even as Mary Ann asks the question.

The eye roll is unstoppable.

“The hooligans need a nap,” Darren and Sam start to protest but you ignore them and finish your sentence. “There was an incident with the grapes. We got it all cleaned up though.”

“Oh good,” Mary Ann scanned the last item and tapped a few buttons on her side. “Your total is—”

She got cut off by Reggie wailing like a hot brand had been taken to his ass.

Slamming your card against the reader you cursed the heartbeats until it beeped. Reggie was now screaming for you and Seth was yelling. Once the awful beep that always made you think your card declined sounded you were snatching Sam and Darren by the hands and snapping at Seth and Reggie to ‘push the fucking cart and if you don’t quit screaming in here.’

The violence of their voices continues. Reaching the van you turn it on, plug in your phone, turn on the most bass-heavy song you can find in a short glance, and up the volume. Seth and Reggie climb in first, to the way back followed by Sam and Darren who click themselves into their booster seats. They all know that if you are turning on the bass it is to drown them all out and screaming will do nothing but cause you to roll the windows down and turn the volume up even higher.

Was it good parenting? No. But it kept you from wrecking the fucking van so it wasn’t the worst choice you could make. Loading the groceries in the back you give in to your anger a tiny bit and slam the door closed. Angrily stalking the cart back to the corral and sending it careening in also helps a bit.

Parenting is the hardest thing you’ve ever done, and most of that comes from confronting your own damn issues. Sometimes though? It is hard because it’s hard to be near a person learning to be a person.

Each child is given a bag or two to take inside and deposit on the counter before they are free to disappear into the woods or up to their rooms. The absence of them in your space and face lets you take the deepest breath and scream into your hands. The small bones shake from the force of your yelling.

“Okay. You can do this. Fuck, the full moon is tonight and then you should get your children who don’t hate that someone breathed near them back.” Taking another deep breath you start putting everything away, still talking to yourself. “We can have chicken nuggets, mac’n’cheese, and salad. Popcorn and a movie before bed and then a large glass of something for me.”

Face in the freezer as you rearranged everything to fit as Simon’s voice from outside scared you into a shriek.

“Do you always talk to yourself?”

Boys Masterlist | Masterlist

@leahnicole1219 @harperstyles @sigynxlokiwifelover @fluffysmiko @lily-bug3 @demothers-empty-blog @literallegendicon

[solarmorrigan]

3 & 4 steddie? I love everyone's takes on eddie interacting with steve after the halloween party in s2💛

So! A thing about me is that I'm actually not always comfortable writing about drinking. The "why" of it is kind of a moving target, and I really should have just nixed "drunk" as an option in the tags, so that's my bad D: But! I think I got the rest of your prompt in pretty alright??

4. Cry - Eddie &/ Steve

-

Eddie had only been looking for a quiet place to smoke. Business is great at parties like this, but sometimes he needs a break from all the hubbub. The backyard had been milling with people, but as Eddie had trailed out towards the edge of the property, close to the tree line of the woods behind the house, the crowds had dwindled to nothing, leaving undisturbed peace in their wake.

At least, Eddie had thought so.

It takes a minute for him to notice the new noise – the soft, inconsistent huffs of air working counter to the sound of the whispering breeze. It’s the sound of someone gasping, he realizes, cold anxiety beginning to pool in his gut.

Is someone hurt? Had some drunken idiot wandered out back here, maybe fallen or run into a tree and injured themselves? Were they too hurt to get back up? But, no – as Eddie gets closer to the source of the noise, it becomes clear it isn’t pained gasping, it’s the hitched-breath sound of sobbing.

And just as he starts to think maybe he should just give this person their privacy, let them have a good cry in peace like they clearly intended, he rounds a tree and sees exactly who it is that’s come out into the woods in their lament.

He can’t see the face, but even in the half-light spilling out from the house, the head of hair is unmistakable: Eddie’s just crashed Steve Harrington’s private backwoods breakdown.

For a moment, Eddie is frozen, unsure of what to do. He feels a little like Actaeon stumbling across Diana bathing in the forest, and at any moment he’s going to be turned into a stag for witnessing something he shouldn’t have (and take that, Mrs. Davis – he does pay attention in English class. To the cool parts, at least). Except it doesn’t seem like Steve has noticed him yet, still wrapped up in whatever’s got him miserable, so maybe Eddie can just make a clean getaway? Pretend none of this ever happened?

Intending to do just that, he takes one careful step back and puts his foot down directly on what is apparently the loudest twig in existence. The crack of it rings out like an alarm, and Steve’s head snaps up, his cheeks shining wet in the low light, glancing around frantically until his eyes land on Eddie.

“Uh,” Eddie says, raising one careful hand in greeting. “Hey.”

That seems to knock Steve back into action. He swears, reaching up to wipe roughly at his face, running a hand through his hair, probably trying desperately to look like he hadn’t just been crying. Eddie figures he should probably let him, give him some plausible deniability, pretend he hadn’t been able to see anything in the dark, that he hadn’t heard anything at all. Except now that he’s here, Eddie finds he can’t quite leave well enough alone. He’s curious.

And maybe he feels a little bad for the guy. Just a little. He looks sort of devastated from where Eddie is standing, eyes wide and wet, cheeks red, hair disheveled (but still goddamn pretty. How is that even fair?).

“You, uh… You okay?” Eddie tries, feeling a little lame in the attempt.

“Yeah,” Steve snaps, running a hand down over his face again. “I’m fine.”

Clearly.

“Did you come here with someone?” Eddie asks. “Like… someone I can go get?”

“What? I’m not drunk or anything, man, I’m fine,” Steve huffs, leaning back against the tree he’d been half-hidden behind, shoulders still slumped.

“No, yeah, I just – like, whatever’s going on with you, I figured maybe a friend would be… better,” Eddie says, waving a hand vaguely at Steve, who scoffs at him. “Wait– Wheeler. You came with her, didn’t you?”

That doesn’t get an answer – not a verbal one, anyway. All Steve does is sniffle and glance away.

“Ah,” Eddie finds himself nodding, speaking before he can stop himself, “trouble in paradise?”

Steve scoffs again. “You know what?” he asks harshly. “When your girlfriend says you’re bullshit, and that your love is bullshit, and blames you for her friend dying, you start to think that maybe there was no paradise to begin with.”

Eddie blinks. That’s a lot to process. “I thought Holland ran away?” he asks after a moment, because apparently that’s the thing to focus on.

“Right. Ran away,” Steve spits out, and that’s – hm.

What do you know that I don’t, Steve Harrington? Eddie wonders.

He doesn’t ask, of course, because nosy as he is, Eddie also has a healthily developed sense of self preservation, and this seems like the sort of thing he shouldn’t be prying into.

“That’s kinda fucked up, man,” he says instead. “She seriously accuse you of that?”

Steve shrugs, says nothing, but still looks miserable enough that Eddie would believe it. Whatever went down between Steve and Nancy had clearly been a hell of a mess. He isn’t entirely sure why he cares (his persistent soft spot for strays is honestly a bitch sometimes), but he finds he doesn’t want to leave Steve like this, depressed and alone in the woods on Halloween.

He reaches into his jacket pocket and withdraws his pack of cigarettes, shaking two out into his hand. Steve tenses when Eddie takes a few steps closer, but the only thing Eddie does is offer him a cigarette. There’s a moment of confused staring, eyes flicking between Eddie’s face and the cigarette in his hand, but eventually Steve reaches out to take it.

Eddie takes a chance, leaning in a little closer to offer him a light, and Steve takes it, the warmth of his face near Eddie’s cupped palm feeling almost as strong as the flame from the lighter.

Eddie drops his hand as soon as the cigarette is lit. He needs to get a grip. He lights his own cigarette and takes a drag.

“Thanks,” Steve croaks once he’s blown out his first breath of smoke.

“Don’t mention it,” Eddie replies.

They smoke in silence for a minute, watching the backlit figures of drunken teenagers churn in and out of the house before them.

“Maybe she’s right,” Steve finally says.

“Hm?” Eddie glances over at him, but Steve is glaring at the ground.

“Love,” Steve sneers. “Maybe it’s really just bullshit.”

And something about that just hits Eddie wrong. Maybe he’s never believed in love, as such—not the way it’s described in poetry or sung about in ballads or written about in shlocky romance novels—but Steve clearly does. Anyone who’s been around him and Nancy for more than a minute in the last year could see that. For it to be otherwise feels like it goes against the natural order.

“Nah,” Eddie says. “Love is out there, man. The real shit, y’know? Stuff worth fighting for.”

Steve lets out a little snort, more amused than derisive, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. “You’re not a romantic, Munson,” he says, so sure of himself – which is fair.

“Oh, I’m a cynic through and through, baby,” Eddie says, grinning when Steve gives him a little laugh. “But you – you’re a romantic. You don’t really believe that love is bullshit. And you shouldn’t.”

Subsiding, Steve leans back against his tree, taking another drag of his cigarette like he’s stalling for time. “Why do you care what I believe?” he finally asks.

Eddie shrugs. “The world needs people like you. Romantics. Dreamers. You keep people like us pessimists from collapsing beneath the weight of our own dark souls.”

“What?” Steve coughs out, really laughing this time, and Eddie smiles right along with him.

“Just saying,” he offers.

Steve shakes his head. “Okay, drama kid. And I’m guessing people like you – what? Help people like me keep our feet on the ground?”

“Sure,” Eddie says. “Everyone needs a rock now and then. A nice solid foundation to start from.”

“Hm,” Steve hums, finishing off his cigarette as Eddie does the same. “Well – you’re, uh. You’re a pretty good rock, Eddie. Thanks.”

“Yeah, man,” Eddie says, pretending that the weird little compliment hadn’t made him light up just a bit. “Don’t mention it.”

And Steve doesn’t, but the smile he gives Eddie – well. What’s something else.

[marscardigan]

family line, part vii

ellie williams x fem!reader

family line masterlist

summary: falling in love with ellie was easy. it was harder to hate her once you knew she was the one hunting your sister.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: this fic doesn’t follow the original plot of the last of us part ii. canon typical violence. no use of y/n.

The world felt distant.

Your body was heavy, your head throbbed, the steady pulse of pain syncing with the dull ringing in your ears. Every breath was shallow, slow, like your lungs had forgotten how to work properly.

It took effort just to open your eyes.

The theater’s dim lighting made everything look hazy. The room smelled like old wood, and dried blood.

Your sluggish gaze dragged to the figure sitting nearby. Ellie.

She was hunched over in a chair beside the couch, elbows on her knees, fingers threaded through her hair. The moment she saw you stir, she sat up straight, her breath catching.

"You’re awake," she whispered, like she didn’t quite believe it.

You didn’t respond.

She leaned forward slightly, like she wanted to move closer but didn’t know if she should. Her green eyes swept over you, scanning for any sign of pain.

"You—uh, you lost a lot of blood," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "But I stitched you up. I'm not as good as you, but—uhm, you should be okay."

Silence.

Ellie exhaled through her nose, rubbing the back of her neck. Her fingers were still stained red in places, dried and cracked against her skin.

"You need to eat."

She reached down, grabbing a can of food from the floor. When she opened it, the soft scrape of metal felt too loud in the quiet room.

She scooped up a small bite with a spoon and held it toward you.

Nothing.

Her hand hovered in the air, waiting.

"Come on," she tried again, her voice quieter. "Just a little."

You barely had the strength to shake your head, but you did. The smell made your stomach churn, and you could still taste the metallic flavour in your throat.

Ellie swallowed. She didn’t lower the spoon right away, like she was waiting for you to change your mind. But you didn't.

She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back as she sat there, staring at the ceiling.

"We can’t stay here," she said finally, voice tight. "Tommy and Dina already left. It’s just us."

Still, you said nothing, your lower lip trembling as you remember Dina's bloodied face.

Ellie shifted in her seat, restless. You could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers flexed against her jeans. Like she was holding something back.

"You’re gonna have to talk to me at some point," she muttered, not looking at you.

Your throat felt tight. You kept your gaze locked on the floor as if it was the only thing keeping you sane right now.

"Right. Okay." She stood up abruptly, pacing the length of the room before stopping at the doorway. For a moment, it seemed like she might leave. But she didn’t.

She just stood there, gripping the doorframe tightly.

"You saved my life," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just—I don’t get it. Why would you do that?"

You shut your eyes, and Ellie didn’t push for an answer.

She just let the silence hang between you, before finally turning away.

When the door clicked shut behind her, you exhaled shakily, curling in on yourself as the weight of everything pressed down all over again.

Hours passed, and even if neither of you slept, you were still weak, and Ellie was restless, moving like she was running out of time. You didn't seem to react to anything, your head numb as you looked at your shaking fingers.

"We need to leave." Her voice cut through the silence. You barely proceeded the information.

She was already grabbing supplies, checking weapons, shoving things into her bag like it was her last day on earth. Like she was expecting someone to come through that door and finish what the world had started.

You didn’t move, and her jaw clenched. "I know you can hear me."

Still, you said nothing.

A heavy exhale, and then she crouched in front of you, green eyes searching your face. "You’re in no shape to walk, but we don’t have a choice." A beat of silence. "Can you stand?"

You swallowed, your throat raw.

You should shake your head. You should say something.

But you did neither.

Ellie’s expression twisted. Maybe she was angry. Maybe she just didn’t know what to do with you.

"Okay." She nodded once, "then I’ll carry you."

You barely had time to react before she was crouching, looping one of your arms over her shoulder, and hoisting you up. Your legs nearly buckled the second your feet touched the floor, but Ellie held you up, her grip firm but careful.

She was warm. Too warm. She felt like safety, and you hated that.

Ellie sighed, shifting your weight against her. "Let’s go."

The first few hours were unbearable.

Every step sent bolts of pain through your body. Ellie stayed close, letting you lean against her when you needed to, never saying anything about how slow you were moving.

She should've left you behind. It would've been so much easier. But she didn’t.

It wasn’t until the sun was beginning to set that Ellie stopped.

"Okay, so, we’re taking a break."

She helped you lower yourself onto a fallen log, dropping her bag to the ground. You watched as she pulled out a can of food, a water bottle, and a few crumpled ration bars. She opened one and held it out to you.

You didn’t take it.

Ellie’s fingers twitched, her voice tense. "You need to eat."

Nothing.

"You haven’t said a single goddamn word since you woke up, and now you’re not even eating? What, are you trying to die?"

You didn’t flinch, didn’t react.

Ellie exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over her face before crouching in front of you again. "Look. I know you’ve been through shit. I get it. But you need to eat something. Don't care if you don't even speak to me ever again, just want you to get better. Please."

Something in her voice made your chest ache.

She was trying, really hard. And you knew you weren't doing things easy for her, and she still hadn't left you.

You swallowed, your voice hoarse from not using it. "I’m not hungry."

Ellie froze. "Jesus. I was starting to think you fucking forgot how to talk."

You shifted uncomfortably.

She didn’t push you again. Just handed you the food and muttered, "Try." And so you did.

The sky was dark by the time you found the cabin.

It was small, tucked between the trees near a lake, long abandoned, but intact.

Ellie scouted ahead, checking for infected before calling you inside.

The second your legs gave out, she was there, easing you onto the old couch near the fireplace.

"We’ll stay here tonight," she murmured. "Maybe longer."

You didn’t argue. Ellie sighed, rubbing her face. "I’ll set up some traps outside. Get a fire going."

You barely heard her.

The theater was behind you. Abby was behind you. The scars, the wounds, the ghosts—they were all behind you.

But they still felt so close.

You curled into yourself on the bed, arms wrapped tightly around your legs as silent tears slipped down your cheeks. Muffled sniffles filled the quiet space, but then, you felt warmth. Two arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. When you didn't push her, she started pecking you small kisses on your back. You stopped crying moments later.

Abby’s breath was ragged by the time she reached the theater. She scanned the room, eyes darting from the old furniture to the bloodstained ground where she had left Ellie gasping for air.

Then, her gaze landed on it. Your Spider-Man comic.

It sat abandoned on a nearby chair, slightly bent at the corners, worn from the way you used to flip through it over and over again.

She swallowed, throat tight, as she reached for it with unsteady hands. The second she lifted the cover, something slipped out and fluttered to the ground.

A folded piece of paper.

Abby knew what it was before she even picked it up.

Her fingers trembled as she unfolded it, breath catching as her eyes scanned the words written in your familiar, messy handwriting.

Abby,

If you’re reading this, it means you came back, but I already left.

You don’t have to look after me anymore. You’re free now.

I will always be grateful for you; for your protection, your unconditional support, and the love you’ve given me for as long as I can remember. Thank you for shutting down my nightmares, for holding me until I stopped crying, for being my safe place when the world felt too cruel.

We’ve always been different—opposites, really. But no matter what, you’re my sister. You always will be. Our paths have been pulling us apart for a while now, and as much as it breaks my heart, I know we both have to move forward. You deserve to chase your dreams, your ambitions. And so do I.

Even if our lives take us in different directions, I know we’ll find each other again. One day, when we’re both okay.

I'm okay now. I’ll be okay. And I hope you will be too.

I love you so much.

—Bug

No. Abby’s vision blurred, the ink smudging as a single tear splashed onto the page. Then another. She sucked in a shaky breath, her fingers gripping the paper so tightly it crumpled in her grasp.

How could you say that? How could you accept this?

How could you be strong enough to walk away when she wasn’t?

She had spent her entire life making sure you were okay. She had promised to protect you, to keep you, and now… now, she was grasping at nothing.

The realization hit her in full force, a broken sob tore from her throat as her forehead was pressed against the crumpled letter as if it could somehow bring you back.

As her chest ached, she allowed herself to crumble.

The cabin smelled like pine and woodsmoke, warm and safe against the crisp autumn air outside. The morning light spilled through the window, catching the dust motes that floated lazily through the air. Outside, the lake stretched endlessly, its surface rippling with the gentle touch of the wind.

It was peaceful here. Safe.

And, for the first time in what felt like forever, home.

You stretched beneath the thick quilt, blinking against the golden sunlight as warmth pressed into your side. Ellie’s arm was draped over your waist, her breath soft against the nape of your neck. She always slept like this—like she was afraid you’d slip away if she didn’t hold you close.

You shifted slightly, feeling her stir behind you. A soft groan left her lips as she buried her face into your shoulder.

"Mm… too early," she muttered, voice thick with sleep.

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut again. "You say that every morning."

She hummed in response, pulling you impossibly closer. "And I’m always right."

You let yourself sink into the warmth of her, savoring the slow, quiet morning.

It hadn’t been easy to get here.

The first few weeks had been… rough. You barely spoke. Eating was a chore, sleep was filled with nightmares, and the weight of everything that had happened clung to you both like a second skin. But Ellie never pushed. She just stayed. Kept the fire going, made sure you ate at least something, and waited.

And then, one day, the silence cracked.

It was over something small. A comment about how she sucked at fishing. And then, a quiet laugh—your own. It had been a weak, broken thing, but Ellie had looked at you like you’d just given her the goddamn world.

And after that, things got easier.

Now, eight months later, you were here. In this tiny cabin by the lake, tangled up in Ellie’s arms like it was the only place you were ever meant to be.

You turned in her arms, facing her. Her hair was a mess, auburn locks sticking out in every direction, and her face was soft, relaxed in a way that made your heart ache. You reached up, brushing a few stray strands away from her freckled cheek.

Her eyes cracked open, sleepy and hazy, a slow smirk tugging at her lips. "S’not fair, waking me up just to stare at me."

You rolled your eyes. "You’re the one who came back to bed."

"Because it’s warm," she murmured, tucking her face into the crook of your neck. “And you’re here.”

Your chest ached in the best way. You knew it hadn't been easy for Ellie either. After all, you were Abby's sister, you shared blood with the one who ended Joel's life. And even if you didn't look alike, Ellie could sometimes see traces of Abby deep in your eyes. She tried to fight the image away, tell herself that it was you who was by her side, not her, but sometimes you do needed to give her some time. Because healing took time. And so did forgiveness.

You pressed a kiss to the top of her head, fingers tracing lazy patterns against the bare skin of her back. "You wanna go fishing today?" you asked.

Ellie groaned dramatically. "Ugh. Do we have to?"

"You need a shower, you kinda stink, baby."

That made her pause. Then, with a sigh, she nodded. You grinned, pressing another kiss against her hair before slipping out of bed.

Ellie groaned at the loss of warmth, but followed soon after, stretching her arms above her head before pulling on one of her flannels—yours, actually. She stole them all the time. But so did you.

The two of you fell into the rhythm of morning, moving around each other with practiced ease. Ellie stoked the fire while you grabbed your boots. She handed you a steaming mug of tea with a lopsided smile, and you swore it tasted better just because she made it.

The plan was simple: clean some clother by the lake, as Ellie tried to catch some fish. But, as always, Ellie had a way of turning even the most common tasks into something ridiculous.

You had just started washing some clothes in the metal basin outside when Ellie came up behind you, arms snaking around your waist as she rested her chin on your shoulder. "You know, we could just let the rain wash our clothes," she mused.

You snorted. "That’s disgusting."

"Survival, baby."

You flicked some water at her, making her yelp and jump back. "Alright, now you’ve done it."

Before you could react, Ellie scooped up a handful of water and flung it at you, soaking the front of your shirt.

"Ellie!"

She cackled, dodging as you swiped at her. “Now you look good.”

"Oh, you’re so dead."

You abandoned the laundry entirely, lunging at her. She tried to escape, but you were quicker, tackling her to the ground. She groaned dramatically as she hit the dirt, laughing breathlessly as you pinned her down.

"I surrender, I surrender!" she wheezed between chuckles, her hands coming up in a weak defense.

You squinted at her, pretending to consider it. Then, leaning down, you pressed a quick kiss to the tip of her nose before rolling off of her with a satisfied hum.

Ellie blinked, momentarily stunned. "That’s so unfair."

You smirked. "Tough luck, babe."

She groaned, dragging a hand down her face, but the smile tugging at her lips gave her away.

The lake shimmered under the afternoon sun, gentle ripples distorting its glassy surface as Ellie stood knee-deep in the water, her makeshift fishing spear gripped tightly in her hands. She was focused, brows furrowed, every muscle tense as she waited for the perfect moment.

You sat on the shore, leaning back on your palms, watching her with a fond smile. Ellie took everything so seriously—even catching a couple of fish for dinner had turned into some epic hunt in her mind.

Then—quick as lightning—she lunged forward, the spear slicing through the water. A second later, she yanked it back, grinning triumphantly as a decent-sized fish flailed at the end of it.

"Would ya look at that!" she called, holding it up for you to see. "Told you I’m a pro now."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Baby, you literally missed the last four times."

"Yeah, but this time I didn’t," she shot back, wading back toward the shore. "Which makes me officially the greatest fisher in this whole damn lake."

You raised a brow. "I think the bears might have you beat."

Ellie plopped down next to you, dropping the fish into the bucket beside her before nudging your shoulder, pouting. "Shut up and be impressed."

You only hummed in response, your gaze drifting from her to your hand, where the silver band on your finger caught the sunlight.

The ring had been Ellie's discovery—something she’d found months ago while the two of you were scavenging through an old house. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a simple band, slightly worn, but the meaning it had was priceless.

She hadn’t even asked. Just got down on one knee right then and there, dirt on her jeans, a shit-eating grin on her face as she held it up to you.

'So,' she had said, 'you wanna be stuck with me forever or what?'

It was the easiest question you’d ever answered.

You twisted the ring absentmindedly, smiling softly.

Ellie noticed. "Whatcha lookin’ at?"

You lifted your hand, showing her the ring proudly.

Ellie’s lips quirked up. "Admiring my excellent taste?"

"Just thinking," you murmured, scooting closer, "that technically, I’m Mrs. Williams now."

Ellie blinked, her smirk faltering for half a second before her entire face lit up. "Holy shit."

You raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You just called yourself Mrs. Williams," she said, her voice laced with pure delight.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. "Well… yeah. That is what happens when you get married."

Ellie practically tackled you, sending you both tumbling onto the grass as she hovered over you, her hands on either side of your face. "Say it again."

You snorted. "Ellie—"

"Say it again."

You bit your lip, pretending to think about it before whispering, "Mrs. Williams."

Ellie groaned dramatically, dropping her forehead against yours. "God, I love you."

You giggled, running your fingers through her damp hair. "Yeah, yeah. I know."

She pulled back just enough to look at you, green eyes soft and full of something that made your chest ache in the best way. "You are really stuck with me now," she murmured.

You brushed your nose against hers. "Wouldn’t want it any other way."

Ellie grinned before capturing your lips in a kiss, slow and sweet, the kind that made the rest of the world disappear.

Back inside, your wife stood at the small kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up as she attempted to prepare lunch.

"Told you I can cook," she said, carefully chopping up some carrots with a look of pure concentration plastered in her face.

You leaned against the doorway, watching with amused skepticism. "You burnt canned soup last week."

"That was one time."

You snorted but let her continue, stepping in only when she nearly cut her finger for the third time. "Okay, okay, move over before you lose a hand."

She huffed but let you take over, leaning against the counter as she watched. "Y’know, I think I like watching you cook more than actually doing it."

"Oh yeah?"

She grinned. "Yeah. It’s hot."

You flicked a piece of carrot at her. "Go set the table, you perv."

She laughed, dodging the attack, but did as she was told.

After dinner, the two of you settled on the couch, Ellie stretching out with her head in your lap as you absentmindedly ran your fingers through her hair. She hummed softly, eyes fluttering shut.

"Mm… this is nice," she murmured sleepily.

You smiled, brushing your thumb along her temple. "Yeah. It is."

Silence settled between you, warm and comfortable. Ellie shifted slightly, her arm draping over your waist as she nuzzled into you.

And just like that, whatever plans you had for the rest of the night faded away. The world outside could wait.

For now, it was just you and Ellie, wrapped up in the kind of peace neither of you ever thought you’d get to have.

a/n: did someone said... DOMESTIC ELLIE???? I did. It was me. I love her. Also, next chapter is kinda going to be the last one... I'm actually so sad bc i love this series with my heart, but I swear I'll give you an ending to remember :)

taglist !

@kaykeryyy @vahnilla @autisticintr0vert @leavemeinthewater @alexandra-001 @liasxeatt @urge-to @catrapplesauces @jhyoos @womenlover0 @sevyscoven @antobooh @brooks-lin @sleepingwasp @iamhellagae @moki-nat

[mediocre-shark-tales]

The Worst Weekend Ever

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

Trigger Warning - Death + Grief + Panic Attack

I sat motionless in my room, staring blankly at the screen in front of me.

P18.

The number felt like a punch to the gut every time I looked at it. I blinked hard, but it didn’t change. No last-minute miracle, no sudden jump up the order. Just me, stuck in a position I had no business being in.

This was shaping up to be one of my worst weekends. A sprint weekend, which meant I had only one practice session—one chance to figure out how the car handled on this track. And I had blown it.

I should have done better.

I needed to do better.

I had spent the entire offseason working harder than I ever had before, refining my skills, studying every weakness in my driving. I wasn’t supposed to be fighting just to stay out of last place.

A tightness grew in my chest, heavier than the bruises and cracked ribs from last weekend's crash. I swallowed hard, but the feeling didn’t go away. I could hear the voices creeping in, whispering doubts that I had spent years learning to drown out.

Maybe you’re not as good as you think you are.Maybe they were right—maybe you never should have been here in the first place.

I shook my head, trying to push them down, but it was like trying to fight a riptide.

I exhaled sharply, my hands clenched into fists against my legs. I needed to focus on what I could control. I needed to do something. But for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was suffocating in my own helplessness.

What if this was it? What if I had hit my limit?

No. I couldn’t think like that. I couldn’t afford to think like that.

I forced myself to stand, ignoring the way my body screamed in protest. It didn’t matter how much I hurt. It didn’t matter how much my mind was turning against me.

I had to fix this. Somehow.

Sprint Qualifying was next. This was where I turned things around.

I would push myself and the car to the absolute limit. That was how I fixed this. That was the only way I could fix this.

The countdown to the session ticked away on the garage screen. Ten minutes. My hands tightened into fists as I rolled my shoulders, wincing at the dull ache still lingering in my ribs. I didn’t have time to dwell on pain, frustration, or doubt. My job was simple—get in the car and drive.

As I suited up, my mind drifted to my uncle. He was coming tomorrow to watch qualifying for the Grand Prix. He had always been one of my biggest supporters, never questioning whether I belonged here. He believed in me even on the days when I struggled to believe in myself.

I wanted to make him proud. I wanted to dedicate a good finish to him.

But for that to happen, I needed to get my head straight.

This weekend wasn’t going as planned, but I had to be smart about it. If I wasn’t fighting for points in the sprint, then I needed to use it for something else. If I could pinpoint exactly where I was losing time—where my weaknesses were—then I could make sure tomorrow’s real qualifying session would be different.

This was a long game. I wasn’t out of it yet.

The sun hung low over the circuit as I strapped into the car, my visor reflecting the floodlights beginning to glow around the track. The team went through final checks, and then I was given the all-clear to leave the garage.

The moment I rolled onto the track, everything else faded. The noise, the tension, even the pressure clawing at the edges of my mind—it all disappeared. All that mattered was the car beneath me and the road ahead.

I took my warm-up lap steady, weaving slightly to get heat into the tires before opening it up. My first push lap wasn’t aggressive—I needed clean data, a starting point to build from.

The car felt better than it had this morning, but it still wasn’t perfect. The front end wasn’t biting into the corners the way I wanted, and I felt like I was scrubbing off too much speed mid-corner.

I noted it. Adjusted. Went again.

By the time the final runs of SQ1 began, I was sitting right on the edge of safety. I needed to improve. I could improve.

I took a deep breath and started my final lap.

The first sector was smooth—I hit every apex and carried more speed into Turn 4 than I had all session. The middle sector was where I needed to be precise, and I adjusted my braking points just enough to feel the difference. The car wanted to fight me, but I forced it to stay clean, to stay fast.

As I crossed the line, my engineer’s voice crackled over the radio.

"That’s enough, you’re through. Good work."

I exhaled. One step forward.

SQ2 was a different beast. The track was ramping up, getting faster with every lap. I pushed, but so did everyone else.

My first run placed me 14th. The car still wasn’t responding the way I wanted, but I was finding ways to work with it rather than against it. I adjusted again for my second attempt, braking just a fraction later into Turn 1, trusting the grip to hold through the high-speed corners.

It worked—13th place flashed on my dashboard as I crossed the line.

That was it.

Not spectacular. Not terrible. But workable.

I unbuckled and climbed out of the car, pulling my gloves off as I walked back toward the garage.

The result didn’t spark any overwhelming emotions—it was just another piece of the puzzle.

Tomorrow, when my uncle arrives, I will be ready.

Tomorrow, I will be better.

The sun was high in the sky as I walked through the paddock the next morning, the air a little warmer than yesterday. The weight on my shoulders had lightened slightly overnight, my mood lifted by the thought that today I had a real chance to improve. Yesterday had been a challenge, but it was behind me now. Today, I had the opportunity to prove myself all over again.

As I made my way toward the garage, I couldn't help but feel a spark of hope. My uncle would be here soon, and I wanted to show him that all of his years of support hadn’t been in vain. I would show him that I belonged here—no more doubts, no more holding back.

But just as I reached the entrance of the garage, I was stopped by the familiar sight of a few camera flashes and the hum of reporters waiting for their moment. The media team had warned me there would be interviews, but I wasn’t expecting the barrage I faced as I stepped out of the car and into the paddock.

I steeled myself. Time to put on the mask of my persona.

The first reporter approached, microphone in hand. His expression was professional, but his question, sharp and pointed.

"Ghost, you’ve had a tough weekend so far. You’re not inside the points like you usually are. What do you think went wrong?"

I exhaled slowly, the words coming from him more of a jab than a question. It wasn’t the first time I’d been asked this, and I doubted it would be the last.

I forced an optimistic vocal tone, trying to keep my composure. "It’s a long season, and not every race is going to go exactly as planned. We’re working hard to find what we need to improve on. Every lap is a learning experience, and we’ll take that into account for tomorrow’s race."

The reporter raised an eyebrow. "But you’re usually so consistent, always inside the top 10. You’ve been a regular contender for the points since the start of the season. Do you think this is a sign that your team, or perhaps your driving, isn’t as strong as it was at the beginning?"

His words were veiled, but the insinuation was clear. I could feel my jaw tightening, but I maintained my calm. I had to.

"Every team has their ups and downs," I said, keeping my tone level. "We’re always pushing to improve, and sometimes it takes a few races to find the right balance. As for my driving—I’m always looking for ways to do better. That’s the nature of the sport."

I stepped away quickly, the smile fading as the next reporter moved in, the tension in the air thickening with every question.

This time, the reporter was from one of the major networks. She wasted no time, cutting straight to the heart of the issue.

"Ghost, after your results so far, do you think your seat is in jeopardy? There’s been a lot of talk about new, younger drivers getting their chance inside the teams. Can you still hold your own in this competitive field?"

I could feel the fire burning in my chest, but I swallowed it back.

“My focus is on the race. That’s all that matters to me. I’m not concerned about speculation or rumors. We’re here to race, and I’m doing everything I can to contribute to the team’s success. As for the competition, it’s fierce, and that’s exactly what makes this sport exciting. It pushes all of us to be better."

The reporter pressed on, clearly not satisfied with the answer. "But with your performance dipping, could that affect your standing in the team? If you aren’t consistently bringing in results, could a change be coming sooner than expected?"

I wasn’t sure if it was the question itself or the underlying insinuation, but I could feel the walls in my mind start to close in. The words hit harder than they should have, and I found myself mentally retreating just a little.

“I’m focusing on getting through the weekend and learning from each session. Nothing more, nothing less,” I replied curtly, forcing my body language to stay professional.

She nodded, but her tone wasn’t finished. "So, it’s just about surviving the season now, then?" she asked, almost tauntingly.

I could feel the heat of frustration rising, the edge in her voice grating against the calm I’d worked so hard to maintain. But I kept it together, offering one final tight nod before I turned away.

A few minutes passed, and I found myself standing in front of another reporter. This time, it was someone I knew better, someone who often asked tough questions, but without the hidden agenda. Still, even his words had a certain sharpness to them today.

"Ghost, given the struggles you’ve faced this weekend, and the pressure that comes with not being in the points, do you feel like you’re underperforming? Do you have anything else to prove?"

I took a deep breath, my patience fraying but still intact.

"Look," I said, leaning forward just slightly. "There’s always something to prove in this sport. But I know my worth, and I know what I’m capable of. We’ve all been in moments of doubt. What matters is how you handle it when everything feels like it’s slipping through your fingers. This season is long, and I’m not giving up. We have one goal: to keep improving, one race at a time."

The reporter nodded, sensing the shift in my tone, and finally let me go.

I walked away from the media area, my thoughts spinning. I had done my best to keep it together, to shield myself from the prying eyes and the harsh questions. But as I left the paddock and made my way to the garage, the weight of it all began to settle in. These questions, these insinuations—they weren’t just about the race anymore. They were about something deeper. They were about me.

The doubt that had been planted by those questions was harder to shake than I would’ve liked. But I wasn’t going to let it break me. Not yet.

I couldn’t afford to let it.

Tomorrow was another day, and I still had everything to fight for.

—

The sprint race was over. P13. Right where I started the race.

It felt like a punch to the gut. I had fought for every inch of the track, every position, every opportunity to gain just one more place, but it hadn’t been enough. I was stagnant. Stuck. I kept telling myself that qualifying would be better. Tomorrow, I will be better in the real race.

I sat in my driver’s room, still in my fireproofs, my arms resting on my knees as I stared at the floor, trying to calm my mind. I wasn’t happy, but I was trying—trying—to hold onto the sliver of hope that qualifying would give me another chance.

Then my phone rang.

I glanced at the screen, my stomach twisting when I saw my mother’s name. She never called. Ever.

I hesitated before answering. “Hello?”

She didn’t waste time on pleasantries. Didn’t even give me a moment to brace myself. Her voice was cold, detached, yet somehow heavier than I’d ever heard it.

"Your uncle was in an accident on the way to the Grand Prix. He passed away a few minutes ago."

The words hit me like a sledgehammer.

My breath caught in my throat. My chest tightened, my heart stopped, my whole world tilted—no, no, no.

I gripped the phone tighter, knuckles going white. "What?" My voice cracked. My brain refused to process the words.

"It was sudden," she continued, as if that made it any easier. "He was on his way to watch Jack race. The doctors said there was nothing they could do."

I couldn’t breathe. Jack. She thinks he was going to see Jack.

Because she didn’t know. She didn’t know the truth.

She didn’t know that I was the one he was coming to watch. That I was the reason he had been on that road. That I was the reason—

I pressed a hand to my chest, struggling to suck in air.

"You needed to be told. Your father and I expect you to be home for the funeral. Don’t make this difficult."

And then the line went dead.

I didn’t move. I didn’t blink.

For a moment, there was nothing. Just empty silence ringing in my ears, an eerie void swallowing me whole. Then, all at once, it hit me.

A choked breath. A sharp inhale. Then the first sob tore through my throat.

I dropped my phone, barely hearing it clatter to the floor as I hunched forward, my hands pressing into my face as the floodgates burst.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be here. He was supposed to see me race. He was supposed to see me prove that all of his belief in me wasn’t misplaced.

I gasped for air, but it came in shuddering, broken pieces, as if my lungs had forgotten how to function. My hands trembled violently as I clawed at my chest, as if I could physically rip out the pain sitting there, crushing me from the inside.

He was gone. Just like that.

The only person who had always believed in me. The only one in my family who had ever truly supported me. Who had told me I could do this. Who had fought for me when no one else would.

Gone.

I pressed my forehead against my knees, curling in on myself, as if I could somehow disappear into the darkness that was swallowing me whole.

I was utterly, devastatingly alone.

Nico burst into the room, breathless, his usual calm demeanor shattered by the sound of my broken sobs. His eyes scanned the room in a split second, landing on me curled up on the couch, shaking violently. He didn’t ask what was wrong. He didn’t press for answers. He just moved.

He crouched in front of me, his hands hovering slightly, unsure of where or if he should touch me. “Hey, hey—breathe. Just breathe, y/n. Look at me.” His voice was softer than I’d ever heard it, a sharp contrast to my ragged, gasping breaths.

But I couldn’t breathe. My chest was too tight, my lungs refusing to expand properly. Every inhale felt like knives scraping against my ribs, and my head spun so violently I thought I might pass out.

Nico sat beside me, his movements careful, calculated. “Okay. Okay. In for four, hold for four, out for four,” he instructed, demonstrating the rhythm himself. “C’mon, just follow me.”

I tried. I really did. But all I could do was choke on another sob, my vision blurry, my body trembling so hard my fingers tingled from the lack of oxygen.

His hand finally landed on my shoulder, firm and grounding. “I’ve got you, alright? You’re safe. Whatever it is, you’re not alone. Just try—try to slow down.”

A sharp vibration rattled against the coffee table, cutting through the room like a blade. My phone.

Nico glanced at it before his jaw tightened. Jack Doohan.

The name on the screen nearly sent me spiraling all over again.

He knows. He was just told.

I sucked in a sharp, uneven breath as the call went to voicemail.

Two seconds later, it rang again.

Nico’s expression darkened as he grabbed the phone and flipped it over, silencing it. “Not now,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

But he wasn’t the one being suffocated by the weight of that name.

It rang again.

Each time, it was like another twist of the knife in my chest, another reminder of the cruel reality I had just been thrown into.

Nico ignored it again. And again.

The fourth time, it finally stopped.

Silence filled the room again, save for my shaky breaths and Nico’s quiet murmurs as he kept coaching me through it, kept anchoring me down when everything inside me was spiraling.

Minutes passed, but it felt like hours before the storm inside me dulled to a distant roar instead of an all-consuming void. My breaths were still shaky, my body still weak, but at least I wasn’t choking on air anymore.

Only then did Nico speak, his voice gentle but unwavering. “Y/n, what happened?”

I couldn’t answer.

I just stared at the wall, hollow, empty, my entire existence shattered into a million pieces at my feet.

I swallowed thickly, my throat raw, my body still trembling from the aftershocks of my breakdown. The weight of Nico’s question pressed down on me like a boulder, and for a long moment, I couldn’t force the words out.

But he just waited. Patient. Steady. Not pushing, not demanding—just there.

Finally, with a shuddering inhale, I forced the truth past my lips.

“My uncle…” My voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “He was coming here… but there was an accident.”

Nico’s brows furrowed, the warmth in his eyes flickering with something heavier.

I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms. “He—he didn’t make it.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Nico’s face fell, and for a moment, I saw him crack—just a little. Just enough to tell me that this hit him too.

Because he knew.

He knew my uncle wasn’t just some distant relative. He was the person who had believed in me from the very start. The one who had vouched for me when everyone said I was too young, too reckless, too out of place in IndyCar. The one who had been standing right there when Nico first approached me, offering to help shape my career.

He knew.

And now, my biggest supporter is gone.

Nico exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face before shifting closer, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “I’m so damn sorry, y/n.”

I nodded stiffly, not trusting myself to speak.

He hesitated, like he wanted to say more, but instead, he just rested a hand on my shoulder, grounding me. “You don’t have to do anything right now. Just breathe, alright?”

I tried. God, I tried.

But the emptiness inside me was too vast, too suffocating.

Neither of us noticed the figure lingering just outside the doorway, as they were gone before we even had a chance to notice. Nor did we hear the quick footsteps leaving the hallway. 

—

The fireproof balaclava felt suffocating as I pulled it over my head, the fabric clinging to my skin as if it knew—as if it knew—that I was barely holding myself together beneath it. The helmet followed, locking me back into the Ghost persona. A shield. A mask. A way to separate myself from the weight pressing down on my chest like a lead weight.

I could not afford to think about my uncle. I could not afford to let the grief consume me.

I had a job to do.

Just make it through qualifying.

I sucked in a sharp breath, forcing my mind to quiet as I ventured out of my driver's room. My gloved fingers flexed at my sides as I glanced up, my gaze instinctively sweeping across the garage.

And then I froze.

Franco was watching me.

He was still gearing up, pulling his balaclava over his head, but his eyes—those damn eyes—never left me. There was no usual smug amusement, no relaxed indifference.

Just worry.

A deep, unwavering concern that made something tighten painfully in my chest.

This wasn’t like him, he was never obvious with his feelings towards me unless it was unbridled hatred or frustration.

No.

This felt… different.

I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering beneath my skin.

But before I could do anything—before I could try to gauge what had made him look at me ike this—I heard my name being called over the radio.

"Ghost, let’s get you in the car."

I blinked hard, yanking my gaze away.

Right. I didn’t have time for this.

I moved quickly, stepping toward my car as the mechanics guided me into the cockpit, the familiar routine of being strapped in grounding me for a brief moment. The belts tightened, the halo locked into place. The world outside my visor blurred, reduced to nothing but focus points.

Just make it through qualifying.

I exhaled sharply, gripping the wheel.

And don’t drown before the checkered flag.

The engine roared to life beneath me, vibrations rattling through my body as I rolled out of the garage and onto the pit lane. The world beyond my visor was a blur of color and motion, but inside the car, inside Ghost, everything narrowed to a singular focus.

I had to do well today.

I needed to do well today.

The out-lap was automatic, muscle memory guiding me through the motions as I weaved to get heat into the tires. My grip on the wheel was tight, but not out of fear—not yet. It was controlled. It was a necessity. It was the only thing keeping my mind from spiraling back to him, to the phone call, to the way my chest felt like it had been hollowed out and left to collapse in on itself.

The radio crackled in my ear. "All right, Ghost, let’s push. Track is yours."

I swallowed hard and dropped the hammer.

The car jolted as I slammed on the throttle, the engine screaming as I surged forward. The first flying lap was clean, precise—but not perfect.

Too careful on turn three. Overcompensated in the final sector.

I gritted my teeth, barely listening to the times coming through the radio. P8 at the moment, but there were still faster cars out there. Faster laps to come. I had more to give.

Another push lap.

Another shot at control.

I forced myself to feel the car. To let the machine be an extension of myself, something I could command instead of something I was simply inside of. Each movement was deliberate, every fraction of a second shaved off adding to the fire simmering beneath my skin. I needed this. I needed to prove—

To who?

I clenched my jaw.

To myself. To him.

The second lap was better. Cleaner. More aggressive. I took the corners like I was carving my way through battle, attacking the apexes with precision. It wasn’t just about surviving this session anymore. It wasn’t just about making it to the next round.

This was about honoring him.

If he couldn’t be here to see me race, then I would make damn sure he was watching from wherever he was.

"P6, Ghost. Good lap."

A flicker of something warm lit in my chest, but I buried it deep. No time for relief. No time for hope.

Q2 came next.

The pressure mounted with each passing second, the fight for position growing more brutal. I could feel the others pushing harder, shaving off thousandths of a second, squeezing every ounce of performance from their machines. I pushed right back, wringing everything from the car, throwing myself into each lap like it was the last thing I’d ever do.

"You're on the line, Ghost. Need a good final push."

I inhaled sharply.

One last chance.

The tires were hot, the car alive beneath me. My hands were steady as I attacked the lap, finding time in the places I’d hesitated before. The final sector approached, my heartbeat thundering in my ears.

"Come on, come on…"

The car crossed the line.

"P9, you're through to Q3."

I exhaled, the weight on my chest lifting just enough for me to breathe.

One more round to go.

Q3 was always a warzone. This was where the fastest, the best, fought for their spots at the top of the grid. I wasn’t here just to participate—I was here to claim my place.

I rolled onto the track for my first attempt, the nerves returning for just a second before I crushed them beneath the sheer force of need.

The car danced on the edge of control, skimming past track limits but never crossing them. I pushed deeper, braked later, and fought harder.

The lap was good. Not pole-worthy, but good.

"P7 for now, Ghost. One more run."

One more chance.

One more lap to cement my place.

I clenched my jaw and launched out of the pits for my final attempt. My heart pounded, my vision tunneling as I attacked each sector with everything I had left.

Turn one. Perfect.

Turn three. A slight oversteer correction, but still fast.

Sector two. Holding strong.

The final corners came, and I could almost feel him there.

Watching. Supporting.

I crossed the line.

"P6. That’s it. That’s all we’ve got."

The radio went quiet.

I exhaled, my chest tightening with a mix of emotions I wasn’t ready to face.

It wasn’t pole. It wasn’t a podium start.

But it was a damn good result.

And this one was for him.

The walk to the media pen felt longer than usual, each step weighed down by exhaustion that wasn’t just physical. The adrenaline from qualifying was fading, and in its place was a cold emptiness that gnawed at the edges of my mind. My body moved on autopilot, my helmet still on, my breaths slow and deliberate.

I barely registered the journalists waiting for us, their cameras trained on me like vultures circling their next meal.

"Ghost, was P6 a fluke after such a disastrous weekend?"

"Is this a sign of inconsistency? You went from struggling to even break into the points yesterday to suddenly starting in the top six. What changed?"

"Was it just luck today?"

"Some people think this proves you’re not as strong as the other top drivers—what do you say to that?"

The words hit like dull blows, one after the other, relentless. I could hear them, process them, but they barely registered beyond a distant buzz in my skull. My hands clenched into fists at my sides.

I wasn’t sure if it was the grief pressing down on my chest, or the exhaustion from the emotional storm I’d barely made it through, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer.

The world blurred around me.

I stared past the reporters, my mind slipping, detaching from the moment as my breathing became shallow inside the helmet. I knew I should say something, but the words wouldn’t come.

Then, something warm pressed against the center of my back—light, grounding.

I blinked hard. The fog thinned just enough for me to realize what had happened. Franco had stepped closer, his hand barely touching me through my suit, but the presence of it—solid, reassuring—was enough to pull me back.

He was still mid-interview, but his voice had changed, sharper than before.

"You know, it’s funny how quick people are to doubt a driver," Franco said, loud enough that I knew he was speaking for my sake as much as for the cameras. His tone was calm, but there was an edge to it, something firm and unyielding. "A lot of you were asking where his pace was earlier, and now that he’s found it, you’re questioning if he deserves it? You can’t have it both ways."

A few reporters shifted awkwardly. I heard my name again, but Franco wasn’t done.

"Ghost has proven time and time again that he belongs on the track. One bad day doesn’t erase talent. And if you think today’s performance was luck, then you haven’t been paying attention."

Silence followed, just for a second.

I let out a slow breath.

The warmth of Franco’s hand vanished as he pulled back, but the effect lingered. My grip on reality felt a little steadier now, my heartbeat not as erratic.

I turned my head slightly toward him, still saying nothing, but he didn’t need words to understand. He just gave me a small nod before turning back to his own interview.

And for the first time in hours, I didn’t feel completely alone.

The hotel room was dark, the only light coming from the dim glow of the city outside the window. I lay sprawled across the bed, still in my base layers, my limbs heavy and unmoving. The adrenaline from the day had fully drained, leaving behind nothing but exhaustion and a mind that refused to be quiet.

I stared at the ceiling, thoughts swirling too fast to catch hold of. My uncle was gone. I wasn’t supposed to find out this way. I wasn’t supposed to feel this alone.

The shrill ring of my phone cut through the silence. I flinched before turning my head to see the name flashing on the screen.

Jack.

My stomach twisted. He had stopped calling earlier, but now he was trying again. And I knew if I ignored him, he would just keep trying.

With a deep breath, I forced my voice into something steady before answering.

"Hey."

"Finally," he sighed, the relief obvious in his tone. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Busy," I replied instantly, the lie automatic. "Work’s been crazy. You know how it is."

"Right," Jack said, but there was something in his voice—something suspicious. "And what exactly does your super-secret job even have you doing this late at night?"

"You wouldn’t understand," I muttered, rolling onto my side, staring at the wall.

Jack let out a small huff. "Try me."

I hesitated. I could make up something boring, something that would keep him from digging deeper. But I was so tired. So tired of pretending.

"I’m just… trying to keep everything running smoothly." It wasn’t a lie. Not really.

Jack was silent for a moment, then his tone softened. "You sound like shit."

I swallowed hard.

"Yeah, well," I forced out, "it’s been a long day."

Jack was quiet again, but this time, it wasn’t hesitation. It was understanding.

"You found out, huh?" he asked gently.

I squeezed my eyes shut. "Yeah."

Jack let out a slow breath. "I was gonna call you sooner, but I figured Mom got to you first."

"She did."

"I still can’t believe it." His voice cracked just slightly, but he covered it up quickly. "It doesn’t feel real. One second, he was on his way to watch the race, and the next…" He trailed off.

I bit down on my lip hard. He thought our uncle had been coming to see him. That was the lie our mother had told. And I couldn’t correct him.

"I know," I whispered.

Jack exhaled sharply, shaking off the grief just enough to switch gears. "Listen, I know we haven’t seen each other in forever, but the funeral’s in a month. I know everything’s a mess right now, but at least… we’ll see each other. It’s been way too long."

Three years. That was how long it had been since we had last been in the same place at the same time. Three years since I left, since I let everyone believe I had moved away for some prestigious academic opportunity when in reality, I had chased my real dream—with my uncle by my side.

And now he was gone.

"Yeah," I murmured. "It has been."

Jack let out a small chuckle, the kind that barely masked the sadness underneath. "I’m actually kinda excited. Even with… everything."

I squeezed my eyes shut, guilt pressing down like a weight on my chest. He had no idea. No idea that I had been right there at the same racetrack as him. No idea that I wasn’t some office worker drowning in spreadsheets, but the very driver he had tangled with on track before.

"Me too," I lied.

Jack sighed. "Look, just… take care of yourself, okay? I know you like to act like you’ve got everything under control, but I can hear it in your voice. Don’t shut down. Don’t let this wreck you."

Too late.

"I’ll be fine, Jack," I said, forcing a bit of strength into my tone. "You don’t have to worry about me."

"You’re my little sister. Of course I do."

I nearly flinched at the word—sister. He said it so easily, so casually, completely unaware of how much weight it carried.

"I’ll see you soon, okay?" he added.

"Yeah. See you soon."

Jack hesitated like he wanted to say more. But then, he just sighed. "Night, kid."

The line went dead.

I dropped the phone onto the bed beside me, staring blankly at the ceiling.

My uncle was gone.

My brother was expecting to see me.

And I was drowning.

Taglist: @widow-cevans @honethatty12 @wierdflowerpower @imlonelydontsendhelp

[00valentina-writes00]

Hello! I love reading your posts, I always come in to see if you've posted anything new. ❤

I've been thinking..

Mel Medarda secretly being.. a little obsessed with Reader's butt.. I saw a story about Vi being a girl who likes Reader's ass, and I would love to have a story about Mel who likes Reader's butt 😭

(If you don't feel comfortable, obviously don't write about it, and I apologize if my English is not good, English is not my first language)

♡♥︎ A Little Obsession♥︎♡

Warnings: light humor, Mel being a bit obsessed (in a cute way), slightly suggestive content.

Mel Medarda had always been a woman of control. A leader, a strategist, a mastermind behind the most subtle of moves. Nothing in her life had ever felt out of her hands—until you came into the picture.

From the moment she met you, there was something about the way you carried yourself. The way you spoke, the way you moved. But it wasn’t just the way you captivated everyone with your presence. No, it was something else. Something that Mel had never quite expected to latch onto her attention as it did.

Your ass.

She wasn’t ashamed to admit it. It was hard not to notice when you walked into the room, the way your hips swayed with every step. Your figure, elegant and powerful at the same time, seemed to leave a trail of heat wherever you went.

It was subtle at first, almost an afterthought. But as time went on, it became harder for her to look anywhere else when you were around. Her eyes would wander, drawn to the curve of your hips, the way your clothes hugged your form just right. And it wasn’t just the physical. No, it was how it made her feel—how it made her need.

Mel tried to be discreet about it, of course. She prided herself on being a woman of subtlety, but you knew her better than anyone. You had started to catch on. And one evening, as you two were alone in her private quarters, she knew it was only a matter of time before you’d confront her about it.

It was a simple evening. You were sitting sideways on the couch, Mel beside you, her fingers lightly tracing patterns on the back of your hand. The room was quiet, the soft glow of the candlelight casting shadows on the walls. But you weren’t focused on the peacefulness of the moment. No, you could feel the weight of her gaze on you, and not just on your face this time.

You turned to look at her, catching her eyes quickly flicker away.

“Mel,” you began, your voice light but teasing. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

She raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “What do you mean?”

You leaned back a little, crossing your arms and letting the smallest of smiles slip onto your lips. “You’ve been staring at my ass for the last fifteen minutes. I think it’s time we have a talk about it.”

For a moment, Mel froze. She stared at you, completely caught off guard. She opened her mouth, but the words didn’t come immediately. Then, she took a deep breath, the corner of her lips curling into a half-smile.

“You caught me,” she admitted softly, her voice almost like a confession. “I do… enjoy looking at you.”

Your grin widened, and you scooted closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Is that all? Just enjoying the view?”

Mel’s gaze dipped, as though she couldn’t help herself. Her eyes trailed down to where the fabric of your clothes stretched over your hips, and she bit her lip. “It’s not just that,” she murmured, her voice low, laced with something you couldn’t quite place. “It’s… more than that.”

You leaned in closer, her breath hitching slightly as you cupped her cheek with one hand. “More, huh?” you teased, your thumb tracing along the edge of her jawline. “Like what?”

She swallowed, her eyes flicking up to meet yours, something a little darker in her expression now. “It’s the way you move. How you walk… how your body just… flows.”

You tilted your head slightly, catching the quiet admission, and the playful spark in your eyes flickered into something deeper. You hadn’t known that Mel was so… affected by you. The realization made your pulse quicken, and you shifted, pressing a little closer.

“I see,” you said, voice laced with humor. “So it’s not just the view, then. You like what it does to you, huh?”

Mel’s face warmed a little, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she closed the distance between you two, her breath hot against your skin. “I think it’s safe to say I have an… appreciation for it,” she whispered, her hands sliding to rest on your hips.

Your lips twitched into a smirk, your fingertips tracing along the side of her neck. “An appreciation?”

She nodded, her hands gently gripping your waist. With a slow, deliberate motion, Mel slid one hand lower, just below your waist, her fingers brushing against the curve of your hips before she gently gripped your ass. You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and airy as you glanced down at her hand.

“You really like it, don’t you?” you teased, wiggling a little in her grasp.

She looked up at you, her expression softening. “More than you know,” she admitted, her eyes darkening with desire. “It’s hard to focus on anything else when I’m with you.”

The sudden honesty in her voice caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just stared at her. There was something endearing about how vulnerable she was being, even if it was just about something like this.

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” you teased, running your hands along her arms.

Mel’s lips quirked into a grin. “I’m not embarrassed. Just… captivated.”

You leaned in, pressing a slow, teasing kiss to her lips, a whisper of affection. Her grip tightened on your body as she kissed you back, deeper, with a quiet hunger. You could feel her desire building, but she held back, the restraint only adding to the intensity.

When she finally pulled away, her breath coming fast, her hands didn’t move from your waist. She looked at you with a small, almost shy smile. “You’re driving me insane”

You laughed, brushing a hand through her hair. “I don’t mind.”

Mel seemed to calm down, the tension in her shoulders easing, and she smiled up at you, her thumb brushing over your cheek. “I guess this is just one of the things I love about you.”

“Just one?” you asked with a sly grin.

She chuckled softly, her eyes sparkling with affection. “Oh, there’s plenty more. But we have all the time in the world to explore that.”

You chuckled, leaning in for another kiss, this one slower, more tender, as you both melted into the moment.

Even if Mel had a little obsession with your ass, you could live with it. It was just another thing that made her fall for you more each day.

And, truth be told, you kind of liked it too.

[c4tluver02]

the perfect gift <3

warnings: none!

wc: 1.6k

Summary: You love books and Steve just happens to get you the best gift of all time!

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。☆。*。☆。

One of the things Steve loves about you is your love for reading. Whenever he calls and asks what you were doing it's always reading. His favorite is when you read aloud to him. Your soft voice saying the words always calms him down. Steve himself wasn't much of a reader at all before he met you but somehow someway you got him into it. If you read a great book you would immediately recommend it to Steve. In a way you read every book in hopes of giving it to Steve for him to read. The thought of you two having your own little book club made you so happy, so of course Steve had the perfect idea of getting you a book. A book that was not only read by him before you got to it but annotated. All of his thoughts that he would share to you once you had both read the book would now be on a page. 

His plan started when you called him.

 “Hi sweet girl, what's up?” Steve asks happy to hear your voice

“Hi Stevie, I was wondering if you wanted to go to the bookstore with me?” Despite you asking him to go with, what you really meant is if he could drive you both there. But that was neither here nor there.

“Yeah no problem, I’ll get ready and head over?” He asked.

“Yes, perfect!” You respond with a cheerful tone that immediately makes Steve grin from ear to ear. Anything to make his girl happy!

- 

Once Steve gets to your house he knocks on your door. He steps back a bit and as he does you open the door. You step forward to give him a hug. 

“Are you ready?” Steve asks as you're still in his arms.

“Yep, let me just get my bag really quick.” You reply, giving him a quick peck on the lips. It's enough that Steve got a taste of your fruity lip gloss. 

“So what type of book are you looking for?” Steve asks as he opens the car door for you. 

“Hmm I am not exactly sure I am thinking of a thriller? I honestly have no clue, really anything that looks good.” Steve wishes you could give him a list of books that way he knows he's at least picking one you'll like. But you don't, so Steves on his own and hopefully he can pull this off without you figuring him out. 

You two make it to the bookstore and head inside. Of course you know all the aisles by heart and immediately go to the fiction aisle. Steve is like a lost puppy following behind you just looking around. He feels like it's pretty easy to tell he isn't a frequent customer. He doesn't know all the areas like you do and by the way he grabs onto your belt buckle anyone could tell he hates to be away from you. But Steve bravely decides to go to a spot that had a book you had said you wanted last time you two were there. He not only has to get it without you noticing but he has to buy it without you seeing him. 

“Hey, I think I left my wallet in the car. I am gonna go get it really quick okay?” Steve says playing a normal facade. 

“Mhm ok.” You say completely not listening as you are already on the fourth page of a book you picked up. 

Now is Steve's chance to go quickly, find the book, pay for it and run it to his car. When he reaches the aisle he finds the book and lucky for him it's the last one. He peeks his head up trying to look over the bookshelves to see you still engrossed in the book you had when he left you. Steve pays for the book and runs to his car. How he did all of that without you looking around is a miracle he thinks. 

Steve walks back up to the area you were in the last time he saw you, you weren't there. Steve is officially freaking out now. He must have not been as slick as he thought. Did you see him buy the book? Did you see that he waited in line to pay for it? He wasn't gone for too long was he? A million thoughts passed through his mind as he walked down to look for you in the aisles. He stops in his tracks as you are walking up to the place he just was to buy your book. 

“Steve, someone took the last of the book I was looking at last time.” You pout into his chest. Steve rubs your back relieved his plan had somehow worked out. 

“I'm sorry baby. We can always come back another day when they restock it?” He says trying to give you a positive look on it despite the last copy being in his back seat. 

“Yeah you're right. It's okay I found two books so I guess I'll live!” You say as you lock your hand with his and walk up to the front. 

Steve pays for your books even though you told him he didn't need to. But he will never stop treating you. What type of boyfriend would he be if he did that? 

-

Steve drives you two back to your place and how can he say no when you ask him to stay for dinner? You guys cook a nice home cooked meal and Steve's cheeks hurt from how much he's been smiling. Even something as simple as cooking dinner with you makes him unbelievably happy. He can't wait till the day you guys do this every night. You both make a perfect pair in every shape and form. The happiness that surrounds the kitchen as you cook is something that comes so naturally yet so enjoyed. Steve couldn't ask for anyone better than you. His perfect girl. Once dinner is done Steve decides it's time he goes home and start on your book. 

He doesn't think he's ever read a book this quickly in his life but he can't stop from the excitement he feels of giving this to you. He writes and highlights important things and little thoughts he has here and there. It's funny how much he sees himself turning unto you. The endless calls of you telling him you stayed up so late reading your eyes were burning always sounded crazy to him. Yet somehow here he is sharing the same feeling. Although this book is for you he is enjoying it very much. He's glad he can read something before you versus the other way around. To have something worth sharing is everything Steve wants and more. 

It only takes him a week to finish the book and annotate. Steve truly hopes you like it. He’s never done something like this and you've never voiced that you even like his comments on books. But despite the little voice in his head he is overjoyed to give you this. 

Steve knocks on your door as he waits with the book in his hand. “Steve? What are you doing here?” You ask unknowing that he would be coming over. 

Steve opens his mouth to respond but before he even has a chance to say it you say-

“You found the book I wanted!” Steve is already glowing from happiness at your reaction as you jump in pure excitement. You can't believe he went out of his way to get it for you. 

“Yeah, I uh, made a few edits to it though.” Steve says sheepishly, scratching at his neck. A little bit of anxiety is finally creeping up to him as he gives you the book. 

You look up at him in surprise as you take his hand and drag him into the living room. You feel like you could cry. The act of him buying a book you mentioned you wanted more than a week ago was enough to get you emotional. But the fact that he did something to it was even more heart wrenching. You open the cover to see a note from him. As you flip through a few more of the pages you see his handwriting scattered on the pages. Tears welled up in your eyes at the sight. You can't believe how compassionate and thoughtful he is. 

“Oh Steve.” You say barely getting a word out, too full of emotions.

“If you don't like it we can go get you a new book. I dunno I thought it would be cool but maybe it’s-” You stop him mid sentence with a big hug.

“It's the best gift I've ever gotten.” You say as you give him a kiss. Your hands are holding his jaw and all the fear leaves Steve. He is so happy that you're happy and enjoy your gift. 

“Good. I’m glad you like it.” He says smiling.

“Oh I don't like it, I love it. I can't believe you would do something like this for me. I know this took some time.” You say holding his hands. 

“I bought it last week. I was the one who took the last copy.” Steve's smile turns into a giggle as he sees your face drop. 

“Oh my god! You sneak! You didn't go to find your wallet at all did you?” You say giggling as all the pieces click together. 

“Nope! I bought the book and ran to put it in my car. I think it was the most stressed I've ever been.” Steve responds in a playful tone. His hand clutched against his chest in dramatics. 

“I was so deep in the book I didn't even realize.” You gasp as you finally see his whole plan come to life. 

You give him a big hug. Extremely thankful you have him as your boyfriend. “Thank you so much baby.” You say hugging him even tighter.

Steve picks you up a bit just enough to allow you to put your legs outside of his. When you let go you pepper his face in a million little kisses. Within each kiss an ‘i love you’ comes out.

"Anything for you." Steve says before kissing you back.