#[i feel like i have to say that on this one bc its not as obvious. technically]

[beauchied]

the highs and lows - kmg

synopsis: mingyu hates seeing you with other men. that’s it. that’s the plot.

genre: smut lol p-word with little plot

warnings: violence (not towards the reader), rough sex, MINGYU BIG DICK, reader is tied to the bedframe, dacryphilia, fingering, overstimulation, praise & degradation, reader is called baby, men r dicks, mentions of having a baby, hickies, bulge kink, size kink if u squint, no protection.. pls be safe, purposefully written in lowercase bc i was too lazy to properly write, this is just.. nasty idk what to say

a/n: my gift to the gyuldaengies who suffered this week to kim mingyu thirst trapping his ass thru hawaii 😒 also i apologise this was so half-assed i rushed this bcos im currently jet lagged ok bye enjoy mwah ilu (plz reblog hehe)

wc: 779 :)

see, the moment mingyu snapped was when he put his hands on you.

when he saw you smile awkwardly and push him away, the secret relationship that you and mingyu swore to keep private completely left his mind. that didn’t matter.

so when he punched him in the face and dragged you out of the bar, you couldn’t even be mad. you could clearly see the anger that seeped from his eyes. you did not want to piss him off. otherwise, it’s either you’re not going to get laid, or you won’t get to cum.

“fffuck… haa—” its your fourth orgasm. his fingers are still playing with your pussy and you are still tied to the bed, unable to touch him.

“you know what pissed me off most?” he asked, circling your clit with his hands soaked in your juices. “the fact that he dared to talk back when he was on the floor.”

you bucked your hips, grinding against his hand. “a-all yours.. hnggh!” the sweat dripped down your temple and you could just feel the exhaustion and soreness you’re going to feel after this.

“yeah baby, all mine.” he kissed your lips, staring at your pretty fucked out face as his hand relentlessly rammed itself in and out of your cunt. “if i need to, i’ll write my name in hickies on your skin.”

fuck.

“aaah—please do!” mingyu smirked and kissed the red bruise he planted on your skin, admiring his artwork and his way of marking you as his.

“daddy— i can’t—” you cried, tears streaming down your face due to the overstimulation you were feeling. mingyu didn’t reply. he just fingered you impossibly faster as he sensed your high.

“cum on my hand one more time baby. then i’ll fuck you endless.”

and that is what triggered your orgasm.

“please daddy! your dick—‘wan your dick!” you squirmed on the bed, staring at mingyu’s hands—that were still drenched in your cum—unbuckling his belt.

“that cockdrunk baby? want my dick so bad?”

“sososo bad! please daddy!,” mingyu kissed your pussy, “need it so bad!”

no warning, no ‘i’m going in baby.’

mingyu entered your hole, not letting you adjust to his size, and fucked you faster than any guy has railed you. the bed creaked in a familiar rhythm as his he held onto the bed frame that looked as if it would break with one harsh thrust.

your moans were pornographic. it was better than the music mingyu has ever heard in his entire life. he had a pretty girl laying on his bed, all fucked out and horny for him.

“such a slut, aren’t you?” he gripped your waist and until his knuckles were white, holding you in place. “letting other men eye-fuck you like you’re candy.”

“noo.. just want daddy!” he could only smirk and how stupid you looked. your makeup that adorned your face was all messy and smudged, your hair that you took hours making was all bunched up into a knot and your tits spilled out of your bra.

if you thought he was fucking you hard and good before, he started fucking you into oblivion.

he became even faster than before, and you could just see his cock peek from your stomach, bulging just below your belly button. “look at that baby. that’s me bruising your insides.”

you couldn’t form a sentence. all you could let out was a moan or a curse word that mingyu knew praised how good he was fucking you.

“i’m going to rearrange your guts until you walk out of this room limping.”

it didn’t take long for you to cum. but even though the white ring on mingyu’s cock quickly accumulated near his balls, he didn’t stop. he continued snapping his hips until he felt he was near.

“i’m gonna cum inside baby. gonna make sure you bear my child so nobody takes you away from me.”

with a few more thrusts, he stayed true to his words and shot white ribbons inside your pussy. he nestled himself inside you for a few seconds before slowly pulling out, watching his cum ooze out of your hole as you fail to see anything but white.

he takes out his phone, snapping a photo of your pussy, before untying your hands and kissing you on the lips. “you did great, baby.”

you smiled at him, cupping his face. “see, i’d go for another round,” you swallowed saliva to soothe your dry throat, “but give me a few hours of sleep. then you can use me all you want.”

“as long as i can do this anytime i want, you can take all the rest you need.”

[mona-risms]

Just read ur rookie idol reader fics and Im loving it!!!! Can u possibly do one where you know that one meme of yoonchae from katseye being media trained to the max like this one: https://www.youtube.com/shorts/tgA0oEdZ5TU and its mainly because the huntrix girls are constantly reminding her and media training her LMAO i think it would be funny

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭atp rookie!R's unit may as well be KDH KATSEYE 😭

Imagine just doing a stream or smth and people are asking you for what makeup you use and you're just about to show them what it is before you're having all your gfs SPAM CALL YOU INDIVIDUALLY and SWARM your live simultaneously 😭. Answer even one of their calls and no matter who you answer you get all three of them telling (screaming) you "DON'T DO IT" 😭😭😭

Your stream absolutely gets clipped by EVERYONE when you're startled enough for you to drop whatever you were holding, and if you scream they scream too HAHAHA. They put comments on your live saying sorry 💀 and they make it up to you when you come back home bc they feel bad but dating your senior idols really isn't for the faint of heart (they're all lucky they're cute 😝)

Though now there's tts and clips of that exact moment 😭 in hindsight it's funny as fuck but also enjoy ending up in '[Unit Name] causing mental stress for 5 mins' compilations 🫶

[dnfity]

the beautiful amazing showstopping georgelore from teaching his mum to fish stream 🐟🐟🐟 (this is a long one)

georges fishing career started when he was quite young, possibly around 7 or 8. he had a friend at school whose dad liked fishing and so he would take george and his friend fishing. there was also a guy who lived on their road who was really into fishing and took george a few times as well. gom thinks that george had his own fishing rod but george is unsure.

they have a family history of sleepwalking and sleeptalking and "doing crazy stuff", and one time george left the house in the middle of the night as a kid while he was sleeping.

george had a video idea about setting up a night vision camera in his room and recording every single night to make a funny video about the weird things he does in his sleep but then he thought people would think its fake

gom and george had an app on their phone that they used to record themselves sleeptalking and they made memes out of the things they would say. george one time gifted his mom a mug with some of the more famous things shes said in her sleep and she still has it. the saying had something to do with "double jeopardy".

gom didnt like george screaming during recordings when george lived with her bc she was a light sleeper and it would be at like 4am and it used to wake her up. george says it was part of the reason he moved out but gom stated that despite it waking her up, she didnt want george to move out. "i was sad to see him go but i was happy to get a good nights sleep."

when george used to sleep over at a friends house, he would sleepwalk all the time and the friend's family had a house alarm and george would set the alarm off and wake the family up every single time. they started putting a laundry basket in front of the room so that when george would sleepwalk out of the room, he would fall over the laundry basket and wake himself up.

teenage george would never do his homework cus he was always on his playstation/pc. it would drive gom crazy and she would hide his keyboard. one day, she took his mouse and george just went to a store nearby and bought another one. he revealed this to his mom today.

gom knew that george moving to florida was something that he really wanted to do but then covid happened. it was something hes wanted to do since 2020. initially, she didnt really believe it was gonna happen, she thought it was a lot of talk 😭. and then when it actually was happening she was like "oh!!" george says it doesnt feel like its been 2 and a half years since hes moved.

gom thought it was weird and was anxious about george moving in with someone he hadnt seen the face of. she worried about george getting along with dreamnap irl and that it was a long way away. "he literally packed up everything and left."

gom thinks georges accent has changed since he left england.

george had "phases of things" when he was little. he was in a school club that held gymnastics competitions and he was really good at it. he also did marial arts, specifically tang soo do, and did competitions for that as well. he also used to play cricket, rugby, and tennis. he was also in a competitive football team that his neighbor ran. gom described kid george as really sporty. george thinks that growing up playing sports competitively was the reason he enjoyed competitive video games with ranking systems growing up, like counterstrike, rocket league, and minecraft hungergames.

during years 5-7, george used to win all the school running races. gom remembers one time that george was competing and the whistle blew to start the race but george didnt move for the first few seconds bc he was distracted with waving at her. he still won the race.

it upset gom that george turned really sedentary as he got older when he started to get involved with gaming bc he wouldnt leave his bedroom for days.

gom tells everyone george's success story.

gom figured out george was colorblind when he was in kindergarten (nursery in the uk). gom wasnt suprised bc it ran in the family.

george used to love watching the simpsons everyday after school. "6pm, channel 4." he thought the simpsons were green. "that kind of yellow looks like dream's green to me."

gom spends a lot of time watching george and dteam's content, but says that shes georges biggest fan.

george says that his colorblindness doesnt affect him on a day-to-day basis, but that when hes driving, its sometimes hard to see which traffic light is on depending on the lighting.

george watched fireworks w gom from the car (bc the weather wasnt good) for the 4th of july.

the school george went to was very particular and proper, as gom and george state a lot of the schools in england are (gom thinks its ridiculous). one time george got in trouble bc of his shoes; his shoes had to have laces but gom bought george velcro. george also had a blazer that gom sewed his name into as part of his school uniform that he had to wear everyday (gom thought it was stupid). he would lose it quite often. gom also says there was an incident that was "unnecessarily strict" and "so dramatic" and "ridiculous" where george took a picture of a friend eating a muffin and put it on facebook, and even though the friend didnt care, the school called gom about it.

he didnt really do anything bad in school; he was a good boy!!

when george was 2 or 3 he couldnt say a few letters, like the letter s for example, so he instead of "it was sunny" he would say "it was yunny" and instead of "can we go to the sweet shop" he would say "can we go to the weet whop" and he needed speech therapy for it for about 9 months. later, when george was about 12, they went on holiday and his old speech therapist was there and gom thought it was cute that his speech therapist could see george talk properly.

gom thinks george was extroverted as a little boy. george says "i was and then i wasnt." he would often get sent out of the classroom or reseated in school for talking a lot. when he was 8, they would make him face the sink in the back corner of the classroom 😭

gom really wanted another girl when she was pregnant with george so she wanted to find out if george was going to be a boy or a girl so she could be prepared 😭 gom has always liked the name george and if george had been born a girl his name possibly wouldve been "georgia".

gister was quite bossy and george was very sweet when they were children. he would let gister dress him up as a girl and she would make a lot of games for him.

george says that streaming is "intensive on his head". he doesnt think streaming is a hard job but its mentally draining.

george was gorgeous as a baby

gom initially thought that georges streaming career was temporary, that he would do it for a little while before getting a "proper job". georges says his original plan was that after uni graduation which was in june/july 2019, he wanted to make some kind of business on his own. he gave himself until the end of the year to make it happen and if it didnt, he would get a more conventional software engineering job. he got the youtube 100k plaque jan 2020 and gom thought it was incredible and she was blown away. they went into lockdown and george's career took off. he says that doing youtube wasnt really the business plan he was picturing, but that it accidentally worked out in the end.

george loved camera stuff and he would film things as a kid, including the family dog. he once made a movie and put it on a dvd.

hes been skiing in switzerland with gom when he was little. theres a photo of him from that trip with a skiing instructor who taught him how to go over ramps.

when george was 4/5 he was clingy and a mummy's boy. he would get invited to parties from kids as school but george wouldnt want to go on his own. he would make up "pathetic excuses" like "they are gonna have a barbie themed cake and its gonna have jam."

george had a lot of friends who were girls growing up.

george feels bad leaving chat at the end of streams 😭

[majimaisms]

kind of an extension of that last thought, because i guess i feel the need to address this -- the thing for me is that majima and kiryus relationship makes No Fucking Sense whatsoever when i think of them as like. friends. it makes Some sense as Colleagues. it does make a good amount of sense as Allies. but its still not the full picture. and i think most rgg fans (including me) feel the need to come up with an explanation of their dynamic because it's like, weird but not in a way thats uncompelling or unrealistic, so in theory it should be *explainable*. and i do think its v easy and natural and fun (especially with the amount of subtext) to fill that gap with "romance". but to me THAT makes no sense either. for like the same reasons "friends" doesn't make sense. so i think theres a secret third or fourth thing going on here that is not romance and not friendship and not a Mix of both either

[ven0moir]

hey how do u feel abt noah saying that people should not get their hopes up for season 5 of stranger things? he didn’t specifically say anything abt it being byler related but idk - a lot of fans think of byler when they think of will and so im worried he was trying to like subtlety tell byler shippers to not get their hopes up

hi anon!

IF he was referring to bylers in that sentence, then this is what I'd assume; I think he was speaking generally. the most beloved byler theories ( flickergate, loverslake, wallgate, heroesgate, ud kiss, etc ) do not fit with the tone of the show, so they're very beloved, but noah himself once said that the fans are very creative ... yet wrong about everything.

that's why I do not even attempt to make "theories" about how Byler's kiss will happen or entertain that idea, its just wasted creativity bc they don't WANT you to know. Prediction theories will likely be wrong unless the Duffers WANT you piecing things together ( like how they said that they left enough clues IN VOLUME 2 for someone to piece together why the UD is frozen the day Will went missing. They wouldn't have said that IMO if they didn't want to encourage fans to figure it out. Otherwise it's sort of wasting your fan's time for no good reason ..? )

IF byler's endgame, chances are some of their storyline ( and Will's arc ) won't be satisfying to some of them ( *cough cough* I think you might know exactly what I'm talking about ) bc from everything they've said so far they ARE departing from this 'hopeless, martyr Will who suffers in silence and waits for Mike' vision that the fandom expects for him when it comes to his feelings for Mike. ( I have a friend who believes the 'choice' is mike's and mike's alone and Will is important but in his love life, he gets 0 say like let's be so fr here for a second. One thing I think Milevens are right about, that Bylers refuse to accept is that Will let go of his idea of being with Mike romantically in that van, and any hope he had left after that faded when Mike gave that speech to El and essentially locked them in as endgame in HIS eyes lmao )

and I personally would rather not have byler endgame than them literally removing the power of CHOICE from the character named Will ( power of CHOICE/Free Will/Will power ) in the season that is his coming of age and that has centered his sexuality and feelings for Mike so much.

That sounds like a genuine snooze fest

like GIVE ME THE SUPERNATURAL AS A REFLECTION OF HOW THEY START OFF S5. GIVE ME FULL ON QUEER HORROR

BUT I'LL BE RIDING THAT WAVE BABY I JUST KNOW I WILL PERSONALLY LOVE IT AND BE CHEERING WILL AND THE DUFFERS ON FOR THAT

I'm pretty sure some of this expectation of 'martyr Will' comes from some confusion over S4 El's arc being projected onto him, ( and that's totally fine! honestly I'm still understanding stuff myself but damn some people around here need to rewatch the show and set aside their fanon version of Byler for a second ) but that's why the most common version of Byler endgame that Byler fans are expecting/hoping for ( and the GA doesn't buy, mind you ) is basically a rewritten version of S4 Mileven.

"Leave the station, Nina. Don't keep waiting for a lover that won't return."

She also resisted Henry's influence and tried to reach him despite everything he's done--much like how she reached Billy in S3. She's been coded as an angel, a Jesus figure, El literally means God, etc. SHE'S MY DAUGHTER I LOVE HER SM I'm scared for her ending the most omfg

I have the awful feeling she'll experience a metaphorical death ( like, staying in the UD and transforming it as the gatekeeper I SO HOPE IM WRONG PLEASE I HOPE THIS IS DUE TO MY LACK OF UNDERSTANDING STILL and not bc they will really do that to her hhh )

Will? imo Will's being set up to go batshit unhinged and reckless and careless and fucking up as he figures himself out and tbh so far, everything they've said falls in line nicely with what I was HOPING for.

thank GOODNESS

And whereas I do not believe for ONE second the Duffers are perfect ( thank god, perfection is so boring and artificial ) I AM choosing to trust they're choosing to be brave and genuinely love their show. The fact people on both sides will be pissed/triggered due to some of their writing choices I think will just be an unfortunate consequence. Sometimes we forget these guys are not rocket scientists and at the end of the day, they're DnD nerds who love their play. If you're not having fun analyzing, chances are you're not approaching it the right way since both DnD and the show are about community and connection. It's inherently what makes them both fun.

I already went through my "acceptance arc" where I internalized that I do not write this show and have 0 say in its outcome. I definitely recommend others do the same and be prepared for whatever happens bc we've put a lot of emotional investment into the show, and that's okay, we're in this together, but we gotta make sure we're prioritizing our mental well-being and I do worry about some Bylers in the tag that I do not think ... should be watching this show ... ( especially after the reactions I saw during that Bychance / Byler "Civil War" .... yikes )

but yeah let me know if any of this makes sense / share your thoughts!!! they'd be cool to know <3

[untilwefind]

https://www.tumblr.com/untilwefind/788058158566342656/on-the-record-off-the-script

can we get more of this 🥹 maybe with them doing an interview about their relationship or even just seeing them together in the sharks ? (maybe their first day meeting the team)

On the Record, Off Script (pt 2)

Ask and you shall receive my loves

Will helps Mack into the padded chair like he’s guiding a glass vase, one hand on his back, still close enough to feel every shiver of adrenaline still working its way out of Mack’s system.

Mack sinks into the seat and sniffles again, immediately wiping under his eyes with the heel of his hand.

The host, who’s clearly recovered enough to function again, wordlessly passes a box of tissues across the table.

Will takes one with all the delicacy of someone receiving a sacred object and crouches beside Mack’s chair, reaching up to dab at his cheeks with theatrical care.

Mack groans, batting at him weakly. “Will. Stop. I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Will says, dabbing again with a grin. “You’re crying because you love me.”

Mack mutters something deeply unflattering under his breath but doesn’t actually move away.

The host smiles and picks up her cue cards. “Okay,” she says, tone bright but gentler now. “We are so honored to have the first overall pick here with us tonight. Macklin Celebrini—congratulations. How are you feeling right now?”

Mack exhales through a shaky laugh and runs a hand through his flattened hair. “Uh, surreal? Crazy? Fucked up, in a good way—sorry—shit—sorry—oh my god—”

Zeev wheezes. “There it is.”

Will bursts out laughing, tilting his head back. “We had a bet on how long it would take him to drop an F-bomb. I said under four minutes. Pay up, Buium.”

Will, from beside his chair, whispers, “Thanks, babe. You’re killing it.”

Mack bumps his knee in reply.

“Unbelievable,” the host mutters, half-laughing. “And we were doing so well... So what was this week like leading up to the Draft? Who've you had here in Vegas with you?"

Mack wipes his hand down his face, still a little pink. “My family’s been in town all week. My parents and my three siblings. We’ve just been kind of… keeping busy, trying to stay calm. Eating a lot of pasta.”

Will leans forward, grinning. “I was also here, thank you very much.”

Mack snorts. “Unfortunately.”

“I was emotional support.”

“You ate half my pasta and beat me at mini-golf.”

“You let me win because you were being soft.”

“Don’t say soft,” Mack mutters, blushing again.

Zeev grins. “They’ve been like this since U15. Honestly? Nothing’s changed except now they kiss.”

Will shrugs, unbothered. “That’s called progress, Zeev.”

The host chuckles. “Well, we’re glad you made time for us tonight. Macklin, what are you most looking forward to now that you’re officially headed to San Jose?”

Mack sits a little straighter. “Honestly, I’m just excited to get started and get settled. It’s such a great organization. I’ve heard a lot from my dad, he works with the Warriors, so he’s in the Bay Area already. It'll be nice to have family close by.”

Will wiggles his eyebrows. “And me. Your new roomie.”

Mack groans. “We are not roomies. You're literally living in the Marleau's guesthouse, idiot.”

“But you'll be in my bed every night.”

“Please, shut up,” Mack mutters into his mic.

Zeev raises his Chipotle cup. “To California housing crises and codependent hockey players.”

The host laughs and glances at Will with a practiced, expectant smile. “Alright. Will, I’ve got to ask. How does it feel, seeing Mack go first overall… and to your team?”

Will blinks, caught slightly off guard by the attention, but his grin settles easy and honest.

He glances over at Mack, who’s already watching him, eyes still a little red at the corners.

“It feels—” Will pauses, then shrugs lightly, voice soft but sure. “It feels like how it’s supposed to be. Like, yeah, I played at BC this year. He played against me, chirped me non-stop. But now, I'm ready for our team. Together.”

Mack makes a small, strangled noise like a laugh and a sob got tangled on the way out.

And then—hiccup.

Will’s already reaching.

He shifts closer, curling an arm around Mack’s shoulder and gently tugging him in until Mack’s face is tucked against his neck, right below his jaw. Will leans into it, calm and steady, keeping his voice casual like the cameras aren’t capturing a full emotional meltdown mid-sponsor segment.

“Okay,” Will murmurs, lips brushing the top of his draft cap. “That’s my bad. Too much, huh?”

Mack doesn’t answer. Just grumbles something unintelligible that sounds suspiciously like “you’re the worst,” and keeps his pink face buried.

Will grins. “You love it.”

Mack tugs at Will’s jacket but doesn’t let go.

The host, bless her, adjusts quickly. “And what are your plans for the summer before the season starts? Any downtime on the schedule?”

Will takes the cue before Mack can emerge from the safety of his cocoon in Will's neck.

“We’ve got a few things lined up,” he says, rubbing a slow circle between Mack’s shoulder blades. “Family stuff. Couple weeks up in Van with the Celebrinis. Aiden’s planning a golf rematch I did not agree to.”

Zeev chimes in immediately. “Mack's terrible though.”

“Okay rude,” Will says. “He's half decent. The problem is, he thinks driving the cart is the whole game.”

From Will’s neck, Mack mumbles, “It should be.”

Will chuckles and presses a tiny kiss to Mack’s head before straightening a little. Mack finally surfaces, still pink-faced but breathing evenly again, arms crossed tightly like he’s daring someone to bring it up.

“So yeah,” Will says, smoothly, “Summer’s mostly going to be family, training, and making sure this guy doesn’t spontaneously combust from Sharks-related anxiety.”

“I hate you,” Mack mumbles.

“You love me,” Will elbows him. "You literally just cried into my neck on television because you're so excited to play hockey with me. You're obsessed, Mackie."

"I'll end you."

“Iconic,” Zeev says.

The host flips her card. “Alright, important question. What’s your go-to Chipotle order, Mack?”

Mack blinks. “Uh… a bowl, brown rice, double protein, chicken and steak, mild salsa, cheese, lettuce. Side of chips. And—”

“No guac,” Will says firmly. “He’s afraid of guac.”

“I’m not afraid—”

“He says it’s ‘suspiciously green.’”

Zeev groans. “Forget Chipotle. Ask him about breakfast. Dude eats like it’s a contact sport.”

The host perks up. “Really?”

Will holds up a hand. “Allow me.”

Mack groans. “Oh my god—”

“Three scrambled eggs,” Will says, counting on his fingers, “Two slices of peanut butter toast, turkey sausage, hash brown, half a grapefruit, a protein smoothie with spinach and berries. No banana, very dramatic about that. And if there’s time, one of those oatmeal energy bars he keeps in his backpack.”

Mack buries his face in his hands. “Why are you like this.”

"What?" Will just beams. “I pay attention like a good boyfriend.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“And you love me.”

The host is laughing outright now. “Okay, tell us about your draft jacket. You’re getting a lot of compliments online.”

“Oh. Uh. It was custom. My mom helped with the details. It’s got a stitched lining with my junior team logos and stuff inside. And the Sharks colours. Kind of preemptive, I guess.”

Will is gazing at him like he hung the moon.

“And what’s next for tonight?” the host asks.

Mack glances toward Will, then at the camera. “Celebrating. With my family. And—” He nudges Will’s leg with his own. “With this guy. If I can ever get him to shut up.”

Will grins wide. “No chance.”

The host is laughing again. “Well, you are absolutely welcome back anytime. We’ll wrap it there before emotions run high again. Any final thoughts, Mack?”

Mack sighs, sits up straighter, and wipes under one eye one last time.

“I’m really excited. Nervous. But excited. And I’m just… grateful. It’s gonna be a big summer.”

Will smiles, steady and proud. “Yeah. It is.”

[zepskies]

Haha yeah I realized belatedly that Blake is actually the perfect "Ken" to go with that lyric!! 😂

I'm sure they think they are trying to help by setting up dates, but they really should respect the fact that it isn't what she wants. And if you are going to try and set someone up be upfront about it, don't be sneaky with it.

BIG YEP. They're trying to "help" her move on (and not be the sad friend), but they're not actually supporting her here 💔

Really?!! After what Rachel did they are still talking to her!! She needs better friends.

Right? I might explore it in future one-shots, but in my head Rachel has been able to manipulate and lie her way back into the group, like claiming to have been drunk as well when it "happened with Mark," etc.

Beautiful heartbreaking imagery 💔

Aww thank you! 🥹 Poor girl went through it fr!

Oh no. That is definitely not the way you want to run into your ex for the first time after the breakup.

Right? Poor girl feeling like a gremlin while Mark's all handsome and cheerful. 😭 She just doesn't realize that it's a coping mechanism for everything he's hiding inside.

Poor girl. As if it's not bad enough running into Mark like that, she sees him with Oliveras and assumes something is going on there (with someone else she knows). No wonder she needed to get out of there quickly. Uh-oh

Ughh I know, it was hard to write that scene from the reader's POV since I ship Mark x Amber in canon loll 🥲

Seriously what is wrong with some guys?! Take the hint!!

Oof, unfortunately this guy had taking advantage of her on his mind. 😓 But luckily Mark stepped in!

I hadn't heard this song before, but I love how this bit fits, linking that line from the song with the story.

Oh yeah that part of the song is so gutting, I had to try and have that represented here 💙

Ok, love this. I read it hearing him say it in my head.

ahaha I'm so glad to hear that because I did too when I was writing it! Love getting that confirmation 🤣

Oh, I'm guessing this has the potential to cause some issues/ conflict between her and Meachum with his work on the task force.

This was 100% my thought when we found out about Meachum and his fiancée in the show. My first thought was that he did that to end it so she wasn't 'stuck' with a dying man.

BIG YEP. That was my thought too! I still hope he didn't actually sleep with Rachel in canon either. 😭

OMG, she has no shame!!! Why does she think this is ok? Imagine if the roles had been reversed and Mark had done what she has, he would find himself in serious trouble.

Rachel is the absolute wooooorst! 100% if the roles had been reversed, a man could be arrested in this situation. But bc she's a woman, it's just seen as "asshole behavior." Sometimes the double-standard is really rough

OMG... she needs help. That is not normal behaviour Rachel!! I hope she gets a few home truths told to her.

Oooh don't worry, she will in the next story to follow this 😏

Love the shift here fits perfectly with the fact they still clearly love each other.

Aww thank you, as gutting as it is, this really is the moment where you see both of them never stopped loving each other.

Her being his 'peaceful spot' is beautiful. That man definitely needs it after what has happened so far on that task force.

From what I've seen so far, Mark seems to be really alone and having to cope with all this stress at work, which would be enough to deal with on its own, let alone everything else he's going to. 😭

Thanks so much for reading, friend! So glad you enjoyed it 🥰💕

CATASTROPHIC BLUES

Pairing: Mark Meachum x F. Reader

Summary: Nine months isn’t as long as it sounds. When you run into your ex-fiancé at a bar, he finds out what you've become. You find out the truth.

AN: Okay, so this was only supposed to be a 1K drabble sequel to DOWNGRADE for my lovely friend, @waynes-multiverse, but of course it snowballed on me lol. (And there’s a little more to come!) This is set during early season 1, let’s say between 1x02 and 1x03.

Song Inspo: “Hits Different” by Taylor Swift (YT)

Word Count: 6.3K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, drunkenness, skeevy men, Mark doing his best with an angry, hungover reader (bit of grumpy x sunshine), talk of cheating, what really happened, and other truths revealed…

Nine months. It should’ve meant something.

You should be able to go out with your friends to the club. You should be able to feel confident in one of your favorite dresses and the tallest pair of heels you could almost walk in.

You should be able to let loose on the dance floor, letting the closest attractive guy grind on your ass.

He later offered to get you a drink, his hot breath in your ear. An uncomfortable chill ran down your spine. But you know what? Fuck it.

You went back with him to the bar, taking the chance to rest your achy feet. He tried to make small talk with you, despite you being stiff and awkward now that you couldn’t distract yourself with the vibes of the music running through your body. Now the thump thump thump of the bass was too much, too distracting for a normal conversation.

Blake was an oxymoron—he dressed like a wealthy hipster and talked like a frat bro. He had the skinny jeans and a silky patterned shirt, a thin gold chain around his neck, an obnoxious gold pinky ring, and a trendy cropped haircut. You regretted letting him buy you a drink, but then again, you never wasted good vodka.

You also started to get suspicious when one of your friends “casually” came up on his other side.

“Ask her about her job,” Sarah whispered. You just barely caught it.

“Oh, yeah. So, uh, what do you do?” Blake asked you. You were pretty sure he was more interested in your cleavage than your job.

“I’m an assistant to the Head District Attorney of California,” you said blandly.

The guy blinked. “…Oh. Cool.”

“And what do you do, Blake?”

“Well, my dad owns an advertisement company, so I do some stuff for him every now and then. But mostly I’m a competitive gamer. Like, uh, League of Legends, Counter Strike, Mortal Kombat. What about you? You a gamer?”

Blinking slow, then sighing, you leaned over and locked eyes with Sarah, one of your best friends and a well-known esthetician in L.A.

“Where’d you find the trust fund baby?” you asked. “He one of your clients? Let me guess. He likes his asshole bleached the same shade as his hair.”

Sarah bit her lip in embarrassment. Blake coughed and spluttered into his scotch. You didn’t stick around for the predictable denial and slid off the bar stool. You gave him $15 for your drink, downed the rest of it in one long gulp, and savored the rush of it tingling through your head on your way out of the club.

“Wait!” Sarah called after you. Your other two friends just rolled their eyes and stayed behind to keep drinking and dancing. They were used to your antics by now, just like you were used to theirs. They'd been trying to set you up on dates for a couple of months now. This one was the sneakiest by far.

Sarah, for her part, never let you walk out alone.

“Next time you try to set me up with someone, can you please just tell me,” you said tiredly, “instead of pretending you want to hang out with me?”

Sarah deflated. “Look, we’re just trying to help.”

“I know,” you said, holding yourself against the chill in the air. “I know, okay? I know you guys want me to move on, because I’m a fucking bummer. I know I’m…I’m not handling all this as well as I should be. And I know they still talk to Rachel.”

Tears stung in your eyes, but you sucked in a subtle breath. Sarah’s blue eyes were sad and glassy with guilt, even if it was just by association.

“Go back inside,” you said eventually. “I’ll just take an Uber home.”

But you didn’t.

Instead, you ended up at a bar down the street. You barely ever went clubbing anymore, but you hadn’t stepped foot into a real bar in nine months.

“Come on, sweetheart. You really want to do this here?”

“You’re one to fucking talk! But you know what? Far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing left to say. I just…I don’t know how you could do this to me.”

“Please,” he said. The green of his eyes were desperate. It was the first time you ever heard him beg. “Just let me explain.”

You wouldn’t let him touch you, let alone try to hold you. The thought alone made you sick.

“I saw you, Mark. I saw the goddamn pictures. And my sister told me all about how your last night of ‘freedom’ went. But you know what? You’re fucking free.”

You put the ring in the palm of his hand. He stared down at it, jaw clenched. Meanwhile, hot tears streamed down your face.

You walked away first—out of the seaside bar in beautiful Venice, California, with every piece of your heart bleeding out into the street.

Another vodka cranberry at the end of the bar turned into shots you couldn’t name or count. You rebuffed men who tried to talk to you. You ignored the voice in your head that sounded a lot like your dad.

Sweet girl, what the hell’re you doin’?

You stopped trying to answer that question a long time ago. Just like your friends had stopped trying to get you out of the house after work. No more wine tastings or Sunday brunches. No more weekends at the beach. The coarse grains of sun-bleached sand would only remind you of Santa Cruz—a sweltering summer, a perfect day, now fractured and wrong in your mind’s eye.

A fucking lie.

Another empty glass hitting the bar counter drowned out the salty crash of ocean waves, but you finally had to stop when your stomach churned with alcoholic slosh. Your brain reeled when you tried to blink. Your eyes felt dry, irritated, and glassy at the same time.

You got up from your seat and used the wall like an anchor on your way to the bathroom. You checked yourself in the mirror there. Your black dress, your hair, and your makeup were still intact, so you supposed you still looked good, if absent in the eyes. Again, you blinked too hard. Fuck.

On your way back out, new noise was filling the bar. A whole group of four or five people came in and grabbed seats at the bar, laughing, ordering drinks, giving each other shit. They sounded like cops. You knew, because you’d grown up around them your entire life.

“All right, Oliveras. What’re you drinking?”

You stopped short at the voice, deep and rich like aged whiskey. In fact, you needed the back of an empty chair to hold you steady.

“What, you're buying?” she shot back.

Amber. You recognized her profile and the litheness of her frame. You two were old friends, since you roomed together back in college. You hadn’t heard from her in months though. She had called to give her condolences when your almost-marriage fell apart.

And now, your ex-fiancé had an arm draped casually behind her chair. His smile was effortless, charming, the crows’ feet around his eyes crinkled with amusement.

“Well, within reason,” he replied, inclining his head. “I think I’m in the mood for some good fuckin’ whiskey—”

You stumbled in your stupid heels. You nearly took a whole table with you, but two chairs broke your fall. Almost all the cops in the group looked your way, their heads swiveling with a trained response to sudden sounds. Your name fell from Amber’s lips, a small, shocked breath.

Mark’s mouth fell open, his eyes widening when you looked up at him on reflex. You were forced to take him in, his green eyes, the new haircut, the well-trimmed beard, the jeans and dark blue jacket. He had no fucking business looking that good.

But you were like two shocked deers not expecting to meet in a forest—neither one willing to move or speak, or even blink…

Until you stumbled again. Your weight on the unstable chair began to give way.

“Shit.”

He and Amber both jolted to help you. Mark’s hand reached for you first, but you firmly ignored it and somehow straightened onto your shaky feet. You smoothed down the dress and fixed the little straps the best you could, even though one was hanging down your shoulder.

Your arm got tangled in the thin chain of your purse, but you slung that over your other shoulder with all the grace of a toddler. Then you affected a “polite” smile that just came off looking like a grimace.

“Uh, hey. Of all the gin joints in the world and stuff, right?” You made sure to enunciate, hoping your hand wave was casual and not insane. “I’ve gotta go.”

You pointed toward the door before you made it your mission to actually get there. Your heart pounded loud in your ears. The rush of cool and quieter air was a balm to your frayed mind, but it wasn’t enough.

The way he looked at her…

The turning of your stomach became a violent roil. You closed your eyes against the movie reel torturing you in your mind. You imagined how their night would go, drinking, laughing, touching, stumbling back into his house at 2:00 a.m. Maybe he’d end up actually loving her, someone more like him. More than he claimed to have loved you.

The liquid contents of your stomach rebelled, and you threw up right on the edge of the street. You clung to a utility pole as you coughed and cried involuntary tears. You heaved and gasped for breath when you couldn’t stop.

“Hey, you okay, sweetheart?”

Alarm trilled in the back of your mind. You had enough awareness to look behind you. Finally, you noticed the guy. He’d approached you in the bar earlier, but you’d turned down his advances. You couldn’t remember what you said to him. He clearly remembered you, though. 

You waved him off, not even able to speak as you tried to stay upright against the utility pole.

He didn’t take the hint. He drew closer, wrapping the pretense of a helping hand around your arm. He fingered the edge of your leather jacket.

“You need a ride? I’ll get you an Uber or something,” he said, with the facsimile of concern. “Where do you live?”

“Hey,” a voice cut in, deep and with authority.

You tilted your head, and Mark’s stern face came into view along with the rest of him. Him and those damn bowed legs.

“Take a walk, pal. I’ve got her,” Mark said. He flashed his LAPD badge for good measure.

That made it even easier to knock away the foreign hands off your body and angle himself in between. His arm came around your shoulders, supportive and safe.

Half of you was grateful, the other half resentful, but all you could do was glare at him. He shot you a quirking smile.

The other man backed off, trying to hide his annoyance. He continued down the street with his hands in his pockets. Mark itched to do more than just scare him off. A familiar protective anger had burned in his blood, raising his hackles, but he had to focus on you.

He led you back to the front of the bar. He went slow enough for you in those red stilettos (ridiculous, he thought, no matter how sexy they were).

“Late night, huh?” he said.

“What d'you think you’re doing?” you said. Your tone would be more snippy, if you had any energy left. Your inner world was reeling, unfocused and barely conscious. You had no choice but to lean on him as you gripped his jacket, the dark blue denim rough between your fingers.

“Well, I’m thinking I could call one of your friends, have ‘em take you home. You came out alone?” he asked. He was trying to be civil, retaining his sense of humor, but there was no masking the concern in his eyes. Not completely.

“No,” you admitted, “but ‘m alone now. Obviously.” You snorted.

Mark’s lips twitched upward. He heaved a small sigh. “All right. Well, who do you want me to call? Sarah? Yesenia? Lauren?” 

After a moment, you shook your head, even though that just made it swim. Fuck.

“I can’t…don’t want them to see me like this,” you said. The confession provoked a sniffle, a tremble of your lips. This time, you couldn’t stop the sting of tears from flooding over. You covered your face, as if that could stop your embarrassment, your overwhelming emotions from clogging in your throat in a painful lump.

“Okay, it’s okay,” Mark said. His tone pitched deep and gentle. It was an easy reflex for him to give into as he soothed a hand over your hair to try and calm you down.

You didn’t know it, but there was a gaping ache in his chest that had never really faded away. Seeing you again, let alone like this, made it sharp and splintering.

He led you to his car, and he took you home.

For a moment, you saw it so clearly.

Tracing his brows, the line of his nose, and the cut of his chin while he slept. What his hair felt like between your fingers, loose and soft, or gripped tight with need.

The sound of his voice reaching deep into your bones. The way his arms allowed you to reclaim safety whenever he came back to you…

Worrying for your dad on his twenty-five-year beat in Homicide had transitioned into worrying for Mark. He was always quick to reassure you though, to downplay with his ridiculous sense of humor and good sex. The best, actually.

But it was the in between moments you missed the most.

The distant sound of a lock turning in the door had you waking, slowly, a silent struggle in your bed. Your eyes cracked open.

Were you okay now? Was that him? Was he home? Had the past year just been a cruel invention of your mind to torture you?

…No. Your throat momentarily closed up as you realized. This really was just your shitty reality.

You groaned as you picked your head off the pillow, pushing your body up until you were sitting on the edge of your bed. Your bare legs hung off the side. You still wore your wrinkled black dress from last night, but your heels were strewn forgotten on the floor. You didn’t remember taking them off. You didn’t remember getting back to your apartment, let alone to your bed.

However, it all started coming back to you when the door shut again. Fresh coffee wafted in from the living room, along with something sweeter.

Your bedroom door creaked open, and there he was. Mark fucking Meachum.

He held a tray with two hot coffees and a greasy brown bag from your favorite bakery. Your gaze crept up to meet his, though yours was decidedly grumpy.

“Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he said with a smile. “It’s already almost noon, but I figured we can’t start the day without coffee.”

“Did you stay here all night?” you croaked in disbelief.

“Yeah, just, uh, took the couch out there,” he said, pointing in the direction of the living room. “Could use a couple of extra throw pillows though. Think I got another notch in my spine…”

At your persisting glare, his expression sobered.

“Just wanted to make sure you were okay, that’s all,” he said.

“Well, mission accomplished,” you snarked. “You can go now.”

Mark watched you try and fail to stand. You sunk back down to a seat on the edge of the bed, closing your eyes for a second while you attempted to stop your head from swimming.

He sighed and set down the coffee and pastries on your desk nearby.

“Have you been making this a habit?” he asked.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but last night was the first bar I’ve been to in exactly nine months and...fifteen days,” you replied. You swept your fingers over your cheeks, grimacing when you found remains of your mascara. You probably looked like a gremlin. This wasn’t exactly the way you wanted to look when you next saw your ex.

Except you’d never planned to see this man again.

“All right,” Mark said. He grabbed your purse off your desk, where he’d set it last night. He popped it open, your private goddamn property.

“Excuse me,” you protested angrily.

He retrieved a whole pack of cigarettes. “How about these?”

He tossed you the pack, and you barely caught it. Your irritation grew and grew, along with the sting of shame. The worst part was, he knew he didn’t have to say anything.

The unfiltered nicotine in your hand was the reason your father died. He’d been the Captain of Mark’s precinct for ten years—the exact number of years since your dad had quit smoking. It hadn’t mattered much in the end.

Still, you resented that raised brow of judgment on Mark’s face.

You leaned over and grabbed a lighter from your nightstand. You fished out a cigarette from the pack, and you took your time lighting it up. You were being an asshole, you realized, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

You made a show of holding the cancer stick between two fingers. You looked up at Mark, right in his eyes, and tried to channel Audrey Hepburn when you brought it to your lips for a long drag.

And you immediately coughed it up. Fuck.

Smoke polluted the air above your head while Mark nodded in vindication.

“Yeah. How’d that feel, Smokey?” he asked (all too high-and-mighty, in your opinion). He crossed the distance and took the cigarette from your hand while you kept coughing. He went into the bathroom to get rid of it.

Meanwhile, you held a hand to your chest and groaned. Damn him, he was right. Your stomach roiled at just the taste of that shit in your mouth, let alone first thing in the morning.

“Why don’t you get cleaned up?” he suggested, sweeping a hand toward your adjoining bathroom when he came back out. “A little coffee and sustenance will be waiting when you’re done.”

“Seriously, you can go. You don’t need to wait up for me,” you rasped, but the man still helped you to your feet with a supportive hand on your arm and your lower back.

“Yeah, and what if you lose your balance and crack your head on the bathroom tile? Nope, not on my watch.”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered.

“He ain’t gonna help if you take his name in vain like that,” Mark couldn’t help but tease, fully expecting your glare. That was something your mom used to say.

You groaned, annoyed and still nauseous.

“Would you just shut up?”

“Nope, pretty sure I’m physically incapable.”

You snorted. “Clearly.”

He made sure you were steady on your feet before he left you in the bathroom. You avoided his gaze when he closed the door. His heart gave a painful pulse.

What the fuck am I doing? he thought.

Brushing your teeth and taking a hot shower had its innumerable benefits—making you feel alive and close to normal again, for example. But the one thing it didn’t do was get Mark out of your apartment.

You sat together on your couch while the TV played at a low volume. You saw the remnants of Mark’s night in your favorite throw blanket tossed over one of the armrests. The pillow he'd used for his head was caved in and smelling like his cologne, a rich, woody scent of sandalwood, spice, and musk.

You tried to ignore it while you finished eating a blueberry muffin. He polished off his third donut and washed it down with some more coffee.

“So,” you said. “Amber Oliveras.”

Mark blinked in confusion. “What?”

“Last night. You two were out together, seemed to be having a good time. Sorry I crashed your date,” you said, trying not to seem as bitter you sounded in your head.

Mark’s brows furrowed. “We’re, uh, not together. Not like that. We’re just working a case.”

“A case?” you said dubiously. “She’s DEA. You’re Homicide. What kind of case would you be working on together?”

He hesitated, brushing some pastry crumbs from his mouth. “Sorry, I can’t get into the specifics. You know the drill.”

Yes, you knew his cases were supposed to be confidential, but that hadn’t stopped him from telling you details before, especially because you were D.A. Valwell’s Executive Assistant. You had a higher clearance than the average civilian anyway.

But you let it go. It truly wasn’t your business, after all.

It was Mark’s turn to look your way. Morbid curiosity was eating him alive. Or maybe that was just the pull of being with you again, seeing your face, hearing your voice…even if you hated him.

He did think you were torturing him a bit too. You smelled nice, like floral soap and minty freshness. You were wearing an oversized shirt from your college days that was already threadbare from how many times you ran it through the wash. It slipped off one shoulder and barely went halfway down your thighs, brushing the edge of some little shorts. He had to stop his eyes from following the path of your bare legs.

“So, uh, how’ve you been?” he asked.

You paused. You even set down your muffin and chuckled, giving him a long look.

“How does it look like I’ve been?”

A grim silence fell between you two, thick and tense.

“All right," he said. "How long’ve you been smoking?”

You shook your head, lips pursing at his audacity. “You really don’t have any right to judge me. You know that, right?”

Mark rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin, an anxious, frustrated tick you knew well. “Look, what happened back then—”

You rose a hand to stop him. “Please, for the love of God. We don’t have to go through this shit again.”

You got up from the couch, intending to throw away the coffee cups and garbage if it meant gaining some space from this man.

But he followed you, stopped you with an imploring grip on your arm.

“It wasn’t what it looked like,” he said. He met your gaze, firm, earnest. “It didn’t go down the way she said.”

Your instinct was to jerk your arm out of his grasp, but he just held you in place, gently, but insistent. 

“Are you gonna let me explain this time? If you do, then just let me get it out. And afterward I’ll screw. I’ll walk the fuck outta here, and I promise you, you’ll never have to see me again.”

You stared up at him, close to seething, but there was something in his eyes that stilled you, gripped you more than his hands. A sliver of doubt began to creep in.

Your sister apparently hated you enough to fuck your fiancé. Had she been vindictive enough to lie about it?

You had realized, all too late, that you couldn’t put anything past her. Mark could be stubborn, but he wouldn’t dig his heels in on this without a reason.

So you relented, with a small nod.

Breathing a subtle exhale of relief, Mark guided you back down to the couch. You turned off the TV and sat facing him with your arms crossed. You gave him an expectant look.

Mark steeled himself. Where to fucking start?

A beat to think, and then he knew.

He had to give you everything.

Nine Months Ago...

One late night. One fifth of whiskey at the hotel bar turned into numbers Mark stopped counting—until the Captain reminded him. Your father reminded him beyond the grave, with words Mark never forgot.

You’ve got someone waiting for you. Don’t take that for granted.

He needed to find you.

Somehow, he made it to the elevator by himself. Third floor. Room 304, 305, 306. Fuck. Was it 309?

The door opened, and his addled fucking brain thought it was you at first. She almost had your eyes, if just half the sincerity of your smile.

Rachel welcomed him in and shut the door. He stumbled at the threshold, and she stopped him from falling completely onto the floral-patterned carpet.

“Oh my God, Mark. You okay?”

No. And he knew he wasn’t ever gonna be okay.

But her hands were warm, carving sensuous paths under his leather jacket without him realizing.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you,” she said, guiding him further into her hotel room. With slurring words, Mark asked her to go find you. He needed to talk to you.

“Shit, think I left my phone downstairs too. Needa get it,” he muttered.

“You’re a mess. I think you need to lay down first,” she said, huffing as she supported his weight over to her bed. She helped him lay down. A subtle smile tugged at her lips as she began to open up his jacket. He resisted at first, giving her a look of confusion.

“You should get comfortable. I doubt we’re gonna be able to move you from here.” She giggled.

He guessed he could see the sense in that. He let her help him shrug the black leather jacket off. You helped him pick it out a couple of weeks ago while you were planning for this trip.

Rachel tossed his jacket to the foot of the bed, and she sat close to him on the edge of it. Her bare thigh brushed against his arm as the skirt of her dress rode up. It looked like she’d been about to take a shower after a night out with you and your friends. He instinctively moved his arm, crossing it with the other over his chest.

“You know, I never got a chance to thank you,” she said.

Mark’s brows furrowed. It was taking all of his concentration just to keep her face in focus.

“For what?”

“You were really there for me when Dad passed. You were like our rock, coming by with food, checking in on me when you visited. It really meant a lot to me,” she said. Her words said one thing, but her eyes were beginning to lead him somewhere.

“Your dad was a good man,” he said tiredly. “You guys went through a lot. You, your mom, your sister. It uh, hit her pretty hard.”

Rachel’s lips pressed together. “Yeah… She was his favorite, you know.”

Mark blinked. “What, he said that?”

“He didn’t have to,” she said, glancing away. She began to drum her fingers against his arm. He noticed it, but he was also trying to concentrate on what she was saying. “He always talked to her more, trusted her more, even when he was harping on her. She got that government job, probably thanks to him. But he was proud of her.”

“’M sure he was proud of you too,” Mark said.

“No, I don’t think so. I just don’t know why,” she said, sniffling as tears welled up in her eyes.

Mark frowned in sympathy. “Aw, hey.”

He didn’t know how to make her feel better, but he didn’t like to see her cry either. He sat up the best he could in the bed. She met him halfway, burying her face in his chest and sliding her arms around his middle for a hug. He gave her that comfort, patting her on the back.

Only, she didn’t stop there. She shimmied a bit higher and buried her face in his neck, where she pressed a little kiss. An alarm bell rang in Mark’s mind, but his body was too slow to respond. She turned her head and laid another kiss on his cheek, and then his lips.

He finally jerked back, holding her at arm’s length.

“Hey. What the hell’re you doing?” he demanded. His tone was sharp without a filter.

Rachel’s tearful eyes met his as she bit her lip. Her hand tentatively drew down his chest, warm over his shirt.

“I just…I finally had to tell you how much you mean to me,” she said. “And I think she takes you for granted.”

His brows furrowing, Mark grabbed her wrist.

“Rach, I love you. I really do, but you’re like a lil' sister to me. I love your sister. I wanna marry her.”

The thought alone struck a sharp jolt of pain through his skull, and through his chest. He did want a life with you. But is that fucking fair?

Could he really shackle you to a dying man?

Sure, he didn’t know how long he had, but that could be a cruel waiting game, one you'd just gone through with your father for three months. Mark didn’t want to put you through that all over again.

“Look, just...go tell her 'm here. Please,” he said. The fight was draining out of him. His energy was waning, his eyes blinking slow.

Rachel nodded, wiping at her tears. She left him in a huff, but she went to lock herself up in the bathroom first. The sink faucet turned on.

Mark sighed. Fine, let her clean up and pull herself together, but she’d better go get you. He doubted he could make it, even if he crawled. But if he had to, he would…

Slowly, the ticking seconds turned longer. His eyes grew heavier, until he was unable to pry them open again. He fell asleep.

He woke to a streaming sun in his eyes, and a pounding ache between them.

Shit. He groaned, covering his eyes. Maybe getting drunk wasn’t good for an already fucked head after all.

“Hmm, good morning, sleepyhead.”

Mark frowned. He looked over and found Rachel leaning on his arm. She was lying naked under the thinnest sheet. He knew, not only because of her bare shoulders, but her nipples poking through the fabric.

“Jesus Christ,” he grunted, immediately turning over to climb out of the bed. He was very fucking relieved to see he still had his jeans and underwear on, but his shirt was missing. He found it strewn on the floor.

“You actually did that yourself,” Rachel remarked. “Think you got a bit hot last night.”

There was a playful note in her voice. Mark grit his teeth. He was fucking pissed.

“You’re over the fucking line, you hear me?” he snapped.

“What, are you really gonna tell her?” she taunted. “It’s not like we did anything. I just prefer to sleep naked.”

He snorted. Sure. And what happened to the part where she was supposed to go find you and tell you where he was? No, the girl saw an opportunity, and she took it.

Mark hesitated though, because she raised a good point. Goddamn it, what was he going to tell you?

His jaw clenched, and he angrily finished getting dressed. He got up and stormed out of the hotel room, but not before Rachel got of out bed and let the sheet fall away from her slender form. She walked in confidence and feminine sway over to the bathroom, smiling in amusement when he quickly turned away before he saw anything.

The door slammed shut.

Her smile slowly fell. Tears of embarrassment stung in her eyes. Not really because he was mad at her, but because he’d rejected her too.

She knew it was wrong. Yeah, she was pretty sure it was the worst thing she’d ever done. Part of her even hated herself for it. You were her older sister, after all. You, who always looked out for her when you two were kids—better than Mom did. You, who got the most attention from Dad, and the quiet reliance of Mom.

Yeah, Rachel did love you...but she also kind of hated you too.

After she got dressed, she went back to find her phone. She cycled through the pictures she took, every angle that made it seem like your fiancé had spent the night in her arms after the hot and steamy bits.

It was a joke. A cruel prank. But maybe after this, you wouldn’t open your mouth to criticize her ever again. Maybe you’d think twice next time, because in the back of your mind, you’d remember that she could’ve had your man.

Now...

Mark finished telling you the story from his perspective. He gave you as many details as he could remember: what she said and did, and what he said and did.

Understandably, you were getting more upset by the moment. That pendulum swung between shock, and anger, and upset again. It all culminated in hot tears as you crossed your arms, holding a hand over your mouth.

“How do I know that’s true?” you asked, wiping vainly at your cheeks.

The problem was, you wanted to believe him. Of course, you also wanted to believe your sister wasn’t quite as screwed up and hateful as you thought she was, but even this was insane. You'd only ever tried to look out for her. Maybe along the way you had been a little critical, a little too judgmental. But had you really deserved this?

Could you even let yourself hope it was all a lie?

Mark met your gaze head on. “Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m lying.”

You sighed in frustration. “Mark, you’re a professional fucking liar. I’m not a human polygraph.”

“But you know me.”

“I thought I did,” you said, rubbing at your eyes with shaking hands. Eventually, you were able to look at him again. “If what you said is true, why the hell didn’t you just tell me that?”

“You wouldn’t let me! You made up your mind before I could get a word in edgewise.”

“I was angry!"

God, what an understatement. You'd been so furious and hurt, you'd seriously debated taking one of your dad's old golf clubs and knocking out every window, headlight, and tail light in Mark's precious car.

"So you're saying you didn’t even fight for me. You just let me think the worst of you all this time? For what?!” You sunk your hands into your hair and pulled hard on the strands. You shook your head. “And you know what, why did you get so drunk in the first place? Your friends told me you went back to the hotel early, by yourself. It had to be for a reason.”

Mark nodded slowly.

That was when he knew, he really did have to give you everything.

“You, uh…remember those headaches I’d been getting?” he said. “Started about a month after your dad passed.”

Your brows wrinkled with a hint of confusion, but you nodded as the memory resurfaced.

“Yeah, you were going through entire bottles of Advil. But what does that—”

“I went to the doctor.” Mark rubbed a clammy palm over his jeans. He could stare down murderers, drug lords, and terrorists with steel in his veins, but coming clean with you was going to be one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He knew it in his bones, just like he knew why he needed to do it.

“Turns out… I’m sick, baby.”

Your expression changed, almost instantly. Traces of anger and doubt fell away, but so did some of the color in your face.

Mark took the chance to get a little closer on the couch. He laid a hand over yours on your thigh, but your whole body was locked up, sitting very still.

“W-What do you mean?” you asked.

“I mean,” he sighed, “I’ve got a mass in my brain the size of Nevada. I don't know how much time I got exactly, but..."

Your eyes widened. Your hands clenched into the fabric of your shirt, until your nails bit into your palms. As you processed those words and began to understand the weight of them, it sunk inky claws into your mind, into every shady corner.

You shook your head in denial, lips trembling. Mark just held your gaze, a silent confirmation that he said nothing but the truth.

"I found out a few days before the trip to Venice. I was trying to figure out how to tell you, but obviously I didn’t handle that part very well," he said.

Anger, stubbornness, suspicion, pretending you didn't care what he had to say—all of that faded. It drained out of your muscles, out of your pores. You began to fall apart.

You turned your hand under his and squeezed, hard. It was a while before you could speak, but Mark was patient. He held your hand and stroked his thumb back and forth across your skin while you tried and failed to hold onto your tears. Then your soul-wracking sobs.

Finally, he couldn’t help himself. He brought you closer, soothing a hand over your hair and pressing a kiss to your temple. You rested your forehead against his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, a coarse whisper. “God, Mark. Why the fuck would you let me think you cheated on me, with my sister?”

He gave a wry huff. “I guess I thought I was being noble. I thought I’d rather have you hate me, than try to stay with me. Watch me break down, bit by bit, for God knows how fucking long. Now I know I’m just selfish. I don’t want you to see me like that… Hell, I don’t wanna see me like that.”

You pulled back on him. Devastation filled your bleary eyes, but you caressed his cheek with a shaking hand.

“Have you gotten treatment?” you asked.

“Doc says it’s not worth it.”

The divot between your brows deepened. “What about a second opinion?”

He hesitated.

“Have you seen another oncologist?” you pressed.

“No. Guess I didn’t see the point. I saw the scans myself. I don’t know how you’d confuse a big fucking tumor for anything else.”

“Mark.” You shook your head and wordlessly guided him closer. You framed his face with both hands, while his own found purchase on the soft curve of your waist.

It was nice to feel your touch again…but at what cost? All that stubborn fire in your eyes, all that pain, it was everything he’d been trying to avoid. 

Still, you were gentle, sliding your fingers up into his hair. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

After all this time, you were still his peaceful spot. If you only knew the amount of death he’d seen in just the past couple of weeks on Blythe’s taskforce, the chaos, the stress of near-misses, being on the sweet razor edge of getting killed, saving his own body the trouble. That thrill took its toll.

Before that, those nine months undercover had been a divorce from his reality, pretending that he hadn’t left you broken along with whatever heart there was left in him.

He never imagined that he’d be here with you again. He never thought you’d forgive him, let alone touch him like you still loved him.

When he opened his eyes, you were still there. Tears clung wet to your lashes. You led him closer, where you tenderly rested your forehead against his.

He let you do it too. You were the only one he’d soften up for like this.

He smiled. “Hmmm. What now, sweetheart?”

You bit your lip, but you slowly pulled back and opened your eyes. You didn’t go far though.

You guided him into an even more familiar path to your lips. It was more bittersweet than he remembered, but worth it all the same.

He was home.

AN: So, you guys forgive me? 😘💙 I know it's not the happiest ending ever, but it felt like a good place to pause for these two. Rachel was more complex than she seemed, and so was Mark's side of the story!

I have at least one more actual drabble in mind for these two, coming soon! 😂 Please let me know what you thought of this one 💜

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It seems like a lot of people on the Dean tag list like Mark! lol So if you prefer not to be on this list, just let me know. I'll take you off no problem (you won't hurt my feelings lol 💜).

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[palevcr]

as its the 4th of july, aka steve’s birthday (at least mcu wise)… i have a request IF THATS OKAY ML 😔🫶

steves been avoiding the compound bc its always where tony has this big teasing session with a cake. its leveled down to JUST the avengers after steves embarrassed and shy face, humble as usual. so hes around brooklyn, early in the morning—DROVE THERE (wtf ik, but it gives him some peace amidst the storm that is his overly exerted mind) last night bc he wanted to escape the constant eyes.

reader, ever so observant and curious—bc reader has this bond with steve ofc, took a subway (like normal??) and was just quiet with him. and when it was time to go back to nyc and face the team, there was a moment. just a second, where they saw one another and crossed friendship’s edge. do what you will with that, but soft intimacy makes my heart melt—whether or not sex included doesnt matter to me.

anyway, bye queen love you 🫂🖤

YES OMG I don’t know if I interpreted that request correctly which I’m most certain that I probably did not BUT ITS FIIINE ha ha it’s fine. 😄

── FOURTH OF JULY

SUMMARY: When Steve slips out before Tony’s fireworks show can turn his birthday into a circus, he doesn’t expect anyone to come looking for him — least of all her. But she finds him anyway, tucked away in an old park with his vintage car and all his ghosts for company. Armed with a single cupcake, a cheap candle, and words she knows he needs more than he’ll ever say, she turns his runaway moment into something soft and real — something just for him. Between stolen wishes, shy confessions, and the hush of Brooklyn on a summer night, Steve remembers what it feels like to be just a man — not a symbol, not a myth. And maybe, just maybe, a single stolen kiss under a canopy of fireworks is exactly the kind of freedom he’s always needed.

genre: nostalgic fluff, soft birthday moment, runaway birthday, comfort, gentle romance

pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

tw: soft intimacy, mild suggestive content but nothing too explicit, emotional vulnerability, affectionate banter, shy kisses, tender wish-making, nostalgia, Brooklyn at night, vintage car vibes, found comfort, implied mutual pining, a little size difference softness, lingering touches, small but meaningful birthday gestures, Steve being impossibly gentle and real

authors note: This was cutesy and I love this. Happy Fourth of July to the Americans even though it’s currently 3am on the fifth of July in Germany so um🥰 we love that

The Fourth of July — America’s grand, blazing testament to its own mythos — had arrived in a fanfare of cheap fireworks and overpriced sparklers, flags fluttering from porch rails and lampposts alike, every street corner draped in the same shades of red, white, and blue. If ever there was a day made for a man called Captain America, it was this one — his day, twice over. Independence and birth all wrapped into a single date on the calendar, every firework a belated candle for a cake he’d never asked for.

Yet Steve Rogers, that walking relic of wartime posters and morale-boosting slogans, had never found much comfort in the noise of it. If anything, the pageantry made him restless, like a ghost pressed too close to the glass of his own legend. He’d tried — Lord knew he’d tried — to play along in the early years, to stand still and smile politely while Tony Stark orchestrated parades of excess in his honor. But the older he got — which, ironically, he barely did — the more the spectacle chafed at him.

This year was no different. Slipping through the maze of the compound’s corridors like a soldier on a covert op, Steve caught sight of the monstrosity Tony had commissioned this time: a colossal cake, so garishly frosted in swirls of scarlet, navy, and purest white that it looked more like a circus tent than something meant to be eaten. It took three catering staff just to maneuver it through the doorway, their arms trembling under its weight while Tony barked orders from behind them, brimming with that uncontainable Stark enthusiasm that made subtlety seem like a foreign language.

Suppressing a sigh that threatened to slip free, Steve pressed on before anyone could spot him, weaving through side halls until he reached the garage. There, waiting in the hush of the dimly lit space, sat the car — his car — an old classic Tony had restored years ago, part apology, part vanity project, and part attempt to tether Steve to the modern world by wrapping the past in chrome and fresh paint. The metal gleamed faintly under the garage lights, all curved fenders and polished trim, a quiet promise of escape.

Sliding behind the wheel, Steve took a moment just to breathe — to let the scent of old leather and motor oil settle something deep in his chest. The engine rumbled to life under his hand with a soft, reassuring growl, like an old friend clearing its throat. He pulled out of the compound as unobtrusively as a six-foot-two super soldier in a vintage car could manage, the road unfurling ahead of him in long ribbons of cracked asphalt and flickering streetlights.

Brooklyn called to him the way it always did — not the Brooklyn of condos and glass towers that had risen like weeds in the decades he’d been gone, but the shadows of it that still clung to the corners if you knew where to look. He drove with the window cracked open, the warm summer air spilling in, carrying faint traces of barbecue smoke and distant fireworks already testing the dusk. On the tinny radio, an old swing tune crackled through the static, the same songs that had once drifted from dance halls and war bond rallies, ghost notes threading the gap between then and now.

And for a while, with his hands steady on the wheel and the city lights flickering like fireflies on the horizon, Steve let himself believe — just for tonight — that maybe not everything good had been left behind in the pages of history books and sepia photographs. Maybe, if he drove far enough into Brooklyn’s sleeping streets, he might find a fragment of it waiting for him still.

It was later into the day, the sky burnished with that quiet gold only summer evenings could conjure, when Y/N first noticed Steve’s absence. The party had begun to spill out of the main common area into the hallways and terraces, laughter punctuated by the occasional whoosh of sparklers and distant echo of firecrackers from the city below. Yet the space he’d left behind seemed unmistakable now: a silent, oddly shaped vacancy only Steve could fill.

Pushing through the low hum of conversation, Y/N made her way toward where Natasha Romanoff had settled herself — perched on the arm of a couch, watching Clint and Wanda argue over a battered deck of cards, her gaze as amused as it was unreadable. “Have you seen Steve?” Y/N asked, her voice softer than she’d intended, almost as if she were hoping the question might answer itself.

Nat lifted her coffee cup, the steam curling in lazy spirals, and tilted her head in thought. “Hmm,” she hummed, the sound curling into a faint smirk. “Pretty sure he dipped a few hours ago.” She took a slow sip, her eyes following Y/N’s reaction.

“Oh.” The word slipped out smaller than she’d meant, her lips tugging into a frown that betrayed more than she liked. Turning on her heel, she walked toward the door, snatching her jacket from the back of a chair with a practiced flick of her wrist.

“Where you going?” Nat’s voice called after her, a knowing edge threaded through the casual question.

“I’ll be back,” Y/N tossed over her shoulder, pulling her jacket on. “Leave me a sparkler so I can blow it out in Tony’s office.”

Nat barked out a low laugh, genuine and brief. “Hell yeah.”

Outside, the air had grown cooler, the heat of midday retreating into pockets of warm concrete and drifting smoke from neighborhood barbecues. Y/N tugged her jacket closer around her frame as she walked down the path away from the compound, the echo of her boots muffled by gravel and grass.

She made her first stop at a small corner bakery she’d stumbled into weeks before, a place that still smelled of sugar-dusted nostalgia and fresh bread. The bell above the door gave a soft jangle as she stepped in, choosing a cupcake whose frosting swirled like a careless, hopeful wish. The baker wrapped it carefully, paper rustling, and Y/N thanked them with a distracted smile, already planning her next stop.

A few blocks away, she ducked into a narrow general store lit by buzzing fluorescent tubes that hummed overhead. The aisles smelled faintly of floor polish and old wood, the shelves crowded with everything from cheap toys to dusty tins of soup. She found a pack of slim white candles and a small, folded card printed with a plain navy border — nothing loud or festive, nothing that screamed celebration, just something simple, honest.

Back outside, the sky had deepened to a dusky violet, streaked with rose-gold where the last of the sun clung stubbornly to the horizon. Streetlights blinked to life in quiet succession, and a warm breeze teased stray strands of hair across her face. She walked with purpose now, her boots tapping out a steady rhythm on cracked sidewalks as she descended the steps into the subway station, the stale underground air rushing up to greet her.

The platform was half-empty, the muted chatter of waiting passengers broken only by the squeal and clatter of an arriving train. She stepped inside and found an empty seat near the back, the vinyl sticky from summer heat, and settled the plastic bag in her lap.

Digging through its contents, she pulled out the card and a slim black pen she’d tossed in earlier. For a moment she hesitated, pen hovering, the words gathering in her mind but refusing to fall into place. The sway and shudder of the train seemed to nudge them free, and slowly, deliberately, she began to write — her careful cursive curling across the blank card, each letter a quiet offering meant for a man who never quite learned how to celebrate himself.

Beyond the window, the city blurred past in streaks of rust and concrete, neon signs flickering to life one by one as night finally claimed the sky. And for the first time that evening, Y/N let herself hope that wherever Steve had gone to be alone, she might still be able to find him there.

Steve had drifted somewhere between waking and sleep, the steady chorus of cicadas and the distant pop of fireworks dissolving into a lullaby against the hum of his idling car. He’d found this old park by sheer muscle memory, a place that felt half-remembered even when he was wide awake — a sliver of green tucked between apartment blocks and cracked sidewalks, where the world slowed just enough for him to feel like a man again instead of a symbol.

His seat was pushed back as far as it would go, the leather warm against his shoulders. Through the windshield, the sky was a velvet sprawl of deepening indigo, stars peeking out in shy, scattered freckles above the sleepy treetops. He’d counted a handful before his eyelids grew too heavy to keep track.

The soft, polite tap on the passenger-side window startled him back to himself. He blinked, brow furrowing until his eyes adjusted, then softened immediately when he saw her — Y/N, bundled in that too-big jacket she always shrugged into when she wanted to disappear into herself. She stood there under the halo of a flickering streetlamp, her breath fogging the glass just slightly, her smile shy but certain.

Something unspooled in his chest — something warm and grateful and heavy with the kind of affection he never quite found the words for. Without thinking, he reached across the console and popped the lock. The door gave a soft click as she opened it and slipped inside, careful not to bump the cupcake box she’d balanced in her arms. Steve leaned over, tugging the door shut behind her, the old hinges creaking in protest.

“You’re not that hard to find, you know,” she teased, her voice soft in the hush of the car, her grin tucked into the corner of her mouth like a secret. She smelled faintly of frosting and city air, a gentle contrast to the scent of old leather and the faint cologne that clung to his shirt collar.

He huffed out a laugh, the sound rumbling in his chest as he shifted to face her more fully, his seat squeaking as it moved. “I wasn’t trying to hide,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well. Not good hiding, at least.” He let the quiet confession hang between them like an apology he knew she’d never ask him to make.

She just shook her head, pulling her knees up onto the seat and turning to face him properly. The overhead light caught the curve of her cheek, the tiny flecks of glitter from some stray sparkler still clinging to her hair. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice softer now, the edges of his smile curling around his words as if he were trying to hold onto the moment and keep it from slipping away.

She lifted the small bakery box between them like an offering, her grin blooming wider. “Birthday rescue mission,” she said. “I figured you’d rather blow out a candle in the middle of Brooklyn than let Tony set off an entire pyrotechnic display in your honor.”

Steve let out a breathy chuckle, warm and full of something he couldn’t quite name but didn’t bother to hide. His eyes flicked from the box to her face and back again, a tender gratitude settling into the lines of his expression. “You didn’t have to do that,” he murmured, but the truth of it was written all over his features — how much he needed exactly this: something small, something kind, something real that reminded him he was still Steve, not just the man they’d plastered across history books.

Y/N shrugged, brushing an invisible crumb from her knee. “I know,” she said, voice hushed, softening the night. “But I wanted to.” She rummaged in her bag for the candles and the little card, the cheap plastic lighter rattling somewhere at the bottom. Outside, a distant boom of fireworks painted the car interior with quick flashes of red and gold, brief enough to feel like borrowed magic.

Steve watched her, the corner of his mouth lifted in that gentle, lopsided smile she’d always loved — the one that made him look like the boy he used to be, before the shield, before the war, before the world decided who he was supposed to be. And for a moment, under the hush of old trees and the crackle of sparklers in the distance, he let himself believe that maybe — just maybe — this was enough.

She unwrapped the cupcake with delicate care, setting it gently on the center console between them as though it were something precious and breakable. The frosting had smudged a little from the ride over, but it still looked charming in its imperfection — a swirl of soft white peaks dusted with a few scattered sprinkles that had shifted to one side.

Then came the card — small enough to tuck into a back pocket, its navy border neat against the off-white paper. Steve let out an unguarded snort, the sound low and fond, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Don’t laugh,” she shot back quickly, her words bubbling out with more warmth than annoyance. “It’s small, yes, but it still counts.” She held it out to him, her brows raised in mock severity, though the faint curve at the corner of her lips betrayed her amusement.

“Oh, most definitely,” Steve deadpanned, tilting his head slightly as he took the card from her hand. “I barely even noticed the size,” he added, voice dipped into a teasing solemnity that didn’t quite reach the grin tugging at his mouth. The paper felt warm where her fingers had held it, the edges slightly bent from the subway ride. Yet he didn’t open it right away — instead, he balanced it carefully on his knee, content to just watch her finish whatever quiet ritual she’d conjured for him.

She rummaged again through the rustling plastic bag, her forehead creased in concentration as she produced a pack of thin white candles. Choosing one, she gently twisted it into the cupcake’s frosting, the wax wobbling a little before it found its balance. The empty bag she tossed into the backseat with a careless flick of her wrist.

“Shoot,” she murmured under her breath, her eyes lifting to his with a small, rueful pout. “I don’t have a lighter.”

Steve felt his smile widen into something helplessly soft, something that tugged at old, half-healed places inside him. Wordlessly, he reached into the front pocket of his jeans, his fingertips brushing the worn metal of the lighter he’d lifted from Bucky months back — more out of habit than necessity. He held it out to her between two fingers, the brushed steel catching the soft glow from the dashboard lights.

Her answering grin bloomed like a spark itself, quick and bright, as she took it from him. “Thanks,” she murmured. The lighter felt heavy in her palm, and it took a few flicks — the first ones sputtering out in stubborn sparks — before the small, steady flame finally caught.

She leaned in slightly, shielding the tiny candle with her hand from the ghost of a breeze sneaking through the cracked windows. In that moment, Steve couldn’t help but watch her: the quiet concentration in her eyes, the soft press of her bottom lip between her teeth, the way the flame briefly illuminated the delicate line of her jaw and the faint freckles across her cheekbones.

When the wick finally took, the single flame wavered, sending a thin ribbon of warm light dancing over the car’s interior. Outside, another distant firework broke against the sky, its echo rolling through the night like a slow heartbeat.

“There,” she said softly, voice almost reverent, as if they were in a chapel built of steel and summer air. “Make a wish, birthday boy.”

Steve let out a quiet breath, his gaze caught between the candle’s gentle flicker and the even softer warmth in her eyes. For once, the wish came easily, unspoken and simple. Something small. Something real. Something that felt, for this moment, like home.

Steve leaned forward, drawing in a slow breath to blow out the flickering flame, but before he could, her palm pressed firmly over his mouth. He froze, eyes flicking up to meet hers, eyebrows arching just a little in mock affront. Her hand was warm against his skin, her fingers soft where they brushed the edge of his stubble.

“You have to close your eyes for it to come true,” she said, her tone dipped somewhere between patient and teasing, a conspiratorial glimmer in her eyes that made her look a little younger, a little more reckless than the world usually allowed her to be.

Steve huffed out a sigh against her palm, his breath warm on her skin. “Since when?” he mumbled, words muffled, his eyes narrowing as if he didn’t quite buy it but loved hearing her say it anyway.

“Since forever,” she shot back, fingers slipping away as she straightened, giving him just enough space to breathe. “Do you want your wish to come true? Yes. You do. So close your eyes, Captain.”

He laughed under his breath, the sound vibrating in the small space between them, his shoulders relaxing as the last traces of weariness seemed to roll off him like an old coat. “Bossy tonight, aren’t we?” he teased, but obediently let his lashes drift down, the weight of the day pulling him into that small darkness where he could wish without feeling foolish.

“Good,” she murmured, satisfaction flickering across her features as she leaned in a fraction closer, the scent of frosting and summer air and the faintest trace of his cologne mixing between them. “You have your wish, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, the words soft and slightly sheepish, like a promise made under blanket forts or whispered on creaking front porches in the middle of the night.

“Now blow,” she said, her voice gentler than before, the mischief fading just enough to make room for something tenderer, something more real.

Steve lingered for a heartbeat longer, as if tucking the wish deeper into his chest where the world couldn’t touch it. Then he leaned forward and with one quiet breath, snuffed the tiny flame out of existence. Smoke curled up from the wick in a thin, silvery ribbon that drifted out the open window, carrying his secret with it into the bruised dusk beyond.

When he opened his eyes again, she was watching him, her grin softened into something almost shy. She reached over, brushing an invisible crumb from the corner of his mouth with her thumb. “You can eat your cupcake now,” she whispered, her words so close they skimmed his lips like a promise.

He huffed out a small laugh and carefully lifted the cupcake from its nest on the console, its frosting now slightly dented where the candle had been. With the same deliberate gentleness he used for everything that mattered, he split it neatly in half, crumbs tumbling onto the faded leather seat between them.

He held out the bigger piece to her without a second’s thought — as if there had never been any question. Just like every other time. Just like when they sat cross-legged on the floor at two in the morning sharing the last slice of blueberry pie Nat had stashed behind the milk. Or when he’d torn his sandwich in half during a layover in some nowhere airstrip, the two of them perched on duffel bags under flickering fluorescent lights. Or the countless missions when a single bar of chocolate had to be split between bruises and exhaustion and the comfort of knowing neither of them would ever have to finish alone.

She took it from his hand, their fingers brushing in that quick, unspoken gratitude that said more than any speech could. For a moment, neither of them moved to eat. They just sat there, knees knocking gently together in the quiet cocoon of the car, the soft echo of fireworks rolling through the dark like distant thunder, Brooklyn alive and breathing all around them.

And there, between a half-eaten cupcake and an old lighter borrowed from an equally old friend, Steve Rogers allowed himself to feel, for the briefest flicker of time, that maybe this — this small, human, stubborn piece of normal — was the best wish he’d ever made.

“Did you read your card?” she asked around a mouthful of cupcake, her voice muffled but bright, as if she half hoped to distract herself from the fact that they were here, tucked away in this bubble of warm air and soft secrets. Crumbs clung to the corner of her lip, a smear of frosting trailing up her cheek in a way that made her look almost impossibly young, carefree in a way neither of them got to be very often.

Steve let out a quiet huff of laughter, the kind that curled at the edges and settled somewhere warm in his chest. Without thinking — and perhaps because thinking would have made him hesitate — he reached across the narrow console, brushing the pad of his thumb against her cheek to collect the stray bit of frosting. He didn’t pause, didn’t second-guess it — just brought his thumb to his mouth and licked it clean, an absent, intimate gesture that made something soft stutter in her chest.

She looked away so quickly her hair slipped over her shoulder, hiding the heat that bloomed in her cheeks. But Steve didn’t seem to notice the way her breath caught or the sudden flutter in her pulse. He was already shaking his head, reaching for the small card she’d slipped into his hand earlier — that simple piece of folded paper that now felt like it weighed more than the shield ever did.

He opened it carefully, his broad fingers gentle on the fragile crease, eyes scanning the familiar slant of her handwriting. He didn’t speak, not at first — just sat there with the card balanced between his fingertips like it might vanish if he held it too tight. His thumb traced over the lines of ink, slow and thoughtful, like he could feel the warmth she’d tucked into every curve of every letter.

When he finally looked up at her, really looked, the weight of him settled in the small space between them like a heartbeat. His gaze, steady and impossibly gentle, carried the same quiet gravity that had once held battle lines and broken men together — but here, now, it was stripped of all that armor. Just him. Just Steve. Just this.

“Thank you,” he said, and his voice was so soft it barely rose above the hum of the idling engine and the distant thump of fireworks echoing through Brooklyn’s summer air. Two simple words, but somehow they held more truth than all the speeches ever written in his name. He pressed the card briefly to his chest — a gesture so unselfconscious, so instinctive, that it almost made her heart ache — before folding it closed again, tucking it carefully into his pocket like an anchor, a promise, a small relic of something deeply, stubbornly human.

“You’re welcome,” she breathed, her voice a hush of warmth, the word threading the tiny space between them like a secret only they knew how to keep.

For a moment neither of them moved. The car around them felt impossibly still, the world beyond reduced to muffled pops of distant celebration and the faint rustle of leaves in the warm night air. Steve’s eyes flicked to her mouth, then back to her eyes, and for once he didn’t look away. He just leaned in, slow and deliberate, the faint squeak of old leather under his shifting weight the only sound between them.

She mirrored him without thinking, a soft pull guiding her forward until they were both hovering over the center console, knees brushing, shoulders almost touching. There was no rush, no fireworks needed — just the quiet promise of breath and heartbeat and the gravity of two people who had spent so long learning how to stay steady in a world that never was.

When his nose brushed hers, she let out a soft, surprised exhale — a sound that made Steve smile against her skin, a fleeting curve of his mouth that she could feel before she ever tasted it. And then, finally, like the quiet closing of a door on the rest of the world, he closed the space between them and kissed her — slow and careful, but certain in a way that said this was always going to happen.

Outside, somewhere beyond the worn steel and old leather, fireworks bloomed against the dark like fleeting, burning stars — but here, in the hush of an old car parked in a corner of Brooklyn that still remembered who they used to be, the only spark that mattered was the one flickering to life in the soft press of his lips against hers.

They lingered in that first kiss like they had all the time in the world, like nothing outside the old car could touch them if they just stayed right here, lips brushing, breath mingling in the hush of an empty street corner in Brooklyn. When Steve finally pulled back, it was only by a fraction — just enough to catch the soft, involuntary sound of protest she let slip, a tiny, unguarded whimper that slipped through the space between them like a secret she hadn’t meant to give away.

The sound made him smile — a quiet, helpless thing that tugged at the edges of his mouth and reached all the way into his eyes. Without a word, he dipped forward again, catching her lips with his like a promise renewed, his palm coming up to cradle her cheek. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, slow and reverent, tilting her face just enough to deepen the kiss, to taste the sweetness of frosting lingering at the corner of her mouth.

Outside, the sky cracked itself open again — a low, distant boom that rattled the windows and spilled invisible color through the warm dark. Neither of them turned to look; it was enough to feel it rumbling through the metal frame, enough to know the world was still spinning, still burning bright, while they pressed pause on the small, stubborn piece of it they’d claimed for themselves.

In the cramped cocoon of the car, where the air smelled faintly of old leather and vanilla icing and the ghost of gasoline, they clung to each other as if the night might change its mind at any second. Steve kissed her like he could hold back the morning with just his mouth, like each brush of his lips might anchor him here, now, in a heartbeat that belonged to no one but her.

He kissed her with a patience that only made it worse — worse in that wonderful, helpless way that made her hands fist in the soft cotton of his shirt, her breath catching every time he pulled back just enough to make her chase him for more. When his tongue brushed hers, gentle but certain, she melted into him, soft and pliant and impossibly alive in his hands.

Her arms slipped around his neck, pulling him closer, needing him closer, and he hummed into the kiss — a low, contented sound that rumbled through his chest and reverberated against her palms. He pulled back just far enough to breathe a word into her mouth, so quiet it barely qualified as sound at all.

“Come here,” he whispered, a plea wrapped in a command, his breath warm and unsteady where it kissed her lips.

She didn’t hesitate — didn’t stop to think how ridiculous they probably looked, tangled up in an old car parked beneath the sleepy branches of an ancient oak, fireworks unseen but felt in the tremor of the world beyond the glass. She braced one hand on the console, the other on his shoulder, and with a soft laugh that caught in her throat, climbed over the divide between them.

Her knees pressed into the worn leather seat on either side of his hips, the hem of her jacket slipping down her arms as she settled into his lap. Steve’s hands found her hips without thought, wide palms warm and steady as they skimmed over the curve of her waist, grounding her, grounding him, holding them both right there in that fragile, stolen moment.

She leaned in, one hand threading into the short hair at the nape of his neck, tugging him back into her orbit as if she couldn’t stand the few inches of air that still dared to separate them. When their mouths met again, there was nothing patient left in it — just the soft, breathless urgency of two people who had spent too many nights pretending they didn’t want exactly this.

Outside, the world kept exploding in color they didn’t need to see. Inside, she tasted like vanilla and firework smoke and something Steve had been chasing his whole life without knowing the name for — something small, real, and just for him. Just for her. Just for tonight, with the old leather creaking under their weight and his hands firm at her hips, holding her like the world couldn’t touch them so long as they held each other first.

They lost themselves in the kiss the way people lose themselves in half-forgotten songs — slow at first, then with a momentum that built quietly, insistently, until there was nothing but the heat of mouths meeting and parting, the soft hitch of breath and the sound of skin against skin where his hands squeezed gently at her hips. The old car rocked ever so slightly beneath them, the smell of summer air and leftover frosting curling sweet and heavy in the cramped space.

Time blurred around the edges. It could have been minutes, it could have been an hour — the only things that mattered were her fingers sliding through the short hair at the base of his neck, his thumb brushing lazy circles under the hem of her shirt where her spine curved, the small noises she made when he deepened the kiss, the quiet rumble of his laugh when she nipped at his bottom lip just to hear him breathe her name into the dark.

And then — as if the universe had grown jealous of what they were making here in the hush of the parked car — Steve’s phone buzzed insistently from the pocket of his jeans. The sharp vibration startled them apart by a fraction, but before he could so much as catch his breath, she was already peppering soft, open-mouthed kisses down the side of his jaw, her mouth trailing a path to the warm stretch of skin where his neck met his shoulder.

Steve let out a breathless chuckle, his head tipping back to rest against the seat, exposing more of his throat to her searching mouth. “Okay, well—” he rasped, his voice a low, wrecked murmur threaded with laughter. “Glad to know you’re eager.”

“Mhm.” She hummed her agreement against his pulse point, her lips grazing the steady thrum of his heartbeat like she could memorize it with her mouth. Her hands slipped lower, bold now, fingers pushing under the hem of his T-shirt. She flattened her palms over the hard planes of his stomach, tracing the warmth of him with her fingertips, feeling the subtle twitch of muscle under her touch.

Steve sucked in a sharp breath, his ribs expanding under her wandering hands. He opened his mouth to say something — maybe to tease her back, maybe to remind her that they were still half-balanced in a car parked on a side street with the windows fogging up — but his phone buzzed again, more insistent this time.

He let out a groan that was equal parts frustration and helpless amusement, fishing the device from his pocket without pushing her away. She didn’t stop — if anything, she pressed closer, her lips dragging lower over the curve of his neck, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below his ear in a way that made his breath stutter.

“It’s Tony,” Steve said, his voice breaking a little when her nails scraped lightly over his ribs. He cleared his throat, trying and failing to keep the smile out of his voice.

She made a soft, questioning sound against his neck, her words muffled by the warm skin her lips refused to abandon. “What’d he say?” she murmured, the vibration of her voice against his throat sending a fresh shiver down his spine.

Steve huffed out a laugh, squinting at the glaring light of the screen. “‘Okay, uh — Steve, where are you? And where’s Y/N? Are you guys out in some shady—’ okay, I’m not reading the rest of that.” He cut himself off, his grin wide and uncontainable as he dropped the phone to the console, letting it slip from his fingers entirely when she giggled against his skin.

She pulled back just enough to look up at him, her cheeks warm and flushed, her lips pink and slightly swollen from all the kisses. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and something softer underneath, the kind of fondness that made him feel like the world outside this car could knock for hours and they still wouldn’t bother to answer.

“What did he say?” she pressed, her laughter bubbling up as she tugged lightly at the collar of his shirt, teasing him for his half-read censorship.

Steve just shook his head, his hands sliding from her hips up to the small of her back, pressing her closer until there was nothing between them but shared warmth and the echo of their stolen breath. “Trust me,” he murmured, dipping his head to brush his mouth over hers again — once, twice, soft, like a promise. “You really don’t wanna know.”

And this time, when she laughed, the sound got lost in his mouth as he kissed her again — the car, the fireworks, the world beyond the window dissolving into nothing but the feel of her smile under his lips and the steady thrum of her heartbeat where his hands held her tight against him, refusing, for one more stolen moment, to let her go.

— all rights reserved © PALEVCR all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate nor repost as yours.

[tanadrin]

I’m curious if the passage of trumps one big beautiful bill and the defunding etc of American universities has changed your mind on China? I honestly feel like this is the worst case scenario but want to hear your thoughts.

if the trump II admin signaled a long-term inflection in US politics, sure--if i thought the political consensus in the US had turned away from generous funding for education and science and healthcare for a generation or more, that trump's nativism and fascism had taken a deep root in the political culture, yes, the US would be fucked, and china or europe would surpass the US just by default, no matter how stagnant they were in comparison, because that would be a long-term program of national suicide.

but trump's coalition has quite explicitly not won that battle. he and his policies are deeply unpopular, and he won the election bc in large part people did not believe him when he told them what he was going to do. i don't have a crystal ball and i can't say what the future will bring with certainty, but it sure looks like vast swathes of the country are not yet ready to concede on these fights, and just like trump was not the end of american politics, this bill is not the end of american politics.

china could also liberalize and correct its lack of consumer demand and fix its deep structural political and economic problems and surpass the US anyway. or the trumpists could eventually win the fight and turn the US into a reactionary authoritarian state like Russia. lots of things could happen. but the current trends right now do not seem in favor of either a long-term trump victory or a sudden revitalization and explosion of growth in china.

(and i don't mean to suggest that china is doing miserably by any means--there are some really promising trends around EV production and solar panel production that are genuinely heartening to see. but nothing that really challenges my view that china isn't inclined to become a genuine military-economic superpower anytime soon)

[ellitx]

Modern AU Venti Dealbreakers

A dream where im supposed to be visualizing the future chapters turned to a discussion of what our each other’s dealbreakers are and these are what dream venven said.

Not in any particular order, these are from how i clearly remember them to the vaguest and haziest recollection

If you’re on a date with him and you spend most of your time staring down your phone, it’s a no for him.

I dont mean in a way he restricts you from using your phone. Venti just values quality time and wants you to talk to him

Like would it hurt you not to be on your phone when he’s talking to you DURING a date?

He doesnt mind it if both of you are waiting for something like waiting for your turn in the line in an amusement park

Like tell him how your day went

Or you saw a cute dog on your way and showed him the pic you took on your phone

Or at least show him the meme/video that has you laughing! Don’t just keep it to yourself!

He doesnt want the date to be ruined bcs most of your attention is on that

He wants you to have fun, enjoy the moment with him and make it special

Even in domestic dates or just cuddling with him, if he sees you scrolling and he’s talking to you only to get a half-hearted response back, dont be surprised you’d get a message that he wants to break up with you

I’ve said this before and I will say it again. HE WILL REJECT ONE NIGHT STAND OFFERS

If you plan on using him just to hook up or even as a REBOUND no thank you

He’ll sense it. And he’ll quietly step away the moment he realizes you’re just filling a void

Next is if you have a history of cheating.

I dont need to explain this

Why tf would he date a cheater?

Passive aggressive communication

Pls communicate with him clearly. If you cant do that then the relationship isnt for you

If you expect him to “just know” what’s wrong without telling him, his patience will wear thin and he’ll exhale through his nose the more you don’t want to/rather not tell him

Please even if he has the patience of a saint, a guy like him will snap and it’ll be scary to see that side of venven

So just be open and be honest with him. He’s not a mind reader (even if he kinda acts like one sometimes)

You treat his emotions like a joke

Venti might act carefree, but he feels deeply

If he opens up to you and you brush it off or mock him? He’ll be hurt

And if he opens up again and says to you that he was hurt by what you have said, and you still brushed it off or gave a half-assed apology

Yeah, you’re getting ghosted

If you keep bringing up your ex

He let it slide one time since he knows you didnt mean to do that

Venti will get insecure if you compare him to your ex. He might not say it, but his silence says a lot

But if you keep on complaining or just generally bringing up your ex, that’s a dealbreaker for him

He’ll bring your ex over to you so they can hear what you said about them/if you want to be back with them again /s

This couldve been a regular venti hcs, but the phone dealbreaker struck me the most and its why it turned to modern lol

[narutothoughts]

I stay thinking about this specifically SO

Naruto only notices because he watches kakashi so much. Imagine if the other Naruto doesn’t notice the change at all.

Maybe kakashi goes through a short phase in the new world where he doesn’t see Naruto at all because this version doesn’t seek him out as frequently and he couldn’t help but stay away. By the time kakashi does see him again, Naruto and Hinata have started dating and are so visibly in love he can barely believe Naruto once liked him at all. At first he thought hinata might have been a rebound of sorts, but there’s not a hint of attraction or interest in Naruto’s gaze when he looks at kakashi now. Not even a hint. He’s so relieved he tries not to question it even as a little voice in the back of his head needles at him about Naruto never being so fickle with his feelings. Going from overflowing love he couldn’t keep hidden when actively trying to nothing at all within a few weeks? No….its not right. But he ignores it. Ignores it then when he sees them hold hands and ignores it at the wedding and ignores it when they have kids. It’s fine.

Or maybe kakashi, man of his memories that he is, only develops feelings when he’s in a situation where Naruto no longer loves him. It’s a constant theme of his life. He only realizes what he had when he loses it. Maybe if he was a better man he would have kept his new feelings to himself. Naruto had just gotten over him and he had no right to waltz back into his life to demand more when not even a month ago he was actively pushing Naruto away for his own feelings. Maybe he wouldn’t have felt so sure Naruto would choose him despite the fact Naruto had just started dating Hinata. If he was a worse one he wouldn’t have left it alone when Naruto’s face went from confused to angry at what he was trying to do. He’s crossed enough lines.

Or more cracky where kakashi (that doesn’t love Naruto) is absolutely bewildered because technically, nothing this Naruto does is different. He still smiles the same way. Still talks and walks and acts the same way. Touches him the same amount. It just…feels different? So now he’s completely second guessing his whole conclusion making skills because ain’t no way Naruto’s in love with him. But he could have swore..? Maybe he wasn’t? He remembers seeing all the signs but the signs are still there but lack all the feelings he’s been attributing to them??? W h a t. Aka how kakashi signs himself up for some remedial classes for interpreting others emotions from their actions bc clearly he’s cracked.

And oh blessed angst bc part of Naruto really really wants to say he wants his kakashi back but for all intents and purposes, the two are the exact same with just the one difference. And this one loves him. And since it was a body swap his kakashi is still in a peaceful world with the same friends and family. He’d probably even like it better since that Naruto wouldn’t make him so uncomfortable and force him to keep his distance to avoid encouraging him.

Kakashi from a universe where he loves Naruto but knows it won’t be returned is body swapped with the kakashi from a universe where Naruto loves kakashi and knows it won’t be returned.

Naruto manages to sus out the changes first because while things are the same everywhere else, this kakashi actually looks at him.

In the eye when he speaks instead of down at his book, watches when he’s not looking, pays attention to his training…and when he goes to watch kakashi in turn he starts catching his eyes.

It’s…it’s nice to be watched by the one person Naruto has always looked to.

It’s also wrong because nothing he’s done could have earned this attention. This affection in his sensei’s chakra. Not so quickly, not so intensely. It’s not his sensei.

[bananakozaka]

Deltarune PMMM AU: Everybody’s favorite toothpaste boy: RALSEI!1! Magical Boy outfit & Doppel design

Hoi. Here’s another design for my magical girl (more accurately magiareco tbh) au!! i did ralsei, and with that, the s#1t gang is complete. I saw a really cool human ralsei design by @/starhaloeklypse (not tagging directly bc i don’t want to blow up their notifications) and i was inspired to give him dark skin and white hair because of that! you can check out the og post right here:

As an allusion to OG!Ralsei being a darkner, therefore not being able to hang out with kris and susie outside of their adventures, i had AU!ralsei as someone with a chronic illness (chronic pain). therefore, he needs to stay at the hospital most of the time. he sneaks out to go magical girl maxxing.

his parents are distant. and pretty rich, ralsei attends a fancy prep school virtually.

BACKSTORY (Alt for text, you know the drill)

You know how in Magia Record magical girls with the ‘void’ element have made (usually) highly destructive wishes that they end up regretting immediately afterwards? yeah. ralsei made one. he wished for his bullies to develop the same chronic illness he has. in ralsei’s defense the week leading up to the wish was one of the worst weeks of his life AND a kyubey was badgering him to wish impulsively.

needless to say, ralsei regretted his wish like a millisecond the words left his mouth because 1) its a pretty disproportionate punishment and 2) he could have just wished his illness away. on the brink of witching out, ralsei discovered a way to “reverse” the harm he caused by twisting his magic ability.

the original ability ralsei was granted was the ability to cause immense, debilitating pain to another entity (like a witch or a fellow magi) by praying. However, if ralsei inflicted the pain inwards onto himself, he could heal others of their wounds. It clouds his soulgem like crazy, but ralsei is a deceptively adept fighter. how else would he have managed to survive for 3 years as a magi?

ralsei’s the most experienced of the fun gang by a WIDE margin. he also knows the truth about witches being former magi, but he has the same problem as canon where he doesn’t want to be the bearer of bad news. yayy, future angst :))

DESIGN NOTES

Ralsei’s magi outfit was probably my favorite to design; his og sprite is simple enough that i can go kinda crazy with it. ralsei’s outfit is basically a mix of a wizard’s attire and the uniform of his fancy prep school that he can’t attend in person. (btw the bullies were from his old middle school)

additionally, i muted some of his colors. mostly his green and hot pink scarf; shades those bright would not look good in large quantities on a more realistic design. ALSO! his soulgem is a blue 4 pointed star! blue represents tranquility and peace, which I feel ralsei would vibe with. the outer casing of his soulgem (seen below) is silver because of ralsei’s total rejection of his wish and powers.

you may notice ralsei’s human form is… weird. specifically the fashion. The towelie socks and dragon blazers shirt were gifts from susie and kris respectively; they visited him in HomeCity hospital and saw him with nothing but a hospital gown, so they got him some “conversational pieces” to display some personality. the bunny slippers are a gift from someone else.

ANATTĀ

“The Doppel of Observation. It takes the form of an astrological chart. The master of this emotion has realized that fighting back against the doppel’s onslaught is futile, so he sits still and tries not to get caught in the crossfire.

The doppel gazes into the future with it’s four eyes. Unfortunately, the eyes are always sealed shut, which signifies that the target’s fate is coming to an end. With that, the target’s soul is torn asunder by whatever fate the doppel has foreseen.”

Annatā isn’t anywhere near as hostile towards ralsei or as eerie in general because ralsei has come to terms with his wish and his fears. (but then again he’s getting a new one of his friends being doomed to die… so…)

This is one of the first “fusion” doppels I designed as opposed to kris and susie’s “summon” doppels. as a rule of thumb, the more the magi and doppel appear fused together, the more at peace the magi is with their troubles. it’s kind of like a signifier of magi experience and emotional maturity, although the former’s correlation isn’t as strong.

i have a doppel design in mind for tenna, for example. in my AU he’s been contracted for EIGHT (!!) years, and yet his doppel is still mostly a summon type because he still has a bunch of hangups.

That’s about it! If you have any requests for characters for me to magify (or if you want to see tenna’s witch and doppel) you can reblog this post with a request!! *wink wink nudge nudge*

here are some previous designs i did

[mona-risms]

:0

Imagine zoey and mira already lost their virginity to reader pre-movie with out rumi bc she's still insecure about her pattern,

But then, after the movie, rumi wants to lose her virginity and doesn't know anything about sex, so zoey and mira helps rumi with the dick/strap of reader, if it's not a safe its anal time, if it is a safe then vaginal,

Reader's first reaction is "Ah~ fuck.. so tight." And immediately turned mira and zoey on.

(NSFW, of course, not so innocent, is it, ehehee)

It's not like Zoey and Mira would go on to flex about how the three of you have crossed the line, but considering just how close all of you are, it's easy to kinda see that something's definitely shifted after the first time

Rumi's deliberately put walls up between herself and everyone else (as much as she denies it), but it still feels.. lonely? Like there's a bit of an unspeakable gap between them now, a gap that she can't have herself cross even if she wanted to. And the most painful part of it is that none of you pressure her about it either—it was one or two asks about whether she wants to join, but whenever she says she's not ready or smth, they look like they actually understand and accept it. And by god it hurts her, the acceptance, the sincerity, everything

Post-movie events would enlighten the three of you exactly why Rumi's avoided it for so long, if not for the realisation that she has patterns on her skin that she could Not hide, then for the way she explains to the three of you that this whole time she has been so goddamn terrified that everything would come crashing down if you would ever see the patterns and realise that she was different, a mistake, wrong. Please reassure this poor girl with words and slowly get her used to the physical intimacy I beg this girl is precious ☹️

When she's finally open to doing it for the first time, she's still scared—the three of you already have some experience with each other, so she doesn't know if that gap can still be crossed after so long. Mira and Zoey make sure that she can actually think it's possible :3c. Mira with her slow exploration along Rumi's skin as her hands slowly drift to her aching pussy, Zoey with her energy concentrated into being the complete opposite as she practically worships every inch of their leader's body—and those patterns—and sucks and plays with her tits to get her aroused and ready for you to take

The second you start pushing in slowly with that groan, Mira and Zoey are ALREADY aroused as is by taking in every inch of Rumi's body for the first time ever, but you savouring the feeling of her, phantom feeling or otherwise? God, it's such a new experience for all of you that it's no wonder that it doesn't take long for any of you to cum; Mira and Zoey go at each other, grinding and finding each other's weak spots, while they watch you deflower Rumi and turn that initial pain into pleasure? Yeah no none of you are lasting actually 🥰

At some point, Rumi would probably wonder why Mira and Zoey aren't getting as many turns to get fucked by you as she is. What she isn't aware is this would be deliberate—not only do they wanna help her make up for lost time, it's a general agreement between all three of you that you want to give Rumi the best first time in sex. She deserves that and so much more :(

[menofprogress]

Idk if this is a hot take, but they did a massive disservice to Sky by giving her an unrequited crush on Viktor instead of making them childhood friends.

Like Sky was never going to be a fleshed out character. Her narrative purpose was to make Viktor see the Hexcore as a predatory, evil force by accidentally dying and then she functions as a guide for Viktor once hes absorbed the Hexcore. Thats the scope of her character, but so much could have been improved by giving Viktor a genuine connection to her instead of basically implying that Viktor mostly ignored her, kept her at a distance and only cared about her once she died.

Her initial death had NO emotional impact on me, partly bc i HATE the clueless girlie with a hopeless crush trope so, as bad as it sounds, i wasnt that sad to see her go, but also bc i couldnt even empathise with Viktors pain over her death bc i didnt see them have a genuine connection up until that point? Her death would have been a thousand times more impactful if theyd used like.... 2 voicelines to imply that her and Viktor have history or that theyre childhoodfriends from the undercity.

Idk, Sky's whole character arc feels cruel to me. Initially shes a two line side character with a hopeless crush that ineffectively gets killed off for man pain and then shes a ghost guiding her crush, but gets killed AGAIN without any major emotional payoff and with the CRUSHING lines "im going to miss our talks" "no you wont" huhh????

Yeah, they were never going to give Sky a bigger role, her and Viktors relationship was never going to go anywhere, she was so obviously never a serious love interest that its almost insulting, but still. And this is such an easy fix, too. Give her and Viktor two lines of dialogue where they imply a childhood friendship from the undercity, give her ONE line where she talks to Viktor about her studies and bro, give them a goodbye thats more meaningful than "no you wont." Like you could show that by erasing his old friend hes losing a part of his history/humanity, you could show them both being upset or sad about it.

Idk man, i just think i like the fanfic versions of sky more than the actual sky, idk if thats a shitty thing to say :/

[xoxojisu]

guys whenever i read webtoons where the female lead is being tragically abused or mistreated i feel like its so unrealistic. not only is her family abusing her, shes also being bullied outside of that, her friends are actually backstabbing bitches, the staff are rude to her, her coworkers are also terrible people, she has multiple guys who want her who are creeps, (and ofc one not-creep whos her love interest) and shes just generally struggling in every single aspect of life. also the girl who wants her previous love interest is an "innocent" terrible bitch.

im not saying that there arent times where it feels like the whole world is against you. im not saying being abused or mistreated or bullied is just you being dramatic or you're making it up. struggles like the ones above are very much real and valid. but imo, irl, when multiple, unbiased groups all hate on you for "no reason," you're usually at least partially at fault. and then FL gets this victim/why-is-this-happening to me mindset. and im not saying that theyre not the victim in the scenes displayed, but i just think its so unrealistic bc irl FL would HAVE to be part of the problem. bc its one thing to be mistreated by your family or by a certain group of people, but when tons and tons of unrelated, unbiased people ALL have bad opinions of you beyond just "she's passive and weak-willed" (HATE the FL-is-completely-innocent-and-her-only-bad-trait-is-that-she-doesnt-fight-back trope) you are almost always part of the problem.

i'd wanna see a webtoon where they let the FL be realistically flawed. some things are actually her fault and not just misunderstandings and idle gossip. OR, alternatively, if you wanna keep the "shes an innocent victim" vibe throughout, make it so that the plot twist is that she's an unreliable narrator and is actually the secret bitch. LET 👏 FEMALE 👏 LEADS 👏 HAVE 👏 FLAWS. 👏 it's more realistic and therefore engaging, and it adds a layer of complexity to the situation. bc real life isnt so black and white as to just have a villain and a good guy. everyone is a shade of grey.

[hawkmetrianon]

Wake up babe new hawkmetrianon au just dropped. this is the "my girl is mad at me i hope i die" au, or, even more accurately named, the Stupid Idiots AU

typical moment happens post season three with the boys where everybody just assumes theyre together and have been together since the house fight

except, when someone (probably miguel) brings it up to eli, instead of being like "what? no, we arent", hes like "SHIT wait we are? oh my god demetris gonna be so mad if he finds out i didnt know"

cue eli slowly doing more and more obviously romantic stuff in an attempt to make up for the however many weeks he didnt know he was dating demetri ("oh my god im the worst boyfriend ever")

demetri remains completely oblivious to this and simply thinks eli is suddenly doing all this over the top baloney "because he feels really guilty for what he did" and "hes in his redemption arc"

secretly hes soaking up all the attention while also trying VERY hard not to read too into any romantic subtext because "no way does eli like me like that". but he pretends hes just chilling about it all

which of course, because this IS the Stupid Idiots AU, eli takes this as demetri being a Petty Bitch and depriving him of boyfriend-ly activity as a punishment for not knowing they were dating

and so he works double time to work his way out of boyfriend timeout which comes to a head around prom where eli is like "ah, yes, i will win demetri's affections back by doing the coolest most dramatic promposal ever to affirm my love for him and say sorry"

i dont know exactly what this promposal is (suggestions welcome) but i assure you its probably eli-typical levels of drama and over the top flair and he also probably ropes so many people into being part of it

demetri says yes (how could he not!) after being incredibly caught off guard and definitely embarrassed, but once he and eli are alone he STILL asks if eli meant that platonically or romantically

"so... we're going to prom as like... dates, right? not as like... bros?" / "why would i ask my boyfriend to prom as my bro?" / "SORRY?"

demetri full blue screens (thinking eli has just very smoothly and not so subtly asked him to be his boyfriend) while eli is still yapping about how hard he worked on that promposal

once demetri stops freaking the fuck out, hes a little peeved like you do that whole romantic ass promposal and then THATS how you ask me to be your boyfriend? you charismatic jerk i hate you? wow i cant believe we're dating now?

and then of course eli is like "now? we've been dating for like, months"

cue this whole stupid ass situation unravelling and face palming at their own idiocy and making out

they have two anniversaries. one for when they got together and one for when they got together

another silly one for you guys. i will post about my angst aus soon (threat), its just theyre a lot more complicated and im a bit lazy to write them out lol. hope this one made you chuckle a tad bc this one makes me lose my mind THEYRE SUCH STUPID IDIOTS