#I needed to write this shower thought out

[goldenroutledge]

if tomorrow never comes

pairing: carlos sainz x fem!reader

word count: 2.0k

prompt: ❛ i didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, i just have a lot on my plate. ❜. based on this request.

summary: in which you and carlos drift apart and the tension boils over on your anniversary.

a/n: i’m having so much fun writing these requests! thank you to everyone requesting :)

masterlist || be my valentine blurb event 💌

“When do you think you can be here, Carlos?”

His voice is tight on the other end of the line, knowing that you won’t like the answer. “An hour. Ninety minutes tops.”

You want to scream out and repeat his answer back to him so loudly that he can hear from the balcony of your shared apartment. It’ll let all of Monaco know how ridiculous he sounds. The flight attendant’s presence at the other end of the cabin helps you keep your composure. “And you’re sure that’s it? One hour?”

“Yes cariño, I promise.”

“Don’t call me that when I’m annoyed with you.”

“Can’t help it.” Carlos smiles cheekily, you can hear it in his voice. You can’t help but roll your eyes, feeling that he’s not taking you seriously. Postponing time spent together, sometimes venturing into canceling dates altogether, was becoming too frequent for your liking. But patience had to be your strong suit dating Carlos. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Yeah. See you soon.” You end the call abruptly, leaving him to a last minute business meeting while you’re sitting here, awaiting your boyfriend on the private jet he has abandoned. Then again it would only be considered abandoned had he shown up on time to begin with.

He’d returned home from training yesterday exhausted as ever, yet reassured you with the promise that you two would spend a few days on a quiet getaway for your anniversary. Just the two of you, alone together. A trip you’d been planning for weeks now, with the need to make it an anniversary you’d always remember. If getting away was what it took to get Carlos to relax again, to be with you free of any distractions from work, you’d do that.

Carlos regards his career with a dedicated spirit, diligently organizing his schedule to make sure nothing falls between the cracks. His training, his sponsorships, his future at Williams… As badly as he feels to leave you waiting, duty calls. A last minute Zoom meeting with a new sponsor held him back at the apartment for longer than he anticipated. While most people have already resigned themselves to the fact that they can’t have it all, Carlos Sainz is not most people. He’ll either have everything, or die trying. It’s one of the many traits you love about him. Your heart aches at the thought of it being what tears you apart.

“Champagne?” The flight attendant offers you the drink, one of two that was meant for your celebratory toast with Carlos to kick off your anniversary trip.

“Thank you, it’s been a long day.” The flight attendant gives you a sympathetic smile, watching you down the drink with no effort. If this keeps up, it’ll be a long weekend too.

–

Once Carlos finally joins you on the plane, his ask for forgiveness is difficult to deny. He brought you a bouquet of flowers so large they took up their own seat on the plane, and he hadn’t stopped showering you with love since he arrived. Something about making up for lost time, he’d mumbled into your ear when you questioned his overwhelming affection. The colors of the flowers tied in beautifully with your outfit; Carlos was sure to capture it with a few photographs.

His attention to detail was another thing that you loved about him, it drew you in everytime. When you’re together like this, free of the outside noise, you wish it could last forever. Always on the other end of the phone or outside the airplane window is something ready to whisk him away. Ideally, an anniversary spent with him would consist of a lazy morning making breakfast together, simply basking in each other’s company.

His company was hard to enjoy when you were barely experiencing it, now sitting alone at your anniversary dinner hours later. Your mood turned sour when Carlos excused himself to take a call, walking away from the table before you had a chance to express your distaste. The tension that had been simmering between you two was bound to bubble over once again as Carlos returned to your table with a guilty look, phone to his ear as he ended his call with his cousin/manager.

You didn’t bother to look up, taking your anger out on your meal instead, poking and prodding the food with your silverware. It was a delicious meal that did nothing to deserve a brutal assault by fork and knife, ruining its picturesque presentation.

“Mi amor, I’m sorry.”

“Did you know that the more you say those words, the more they lose their significance each time?”

He sighs, running a stressed hand through his dark hair. “You know the kind of pressure that I’m under right now, cariño. How much this year has worn on me in general. Please, I just need you to be a little more-”

“Understanding? Yeah, I’ve been doing a lot of that lately.” You cut him off harshly, and the look you give him across the table is worth flinching from.

“You have. And I feel terrible, but it won’t last forever.” He attempts to soothe your worries, reaching for your hand. You don’t accept or deny his touch, you’re just still. It sends a shiver down his spine.

“You’re right, Carlos. It won’t last forever. You’ll make sure of it.”

“What do you mean by that? You think we’re going to break up?”

“I’m saying that if you don’t make time to nurture our relationship, there won’t be a relationship left! I’ve been here, Carlos. For you, for us, while juggling my own life and career, so don’t tell me it’s impossible. There was a time when you balanced it all before, when you weren’t working yourself to the bone because you decided you have something more to prove to the world.”

“I’m trying to balance everything, but it’s not always going to be smooth sailing. You know it’s not easy.”

“I know it’s not. I don’t need it to be, but I miss the days when you felt like our relationship was worth making time for. When I wasn’t the last of your priorities.”

“Maybe I miss the days when you understood that I’m not always going to be available for you 24/7.” Carlos rants, feeling defensive at how this time, the gloves are off, you’re finally letting Carlos feel the weight of the burden you’ve been carrying– loving enough for the two of you. Your pounding heart reminds you that it’s impossible to carry on like this. Something has to give. “Do you realize how much time I’m spending away from training to be with you? Is that not making time for our relationship?”

Tears prick your eyes in frustration, the air suddenly feeling warmer than before. Your nervous system begs you to get out of there, to leave the conversation before either of you say something you’ll regret. If it hasn’t been said already. “You still don’t get it, do you? I don’t even need any of this! I just want you! I remember the days when that wasn’t too much to ask for.”

Your hand has long dropped his, and Carlos’ eyes widen in panic as he watches you move out of your chair. “Amor, stay. Please, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Confliction moves through you like a strike of lightning, torn between staying to talk it through or taking a moment of space, after pouring out the feelings you’d spent so much time locking away. The last straw is when your waiter approaches your table, holding a small cake in his hands. On the top of it is a picture of you and Carlos together on your first anniversary, more content and in love than ever. A candle burns on the cake and wax melts down the sides, resembling the tears that wish to fall. Carlos’ eyes plead with guilt, begging you to stay and forget. Smile and pretend that right now, you’re still that happy couple printed on the cake.

Instead, you throw your napkin to your plate. “I need some air.”

–

Carlos watches you go, he doesn’t stop you. A timeout will do you both some good right now. He tries to tell himself that it’s not that bad. Couples fight. But he sits there, sullen, knowing that he’s fucked up this time. His heart burns as he stares at the picture of you two on the cake. It’s unbearable, and that little surprise he orchestrated now feels like a pointed joke at his expense. He blows out the candle and the light goes out. But closing his eyes won’t help his fear of the dark. Even he can’t run from this.

He finds you outside of the restaurant, sitting on a bench, staring down into the renewing waters of the fountain. It’s mesmerizing, the way you can drown in the sight and get lost in the calming sound. He slides his jacket off and wraps it around your shoulders.

“I’m sorry, mi amor. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, I just have a lot on my plate. But that’s no excuse to put our relationship on the backburner. I’m so, so sorry.” Carlos presses a chaste kiss to your temple, and feels comforted by how you subtly lean into his space. It’s a step. “I love you, and I’m going to listen to you. I want to make this better because there’s not a life for me without you in it. I need you, cariño. I want to be with you, always.”

“I’ve felt so disconnected from you lately and being here on our anniversary, reminded of all the happier times we’ve shared, I just… that scares me. I’m scared we won’t get back there if there’s any more distance between us.”

“I should’ve seen it sooner. The truth is, I am able to do what I do because you’re always there. You support me when things are up, when they’re down. When I lost my seat, when I got sick with appendicitis, when I won races… you’re there for it all. I took you for granted thinking that I could give everything I have to my career, when it’s you who deserves it.”

“You do give it everything, but I think you’ve lost sight of things a little bit. Usually you give me everything you have too, I mean the little cake with us on it… I love that you did that for me, Carlos. I’m only so upset because I love you too.”

Those words haven’t stopped echoing in his mind. He swears he’ll engrave them into his brain forever, as long as you’re happy. “Maybe I have been overcompensating a little bit, feeling pressure to make things perfect in my career. The year has been difficult, but I couldn’t have gotten through without you.”

You kiss his cheek, warming up to his affectionate words. He’s sincere, he truly means them. “You’re more than enough, Carlos. Just the way you are. Weathering the storm isn’t always easy but there’s nobody else I’d rather be with either.”

“Can we start over?”

“I’d love nothing more.”

“I have an idea. Should I throw my phone into the fountain, cariño? You’ll have my undivided attention for days.”

“Tempting, but no. Keep your phone dry, my love. Would you be opposed to going back to the villa? Enjoying the rest of the night in?”

Carlos wiggles his brows, as he recognizes that familiar glint in your eyes. One that shimmers with hope and longing. “We do have a pretty sweet cake being boxed up as we speak.”

“Maybe we can light the candle again? I promise I won’t leave the room this time.” Your hearts soar at the thought of blowing out your candle together, hands held as you make a new promise to each other. The past years together have been bliss and the rainbows have always shined through the cloudy skies. The next years together, you will wish for the same and even more.

“Anything for you, cariño. Happy Anniversary.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, leaving you with no choice but to cup his jaw and bring your lips to his. The cool breeze outside is no match for either of you– you’ve got your love to keep you warm.

“Happy Anniversary, Carlos.”

💌: thanks for reading! reblogs & comments are very much appreciated :)

taglist: @marjorieswrld

[scarletwinterxx]

breaking the ice - chwe vernon scenario

scrolled through tiktok too much now i'm simping over vernon🫠

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

The cold air inside the ice rink nipped at your skin as you pulled your coat tighter around yourself. You weren’t much of a sports fan, but when your cousin, Chan, practically begged you to come watch his game, you couldn’t say no.

"It's gonna be fun! Just come once, and if you hate it, I won't ask again," he had insisted over the phone.

And that's how you found yourself in the bleachers, watching a group of guys in bulky gear chase a puck across the ice. You weren’t clueless—you knew the basic rules—but you weren’t about to start screaming at referees like some of the other fans. You were here for one reason: Chan.

The game was intense, fast-paced, and honestly more interesting than you expected. You followed your cousin’s movements as he skated past an opponent and passed the puck to a teammate. The crowd roared when the puck was slapped straight into the goal.

You clapped, smiling as Chan pumped his fist in the air. That’s my cousin, you thought proudly.

Then, your eyes drifted to the player who had taken the shot. Number 16. He skated back toward Chan, giving him a nod of acknowledgment before the two joined the rest of the team.

You squinted.

The name on the back of his jersey read "Chwe"

You weren’t sure why, but something about him stood out. He wasn’t showy like some of the other players who thrived on the crowd’s attention. He barely reacted after scoring, just gave a small nod before skating off.

"Who’s number 16?" you asked the girl sitting beside you, who had been squealing nonstop.

She gawked at you. "You don’t know Chwe Vernon?!"

You blinked. "Should I?"

She looked at you like you had just committed a crime. "He's literally one of the best players on the team! And super famous! His family's Korean-American, and he's been playing since he was a kid. How do you not know him?"

You shrugged. "I don’t really follow hockey."

The girl sighed dramatically. "You’re missing out. He’s, like, effortlessly cool and insanely good."

You turned back to the rink, watching as Vernon—Chwe Vernon, apparently—glided across the ice. Effortlessly cool, huh? You weren’t convinced.

After the game, you waited for Chan outside the locker rooms. The hallway was filled with people—some reporters, some fans, all hoping to catch a glimpse of the players.

When the team finally emerged, Chan spotted you instantly. "Hey!" He grinned, walking over. His hair was damp from the shower, and he still had a towel draped around his neck. "So? Did I impress you?"

"You did great," you said, ruffling his hair, making him groan. "Proud cousin moment."

"Good. I need you to come to more games for good luck."

"Don't push it," you teased.

Before he could respond, someone else walked past you—number 16. Vernon.

Chan called out to him. "Hyung!"

Vernon turned his head slightly, slowing his pace. Up close, you noticed how sharp his features were. He had this laid-back, unreadable expression, like nothing ever surprised him.

Chan gestured toward you. "This is my cousin, the one I told you about."

You arched a brow. "You talked about me?"

Chan ignored you. "This is Vernon."

Vernon gave you a short nod. "Hey."

That was it. Just one word. No handshake, no smile.

You crossed your arms. "Wow, you’re a real talker, huh?"

Chan coughed, trying to stifle a laugh.

Vernon just blinked. "Not really."

You stared at him, waiting for him to say more. He didn't. This guy was something else.

"Well, okay" you said your name, breaking the silence. "Since we’re introducing ourselves and all."

He nodded again. "Cool."

You squinted at him. "Do you always talk in one-word sentences?"

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering your question. "Depends."

You exhaled sharply, turning to Chan. "I’m leaving. This guy’s impossible."

Chan laughed. "That’s just how he is."

You gave Vernon one last glance. He wasn’t unfriendly, just... different. Quiet. Detached.

And yet, something about him made you curious.

A few days later, Chan texted you.

Chan: Come to our next game. You: Why? Chan: Because I bet Vernon you wouldn’t come. You: …You bet on me? Chan: Yeah. He said you wouldn’t bother. I said you would. You: What do I get if I show up? Chan: The satisfaction of proving Vernon wrong. You: Tempting. Chan: Also, if I win, Vernon has to buy me dinner. So do it for me.

You sighed, staring at the text. You weren’t the type to back down from a challenge. Contemplating for only a few moments before shooting Chan one last message saying you'd go.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d get a reaction out of Vernon this time.

The next game rolled around quicker than expected. You hadn’t initially planned to attend, but the thought of proving Vernon wrong was too tempting.

So there you were, sitting in the bleachers again, this time with a smirk on your face as you spotted number 16 skating onto the ice.

Chan was the first to notice you. From where he stood, he shot you a triumphant grin, raising his fist in victory. You lifted your hand in a mock salute, acknowledging the win.

Vernon, on the other hand, took a bit longer to spot you. When he did, you could swear there was a brief flicker of surprise in his usually impassive expression. His eyes met yours for a split second before he coolly looked away. No reaction, no acknowledgment—just Vernon being Vernon.

Oh, so that’s how he wanted to play it? Fine.

The game started, and as expected, it was intense. You found yourself getting more invested than last time, especially when Chan assisted in another goal. But what caught your attention the most was Vernon. He was ridiculously fast on the ice, his movements so fluid and effortless that it was almost unfair to the opposing team.

By the time the final buzzer rang, their team had won. The crowd erupted into cheers, and even you found yourself clapping.

Chan was practically bouncing when he ran over to you after the game. “Ha! Told you! I knew you’d come.”

You smirked. “Enjoy your free dinner.”

Before Chan could respond, Vernon walked up behind him. His damp hair clung slightly to his forehead, and he looked as composed as ever despite just finishing a game.

“You actually showed up,” he said, voice neutral.

“I did.” You crossed your arms. ��Surprised?”

He shrugged. “A little.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Not gonna admit you were wrong?”

He blinked, considering. “Nope.”

Chan burst out laughing. “He’d rather die than say that.”

You turned back to Vernon. “Well, I did come. So now you owe Chan dinner. Hope you have deep pockets.”

Vernon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess I do.”

You weren’t sure why, but the idea of Vernon being slightly inconvenienced by this bet made you a little too satisfied.

Chan clapped a hand on Vernon’s shoulder. “Since I’m getting a free meal, you should come too.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Me?”

Chan nodded. “Yeah, you’re the reason I won the bet. Might as well let you enjoy the victory too.”

You glanced at Vernon, half-expecting him to protest, but he just nodded. “Up to you.”

You weren’t sure if he genuinely didn’t care or if he was just going along with it because Chan said so. Either way, you weren’t about to back down.

“Fine,” you said. “Let’s go.”

You ended up at a small Korean barbecue place not too far from the rink. It wasn’t fancy, but it smelled amazing. Vernon, true to his word, paid without complaint, though you noticed he didn’t exactly look thrilled about it. You didn’t feel bad in the slightest.

As the food started cooking, Chan filled the silence with his usual chatter. You had always liked how easygoing he was, able to carry conversations without effort.

“So,” Chan said, turning to Vernon. “What do you think of my cousin?”

You nearly choked on your drink. “What kind of question is that?”

Chan grinned mischievously. “I just wanna know. Vernon’s not really a people person, so I’m curious.”

You turned your gaze to Vernon, expecting some deadpan answer like “She’s fine” or “She exists.”

Instead, he looked directly at you and said, “She’s different.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

He tilted his head slightly, considering his words. “Most people try too hard. You don’t.”

You blinked. That was… surprisingly insightful.

Chan nodded approvingly. “That’s a compliment, by the way. Vernon doesn’t say much, but when he does, he means it.”

You studied Vernon for a moment. He was still as unreadable as ever, but now you were intrigued. “Well, thanks, I guess.”

Dinner continued with casual conversation, mostly dominated by Chan. Vernon remained quiet but occasionally chimed in with a dry comment that made you laugh more than expected.

By the end of the night, you realized something strange.

You didn’t dislike him.

In fact, you kind of wanted to see what it would take to get a real reaction out of him.

A week later, you got an unexpected text from Chan.

Chan: You’re not gonna believe this. You: What? Chan: Vernon just asked if you were coming to the next game. You: …You’re lying. Chan: I’m dead serious. He just asked me out of nowhere.

You stared at your phone, processing.

Vernon? Asking about you?

Interesting.

You: Tell him to ask me himself. Chan: LMAO you’re evil.

A few minutes later, another text came in.

Unknown Number: Are you coming? - Vernon

You smirked. So he finally cracked.

This was going to be fun.

Sitting at your desk, you stretched your arms, feeling the exhaustion settle into your bones. The clock on your laptop read 11:47 PM, and you still weren’t done with the reports your supervisor had asked for last minute.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. You hadn’t expected your internship to be this demanding, but then again, you had never been the type to slack off. If you were going to do something, you were going to do it well.

Your phone buzzed beside you.

Vernon: Heard you were busy.

You blinked. Of all people, he was texting you? You smirked, quickly typing back.

You: Look at you, sending full sentences. I’m impressed.

A few seconds passed before the typing bubble appeared.

Vernon: I can type. You: Could’ve fooled me.

You leaned back in your chair, biting your lip. Was it bad that you found this amusing?

You weren’t expecting another text, but then—

Vernon: …You gonna come next time?

Your eyebrows raised slightly. So he did notice you weren’t there.

You debated your response, then decided to push his buttons a little.

You: Why? Did you miss me?

This time, the reply didn’t come immediately. You wondered if you had caught him off guard.

Finally, after a minute—

Vernon: Maybe.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

You: …Huh. Didn’t expect that. Vernon: Yeah. Me neither.

That made you pause.

You had been joking before, but now… was he actually admitting something?

You stared at your screen for a moment before shaking your head. No way. This is Vernon. He doesn’t just say things like that.

You decided to test the waters.

You: Careful, Chwe. Almost sounded like you like having me around.

This time, his reply came quicker.

Vernon: Don’t get ahead of yourself. You: Good night, hockey boy. Vernon: Night.

Setting your phone down, you exhaled. That was unexpected.

And oddly… kind of nice.

A few days passed, and you found yourself back to your usual routine—internship, assignments, barely enough time to breathe.

You hadn’t planned on going to the next hockey game either, but then Chan called. "Please," he whined over the phone. "Vernon’s been weird since you didn’t come last time."

You frowned. "Weird how?"

"I don’t know! Just… quiet."

You snorted. "Vernon’s always quiet."

"Yeah, but this time it’s different. Like he’s thinking about something."

That made you pause.

"Are you telling me you think Vernon missed me?" you teased.

Chan groaned. "I’m saying something’s up with him, and I think you should come see for yourself."

You hesitated. You really didn’t have the time, but… now you were curious.

"Fine," you said, "but if I show up and he acts the same, you owe me coffee."

Chan laughed. "Deal."

When you stepped into the ice rink the following evening, the familiar chill made you shiver. You spotted the team warming up, Chan already waving at you from the ice.

Your eyes flickered to Vernon.

He was stretching near the goal, looking as calm and composed as ever. But when he turned his head and spotted you in the stands, something shifted in his expression. It wasn’t dramatic—just a small pause, a barely-there flicker of acknowledgment.

Then, as if nothing happened, he looked away.

You smirked.

Yeah. He definitely noticed.

As the game started, you found yourself watching him more closely. He was fast, efficient, never wasted movement. But every now and then, when there was a break in play, you swore he glanced in your direction.

By the time the game ended, you were already preparing a sarcastic remark for when you saw him.

Chan met you outside the locker room first. "Told you he was acting weird."

You shrugged. "He looks the same to me."

"Trust me," Chan said, "for Vernon, that was basically a full-blown confession."

Before you could respond, Vernon appeared in the hallway. His damp hair fell over his forehead, his usual quiet presence making him seem effortlessly cool.

"You’re here," he said, stopping in front of you.

You crossed your arms. "You sound surprised."

He met your gaze. "A little."

You tilted your head. "Miss me?"

Vernon exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "You always ask that."

"And you never give me an answer."

He paused, then—

"Maybe."

You blinked. Well that was new. Before you could say anything, he walked past you, heading toward the exit. But as he did, he spoke just loud enough for you to hear

"See you next game."

You stared after him, lips slowly curling into a smile.

Another game day.

The rink buzzed with energy as another game night rolled in. The usual excitement from the crowd filled the air, fans from both teams eager to see their favorites go head-to-head.

Vernon adjusted his helmet as he skated onto the ice, his mind focused—until Chan nudged him.

“Look,” Chan said, nodding toward the stands.

Vernon followed his gaze, and there you were.

His brow furrowed slightly. He wasn’t expecting you. Usually, you’d give Chan a heads-up if you were coming.

“Guess she had time after all,” Chan muttered, but there was something in his tone—something suspicious.

Before Vernon could ask, his eyes flickered to the opposing team warming up. That’s when he saw it. You weren’t just watching the game. You were standing near the barrier, laughing. With him.

Lee Seokmin.

Forward for the rival team. Loud, energetic, and way too familiar with you.

Vernon’s grip on his stick tightened slightly as he watched Seokmin grin at you, leaning against the boards like this was some casual meet-up and not a competitive match.

Chan turned to Vernon, eyes wide. “Did I miss something, or do they know each other?”

“I don’t know,” Vernon said flatly, but now he really wanted to.

After warm-ups, the team headed back to the locker room. Vernon kept quiet, but Chan wasn’t letting this go.

“Okay, seriously,” he said, shoving his helmet into his bag. “What is going on? Why is my cousin talking to Seokmin?”

Joshua, another teammate, overheard and raised an eyebrow. “Wait, your cousin? She knows Seokmin?”

“I don’t know!” Chan said, exasperated. “She didn’t tell me anything.”

Vernon untied his skates, processing. He wasn’t sure why this bugged him, but it did. You weren’t the type to be friendly just for the sake of it—so if you were joking around with Seokmin, there had to be history there.

And for some reason, that annoyed him.

After the game, which ended in a close win for Vernon’s team, you were waiting outside the locker room.

Chan wasted no time. “Alright,” he said, crossing his arms. “Explain.”

You blinked. “Explain what?”

He gestured toward the rink. “Why were you laughing it up with Seokmin before the game?”

You gave him a look. “Because we’re friends?”

Chan’s eyes narrowed. “Since when?”

You sighed, already predicting this reaction. “We used to date. A long time ago. Now we’re just friends.”

Chan’s jaw dropped. Vernon, standing next to him, simply blinked.

“…You dated him?” Chan asked, as if the words didn’t make sense together.

“For, like, five months. It wasn’t that serious.”

Vernon finally spoke. “Why’d you break up?”

You turned to him, surprised he even asked. “We were better off as friends.”

Vernon’s expression didn’t change, but he held your gaze for a beat longer than usual.

Chan, still recovering, groaned. “I feel betrayed.”

You laughed. “Relax, it’s not that deep.”

Seokmin’s voice interrupted. “Are we talking about me?”

You turned to see Seokmin approaching, still in his team jacket, his ever-present grin in place.

Chan groaned louder. “Oh my god.”

Seokmin laughed, nudging you. “Did you tell them how you used to cheer for my team?”

You smirked. “I left that part out.”

Chan looked like he was about to collapse. “This is so much worse than I thought.”

Vernon, still quiet, glanced between you and Seokmin before saying, “So you’re just friends now?”

You nodded. “Yeah”

He doesn't say anything after that but you could tell there was definitely a reason. And you weren’t going to let it go unnoticed. Meanwhile, Chan was still staring at you like you had just confessed to some deep, dark secret.

“Wait, wait, wait.” He held up a hand. “You mean to tell me that all this time, you and Seokmin—”

“Dated?” Seokmin finished helpfully, grinning. “Yeah, man. Keep up.”

Chan dramatically pressed a hand to his forehead. “How did I not know this? How did no one tell me?”

You shrugged. “We broke up before you even joined the team, and it wasn’t that serious. Plus, you were busy with your own stuff.”

Chan looked genuinely offended. “I feel like I should have felt it or something. Like a disturbance in the Force.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, Jedi.”

Meanwhile, Vernon was watching the entire conversation with his usual unreadable expression, but something about his posture was different. He was listening.

Seokmin clapped a hand on Chan’s shoulder. “It’s okay, buddy. You’re just slow.”

Chan smacked his hand away. “I’m not slow, I just—ugh! This is so weird!”

You smirked. “Why? Because you hate the idea of me dating anyone or because it’s Seokmin?”

“…Both.” Chan groaned. “This is, like, finding out your best friend and your worst enemy were secretly besties behind your back.”

Seokmin gasped. “Worst enemy? I thought we were friends!”

“You’re my rival, not my friend,” Chan shot back.

Seokmin patted his shoulder. “Rival is just another word for friend who won’t admit it.”

You stifled a laugh as Chan let out another dramatic groan. But while Chan was too busy overreacting, Vernon was still quiet.

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “You good, hockey boy?”

His eyes flickered to yours, and for a second, he hesitated. Then, in his usual calm voice, he said, “Just surprised. That’s all.”

Seokmin grinned. “Vernon, don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

Vernon blinked at him. “Why would I be?”

Seokmin shrugged. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

For a fraction of a second, you swore you saw a flicker of something in Vernon’s expression. Annoyance? Amusement? Something in between?

But, as always, he kept it cool. “Not jealous.”

“Sure,” Seokmin said, clearly not convinced.

You smirked, deciding to push Vernon a little. “I was a great girlfriend.”

Vernon’s eyes flicked to yours again, this time holding your gaze.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice unreadable.

You tilted your head. “Yeah.”

A slow, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Seokmin looked between the two of you and let out a low whistle. “Huh. Interesting.”

Chan narrowed his eyes. “Don’t say it.”

Seokmin grinned. “I think your cousin has a new favorite hockey player.”

Chan groaned for the fourth time. “I hate everything about tonight.”

You just laughed. But the thing was—Seokmin might not have been entirely wrong.

The night air was crisp as you stepped into the parking lot with Chan and Vernon. The game had ended, and while the rivalry on the ice had been intense, the real battle had been you versus Chan’s endless questions about Seokmin.

Vernon had offered to drive both of you home, claiming it was “on the way,” but you were starting to suspect he just wanted to witness the soap opera unfolding in real time.

Chan, still in full interrogation mode, walked beside you. “Okay, but seriously—how did it even start?”

You sighed, exasperated. “I already told you, Chan. We dated, we broke up, we’re friends now. That’s it.”

Chan scoffed. “That’s not it! I need details. Like, who made the first move?”

Seokmin’s grinning face flashed in your mind. “He did.”

Chan gasped dramatically. “Seokmin made the first move?! What did he do, trip over his own skates and land in your lap?”

You laughed. “No, idiot. He was actually really sweet.”

Vernon unlocked the car and got in without a word, letting Chan get it all out of his system before the drive even started.

As soon as you all settled inside, Chan still wasn’t done.

“So let me get this straight,” he continued from the passenger seat, twisting around to face you. “You, my very strong, very independent cousin, voluntarily dated a hockey player?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, Chan. I, a normal human being, dated another normal human being. Groundbreaking.”

Chan shook his head, like this was the biggest scandal of the century. “You always said you’d never date an athlete.”

“Right,” you deadpanned. “Which is why I’m never dating a hockey player again.”

Vernon, silent up until now, suddenly coughed beside Chan. Both you and Chan turned to him.

Vernon kept his eyes on the road, shifting gears like nothing happened.

Chan squinted. “You good?”

Vernon nodded, completely unfazed. “Yeah. Just dry air.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Uh-huh.”

Chan threw his hands up. “Okay, now I really need to know what went down.”

You sighed dramatically. “Do you really want to hear about my tragic love story, or do you want Vernon to get us home in one piece?”

Chan hesitated before reluctantly turning back around. “Fine. But this conversation isn’t over.”

From the driver’s seat, Vernon finally spoke again—his voice smooth, unreadable.

“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes still on the road. “I bet it isn’t.”

Something about the way he said it made you glance at him again. Maybe it was just your imagination. Or maybe, just maybe, Vernon was thinking about how you might not keep that promise after all.

The hum of the engine filled the car as Vernon smoothly maneuvered through the late-night traffic. The city lights blurred past, casting fleeting shadows across his face. You sat in the backseat, arms crossed, while Chan sat in the passenger seat, still digesting your revelation about Seokmin.

"Okay," Chan started again, shifting to look at you, "so you’re telling me you went from hating the idea of dating an athlete to actually dating one?"

You groaned. "Chan—"

"No, no," he interrupted, waving his hands. "I just need to understand the timeline. When did this betrayal happen?"

Vernon let out a short breath, which you swore sounded like a laugh, though his face remained unreadable.

"You make it sound like I committed a crime," you said, rolling your eyes. "It was, like, a year and a half ago."

Chan gasped. "A year and a half ago?! That recently? And I’m just finding out now?"

"Look, it wasn’t a big deal," you said. "We went on a few dates, had fun, realized we were better as friends, and that was that."

Vernon, still focused on the road, finally spoke. "You broke up with him?"

You glanced at him through the rearview mirror. His voice was as calm as ever, but something about the way he asked made you curious.

"Technically, yeah," you admitted.

Chan groaned again. "Of course you broke up with him. You probably made him think it was his idea, too." Seokmin had been a little blindsided, but you weren’t about to admit that.

"You say that like it’s a bad thing," you said, smirking.

Chan turned back to Vernon. "See? This is why I tell people not to mess with my cousin. She’s too powerful."

Vernon finally looked at you through the mirror, his gaze unreadable. "Yeah," he murmured, "I can see that."

Something about the way he said it made your stomach flip.

Chan, oblivious, continued his rant. "But seriously, what did he do that made you swear off hockey players forever? Did he forget your anniversary? Get too competitive?"

You shrugged. "Nah. I just don’t want to deal with the whole team rivalries, constant traveling, always being second to the sport thing. Hockey players are a lot of work."

Vernon coughed again.

Chan turned to him, frowning. "Dude, do you need water?"

Vernon cleared his throat. "I’m fine."

You smirked. "Are you sure? You seem… distracted."

Vernon glanced at you briefly before returning his focus to the road. "Just listening."

"Hmm." You leaned back. "Well, anyway, I learned my lesson. I’m sticking to normal people now."

Chan snorted. "Normal people?"

"Yeah. You know—guys with normal schedules, normal jobs, no risk of getting concussed every other week."

Vernon’s hands flexed on the steering wheel.

Chan laughed. "I give it two months before you go back on that."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And why is that?"

"Because," Chan said, smirking, "you like the chaos too much. Admit it, you love being involved in hockey drama. You thrive on it."

You gasped, pretending to be offended. "Excuse me! I am very peaceful."

Vernon finally spoke again, his tone deadpan. "Sure."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Are you siding with Chan?"

"I mean," Vernon said, shrugging, "you are sitting in a hockey player’s car, after attending a hockey game, while arguing about hockey."

Chan burst out laughing. "Oh my god, he’s got a point."

You huffed. "Okay, fine. Maybe I tolerate the chaos. But that doesn’t mean I’ll date another hockey player."

Vernon didn’t say anything but when you glanced at him through the mirror again, he had the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips.

Like he knew something you didn’t.

The rest of the ride was quieter. Chan was scrolling through his phone, occasionally making dramatic sighs about his “betrayal,” while Vernon drove smoothly through the streets.

At one point, you rested your chin on your hand, watching the buildings blur past. Despite the chaos of the evening, there was something… nice about being in Vernon’s car. He was steady, dependable. Even with Chan’s endless commentary, he never seemed irritated. Just patient.

When Vernon finally pulled up to Chan’s place, your cousin unbuckled his seatbelt and sighed dramatically. "Alright, I guess I’ll forgive you. For now."

You smirked. "Gee, thanks."

Chan opened the door but paused, glancing between you and Vernon. Then, with a knowing smirk, he said, "You two have fun."

Before you could question him, he hopped out and disappeared inside.

You scoffed. "What was that about?"

Vernon hummed. "Not sure."

But he definitely looked like he knew. with Chan gone, the car suddenly felt… quieter.

Vernon shifted slightly, one hand resting on the gear shift. "Where to?"

You blinked. "Huh?"

"Your place," he said simply. "Where is it?"

"Oh." You gave him the directions, and he nodded, smoothly pulling back onto the road. For a few minutes, neither of you spoke. It wasn’t awkward, though. Just… different.

"So," Vernon finally said, glancing at you through the mirror, "never dating a hockey player again?"

You smirked. "That’s the plan."

"Hmm." He didn’t sound convinced.

You tilted your head. "Why? You don’t think I can do it?"

Vernon let out a small breath—almost a chuckle. "I just think… you might change your mind."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what makes you say that?"

He slowed to a stop at a red light, then turned his head slightly, meeting your eyes.

"Just a feeling," he said simply.

You held his gaze, searching for something—anything—in his expression. But, as always, Vernon was unreadable. Calm. Completely in control.

Yet, for some reason, your heart did a weird little flip.

You scoffed, looking away. "Well, I hate to break it to you, but I’m done with hockey boys."

Vernon tapped his fingers against the wheel. "Mm."

The light turned green, and he pulled forward. And though he didn’t say anything else, the ghost of a smirk lingered on his lips.

When he finally pulled up in front of your building, he put the car in park but didn’t move to unlock the doors yet. Instead, he rested his wrist on the steering wheel and turned his head slightly toward you.

"You sure about that?"

You blinked. "Huh?"

He kept his gaze on you, calm and unreadable. "About being done with hockey players."

You scoffed. "Yeah, I’m sure."

Vernon hummed, like he wasn’t convinced.

Your eyes narrowed. "Why? You think I’m lying?"

He shrugged, like it didn’t matter. "I think people say things they don’t mean all the time."

You frowned. "Well, I do mean it."

Vernon tilted his head, studying you like you were some kind of puzzle he was trying to solve. Then, after a moment, he said, "Wanna bet?"

Your brows shot up. "Excuse me?"

He leaned back, resting his arm on the car door. "Bet me that you won’t date another hockey player."

You let out an incredulous laugh. "What are we, twelve?"

Vernon just raised an eyebrow, waiting.

You rolled your eyes. "Fine. What’s at stake?"

His lips curled slightly—barely noticeable, but there. "Winner gets whatever they want."

You raised a skeptical brow. "Like… money?"

Vernon shook his head. "Nope."

"Then what?"

He exhaled through his nose, thinking for a second before saying, "Bragging rights."

"That’s it?"

"That’s it," Vernon confirmed.

You squinted at him. "You’re really so confident that I’ll cave and date another hockey player?"

Vernon didn’t even hesitate. "Yeah."

Something about his unwavering confidence made you cross your arms. "Okay, fine. It’s a bet. I will never date another hockey player again."

Vernon nodded. "Cool." Then, finally, he reached over and unlocked the doors.

You narrowed your eyes. "Wait. What happens if I win?"

His lips twitched slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Then you get to rub it in my face."

You smirked. "Oh, I will."

Vernon just shrugged, like he wasn’t worried in the slightest.

That irritated you even more.

"Goodnight, hockey boy," you said, reaching for the door handle.

Vernon’s response was so quiet you almost didn’t catch it. "Goodnight," he murmured. Then, as you stepped out, he added, "See you around."

Something about the way he said it sent a shiver down your spine.

Like he already knew how this was going to end.

Like he was just waiting.

The bet was stupid.

You knew it was stupid the second you agreed to it, and yet… it bothered you. Not because you thought you’d lose—because you wouldn’t. There was no way you’d fall for another hockey player.

No, what bothered you was Vernon’s confidence. The way he’d looked at you, calm and collected, like he already knew how this would play out. Like he wasn’t guessing, but rather waiting.

And that? That was infuriating.

So you did the only logical thing.

You ignored it.

For an entire week, you threw yourself into work, into your internship, into anything that would keep you too busy to think about Vernon or his stupid, smug little bet.

And it worked. Kind of.

When you arrived at the rink, you told yourself you were not looking for him.

You weren’t scanning the ice, weren’t checking the players warming up, weren’t—

Oh.

There he was.

Vernon stood near the bench, adjusting his gloves, looking annoyingly good in his gear. He wasn’t flashy like some of the other guys, but he had this effortless kind of presence—calm, confident, and completely unbothered.

Which only made you more bothered.

You turned back to Chan. "I hate you for bringing me here."

Chan grinned. "Love you too, cousin."

A whistle blew, signaling the players to line up, and as Vernon skated past, he glanced toward the stands. His eyes found yours immediately.

And then—he smirked. Like he knew you’d be here.

Your stomach flipped, and you immediately turned to Chan. "I take it back. I really hate you."

Chan just laughed. "No, you don’t."

The game started, and you did your best to focus. But it was hard when you were hyper-aware of one player in particular and every time you told yourself you were imagining things, that Vernon wasn’t paying any special attention to you.

He’d prove you wrong.

A glance before a faceoff. A lingering look after a goal. A subtle smirk every time he skated near your side of the rink.

And the worst part?

You knew he was doing it on purpose.

By the time the game ended, you were fully prepared to never attend another one again.

You tried to ignore Vernon.

You really did.

But ignoring Vernon was impossible when he wasn’t ignoring you.

Every game you attended, he’d look for you. Every time he saw you, there was a smirk, a glance, a knowing look that said I’m still winning.

And the worst part?

You caught yourself looking for him too.

It was small things at first—wondering if he’d be at the team hangouts, noticing when he was not at practice, catching yourself staring a second too long during games.

You were slipping.

And you hated it.

You were officially avoiding Vernon.

It wasn’t obvious avoidance. You weren’t hiding behind corners or diving into bushes when you saw him. No, you were subtle.

You stopped showing up to games as often. You made excuses whenever Chan invited you to team hangouts. You even started leaving early when you knew Vernon might be around.

And for a while, it worked.

Until it didn’t.

Because Vernon wasn’t stupid.

And unfortunately for you, he was patient.

He wasn’t mad you were avoiding him. He wasn’t giving up.

He was just waiting. Waiting for you to stop fighting yourself. Waiting for you to let yourself have something good. And somehow that was worse because you could handle anger.

But patience?

Patience made you want to give in.

It happened at a café. You were minding your own business, fully immersed in your laptop, when suddenly a chair scraped against the floor in front of you.

You looked up and there he was.

Vernon.

Sitting across from you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You blinked. "What—"

"You’re avoiding me," he said.

You scoffed. "No, I’m not."

"You are."

"I’m busy."

Vernon nodded. "Sure."

You clenched your jaw. "I am."

Vernon took a sip of his coffee, completely unbothered. "You were at every game before. Then, suddenly, you’re not. Feels personal."

"It’s not," you lied.

"Right."

You exhaled sharply, tapping your fingers against the table. "Is this why you sat here? To call me out?"

"Partly," Vernon admitted.

"And the other part?"

He tilted his head. "I missed you."

Your brain short-circuited. "Excuse me?"

Vernon shrugged. "It was more fun when you were around."

You stared at him. "Are you messing with me?"

"Nope."

"Vernon."

"Hm?"

"You’re being weird."

He smirked. "Or maybe you just don’t know how to deal with me being serious."

Your stomach flipped. Okay. This was dangerous territory. He was right and your brain can't process the situation, you're so used to his one word remarks and nonchalance. But this feels like something your heart isn't prepared for.

You forced a laugh. "Nice try, but I’m not falling for it."

Vernon leaned back, watching you closely. "You sure?"

You clenched your jaw. "Yes."

"Okay," he said easily.

After a while he did leave you alone, even though he wanted to stay and banter with you some more because these days it seems that his main source of entertainment is to get under your skin. Coach called for a meeting. After a quick goodbye you find yourself alone again.

Later that day though, Chan came to your apartment. The moment you saw Chan, you regretted telling him anything.

Because instead of sympathy, he just grinned.

"You’re doomed."

You glared at him. "I am not."

"Vernon likes you."

You crossed your arms. "He does not."

"Okay, and you like him."

"Chan."

"You’re in denial."

You groaned. "Can you be normal for once?"

Chan ignored you. "You realize Vernon is going to win, right?"

"He isn’t."

"Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that."

You threw a pillow at him.

It happened at the worst possible time. You were at another game (against your better judgment), sitting next to Chan, when the unthinkable happened... Vernon scored.

And you.... you cheered. Loudly. Enthusiastically.

And worst of all?

Vernon heard.

He turned immediately, locking eyes with you from across the rink.

Vernon, still looking at you, winked.

You were still recovering from what happened during the game. The team had won, meaning the energy in the rink was electric. Fans cheered, players celebrated, and you?

You were debating leaving immediately before Vernon found you. But before you could execute your escape Chan grabbed your arm. "Oh no. You’re not running away."

You scowled. "I’m not running. I just have things to do."

"Like avoiding Vernon?"

"Exactly."

Chan shook his head, dragging you toward the locker rooms. "Nope. You’re gonna face your feelings like an adult."

"I am an adult. And my adult decision is denial."

"That’s not how it works."

"It’s worked for me so far."

Chan ignored you, you hear the pushing open of the locker room door before Chan screams "Hey, Vernon! Your biggest fan is here."

You smacked Chan’s arm. "I hate you."

"Hey."

Vernon.

Standing right there, fresh out of the shower, towel around his neck, still slightly damp from the game and he's looking directly at you.

Chan grinned. "I’ll leave you two alone."

You turned sharply. "You traitor—"

But he was already gone. You were going to kill him. You thought but first you had to deal with Vernon.

"Good game."

Vernon smirked. "I could tell. You were very excited when I scored."

You rolled your eyes. "It was an automatic reaction."

"Right."

"It’s called sportsmanship."

"Uh-huh."

You exhaled sharply. "You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?"

"A little," he admitted.

You crossed your arms. "If you’re expecting me to confess I like you, it’s not happening."

Vernon hummed. "You just did, though."

Your jaw dropped. "I did not."

"You said, ‘if you’re expecting me to confess I like you,’ which implies there’s something to confess."

You blinked. "I hate you."

Vernon grinned. "No, you don’t."

You clenched your fists. "This is a nightmare."

Vernon tilted his head. "So… when are you taking me on a date?"

You nearly choked. "Excuse me?"

"You lost the bet, right?"

"I did not lose the bet!"

You were completely and utterly screwed.

You should have known he wouldn’t let you get away with avoiding him because, a few days later, he showed up outside the building where you were doing your internship. You nearly dropped your bag when you spotted him standing near the entrance.

"What the hell are you doing here?" you hissed, marching up to him.

Vernon looked amused. "Visiting."

"Visiting who?"

"You."

You stared at him. "Why?"

Vernon shoved his hands in his pockets, looking far too casual. "Because you’re avoiding me."

"I am not avoiding you."

"You are."

You groaned. "Why do you do this?"

Vernon tilted his head. "Because it’s fun."

"For who?"

He smirked. "Me." You were going to lose your mind. You were seriously debating throwing your very heavy tote bag at him and his smug face.

Vernon glanced past you into the building. "So, this is where you spend all your time now?"

"Yes," you said firmly. "Because I’m busy."

Vernon nodded. "So busy you don’t have time for a date?"

Your brain short-circuited.

"What?"

Vernon shrugged. "A date. With me."

You blinked at him. "You’re joking."

"I’m not."

You stared. "You do remember the bet, right?"

"Yep."

"And that I refuse to date another hockey player?"

Vernon nodded. "Still waiting on that to work out for you."

You exhaled sharply. "I’m not dating you."

"Yet," Vernon added.

"Ever."

"We’ll see."

"STOP SAYING THAT" you all but scream at him, the way he's looking at you right now is making you want to pull all your hair out.

Vernon smirked, taking a step closer. "Admit it. You like me."

You scowled. "I will never admit that."

Vernon hummed. "Okay."

Too calm.

Too smug.

You knew he didn’t believe you and somehow, that was infinitely worse. You had spent days trying to push down the realization that you might actually—God forbid—like Vernon. And somehow, in those same days, he got worse.

Not in an annoying way.

No.

Vernon had started being… sweet. Not the obvious kind. Not the cheesy, over-the-top, grand gestures kind. But Vernon’s kind.

Small things.

Subtle things.

Things that made you notice how well he knew you. Like how he always made sure you had a seat at the games, whether you said you were coming or not. Or how he started bringing you coffee without asking, without a word just sliding it in front of you at the rink like it was normal.

Or how, when you stayed late at your internship, your phone would buzz with a single text:

Vernon: Don’t walk home alone. I’ll pick you up.

(And when you argued, he’d just show up anyway.)

It was infuriating.

Because it was working.

And somehow, you were losing the bet in real time.

It happened after a late game.

You weren’t supposed to go. You had convinced yourself you wouldn’t go and yet you find yourself sitting at the bleachers again waiting for the game to finish.

You blamed Chan. (And also yourself.)

You stayed after, waiting for Chan, when suddenly a hoodie dropped over your head. You startled, pulling it off. "What the—"

You turned and Vernon was there. He looked at you, completely unaffected. "It’s cold."

You blinked. "I—what—"

"Just wear it."

You hesitated, staring down at it.

It was his hoodie.

Still warm. Still smelling like him.

And for some reason you put it on. You didn't put up a fight, didn't say another snarky remark. You just put it on. Vernon nodded, satisfied, then leaned against the wall next to you.

Neither of you spoke. For the first time, it wasn’t teasing, wasn’t banter.

It was just—quiet.

"You know," Vernon said suddenly, "I like you."

Your breath caught.

You turned to him. "What?"

Vernon exhaled, tilting his head to look at you. "I like you."

Just like that. No hesitation. No we’ll see. No denial.

Just the truth.

You swallowed, avoiding his eyes now. You put your hands inside the pocket of his hoodie, toying with your fingers as you look at anywhere but him.

"You’re just saying that because you want to win."

Vernon shook his head. "I already won."

You stared at him. "You did not—"

"You’re wearing my hoodie."

You opened your mouth then closed it.

Because damn it—he was right.

And the worst part? For the first time you didn’t want to fight it.

After that, it's like everything was normal again. For Vernon, not for you. You had not recovered from Vernon’s confession. Mostly because he didn’t bring it up again. No teasing. No rubbing it in.

He just—let it sit which somehow made it worse because now, you were the one thinking about it.

About him.

About how easy it would be to just… give in.

And then one night, after another late shift, you walked outside and found him waiting leaning against his car. Hands in his pockets.

Like it was normal.

You sighed. "Vernon—"

"I know," he said. "You didn’t ask me to come."

You stared at him. "Then why did you?"

Vernon shrugged. "Because I knew you’d be tired."

Your chest tightened. You swallowed. "You really like me, huh?" you say, voice barely a whisper but he heard you. He heard you loud and clear.

"Yeah."

You like Vernon.

You like Vernon not just in a haha, he’s annoying but funny way. Not just in a he’s hot but I’d never admit it way but in a real, terrifying, no-going-back way and the realization hit you so hard that you had to physically sit down.

Chan, ever the menace, noticed immediately. "Oh no. It happened, didn’t it?"

You buried your face in your hands. "I hate my life."

Chan cackled. "I knew it."

"You are not allowed to tell anyone."

"Are you kidding? I’m telling everyone."

You shot him a glare. "Chan—" "Kidding. Relax. Your secret’s safe."

You exhaled. "Good."

Chan smirked. "But, uh… you might want to tell Vernon soon."

You blinked. "Why?" Chan pointed behind you.

And when you turned Vernon was standing there and he's looking right at you.

You froze. Vernon didn’t.

He stepped closer, hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly. "So."

Meanwhile Chan slowly walks backwards to escape the scene and leaving you to your devices.

You swallowed. "So?"

"You like me." he smirks. The man had the audacity to smirk and it sends something right through you. Either you want to run away from or run away with, you're not so sure.

You let out a sharp breath. "Don’t start."

Vernon hummed. "You do, though."

You ran a hand through your hair. "Vernon—"

"It’s okay," he said. "I already knew."

Your stomach flipped. "Excuse me?" you look at him wide eyed

Vernon shrugged. "I was just waiting for you to admit it."

You stared at him. "You’re insufferable."

He grinned. "And you like me anyway."

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. "This is the worst day of my life."

Vernon chuckled. "Is it?"

You hesitated because no it wasn’t.

It was actually… kind of nice.

Finally letting yourself feel it.

Finally stopping the fight.

Finally looking at him and knowing he had been waiting for you all along.

You sighed. "Fine." Vernon raised an eyebrow. "Fine?"

You crossed your arms. "Fine. I like you. Happy now?"

Vernon just smiled.

"Yeah."

And then he walks closer to you, only a step away. Close enough you can smell his shower gel and fabric softener but far enough to give you space if you needed it.

Then he laced his fingers through yours. He did it like it was normal. Like he had been waiting to do it this whole time.

You stared down at your hand in his. Warm. Steady. Unwavering.

And suddenly you felt stupid.

Because what now? what, he got what he wanted? You admitted it. You said it. He won. Was he going to smirk, say told you so, and just… walk away?

You pulled your hand back, crossing your arms. "What now?"

Vernon blinked. "What do you mean?"

You scowled. "What now? You’re happy? You win?"

Vernon tilted his head, confused. "Win what?"

You huffed. "The bet. The whole stupid game you’ve been playing. Congratulations. You made me fall for you. Now you can go back to your cool, mysterious, hockey star life and leave me alone."

Vernon frowned. "What?"

You threw your hands up. "I mean, that’s how this goes, right? You chase me, I resist, I finally give in, and then boom—you’re over it."

You scoffed. "See? Silence. I knew it. I knew—"

"I’m not leaving."

You froze.

Vernon’s gaze was steady, unreadable, but there was something serious in his tone.

You swallowed. "What?"

"I’m not leaving, I'm not going anywhere. Where do you think I'm going?" he asks, confused

You hesitated. "Why not?"

Vernon exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Because I like you. Like, actually like you. This wasn’t just some game for me."

"It wasn’t?" you mumble

"No."

You shifted on your feet. "Are you sure?"

Vernon laughed a quiet, breathy sound, like he couldn’t believe you were actually asking. Then he reached out—gently, carefully—and hooked his pinky around yours. And somehow, that tiny, stupid action made your chest feel like it was about to explode.

Vernon looked at you. "I’m sure."

And just like that—

You didn’t know how to fight him anymore.

After that night, Vernon didn’t change.

He didn’t start being overly sweet. He didn’t suddenly turn into a rom-com boyfriend who sent you flowers and love notes.

No.

He was just him.

Still showing up.

Still waiting outside your internship, still tossing his jacket over your shoulders, still holding your hand in that quiet, casual way that made you wonder how you had gone this long without it.

And maybe…

Just maybe…

You were finally starting to trust it. To trust him because he wasn’t going anywhere and for once you didn’t want him to. The moment you realized you weren’t fighting this anymore—weren’t fighting him—a strange kind of calm settled over you.

Vernon was still holding your hand. Still standing close. Still watching you with that infuriatingly patient expression like he had all the time in the world to wait for you to catch up.

It should have been a big moment. A grand, cinematic, fireworks-in-the-background kind of thing.

But instead—

"OH MY GOD."

You and Vernon both jumped, heads snapping up just in time to see Chan standing there, eyes wide, mouth open.

Your idiot cousin pointed an accusing finger at your intertwined hands.

"WHAT IS THAT?"

You blinked. "What is what?"

"THAT!" Chan gestured wildly. "You! Him! HANDS!"

Vernon blinked at him, unfazed. "Yeah, we have hands."

"OH MY GOD."

You groaned, trying to yank your hand away out of pure instinct only for Vernon to tighten his grip. Subtle. Calm. Like he was telling you, No. Don’t let go just because he’s here.

You hesitated. Then…

You didn’t let go.

Chan screamed.

"I need a moment," Chan announced, dramatically collapsing onto a bench like he had just received life-altering news.

You rolled your eyes. "Chan, it’s not that serious."

"NOT THAT SERIOUS?" Chan clutched his chest. "You—you and Vernon—I mean—when—HOW?"

Vernon just stuffed his free hand in his pocket, watching Chan with his usual unreadable expression. "You good?"

"No," Chan wheezed.

You sighed. "You’re being dramatic."

Chan sat up abruptly, eyes narrowing. "Oh? I’m being dramatic? Says the girl who SWORE she would NEVER date another hockey player?"

Your face burned. "I—okay, yeah, I might’ve said that, but—"

"SO WHAT IS THIS THEN?" Chan gestured wildly at you and Vernon.

You opened your mouth—then closed it because what was this?

Vernon didn’t let you think for long. "We’re dating," he said simply.

You choked. "Vernon!"

Chan’s jaw dropped. "YOU ARE?!"

Vernon turned to you, unfazed. "We’re not?"

You floundered. "I mean—I—are we?"

Vernon shrugged. "You like me. I like you. We hold hands now. Feels like dating."

Your brain short-circuited.

Because… that was it? That easy?

Chan looked between the two of you, unimpressed. "This is the weirdest way I’ve ever seen two people start dating."

You groaned. "I hate both of you."

Vernon smirked. "You like me, though."

You scowled. "Don’t push it."

Chan stood up, rubbing his temples. "I need time to process this."

You crossed your arms. "It’s not that deep."

Chan snorted. "Not that deep? Please. The entire team is gonna freak when they find out."

Your stomach dropped.

"The team?"

"Oh yeah," Chan smirked. "Good luck keeping this quiet."

Vernon didn’t seem fazed at all. But you?

You were doomed.

Chan had seen a lot of things in his life.

He had seen Vernon score impossible goals in the last seconds of a game. He had seen you single-handedly shut down an entire group of guys trying to hit on you at a party. He had seen Seungkwan lose his mind when they ran out of his favorite snacks at the dorms.

But this?

This was a new level of shocking.

He had come over to your place after practice, expecting a normal night of hanging out. Maybe some bickering, maybe some teasing—nothing out of the ordinary.

What he did not expect was to walk into the kitchen and see Vernon standing behind you, arms loosely wrapped around your waist, casually resting his chin on your shoulder while you scrolled through your phone.

And even more shocking?

You were letting him.

You. The queen of personal space. The same person who once smacked Chan for putting his feet on your couch.

But now?

You were just standing there, completely unbothered, letting Vernon be all up in your space like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Chan froze. "WHAT AM I LOOKING AT?"

You barely glanced up. "Hey, Chan."

"No." He pointed an accusatory finger at you. "What is this?"

Vernon blinked lazily. "A kitchen."

"VERNON."

"What?" Vernon was so calm it was infuriating.

Chan sputtered. "You’re—you’re literally all over her, and she’s letting you?"

Vernon hummed. "Yeah."

"YEAH?"

You sighed, turning your head slightly to look at Chan. "Why are you acting like this is a crime?"

"Because YOU used to YELL at me for even TOUCHING YOUR SHOULDER!"

You shrugged. "You’re not Vernon."

"EXACTLY!"

Chan ran a hand down his face, groaning dramatically. "Oh my god. Oh my god, I need a second."

Vernon just looked at him, completely unfazed.

"You’re acting like I’m holding her hostage," Vernon said, resting his chin back on your shoulder.

"Okay," he breathed, pressing a hand to his chest. "I need—I need to sit down."

You rolled your eyes. "Drama queen."

"No, YOU DON’T GET IT," Chan huffed. "I spent YEARS watching you destroy men for breathing near you, and NOW YOU’RE JUST LETTING VERNON CUDDLE YOU IN THE KITCHEN?"

Vernon smirked. "Would you rather I kiss your cousin in the kitchen?"

Chan stared at him, deadpan. "I will throw you in a snowbank."

Vernon just shrugged, unbothered, and looped his arm around your waist again. And when you didn’t move away—didn’t fight it, didn’t act like it was a big deal—Chan lost his mind.

"I CAN’T BE HERE."

And with that, your cousin stormed out of the kitchen.

You laughed, shaking your head. "He’ll be fine."

Vernon just smirked, squeezing your waist slightly before pulling away.

"Yeah," he said. "But this is fun."

And honestly?

He wasn’t wrong.

The first time Vernon kissed you, it wasn’t in some dramatic, romantic moment. It wasn’t after a big fight or some emotional confession.

It was a regular night. The two of you had just finished getting dinner, and he had walked you to your door like he always did.

No pressure. No expectations. Just… Vernon being Vernon.

And as you turned to say goodnight, he just looked at you for a second—head tilted, hands in his pockets, gaze steady as ever.

Then, so casually it almost felt like an afterthought, he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours.

No rush. No hesitation. Just… easy.

And instead of pulling away, instead of overthinking it you kissed him back.

Because, for once in your life you weren’t scared. You weren’t running. You weren’t waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You were exactly where you were supposed to be.

And Vernon?

He had been waiting for you to figure that out all along.

The apartment was quiet.

Dim lighting from the bedside lamp cast a soft glow across the room, the kind that made everything feel warm and safe. Outside, the city buzzed with life, but inside, within the walls of your shared space, it was just you and Vernon.

And Vernon was clingy.

Not in an obvious, dramatic way. Not in the way some people whined for attention or made a big show of it.

No—Vernon’s clinginess was quiet, subtle, and completely inescapable.

Like now.

You had barely shifted an inch when his arm—already wrapped snugly around your waist—tightened.

"Where are you going?" His voice was low, raspy from sleep.

You sighed. "I wasn’t going anywhere."

"Good."

His hold on you relaxed slightly, but he didn’t let go. He never did. Vernon wasn’t the type to smother you with affection in public, but in private?

He was relentless.

He had to feel you. Had to know you were there. Had to keep you close, even in sleep which explained why your legs were tangled together, his arm was curled around your stomach, and his forehead was resting against the back of your neck.

The warmth of his breath tickled your skin.

You shivered and, of course, Vernon noticed. He let out a quiet hum, nuzzling even closer.

"Are you cold?"

"A little."

Without a word, he pulled the blanket higher, tucked it around you both, and pressed himself closer.

"Better?"

You smiled. "Yeah."

Vernon sighed, his lips barely grazing your shoulder. Silence settled between you. The comfortable kind. The kind where you didn’t need to say anything because just being there was enough.

But then you felt it. The way his fingers started tracing slow, absentminded patterns against your skin. Soft. Thoughtless. Completely natural.

It was so Vernon.

Always the same quiet gestures. Always the same small ways of showing affection. You reached down, lacing your fingers through his.

Vernon stilled for a second, then—without a word—he intertwined them properly, squeezing once before relaxing again.

And for a while, that was it.

Just the sound of your breathing. Just the warmth of him against you. Just the steady, slow rhythm of two people who fit together perfectly.

But then Vernon spoke.

"…You’re my favorite."

Your heart skipped a beat.

You turned slightly, catching the sleepy, almost shy expression on his face.

You raised an eyebrow. "Favorite what?"

"Just…" His voice was a little hoarse, a little soft, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to say it out loud. "My favorite everything."

Your breath caught.

Vernon never said things like this. Not because he didn’t feel them, but because he didn’t need to.

He showed it instead.

Through the way he waited for you after your internship, even if it meant sitting outside for an hour. Through the way he always pulled you closer in his sleep, like he was scared you’d disappear. Through the way he remembered the smallest things, like how you hated sleeping with socks on or how you always curled up a certain way when you were tired.

He didn’t have to say it.

But he did anyway.

Because you needed to hear it.

You swallowed, heart too full, too warm, too much.

"You’re such a sap," you muttered, trying to sound annoyed, but your voice cracked just a little.

Vernon smirked, eyes half-lidded with sleep.

"You like it."

You huffed. "Maybe."

He chuckled. Then, before you could say anything else, he tilted his head forward, pressed a lazy kiss against your jaw, and mumbled—

"Go to sleep."

And just like that—

You did.

[blubunz]

YAP SESSION 3

— RE chars in general x gn! reader

《MINORS DNI!》

Tags: Sex. Just casual stuff nothing crazy. RE characters includes: Leon , Carlos, Ashley, Jill, Chris, Ada, Luis. Claire is mentioned but I don't write anything horny abt her.

A/N: I have a hunch I'm actually gonna be sick un,, not feeling so great. This is just what j think if it's based on normal stuff like no fucked up messed up situations whatever, just casual lovers making love and what they like.

Consensual.

Ok now that's out of the way, I have some preference in minds, obvi they're purely just my opinions.

Leon is like, the guy who swings with whatever you want. Rough? Yeah. He'll go feral. Gentle? Ok. He'll be so sweet, even moan for you I'd you want to hear them, in which most of the readers in my fic would love. Most of the time it's just you, you, you. Him asking you what you want. Princess treatment or absolutely feral, he doesn't have one in mind, he's just on board with whatever you want and if you don't say anything, he'll ask you what you want anyway while kissing your cheeks so sweetly.

Carlos,, grhfrgrhgrh, he's so bite-able. I think he's the soft type. Like, he can be rough, but most times, he chooses not to if you don't specify anything. He absolutely loves seeing you just getting satisfied and happy, so yes, he'd go rough if that's what you want, just not without you saying. Even when you did something bad, or if you hit him when youre on top, he'd just melt and cradle you in his arms, kissing you, and you two would have some cuddle-fuck session. In my mind, Carlos is very emotional and sentimental in his love life. I can ramble on about the same thing over and over, how he's an absolute king in showering you with too much affection.

Slapping? You're into that, but Carlos is scared of hurting you. Bondage? He doesn't want to see ropes burn into your skin, the only thing should be on your body are his marks and hickies.

So anyways, his biggest turn-on is seeing you getting so, so satisfied. This might make him indulge in overstimulation however, he keeps making you cum and seeing your brain melting after each orgasm. That's right, you don't have to think, just be happy of what Carlos is giving you — pure love and affection.

I don't get much thoughts fron other characters in a sexual way, but I'll think about it like rn. Both Leon and Carlos are hot to me so obvi they're like,, um, long, and,, the first ones I write about.

I think Ashley would be some vanilla stuff, and if you two both try to go into some kinky stuff, things just gets awkward because both of you never really know how to do it professionally, and then you two would just laugh and watch a movie.

Jill is like,, ohmygod,, she's so ourhrorhrirug. The Jill in my mind is like, into the casual stuff, but she prefers handling you as well. She mainly wants to see every once of your reaction so mind you usually sex with Jill will never be a quickie, she doesn't do it slow, but rather she just does a lot of things to finally let you go.

For Claire. No, idk, I never think of her in that way and when i think about it now,nothing comes to mind. I love her character! I just don't associate her with these horny stuff so no.

Chris, big beef guy, I like him too! I think he'd enjoy handling you like Jill. Ok, so he's be like, usually, dominant and rough, hed praise you though, but hes very rough, and he enjoys using his strength to let you know who's in charge. but like, you can put him down no matter how strong you are. One word, one pleading look and you got him all soften up and asking you if you needed anything. Usually, he's never the one to initiate too, he respects you and only fucks you when you want to. If he's horny and you're not then he's holding it in, not even letting you know. If he's not and you are, then, obviously he has the need to satisfy you in every way he could.

Ada is like, I think with how she is in the games, she'd know what you're into by now. You're an open book to her and she can read you. You didn't even have to ask, it's like she knows. It creeps you out honestly, sometimes, at how every time she knows what you need. Maybe she keeps track every month? She knows your kinks too, and when you talk to her, she's like,, "I know,," sometimes she surprises you during sex, turning the usual sex into one imof your kinks. She enjoys seeing you surprised following with the high amount of pleasure that follows suit.

Luis. A bottom.

[thewavesofmel]

The Voicemail

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.5K

A/N: Hello! I have read some Bucky Barnes fanfics over the years and have written some other fanfiction on AO3 myself, but never felt brave enough to write anything like this. So this is my first try writing a Bucky Barnes X Reader fanfic and wrote something today on the spur of the moment and felt brave enough to post it. Depending on how I feel, I may post this on AO3 too. Apologies in advance for any errors!  Additionally, this is my own writing, and I do no consent to it being posted as original content by any other individuals other than myself.

Summary: Bucky gets a voicemail from you after two months of not seeing each other. 

Warnings/Tags: 18+ only, Minors DNI. Smut. With some plot. Friends with benefits. Dirty Talk. Mutual Masturbation. Phone sex (kinda). Voicemail. 

************************************************************************

It’s been two months. Two months of texts almost sent and a finger hovering over your name in his contacts. Two months without your voice, your smile…your touch..your kiss…your moans...and your body. Two months without you. The decision was mutual. You both decided it was for the best. But he couldn't stop thinking about you. He couldn’t stop thinking about how good it was when you both were together. No one made him feel as good as you did. No one knew their way around his body like you did. You knew exactly what made him feel good and how to get him off. You respected his limits and were always eager to try new things. You both have the philosophy of pleasing your lover as much as possible and at least three orgasms before the next round. At first, you both were amazing for each other. You both were each other's confidant and stress relief. You were each other's solace, both when life got hard or when you just needed to feel someone else's body on yours. And somewhere it just all fell apart and got too messy and too intense. He knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you. But he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop thinking about how good you feel. He couldn’t help but miss the sound you make when you cum and how sweet you tasted when his tongue was deep inside you.  He went through the motions, he went on missions, spent time with the team, went to his therapist, but the thought of you was constantly in the back of his head. The decision to not speak to each other after the break-up wasn’t agreed on or even said, it just happened. He longed to speak to you. God, he wanted to do so much more than just talk. He wanted to fuck you slow and deep just like you liked. Until you begged him to go faster and deeper making you scream out his name. But if he couldn’t have that, he at least wanted to at least just hear your voice. But at the same time, he didn’t even know what to say. So he just didn’t say anything, it was just easier. He thought you would do the same. Until he was proven wrong. 

That night he just got back to his apartment after a week-long mission. It was tedious and intense. As soon as he got home he just wanted to shower and sleep. And if sleep wouldn’t come, he just wanted to fucking lay down for more than 10 minutes. He pushes his still wet hair out of his face as he walks from the bathroom to the bed in comfortable sweatpants. He plops himself on the bed to lay down and sighs deeply with the urge to just roll over and shut his eyes. He decided to check his phone before he wrestles with his sleep and what he sees makes him sit straight up. 

It’s a voicemail. He must have had his phone on silent, he didn’t even hear it ring. Only a few people would call him at this time of the night, usually for a mission. But it wasn’t any of them, it was you. 

Maybe he shouldn’t listen to it. Maybe not hearing from each other if for the best. But all he could think about was hearing your voice. He couldn’t open the message fast enough and pressed play. 

“Hey, it's me.” your voice starts and his breath catches as he hears you.  

“I wanted to... I don't know, I just wanted to... I shouldn't even be calling you, should I? We hadn’t really said we should stop talking to each other. But it’s just… you know.” you stop to sigh and he sighs in agreement.

“But we did make an agreement to stop seeing each other. And I know we said it wasn't a good idea, but I just... I just can't stop thinking about you” you say softly and he feels his heart start to pound. You missed him too and it felt so good to hear you say it. He almost played that part over just to hear you say it again but he wanted to hear what else you had to say. 

“I just wanted to call you and hear your voice. I miss you. I really do. I miss... I miss talking to you. I miss... being around you. I... I miss your touch. I miss kissing you. God damn it, I miss fucking you. Um... I know that... us being... in the same room is difficult and I think that's why we are avoiding each other but I just….I don't want you to…I want you to be close to me because when you're close to me…fuck, so many things happen.” you breathe out, sounding lost in thought. And he breathes with you, his body starting to react to your words. The same tingle he gets in his body starts to make him heat up and he bites his lip.

“I… I... well... First of all, I get out of breath like how I feel out of breath now. Um, I, uh... My heart starts pumping fast. And, um... My body, it feels tingly. All over. And, um... And... And I start to get... So freaking... wet. Just your voice makes me so wet.” you slightly moan. 

“Fuck baby” he whispers in response and he can’t help but let out a small whimper. His cock grows hard at hearing how wet he makes you and the effect he has on you.

“And I... I don't want to let that go, honestly. The way you touch me and how you caress me. The way you know that I like it when you bite my ear. And you trail your tongue from my chest to my neck. Just the right spots to kiss and bite. And the way you kiss all over my body…. how you touch…the way you know how to touch my breasts…and pinch my nipples just right…and how you look into my eyes when you suck on them… fuck you know how wet that makes me.” you continue on in that same tone you use when his fingers are deep inside of you. He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself. He takes his free hand and starts to rub on his cock through his sweatpants. Hearing that sweet voice filled with need turns him on so much and it’s been so long without you. 

“And fuck… your hands…both of them are perfect…the way your fingers are so…justt so fucking good…. and the way you know to finger me, not too fast, not too slow, but just right…how you curl your fingers right up into my G spot…and rub my clit…makes me cum so hard on those fingers” you whimper. By now he picks up on the rustling and wet sounds along with your words. You are touching yourself while you talk and you aren’t trying to hide it. And by now, he fully has his cock out and can’t help but stroke himself right along with you, desperate to hear more. 

“And then the way that you... damn the way that you fuck me. You know just how to fuck me. Having you inside of me…it feels so fucking good. The way that you start slow, and you keep going…going so deep ... .it's amazing. Mmmm fuck so amazing, fuck baby.” you start to struggle with your words and the sounds of you rubbing and fingering yourself intensify. He fucking loves when you struggle with your words like that when you are feeling good. It spurs him to start to stroke himself faster.  

“Fuck princess, you sound so so fucking good” he moans out as he strokes and continues to listen.

“But then…when I say I need more…you just… fuck…you just pound right into me… so fucking fast and deep…you pound into me so good until I can’t feel my fucking legs… and you fill me up so good… and the way you rub my clit when you pound into my pussy…your moans when you are deep inside of me…and how you tell me what a good girl I am, and tell me how I feel so good, and tell me how close you are and how you want to feel me squeeze your cock as I am about to cum…and then you go even deeper…and fuckkkkkk….baby it makes me cum so fucking hard. I want that…fuck baby, fuck I want you baby I-” you suddenly stop talking cry out his name and as soon as he hears you cry out he cums. He cums hard all over his hand and throws his head back as he moans out your name. He hasn’t cum with you in so long and it feels so fucking good. He takes a moment to catch his breath as he listens to you do the same. 

“I…I miss that so much. I miss you so much. The way you take care of me after….how you lay me on your chest and kiss me gently and... hold me in your arms. I miss that. I…want it back. I know it's a lot and I know that we shouldn't… but fuck… I don't think I can do without it. I miss that. I miss you.” you whisper to him and the message ends. 

He sits and stares at his phone as his body reacts. Reacts to the desire and desperation he hears in your voice. Your need for him. You need him. You want him. And fuck, he wanted you. Before he could realize what he was doing, he was cleaning himself up, putting on a fresh shirt, jeans, and a leather jacket with his black boots. He grabbed his keys, locked up, and was out the door. You wanted him. You needed him. And he wouldn’t keep you waiting a minute longer.  

[caitvisgirl]

Loser!Ellie headcanons

Contains: smut, fluff, sub!ellie, overstim strap use (e receiving), oral (e receiving) lmk if there's more

Writers note: this is my first post, ignore any spelling errors, my requests are open also not my best writing so don't judge

SFW

Loser!Ellie gets flustered whenever a pretty girl talks to her.

Loser!Ellie was super confused when you approached her for the first time, cuz you were so pretty and you were talking to her.

Loser!Ellie turned scarlet when you asked for her number, and literally asked you if you were pranking her, you had to tell her multiple times it wasn't a prank and that you actually just wanted her number

Loser!Ellie went to your first date wearing baggy jeans and a dino t-shirt.

Loser!Ellie did NOT know how to kiss, so your first kiss was super embarrassing, sloppy, and just terrible. You thought it was adorable, but she was REALLY embarrassed

Loser!Ellie cannot handle compliments, if you call her cute, or pretty, she immediately turns a bright red color and will not keep eye contact with you for a good ten minutes

Loser!Ellie gets flustered when you call her baby, darling, dear, and really any petname

Loser!Ellie worships you however she can, showering you with compliments. All. Damn. Day. She would literally let you step on her hands so you wouldn't have to step on the same ground as other human beings.

NSFW

Loser!Ellie admitted to you, the first time you slept over that she has never had sex, you didn't mind. It was cute, how she turned red after the confession. You could clearly see, she was a bottom.

When you went down on her for the first time, she couldn't take it, in a matter of minutes she came undone, you weren't satisfied with how fast she came. So, you kept going, lapping at her already puffy clit. She was getting overstimulated, overwhelmed by the pleasure you were giving her. She was saying your name like a prayer. She was clearly a loud one. One thing you've noticed, everytime she cums, she makes this squeeling sound. You find it adorable, she finds it embarrassing.

Loser!Ellie could not take your fingers. She just needed one finger, and she was done. She would already cum at the small movements you made with your fingers. Curling them inside her, just to hit that spongey part that made her scream your name, time and time again.

If Loser!Ellie couldn't take your fingers, she could definitely not take your strap, first time you took it out, she actually gasped. "Shit, that's big. That's supposed to go in me?" She said, eyed wide. "If you're not ready, we can just do something else, baby." you'd say. She shook her head and turned scarlet at the petname "No, no. I wanna try it."

She was laying back on the bed, staring at you, while you fastened the harness around your hips. The red silicone hanging there. You didn't wanna slam into her right away and hurt her, so, of course, you gently warmed her up, teasing her, making her a whiny mess, you'd rub, up and down on her bare thigh. Going higher everytime, until you'd reach her dino boxers (don't know you you noticed but she loved dinos.) you'd rub her through them, going real fucking slow. She'd turn into a whiny mess "baby, please- ngghh."

You'd take off her boxers, and throw them across the room. Now rubbing her bare clit, then finally, slipping your fingers into her soaking cunt. She'd whine and moan your name, really loudly. You'd slowly stretch her out, curling your three fingers right into her. Until she was ready to take the strap, she had already cum a few times here. You'd tease her with the tip, rubbing it between her folds. She'd whine "baby, please put it-" before she could finish her sentence you'd put it in. The friction against your clit already making you whimper softly. Ellie was already overstimulated, with all the times she came. You thrust into her "nghh- ahh- babyy!!" She'd whine loudly for you. You'd thrust faster, hitting the sweet spot. She came, over and over again, she couldn't hold it in. "Shhhh, baby, it's okay. C'mon, be a good girl for me and hold it in." You'd cooed. She would blush and nod, "I'll try to." You'd thrust into her time and time again, letting out some grunts, huffs, and stuff like that. She, on the other hand was having a hard time trying to keep it in, she needed to cum again. The silicone grazed her g-spot everytime you'd thrust into her. "Nghhh- babyyy pleeaaaseee. I'll be such a good girl for you, please just let me cum- nghhh-" she'd whine for you, looking up at you with those big pleading eyes "ngghhh- okay baby, okay, cum for me. Be a good girl for me, and cum." And she did as she was told, her juices flowing onto your cock, and you whimpering at the friction of the strap against your clit. You came too, she thought your sounds and moans and just how you looked was so hot when you came, she was completely enamoured by you.

Loser!Ellie would ask to cuddle with you after doing it, burying her face into your chest and falling asleep peacefully.

[tf2heritageposts]

tumblr deleted my draft so i’m gonna fucking rewrite this

something i don’t see talked about a lot but is a very vital part of sniper’s character is his need for approval, especially parental(more specifically fraternal)

in meet the sniper, we see his father does not care for his job as a hitman at all and sniper, who knows his dad doesn’t like it enough to tell the viewer he doesn’t care for it, is still trying to convince him otherwise

then in the sniper vs spy update, on one of the pages, this post card can be seen

where he edits his writing three times to figure out how to best phrase it to make them the least upset about his job (and does show bit into his psyche that his first thought when describing himself was “killer” and professional was after thinking some more) and straight up tells his mom to tell his dad he makes more than a doctor then to lie to him and say he’s a doctor now, still yearning for his approval

then in comic 5, sniper meets the man who was involved in his conception, and he briefly showers him with approval and affirmation that sniper’s been dying for…..

then asks for money which sniper obliges begrudgingly. And then leaves him to die

then when sniper’s dead, he meets his parents again in heaven (or it’s a hallucination from the whale bladder your call)

then finally gets his fathers approval while dressed up like jesus christ

in short if you told him he did a good job he’d cry

[drowned-captain]

The Rebound - Pitfighter! Vi x Fem! Reader - Ch. 6

A/N: I am so sorry for the delay! I was focused on my studies. I took the exam, then I couldn’t focus on writing because I was too worried about whether I passed or not. I found out yesterday that I did pass! Having said that, please allow me a few extra days for the next chapter than my typical 7-10 day posting routine so I can prepare myself for my job. Once all that is taken care of, things should go back to normal. I strive to give my audience quality writing rather than trying to speed through it and have the story suffer. I know that this chapter is a bit shorter, but I wanted to give you guys at least something! Thank y’all so much for your patience <3 - Captain

MDNI (18+ only).

TW// Mature themes like violence, drinking, drug use, infidelity, mean/triggering thoughts, toxic codependency

Word Count: ~3.8k

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You can’t recall when the hell you got home last night. It was almost like you woke up from a dream that was too realistic— the kind when you wake up and briefly forget where or who you are. An annoying, dull headache brushes against your skull as you kick your bedsheets off of yourself. You groaned, slowly sitting up as your headache lightly pulsed. It would have made you want to smack yourself for drinking too much last night, but every beat of pain came with fond memories of your night with Vi.

You chuckle to yourself at how dorky the two of you probably looked on the dance floor before you managed to grab some drinks. You stand up, putting a hand to your mouth to stifle a gag. You groggily walk to your bathroom and drink from the faucet to tame your nausea and hangover. You pick your head up and look at yourself in the mirror, feeling nasty for not at least washing your face before crashing out into the bed. Your eyes quickly catch some discoloration on your neck, your heart feeling like it stopped. 

You squint at the mark, your stomach flipping in a way that completely overpowered the nausea. It was faint. Bruiselike. Just enough to make your brain jump to conclusions. You put both your hands on your head, trying to squeeze out any ounce of memory that might have brought this upon yourself. You and Vi were dancing pretty closely… Did the two of you put gentle hands on each other? Well yes, how else can you steady each other after bottomless drinks? Was it your hand that tugged her closer to you by her belt loop? No, no. You did that because someone tried to dance between you guys. Her face got pretty darn close to yours. But how else were the two of you supposed to hear each other? Was dancing always that intimate? It couldn’t have been from anyone else! Vi would never let someone else do that; she was so serious about mending the friendship after all. Is it normal for new friends to be that way?

You press a finger to it, expecting the soreness of a love bite, but all you feel is a dry and chalky residue. Your brows furrow as you smear it.

‘What the hell…?’

Then it clicks. It was most likely a smudge from Vi’s gloves when she grabbed your neck to steady herself mid-laugh on the way home. You exhale, half in relief and half in exasperation, before shaking your head at yourself. You then peel off last night’s clothing to freshen up and to go about your day.

You felt refreshed after a much needed shower. It didn’t completely douse out the hangover, but you still felt a lot better. You catch a glimpse of your reflection again: bare s/c) skin, damp hair, and tired eyes. You lean in once more, a tiny smile forming in the corner of your mouth. Just tired eyes. For once, you didn’t see hollow sadness in them; they were just tired from last night’s shenanigans. 

Most mornings were the worst. You wake up groggy despite sleeping most of the day, your face hurting from constantly crying, and feeling the weight of grief shackled to your ankles. But this time, nothing.

You blink, almost startled by your realization. Partying with Vi last night, laughing until your ribs hurt, stumbling in the streets afterwards— it had taken up all the space in your mind. There had not been any room left for reminiscing about your ex. No bitter flashbacks, no ache in your chest, no empty feeling gnawing at you the moment you woke up.

Vi was good for you. With her, you didn’t have to think about the past that much.

You ate some of your subpar leftovers for breakfast, or lunch, whatever time of day it was. You then linger in your apartment longer than necessary. There’s nothing stopping you from heading out; It’s not like you have any real obligations other than wondering about how much more cogs are needed for you to make ends meet by the end of the month. But you hesitate anyways, unsure of what exactly you’re waiting for. Your fingers tap against your thighs idly as your eyes flicker toward your door.

You could go find Vi. You know where she lives after all.

The thought comes so quickly and so naturally that it catches you off guard. You were not much for drinking or nightlife before, but now? You woke up feeling like crap, but it wasn’t the same kind of misery that used to linger after you spent countless nights dwelling on the past. Your ex hadn’t crossed your mind once since last night. But the more you stay put, the more memories of them you recall. You stare at the floor, trying to preserve what memories you had of last night before the haunting of the past smothers all that goodness. You have to make new memories– better memories—and it will start with Vi.

Vi is good for you.

Before you could even move, there was knocking on your door. It made you jump.

When you pull the door open, Vi is standing there with her hands in her pockets. Her expression is relaxed like she belongs there.

“Morning, (Y/n),” she grins, “You look alive. I half expected you to be crawling on the floor to get to the door.”

You blink, caught between relief and confusion. “Vi! What are you doing here?”

Vi tilts her head, her bangs coming off her face. “Last night you asked me to come by tomorrow. Tomorrow is now. You said something about needing help selling shit, or something. Don’t tell me you don’t remember?”

You frantically search for any recollection of that conversation. Nope. Nothing.

Vi shakes her head, “ I knew you were out of it last night, but I didn’t think you were that bad,” she laughs. 

You laugh with her, albeit from confusion and not because it’s funny to you. “I’m gonna be honest with you, Vi, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Vi shakes her head once again with a smile, looking down at the floor before looking back at you. “So… you want me to come back later then?”

“No!” you protest quickly. You clear your throat. “No, no. I actually do need to get rid of some stuff. I didn’t have enough time to sell everything I wanted yesterday.”

Vi leans against the doorway before saying, “Alright, let’s get to it then. I told Loris to find a good spot, so once we find him we’ll get started. Where’s the stuff? I can carry it for you.”

Your eyes dart to the large bag by the door. It was in the exact same spot as you tossed it yesterday. Vi follows your gaze, leaning forward a bit to get a better look. You look at her as she leans forward, spotting the pink roots of her hair. You hum, curiosity piqued. You’re glad she came.

Vi watches you as you grab the bag on the floor. You pretend not to notice her trying to take a peek at the rest of your apartment before you let yourself out. She takes your bag from your hands, not giving you a chance to protest.

As the two of you walked, you kept looking at her. Especially her hair.

 “If you stare any longer, my face will have a hole burnt through it,” she jokes, her powder blue eyes meeting yours, “but if I have something on my face, you better not let me walk around with it.”

“Oh! Sorry. I didn’t know that you were a natural pinkette,” you explain, your face warm from being caught, “I don’t see a lot of Zaunites with pink hair. At least not natural, from what I can tell.”

Vi clears her throat, looking away. “Ah, yeah. I prefer my hair black right now.”

“I like your black hair too. I am curious about what you look like with your natural hair color, though.”

Vi pauses before flashing you a playful smile. “Stay curious.”

You exhale through your nose, rolling your eyes.

Vi wasn't sure if she felt guilty about lying to you. You never actually asked her to come by. But what was she supposed to do? Let her new friend struggle to make ends meet? The thought didn’t sit right with her. Besides, selling things was better than sitting around wondering when she’d be able to fight again. 

Yeah, lying to a friend is shitty, but she knew that her loss and absence in the arena probably took a hit on your pocket. At least by helping you sell your things, you are guaranteed to end the day with a pocketful of cogs. But there was another part of Vi that still felt that ache in her pride. You wouldn’t have had to resort to getting rid of your stuff if she was a better fighter. She felt a sense of purpose to have people– especially her friends like you and Loris– to be able to rely on her for something. That sense of purpose—of being needed by someone, of being useful—was something she hadn’t felt in a long time. For all the mistakes she’d made, maybe this could be her chance to do something right. At least for you.

Vi hadn't expected to become attached to anyone so quickly. But here she was, silently caring about how you were doing, even if she isn’t showing it right now. She wasn't used to letting people in—certainly not someone like you, who seemed so... different from the rough edges of Zaun. Yet, when she saw you that first night, when you seemed so downcast and out of place, something about that vulnerability struck a chord deep inside her. 

You needed her.

There was a HUGE part of Vi that was drawn to you because she desires being needed. It wasn't just the fighting, drinking, and amnesia from the past that she craved—it was the idea that she could be the one to help you, to fix something that had been broken. But every time she looked at you, she felt that strange, gnawing feeling deep in her chest. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t sympathy. It was something else. Something that made her feel like maybe she could distract herself from her own mess if she focused on yours. 

Her gaze lingers on you. She has failed the people who were dearest to her time and time again. But you’re still here. She fucked up with you twice, but you’re still here.

‘Let’s do it right this time.’ Your voice echoes in her head. She has never been granted forgiveness that quickly. Not by her own sister or by Caitlyn. But you did.  

However, she couldn't shake the thought that maybe she was doing this for the wrong reasons. Maybe she just wanted to feel like she was still someone worth relying on. Someone who mattered. But she wouldn’t admit that. Not to herself. Not to you.

You’re an escape to all that she has done wrong. You, (Y/n), will be everything she has done right. 

*

The two of you meet up with Loris by the heart of Zaun. If you were here alone, you would rather get yanked by your eyelashes than attempt to sell anything by yourself in this area. The place is gritty, bustling with people who’d either sell their grandmother for a cog or buy something without blinking an eye. 

“I’m glad you two are here with me,”  you say, giving Loris a small smile as you settle your bag onto the ground. You don’t want to look like you’re overreacting, but the weight of the situation is heavy in your chest. “I really appreciate it.”

Vi rolls her eyes, but the smirk she gives you is softer than usual. “You don’t have to thank us,” she grumbles. “We’re just helping you out, that’s all. Don’t get all sappy or I might start calling in favors and make you owe me your life or something.”

“Seriously?” you laugh, “How could I not thank you? It feels wrong not to.”

“You’re giving me cavities here, cupcake,” she jokes, nudging you with her shoulder. Her strength is evident, making you stumble back a few steps, but you don’t mind it at all.

“Cupcake?” you scoff, “That’s what you called me that other night.”

Vi stiffens, a look of shame crossing her face. “Oops, sorry. It’s a dumb nickname. I shouldn’t be calling you that. I used to call my—”

“I kind of like it. But don’t overuse it, alright?” you interrupt, pulling a pair of pants from the bag. Vi laughs dryly, acknowledging your words with a nod.

When she smiles at you, when she makes that sharp retort or that dry joke, you find yourself laughing without thinking. It feels so damn good, like you’ve been holding your breath for too long and now you can finally exhale. But at the same time, there’s something unsettling about it. You know you’re not looking at Vi like a person, at least not entirely. You’re looking at her as a way to escape, to forget what you’ve been trying to outrun for so long. The nagging memories of your ex, the broken promises, the pain that’s still lurking beneath the surface—it all fades when Vi’s around. 

These thoughts begin to haunt you because you don’t want to need anyone that way. You don’t want to rely on someone else just to feel okay, just to fill that emptiness inside you. You know deep down that it can get unhealthy very quickly, that leaning on Vi so much is only going to cause problems. But for now, at this moment, it feels safe. Maybe that’s enough.

Loris and Vi help you out with selling some of your valuables. Their intimidation factor made you feel secure— it was like having two scary dogs. People were more willing to give you a fair price for things rather than trying to haggle with you to lower the prices so much. The negative side about it, however, was that most people seemed too afraid to approach. Only the people who looked somewhat more well-off gave you a chance. 

“Loris, can you try smiling?” you ask him, “I feel like we’re a bit too scary.”

“I’m jollier than Vi on a winning streak,” he remarks. “Trust me, kid, it's not me.”

He gestures towards Vi, who is glaring down every passerby with her arms crossed. She probably doesn’t mean to, but she’s scowling.

You take a few side steps towards her. She looks at you, her face relaxing. “Hey, (Y/n).”

You put a hand on her arms, encouraging her to unfold them. “You can relax, you know.”

“I always look like this!” She looks down at herself.

“If you keep it up, you’ll get wrinkles.”

Vi couldn’t help but chuckle at your words. She tries a more relaxed posture, putting her hands in her pockets and leaning her weight on one hip. “Is this better, ma’am?” she teases, giving you the fakest toothy smile you have ever seen.

You laugh, bumping her with your hip. “You know what I mean!”

The dimming light of Zaun’s sky was casting long shadows across the crowded streets. It made everything appear colorful; the neon lights highlighted concrete surfaces in greens, yellows, and purples. You stood on the edge of the marketplace, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, as you watched people bustle around, haggling and shouting, their voices a blend of desperation and excitement. The weight of the day pressed against you, and you found yourself feeling smaller than usual within all the chaos. 

Vi rummaged through your bag of items. There wasn’t too much left, but she was determined to help you get rid of the last of your stuff. She and Loris were the kind of people who made this kind of thing look effortless, while you had to fight yourself to not crumble under the weight of it all. 

“You can relax, you know,” Vi teases, making you eat your words, “You gonna stare at the ground all night?”

“I’m just tired,” you muttered, glancing at her.

“I think we sold enough,” Loris chimes in, “We could walk you home, (Y/n).”

Vi looks at Loris, then back at you before saying, “Wait! You don’t have to leave now. We didn’t get a chance to go out and do something else. Oh, but… if you’d rather go home we could catch up tomorrow or something?”

You didn’t catch the desperate undertone of her voice. Something, or rather someone caught your eye. A figure, standing on the opposite side of the street. You froze when you saw them. Someone you wished stayed in the past.

Your ex.

They stood with their back to you, chatting with other people. They were completely unaware of your presence. The sight of them, so familiar and so distant, made a lump form in your throat. All the happiness of being with Vi and Loris that you enjoyed was quickly overshadowed by your ex lover’s very presence.

You hadn’t seen them since you kicked them out. The way things ended between you two was still too fresh to process. You weren’t ready to completely process it. It didn’t help that they looked the same as when you saw them last: casual, laid-back, and oblivious to the weight of the pain and suffering they left on you. They had the same mannerisms as they sold a box of their special shimmer to the people who have fallen on hard times. You turned a blind eye to this behavior in the past, but seeing it happen again before you made all the feelings of guilt, shame, and disgust well up in your chest. You were just as shitty of a person as they were for looking past that. 

The image of their empty vials of shimmer lying about the ring flashes through your head. Seeing Vi struggle to fight back. The image of her laying on the floor. Now with the knowledge that it was their damn formula that they sold to The Pit, and the knowledge that they indirectly nearly ended Vi’s fighting career was enough to make you nauseous. 

“(Y/n)?” Loris speaks, sensing the shift in your demeanor. You looked like you were about to pass out. Now Vi turned her attention to you. 

“Hey,” Vi called out, walking up next to you. Her voice was soft. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. You were too fixated on watching your ex.

 Without thinking, you took a step back. Your wide (e/c) eyes unblinking, your gaze never leaving them.

Vi tracked your movements. “You alright?” she asked, her voice filled with concern.

They never even looked your way.

Vi, noticing your stiffened posture, stepped in front of you. She looked back to see who or what you might be looking at, but she couldn’t tell where exactly. She faced you again, softly putting her hands on your shoulders. “Hey, let’s get out of here.” Her voice was far from stern or harsh. It was gentle. Nurturing. 

You swallowed hard, still swimming in the feelings that whirlpooled around you. 

“They didn’t… They don’t even… They don’t even know I’m here…” you muttered under your breath, fighting the stink of a sad and angry sting in your eyes.

Vi gently nudges you, her expression serious, “(Y/n), look at me.”

Your eyes focused on hers rather than looking past her.

“Let’s just get away from here, yeah? Come on.” She turns you around, letting Loris grab your things before the three of you disappear into a quieter area. 

*

The alleyway was silent except for the distant sounds of Zaun’s hustle. Loris stood guard while Vi comforted you. She was trying to coax you into a better mood, but everything felt heavier tonight. You already cried on your walk to this area, but now you were just pissed. You were so fucking angry at yourself for letting their presence take away the glee of being with your two friends. You were mad because you didn’t expect this whole situation to hit you that hard. Most importantly, the brief self-reflection about you ever being involved with someone so distasteful made you feel like the dumbest thing to ever exist. You were fuming.

“Come on…” she says softly, almost pleading. Her voice is higher in pitch. This was an unspoken challenge wrapped in warmth to her.

You fold your arms, turning your body slightly away from her. You hated her seeing you like this. You felt like a child. You had a scowl on your lips.

Vi doesn’t give up on you. She nudges your shoulder with hers, the softness of it was a clear invitation for you to look at her. You try to ignore it, keeping your eyes averted. But she’s too persistent.

“Cupcake…?” she draws out the word.

Damn it. Your mouth twitches, the muscles in your face wanting to betray you. The nickname had no right making you smile. But Vi noticed that microexpression. A smirk spreads across her face as she steps in front of you. You turn your head away, but she follows. She’s so close now that you can feel the soft puff of her breath on your skin. 

“You know you want to,” she says with a grin, hands in her pockets. She’s beginning to enjoy this. “C’mon. You want to smile so bad.”

You grit your teeth, your jaw tightening. You are fighting your own face. You can feel the edge of a smile creeping onto your face. Vi’s silly confidence had a way of blowing away the angry cloud on top of your head. She was like a beacon of light that you couldn’t avoid. It was so new to you. 

“I don’t…” you start, but speaking made it hard for you to maintain your angry face.

Vi’s grin widens, “You don’t?” she raises her scarred eyebrow as she leans in just a bit closer. “Your mouth is kinda twitchy. Go on, let me see those teeth. Come on. I won’t tell anyone!”

The challenge in her eyes. The warmth of her smile. The way she was so damn close to you— you break. You can’t help it. Your lips curl upwards, and despite your last efforts to look mad, you end up laughing softly.

Vi steps back, nodding in satisfaction, “Ah, there it is!”

You roll your eyes, rubbing your face from the soreness of fighting it. “Whatever. You’re ridiculous.”

“I know. But at least I’m fun.” 

“You two make me sick.” Loris calls out, glancing over his shoulder.

The two of you exchange a glance and laugh. For a moment, the two of you stand there. Your tension fades as her presence grounds you. 

“I won’t pressure you to talk to me about it. But whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here for you. Okay?” she puts a hand on your shoulder. You nod, giving her a real smile that she deserves. That she earned.

Even if you weren’t ready to open up fully, it felt a little easier to breathe.

End of Ch. 6

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5

Ch. 7 (IN PROGRESS)

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Taglist Cupcakes: @ren-ren23 @captain-crabbo @baylegend6 @winchestergirlspn @charcoal-heart @brbaabs

Sorry again for the delay and shorter chapter! I'm hoping to make Chapter 7 the longest chapter since I'll be taking a few days.

[bunnysdollette]

₊⊹⁀➴ How to get your shit together in a slump: BD’s instant guide to feeling 100% again! ⟡﹒⪩⪨ 🫧🌸🧁

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧ Hi angels :) Thank you so much for the positive reception on my last posts. Anyway, I’ve been super down lately so I’d thought I’d create this post as a bit of a reference point for anyone who feels like their life is going off of the rails these days. This is how I get myself out of a slump. 💬

♫ todays song is…some by SOYOU

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ GET OFF THAT DAMN PHONE.. 📝 ⊹₊⟡⋆

wait! I was just joking. don’t close your phone until you finish reading (haha). anyway, take a look at your screentime for me. you might have been scrolling for hours or trying to distract yourself from how horrible you felt by doomscrolling endlessly…no. we can’t do that.

usually when I’m in a slump I feel damp, it’s not just about laziness. this could also be the result of exhaustion or a number of factors. dampness is an evil condition in chinese medicine where you feel heavy, tired, and dead. scrolling will only make this worse because you’re prolonging the pain. the first thing you should do is get up, stretch, breathe, and maybe crack a window. the airflow will make a big difference, I promise. 🌿

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ CLEAN UP GUIDE. 🌸 ⊹₊⟡⋆

when my room is a mess my state of mind is a mess. I can’t do anything, I’m literally loosing my marbles bc all I can see is a messy space. if your brain is in shambles rn, the smallest amount of organization you can do right now is tidy up your room a little bit.

this doesn’t even have to be a big clean, but small steps make a big impact!… remember your space is sacred. 🧘🏾‍♀️

make the bed. doesn’t have to be fancy, just make sure everything is where it needs to be.

wipe down surfaces like desks, mirrors, and vanities. you can even include a scented spray whilst doing this to make your space smell much cleaner and nicer!! I literally cannot function when my room smells like asscheeks.

remove any old cups, or food waste that you were procrastinating from doing so. don’t want to attract any bugs.

Sweep the floor. You probably don’t notice how many crumbs are on the ground, but please just do it.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ RECHARGE YOUR “STATS”. 🛁 ⊹₊⟡⋆

honestly the best way to get out of a slump is self care. neglecting your needs and body can often lead to things going downhill, depressive episodes, etc. We all forget to take care of ourselves properly sometimes, but it’s important to pay attention to our needs and personal wellness.

Ask yourself.

“Did I shower today?” ➜ Take yourself a nice, warm shower and stay in as long as you want.

Take some time to reflect on your day or anything that’s been on your mind. And be sure to wash up well, so you can feel really nice after and tap into your feminine energy. You can even add bath salts, milk, or bubble bath. It will literally make you feel like a princess. . . 👑

“Did I eat/drink today?” ➜ Go eat something.

I prefer light meals or snacks that are cold like fruit, water, or a juice when I’m feeling dead but you can also eat whatever you want. Just think about what will make you feel good and reduce the dampness as much as possible, and will prevent brain fog. Heavier meals aren’t the best for that though.

I bet you feel better already after doing these things! Remember that taking care of yourself is the most important and you are a priority.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ REFLECTING AND MAKING A GAME PLAN 🧁 ⊹₊⟡⋆

Lastly after you feel a little bit better now and you took care of yourself, I would really suggest reflecting either through journaling or shadow work questions. They’re the easiest way to just brain dump all of the crap you’ve been thinking about lately and get it out of your system in a healthy and helpful way.

You can write about things like “how have I been feeling lately?” “What’s one way I can improve in xyz” and so on. This is a mundane activity you can do at the end to organize your thoughts. Mental health is a huge thing after your physical health, as it literally not only affects your world but the world around us. Especially if you are trying to achieve your dream life/dream self, manifest anything, etc. you will need to take care of your mental health to not be consumed by your emotions and keep your mind in check.

Also something that is crucial is practicing gratitude and mentally grounding yourself. You can list things your grateful for, mediate, or exercise. Anything to get yourself into that mindset you need going forward. I personally love to listen to the wizard liz’s podcast in times like these, it’s a great motivation for me.

Remember that slumps, dampness, depressive episodes, all of it, is normal. We are just humans at the end of the day. Be a little nicer to yourself today and take some small active steps towards your goals. ✨🫶🏽

✧ thanks for reading beautiful !! ; so basically I’m thinking of maybe making a community here on tumblr for the girl bloggers that share dream girl content and stuff like that? idk let me know what u think. inbox is always open, stay hydrated and cute, buh bye 👋🏾

[ysabelyaps]

Guys I accidentally lost the anonymous ask, BUT I do know that it was made so yk here it is.

⇠✧❀✧⇢

Summary: Famous singer Se-Mi comforts her jealous girlfriend after her latest concert

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: bro idk ass writing? And fluff and happiness so if you’re allergic to that yk..

A/N: I’m on another road trip back home so, I have time to write this. Although I’m like, really lazy but I hate having it put in drafts bc it ruins my thought process so it’s just.. short. I’ll make a part 2 if you want though. Hopefully it’s good enough.

⇠✧❀✧⇢

“Baby, come on. You know I only have eyes for you. Don’t be mad.” Se-Mi says, trying to get you to talk to her. Of course, to no avail. This all started when she had her latest concert and decided to have a meet and greet afterwards and sign autographs and take pictures and stuff.

Well one fan got a little too close for your liking. Obviously you knew it wasn’t exactly Se-Mi’s fault, but it still upset you. So now here you were, sulking, pouting and giving her the silent treatment.

You guys were already official to the public and all that, so there was no need for Se-Mi to hide you or for you to be scared someone would hit on her thinking she was single.

Yet you were sitting on the couch, back to Se-Mi, still jealous and it’s been a few hours already.

“Babyyy.. come on. Talk to me, please? What if I buy you food, will that appease you? I won’t do the meet and greets anymore if you want.”

“..if you buy me food I might consider it..” Of course, Se-Mi knew you well enough to expect this and pulled out takeout from Panda Express.

“Here, happy?” You took the food and started eating it.

“..yeah” you mumbled, covering your mouth full of food with your hand.

“So, should I stop the meet and greets? Or do you just wanna be a part of it? Ooh, you know. I’ve always wanted to have you be part of my concerts, would you do that?”

“I can’t sing.” Se-Mi gives you a look, you could sing. Kind of, not idol level, maybe shower idol level. You could play an instrument though, a lot of them. Since you were young you liked to play instruments.

“What about playing guitar then? Or drums, or violin or piano, or you know anything. My songs’ genres vary”

“Se-Mi, I’m not a concert person. I’m not one to go on stage.”

She rolled her eyes, “But I’ll be there” she held your hand, pulling your waist towards her and looking at you with pleading eyes. “Just one concert? Please?”

“Weren’t you supposed to be talking me out of jealousy”

“I thought I did that already.”

Oh my lord.

⇠✧❀✧⇢

After like three hours of deciding between just being part of the meet and greets or stopping them completely and 3 hours of Se-Mi begging you to be part of her concert to at least play an instrument if not sing.

You guys finally made a decision.

Se-Mi would include you at the meet and greets, you would coordinate them and you had rules made with strict guidelines on how close you could be for pictures. Was that toxic? Maybe a little, but Se-Mi went through the rules and thought they were reasonable so no objection there.

And you also decided you would perform for one of her concerts, backing vocals and instrumental because she really wanted you to sing at least a little.

Were you confident it would go well?

No, not really like at all.

Were you and Se-Mi happy by the end of the conversation?

Yeah, pretty much.

And you were fed, and that’s all that really matters.

Kidding.

Se-Mi sent a text to her manager about all the new things that were discussed between the two of you while you laid on her lap, watching the tv. Before eventually, you guys decided to call it a night.

Lights out.

[harpsinfinity]

Can you write a Chris Redfield x femalenurse reader? It can be like Chris is coming back from a mission and has to be taken care of.. Smut or not! ;)

(probably a basic idea lolz sorry!

I don't get many asks..so..I LOVE YOU MWAH MWAH MWAH

part 2 anyone?

Fluff !!

Another grueling mission, another goreish, disgusting monster dead from the world. The innocent people of the world were safe. Safe from whatever sick plans someone was producing and putting out. As draining as it was, it was a relief. A relief to make the world that little bit less dangerous

Even now, as Chris makes his way to his personal barracks, covered in guts, sweat and grime. He felt a small weight off his shoulders having completed his mission.

A hot shower was what he craved right now. And to see his favourite nurse, you. Sweet, lovely, caring you. He was the only nurse he knew that tried to connect and get to know her patients, even if you didn't cross paths with them often.

Plus he really needed you to tend to the wounds he'd recived. Although they'd started healing, it was better to be safe than sorry and avoid a possible infection. Or even worse, a virus.

When he finally had the pleasure of being freshly showered, in fresh clothes. He then decided to see you. He couldn't deny the giddy feeling he had in his stomach.

It'd been forever since he layed eyes on you, you're beautiful face, the stunning colour of your eyes. Oh hell, he really was head over heels for you. His favourite nurse.

He waltz his way down the dull hallways until he met the familiar door of your office, name in metal on the front. He had to calm the pounding of his heart before softly knocking until he heard a soft

"come in"

Upon entering, it took everything in him not to collapse at your feet. You were even more beautiful than the last time he saw you. The neat ponytail your hair was in, the curve of your cheeks. Those pink, kissable lips he loved so much.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when your voice called out to him

"oh, Chris !"

You smile warmly at him

"how nice to see you, it's been so long"

He catches himself grinning back at you, close to getting lost in your eyes. Windows to the soul, they said.

"couldn't stay away from my favourite nurse for too long"

Chris teases, though he swears he sees a faint blush on your cheeks as you snort in amusement

"so, what are we in for today? My favourite soldier"

Chris sits down on the little medical bed.

You tease right back at him, you knew you were hopelessly inlove with him. He was perfect, though he was your superior. There was no way a relationship between the two of you could work, though you still held out a small amount of hope for him. You wondered if he felt the same

"just a few cuts and scrapes. Not riskin' an infection"

He replys, lifting up his shirt to reveal the long, jagged cut he'd suffered. Probably from the claws of a wretched creatures he'd faced.

It was safe to say he was in excellent shape, it was difficult to concentrate on the wound with how close you were to his muscled torso. You caught a glimpse of a pec that was peeking from under where he lifted up his shirt.

No. Not now, you need to focus.

You cleared your throat before speaking

"alright, doesn't look bad."

You step back to gather the equipment you needed to disinfect the wound

After getting what you needed, you got to work:

Grabbing a pair of tweezers and plucking a cotton ball with them, dipping them in the disinfectant liquid.

"this might sting a little.."

You speak, before starting to clean the cut. You felt the tense of his muscles as you wiped along the scar

"s'alright, I've had worse"

He chuckles through written teeth.

you finish patching him up and clean up, when Chris stands up, towering over you and gently grabbingyour wrist. Catching your attention

"you're really pretty"

That made an instant blush dust your cheeks, not something you were expecting. Even from the man you were head over heels for.

"chris-"

He silences you with his lips on yours, gentle and soft. His hands met your waist as yours met his shoulders. It made your heart burst and stomach flutter with butterflies.

Chris guided you backwards till you hit the wall, his body pressing against yours as he locked his lips deeper with yours. He was such a good kisser, in the back of your mind you were conscious if he thought you were a good kisser too.

It's when he pulls back for air you see the most beautiful expression on his face, pupils wide, lips slightly swollen and parted as he panted softly

His hand cupped your cheek as his deep, warm voice called out to you

"you're so beautiful, and I'm so inlove with you. Rules be damned, I need you"

You swore your heart skipped a beat, were you dreaming? Where are the cameras?

"Chris, I..I love you too..I'm head over heels for you, more than that"

You gain a small amount of confidence as you pull him in for another breathtaking kiss

"so, does that made us official?"

"it does"

[takaraphoenix]

do you have any specific head canons when it comes to how characters homes are set up. like i know it's canon that Peter and Chris live in apartments, but. do you have like a general floor plan in mind when you write your stories. like your fics that take place in London have the Pack living in a huge estate. do you picture it looking the same whether it's 'London Calling' or 'Sugar for the Secretary'. or does the lay out/room assignment change for each one. i know this is random and might not even be something you've thought about. i'm just curious because your fics always feel so fleshed out/realistic that it just seems like you've got Firm Thoughts™ about it.

First of all, I very much LOVE random questions so no worries there! ;)

Second of all, always assume I am overthinking shit. So yes, yes I have thought about this.

Though I didn't give the house too much mind in London Calling.

But I will admit that I have the same floor plan in mind for the Hale House whether that stands in Beacon Hills or in London. Though the exterior would look different depending on the city, I do imagine the BH Hale House to be more rustic charm wooden exterior in design, while the London Hale House is a little fancier and more classically old-fashioned.

Here's the floor plan, either way:

First floor. Now, Master Bedroom does change depending oh whether it's an Alpha Derek or an Alpha Peter fic so those two would of course switch if it were Alpha Derek and Beta Peter, but the Master Bedroom comes with a private bathroom. (And even with Alpha Peter, the Petopher isn't necessarily a given, I do write the occasional Steter fic too, after all, but since the majority are Stetopher, I marked it as not just Peter's bedroom.)

There are two more bathrooms down the hall by the stairs that are shared among the betas.

Granted, at any given time, only Derek, Isaac, Cora and, depending on the verse, Allison and Malia (since Allison would be living with Chris in their own apartment in stories where Peter/Chris isn't a thing and since I am always up in the air on whether a fic is pre-Nogitsune, aka pre-Malia-reveal). So it's not like twelve people are expected to share two bathrooms! Most of the betas' rooms are just for them to crash in if they need a place to retreat to.

Granted, room assignments of course change depending on who even is in the pack, there may be a lot of empty rooms depending on that.

Ground floor. Admittedly, Chris' office is something that just wouldn't exist in non-Chris/Peter fics so Peter's office and the library would simply meet in the middle of it.

The kitchen has an additional back door that leads out into the backyard.

With "closet" do I mean a special room for all of them to put their jackets and shoes because I figured with THAT many people, they would need a special space for all of that, particularly in winter. Can't just dump that in the entrance with fourteen people.

Obviously, additional bathroom. Don't always want to go upstairs to do your business. The kitchen is spacious and has a walk-in storage room because werewolves eat A Lot so they definitely need that, and there is an additonal back door because I like when you can go into the garden through the kitchen.

Main backdoor at the end of the hall opposite the main entrance door.

And an additional backdoor in the form of a sliding glass door in the living room, because I also love those. There's also a winter garden, most likely for Stiles' magical plants and possibly also for Chris' wolfsbane plants (no puppies allowed).

The den is basically the cuddle room, it's all decked out in mattresses, filled with pillows and blankets. The designated pack pile room.

There is also the basement and the attic, of course - with the attic dedicated to Stiles' magic and the basement dedicated to training spaces, both are very open (though the basement also has a locker room section with showers and all) so I didn't really map that out. It's cluttered with training equipment, a shooting range and a boxing ring in the basement.

But yep! That's it! That's my Hale House.

And since you brought up Peter, have a floor plan for Peter's apartment, as featured in Hanging On by a Single Bond and The Clever One:

So I have this headcanon that, as the Left Hand, Peter always had his own separate apartment, even before the fire. Meaning he got to just move back home, after the coma.

And he used to have three guest rooms, for Laura, Derek and Cora to have sleepovers at uncle Peter's. The / here do absolutely not indicate shipping, they mean that these rooms are either x or y's bedroom. They used to be Laura, Derek and Cora's bedrooms.

Depending on the universe (Petopher adopting Isaac, or like in The Clever One, Alpha Peter taking guardianship over Isaac), Isaac is living in Laura's old bedroom.

Derek is living back in his old bedroom in The Clever One right now, but since he usually lives in his loft in most of my fics that don't have them rebuild the Hale House, this would either be a guest room or, in a Petopher story where the two live together, it would become Allison's bedroom instead.

Depending on the universe, since I do love me some Peter-Malia father-daughter dynamic and I care approximately as much about Mister Tate as the TV show's narrative did, Malia would be moving into Cora's old bedroom.

[antiterf]

"Gender identity and feeling a certain gender isn't like sexual orientation. We know what attraction is!"

Okay but can you explain the feeling of being attracted to someone? Can you do it without using symbolism? Can you do it without objectification? Without the "feeling" because feelings aren't objective? We have the term sexual attraction to describe sexual orientation, and we have gender identity to describe being transgender. Both have been neglected by psychology and other sciences in regard to LGBTQ+ people and most of the time, it is, at the end of the day, multiple different theories and not a single explanation.

It took me longer to recognize romantic attraction than it did for me to recognize my gender identity. I assumed that certain things were sexual attractions when they weren't. Many gay, lesbian, and ace people go through that second one because sexual attraction can never be objectively described.

I eventually figured out romantic attraction as the feeling I get when I think someone as cute, not from aesthetics but as a person. That is not exactly specific enough for most people to understand. When combined with sexual attraction it becomes a constant yearning for the person to be next to me, the feeling that part of me is missing when they leave. I cannot separate sexual attraction from romantic, but can separate romantic from sexual. If we're going blatantly then sexual attraction would also be my want to have sex with the specific person because their body alone gives me feelings of euphoria (oh we love the oxytocin), but when comparing that to gender, that would be a sexual expression like how pronouns and clothing are gender expression.

On top of that, I can only speak for myself. Others can and will report feelings that do not match mine, but they still use the same terminology because those feelings will still fall under attraction. Trying to restrict what is and what isn't a form of romantic or sexual attraction by personal experience isn't helpful and likely more harmful.

Gender identity was the feeling that something was off and that I had one foot in the door and one foot out. That something was missing until I put the key into place. It was the feeling of euphoria when hearing my preferred name. It's the comfort I get when there's some compression on my chest because I associate binders with relief and happiness. But wait... wouldn't that second one be instead feelings of transsexualism?

I don't fucking know dude! I don't feel these things separately! Separate orgasm from pleasure and see how that works out for you!

When trans people talk about our experiences with gender identity because someone wants some sort of description, when a cis person who has never had to examine what gender identity feels like, there's not going to be much of a way to describe it where someone completely understands unless if they've experienced it before. We as trans people can go "oh yeah that sounds accurate to my experience" or go "oh no, not me, for me it's a little more like ____" but there's not much of a way to objectively describe it.

What is a woman, anyone who claims that they're a woman, is as circular as a definition as:

Sexual attraction: attraction that makes people desire sexual contact or shows sexual interest in another person(s). Romantic attraction: attraction that makes people desire romantic contact or interaction with another person or persons.

So neuroscience is used to try and find Where the Gender is Stored but the brain is such a complex organ that the shape of your brain can be used to identify you like a fingerprint. Oxytocin is what we have for attraction but which one? Does it matter? There are studies that show that the brains of trans people are different in some way but I kind of stopped caring about them years ago because I don't care! I don't care!

I'm trans, we keep trying to explain what gender identity is, why we transition, but there's always some issue on it being too vague or reinforcing stereotypes (men having flat chests with binding even though not all men do for instance).

So when you get a way to describe all of what you feel objectively that everyone can relate to you can get back to me and I'll fucking applaud you.

[triglycercule]

oh yeah before i forget cute mttpoly headcanon because i said so: when killer finds out (through SOME way of means. he has his ways) that dust and horror like something then at every chance he can he goes and finds that thing for them :3 because I SAID SO AND IT'S CUTE ‼️‼️ (something something killer has no idea how to properly show affection and appreciation after believing his whole life was meant to cause pain and suffering to those close to him and now that he's trying he does silly goofy stuff like this hehe,,,,,,, dust is DROWNING in piles of fluffy blankets and books. horror cannot keep up with eating the amount of snacks killer keeps stealing for him 😞😞😞)

[illarian-rambling]

A short ramble about the two main Illari wedding cultures because I'll do anything but actually write :D

Ok so, when it comes to religion, the world of Illaros is pretty split between the Illarian half and the Mordunyan half. The Illarian church began with the humans of Janaz, but spread to encompass the elven nations of Skysheer and Nabafyr later on. The Dwarven Alliance, which was never conquered by humans, held onto its Mordun faith. Why does religion matter when it comes to weddings? Because any 'binding of family' (weddings, adoptions, even business ventures) are very important in the Illarian holy texts, so proper Illarian weddings are one of the few things that actually got really forced onto the Nabafyrians and Skysheerians by way of the Republic government (big player in banking and business of all kinds) not recognizing people as married if they hadn't done it the 'right way.' Family is also a huge component of dwarven culture in general, so you already know their religion is gonna standardize it. Anyways, that's how we got to two main wedding cultures, with two subcultures for the surviving Nabafyrian and Skysheerian traditions.

Your run-of-the-mill Illarian wedding with no elven influences is a surprisingly simple affair. There's no engagement, for one. Partners usually decide together that they want to get married and give their social circle a few months' notice for planning. Springing a sudden 'Will you marry me?' would be seen as a really strange move in Illarian culture. Blue is traditionally a Big Event color, so lots of brides wear blue dresses, but this isn't a requirement, and many opt for other hues. Really, the only thing that makes it an Illarian wedding is that it's performed by a priest of Samara, goddess of family and the cooking fire.

The most important event of a human wedding is actually a cultural practice, not a religious one. When humans get married, they exchange gifts. This is a call-back to nobles exchanging dowries, but the custom ended up catching on with the common folk and turned into something more intimate. The humans of Illaros don't use rings to signify their love, but instead exchange gifts with their partner. A wedding gift is often the nicest thing a person will ever own. It's often completely customized - a painter might get a set of brushes made by a master craftsman, a lover of birds might get a set of runic binoculars, a farmer might get a steam-powered plow, a frequent traveler might get a pair of magically sealed boots, so on and so forth. These gifts are meant to be a purest expression of understanding and insight. It's not unheard of for someone to leave at the altar because of a bad wedding gift, or to spend a fortune trying to get the best one. Usually, a wedding gift is made well enough to last throughout a person's life.

The other thing is surnames. This one's pretty easy, though. Traditionally, the partner of lower station takes on the partner of higher station's name - 'marrying up' is the common term. In the modern era, though, this gets flexible.

Another minor tradition, smaller than the gift, is bride-talk. The first person at a wedding who offers the bride a drink is supposedly wanting advice for how to find a good match. Single cousins will sometimes compete for the chance, as it's also a good way to signal that you're 'on the market,' so to speak.

On the elven subset of Illarian wedding culture, there is no gift exchange, since that's not a religious tradition. Really, the only requirement for an Illarian wedding is the presence of a priest, so Nabafyrians and Skysheerians still tend to do things largely their own way.

Nabafyrians, of course, have to involve weapons. Usually, Nabafyrian families each have their own branch of martial art and an accompanying crest. When you marry into a family, you're allowed to learn their martial art. You may also engrave their crest onto your weapon. A smith is usually present at weddings to do this. It's up to the married couple to decide who is joining whose family, but they usually follow the human example and marry up.

Skysheerians are different in that marriage is solely a right of the nobility. Serfs can live together, share names, and have civil ceremonies, but they aren't 'married' in the eyes of the law. When nobles get married, it's far more of a business deal. Land and titles are exchanged, promises are made, and dowries are paid. Marriage for love isn't a thing, however, it's not frowned upon in the slightest to have consorts. You can go to a banquet with your husband, only to leave in a different man's carriage and no one will mind. You're binding your families, not your hearts, so who cares if you love someone else? Just so long as you're willing to legitimize any bastards, everyone's happy.

Now we get to the really different one: dwarven marriage. First off, just like how in our current irl society, alloromantic heterosexuality is seen as a 'default,' in dwarven society, that default is actually aromantic heterosexuality. Your first loyalty is expected to be to your clan. 'Falling in love' is seen as a deviant urge. With that out of the way, how does marriage work then?

A dwarven marriage, like a Skysheerian one, is a contract between two families, or clans, in this case. Except, for dwarves, a child is the express goal of marriage. Two clans will negotiate a match between two people who can have kids together. During the duration of the marriage, the father will join the mother's clan until any kid they have makes it to adulthood, after which he will leave to rejoin his original clan. The father's clan, in exchange for losing a member for eighteen years and not getting a kid out of it, will receive a massive sum of money called a hand-price. The hand-price is thought to be equivalent to the work that child will do for the mother's clan over their lifetime. So mom's clan gets a kid, dad's clan gets cash. Hand-prices generally sit at a set value, but sometimes, if someone assumes the kid isn't gonna contribute much, the mother's clan will ask for a partial refund. This is common fare for insults among dwarven children.

In places like Unity, where dwarven culture mixes with others, things are a little looser. Sometimes, a father will stay with his wife and child even after the child hits legal adulthood. Marriage not for the sake of reproduction is also increasingly common. In that case, a hand-price will be negotiated for the clan one partner is leaving, putting a monetary number on what they might contribute to the clan they're joining. Even in Unity, though, marriage always entails someone leaving their clan. Being married to someone in another clan while remaining in your own would be seen as a gross splitting of loyalties and might well end up with both partners being disowned.

Why do all of these cultures place such a strong emphasis on marriage being between two families, not two individuals? I'm not sure. Probably because they all exist together in an area of land roughly the size of Europe - there's gonna be some general vibe sharing.

Anyways this has been (looks directly into the camera) an Illarian ramble

[sysig]

Delusions (Patreon)

"Could I have your hand, sir?" Max didn't move, which Dexter was, sadly, getting used to.

"Sir?" Max jerked, then turned and stared at him, lost and blank. "Your hand, please."

Max's hand lifted shakily, and he laid it gently in Dexter's upturned palm. Dexter gave a quick and quiet "thank you," then turned it over in his own hand, observing him closely.

Too closely - his knuckles were rough and his fingernails were dull and cracked in places. His once-soft, not-a-day-in-his-life-subjected-to-hard-labour hands were now, already, toughened and split and scarred in places, especially the heel of his palm. He turned it over again, this time to stop looking so intensely. He had only wanted to give it a cursory glance to begin with.

"Do you know what I see, sir?" he asked as conversationally as he could manage, running his fingers along Max's abused flesh. He seemed to be at least half paying attention, his eye gazing down between them, and he'd occasionally twitch, encouragingly Dexter thought. He seemed to want to curl around him, then stopped and shook, his hand squeezing into a fist. Dexter coaxed him back out, encouraged him to hold himself lightly.

"What do you see?" He was almost startled by Max actually continuing their conversation, that happened so rarely now, shaking and quiet as it was. He took a deep breath, was he really going to do this?

"I see a hand, with five fingers." Max remained quiet, though his brow curled, and a guarded look came into his eye, though he still wasn't looking at Dexter. He felt a pang of guilt, but he had to try. "What do you see?"

Max's eye unfocused and began to water. He looked up, but not enough to reach Dexter's gaze in return, instead staring through his chest, and he felt just as hollow and empty as he must look to him.

"Do you take me for a fool, DAX?" Quiet and as close to angry as he'd heard since they'd been here.

No, not angry.

Betrayed.

He swallowed down the stinging lump at the back of his throat. He had to put on a brave face, had to keep his composure if he wanted Max to get better. That was the only thing he wanted, more than anything.

"Of course not, sir. Genuinely, what do you see?"

Max pulled his hand away and turned his body, his bandaged side facing Dexter. Shutting him out, pointedly. Dexter's empty hand curled into a fist, he was no better.

"Please, don't..." Max took a shallow, shuddering breath, and several beats before he spoke again, even quieter. "Don't ridicule me." Dexter could hear his breath catch, and he wanted nothing more than for this all to just stop.

"Sir, I didn't-"

"I've had enough of that." He shook his head stiffly, the action strange and wrong, like he had forgotten how. He stilled, his head turned even further away. "More than enough."

[v0idspeak]

(Hey, this thought came to me at 4am when I woke up from nightmares, drenched in sweat. The nightmares were unrelated, but it would've been very funny if they weren't.)

(The thought in question is... idk, an idea for a TMA fanfic I guess. It's not really polished or anything, and it's a bit longer than I was anticipating (it's around 1.5k words I think), but here goes. Spoilers for TMA up to... end of s4 I think.)

(CW for blood/gore, unlawful imprisonment, eye trauma, horror, possession, mention of pica, and probably other stuff I forgor)

Jon, strangely, was not all that surprised when he heard the screaming start. It was common, in a place such as this. He had not expected the man in the neighbouring cell to be the one screaming - usually, he was fairly quiet, his silver eyes watching as the other half-people in the... laboratory, or containment unit, or whatever this was slowly succumbed to forces most could not wrap their heads around.

He had explained his own understanding of the situation with cold detachment: not a single one of the people in cells were actually people. Most had never been; some had recently Changed. The ones roaming the halls were a... more complex bunch.

Most were human, strictly speaking, he said. A few were not in any sense of the word, save a thin mask worn over something else. Jon was slowly beginning to understand how his neighbour recognized the latter. It was something in their eyes, he thought, when the subjects-prisoners-whatever were afraid of what they were becoming.

It was a sort of glee. It was a glee the silver-eyed man shared, at that.

Jon wasn't sure why the man was in the cell next to him. He knew why he was, of course. Most did not speak through old tape recorders. Most did not pull mangled thoughts and push them into speakers. Most did not have quite so many eyes as he had, though those had only appeared a few months ago, not long after his previous neighbour had to leave. (It was a shame, too; that man had been the quiet sort, which was peaceful, if thoroughly uninformative.)

His new neighbour, though? He sounded human. He looked human, apart from his eyes. He acted human, if a little cold and detached and analytical. He sounded like a right prick, but a brilliant one, in a thoroughly uncomfortable way. Jon rather thought he belonged on the other side of the glass - or, in the case of that cell, of the bars.

(Jon could not break the glass, and, it seemed, his abilities did not affect people who did not breathe the same air as he did, or perhaps did not see him directly, with nothing reflecting or refracting him. The ones beyond the glass likely knew better than even he did, which only served to make him even more curious.)

So when the screaming began, he first looked across his unit. It took him far too long to realize that he recognized the voice, that it did not come from the distended wolf-thing, or the sentient-and-sapient door, or the man whose tattoos blinked at him as though they were real eyes, but rather from the prim and proper gentleman, the one who never yelled, even as his comments reduced and ridiculed everyone who dared to try and do the same to him, often in ways that left others oddly uncomfortable, so specific they seemed.

When he did, though, he tried to see what was happening through the lightly textured glass. The image wasn't overly distorted, the glass barely frosted at all, but he still wasn't sure what was happening to cause so much crimson to flow from the man's head.

Jon quickly moved to the back of his unit. There was a small button there, to be pressed for emergencies only. It didn't do anything, but perhaps it would make someone look through the facility's dozens of cameras.

Luckily, it worked, but not before the man had crumpled to the ground, blood oozing across the floor. The screaming, which had been agitating everyone, Jon including, had eventually stopped.

Two people - human, Jon thought, people he recognized as some of the interviewers he'd seen before - rushed into the wing with a stretcher. The first walked into the cell, which had likely been remotely unlocked, and assessed the situation, relaying instructions to the second.

The other one tried to lower the stretcher, Jon thought, but something went wrong. It was, evidently, malfunctioning. The faint chill in the air suggested that the malfunction was likely a specific brand of supernatural, though he couldn't be quite certain which; he had so very little information to go off of in the first place.

The first made an odd sound as the second complained, obviously annoyed. Jon approached the glass, but the side panels' frosting was stronger than the outwards-facing one, and, as such, he couldn't do much at all.

"I think something's wrong," he said through whatever he could access: his tape recorder-player, which did not have very good speakers; the speaker that sat right under the door-facing camera, which was very close to his own cell, as he was nestled in the corner; and what he hoped was the earpieces of both workers.

It was exhausting, reaching beyond the glass, but he really did think something was wrong, and the way the wolf-thing was growling and biting at the thick bars of its cage told him he was likely right.

The first worker didn't seem to react; the second hissed a short string of expletives and pulled the earpiece out. He made a quick series of signs to the camera - channel two dead, if Jon's interpretation of their not-so-secret codes was right - and put it back in. When Jon tried to tell him "I think your colleague is in trouble," he could no longer reach the speaker nor the earpiece, and the tape recorder, its sound muffled through the glass, was easy enough to ignore.

Finally, the first stirred. Maybe he was alright after all, Jon thought, at least until he noticed that he was frantically wiping at something red on his face.

It wasn't that Jon liked being in here. In actuality, he thought his incarceration unfair - he was inhuman, yes, but he wasn't in the business of hurting people. He wasn't a monster. That also meant he felt some sympathy for others, and it was that sympathy (and perhaps some baseless optimism, which had always been very uncharacteristic for him, but fear did odd things to him, sometimes) that hoped that maybe, just maybe, the ones in charge of this facility would see how he was helping and consider treating him like a person, which he probably was. Maybe.

The fact that he hadn't eaten much at all since he'd arrived, nearly two years ago, was an argument against that, but, as his neighbour would say with what Jon interpreted as a smile, did humanity really entail eating steak and salad and nuts? Perhaps the fact that his neighbour did, in fact, receive and eat normal food on a regular basis had lessened his arguments to some extent, though. Feeling human without so much as being allowed tea and chips and anything edible, really, and it was made even worse when Jon suddenly remembered that the last thing he had eaten - out of distraction, mind you - was five or six pages from a book of all things. It did not taste particularly good.

Regardless, Jon did not think the red was normal. The worker did not scream, but the streaks were too reminiscent of those on the now-probably-corpse for him to think otherwise. Thus, Jon screamed for him.

Well, he couldn't exactly scream, per se, as his throat hadn't allowed such things in a long, long time, but he pulled from every memory of every screech he'd heard, every sound that haunted his very, very vivid nightmares, and pushed them outwards as hard as he could. He was fairly certain the first worker's earpiece received the noise, as its owner flinched violently.

The second only jumped a little and looked disapprovingly at Jon. "Subject, please remain quiet as we deal with the situation," Jon barely heard him say.

"Something is wrong," Jon yelled through the recorder and anything else that would let him speak. He banged his fist on the glass, which seemed to cause a wave of activity from the other sort-of-people around him, and pointed to the first, whose face looked drastically less bloody, now.

Another string of expletives, and the second was checking on the first. Jon had rather thought there would have been protocols for something like this: don't interact with someone who's been in a cell, so on, but, clearly, this employee was either too new or too complacent (or both), as he helped his colleague to his feet.

A few minutes later, the corpse - Jon knew it was a corpse, now, as it had been wrapped in a black, zip-up bag - had been wheeled out, but not before the first employee winked at Jon, which was, he thought, very unusual and should warrant... something, surely.

He only realized what the wink had meant when he saw what had been left on the floor, in that puddle of now-coagulating blood.

Those were eyeballs, optic nerve still attached. It took a lot of staring, and some dry heaving, which Jon could really have done without, before he noticed why his mind had thought they were more wrong than they appeared, if that was even possible.

The discarded eyes were a deep, rich brown.

The employee's, a cold, crisp silver.