#and the infinite ways the relationship between them can look

[mechawolfie]

UHH I dont. remember drawing this. but I like them a lot

[zegrasdrysdale]

Jamie request! this is kinda lengthy but Jamie thinks something is happening between his girlfriend and Z bc a Trevor keeps popping up in her phone but it’s an ex that Jamie has heard about who’s blackmailing her. She doesn’t wanna tell Jamie bc she’s very independent but also doesn’t wanna get anyone else involved. This causes tension between her and Jamie so Jamie texts Z trying to confront him before realizing it’s the ex and his mind goes to cheating but she finally explains the situation to him and maybe a little spice? and fluff at the end

[ guess who ] j. drysdale

pairing : Jamie Drysdale x fem!reader

summary : after seeing someone named ‘Trevor’ pop up on his girlfriend’s phone, Jamie thinks she’s cheating on him with his best friend, but then she comes clean to him and Jamie finds out that not everything is what it seems

warning(s) : nsfw ! implied sex, some sexual content, making out, angsty (very angsty), mentions of cheating and abuse, blackmail, mentions of injury, POV changes, one use of Y/N

author’s note : anon i am so sorry this took so long to finish. hope you enjoy <33

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She and Jamie are both left panting with a layer of sweat covering their bodies as they lay beside one another. They're completely spent and she's not sure if she can feel her legs at the moment. She pushes her hair away from her face before she looks at Jamie.

"You are incredible, pretty girl," Jamie pants with a smile on his face. "God, if you could ride me everyday, I could die a happy man."

"Jamie, I don't think you understand how tiring that is," she laughs as she rolls over and presses soft kisses to his already swollen lips. "The only reason I keep riding you is because you're hurt and I don't want you to exert or hurt yourself again."

He deeply kisses her back, wanting to start another round. She hums and shakes her head. Jamie pulls back with a groan. "Fine," he sighs. "I'll let you go pee and clean yourself up. I want my mouth on you as soon as you get back though."

With a laugh, she rolls out of bed. She pulls on one of Jamie's shirts before slipping into the bathroom to relieve herself so she doesn't end up catching a UTI. She fixes her ponytail knowing that it's going to get ruined again and checks her chest for marks, which are new and bruising already.

After she's done, she makes her way back into the bedroom. "You know," she says as she walks into the room. "You need to let up on the marking before it looks like I got bit by a vampire or something." Her playful tone ends when she sees Jamie scrolling on her phone. "Baby?"

Jamie looks up at her. "Why is Trevor sending you pictures?" he asks.

"What pictures?" she questions in reply.

He turns her phone around so she can see what he's talking about. The pictures in question are pictures of her, pictures of Trevor -- but it isn't Zegras who is sending those pictures. Not that anyone would know who it is in those pictures because they're all faceless.

Her ex-boyfriend, also named Trevor, is mad that she's with someone infinitely better than he is, and now he's trying to manipulate and blackmail her back into a relationship with him. Jamie doesn't know about him, which is why he thinks it's Z sending her naked pictures of them.

"Jamie, baby-" she starts to say before she's interrupted.

"Don't 'Jamie baby' me right now," Jamie snaps. "I can't believe you'd do this to me. To us. Trevor is my best friend. You could've picked literally anyone else but you chose my best friend to cheat on me with."

She immediately begins to shake her head. "Jamie, it's not what you think," she panics as he gets out of bed and gets dressed. "Please. I need to tell you something and-"

"Tell me when you end things with my best friend because I really don't want to hear your excuses right now," he tells her as he dresses. "I'm going to Cam's. Don't talk to me until you're ready to tell me why you cheated on me with Trevor."

Not knowing what else to do, she watches Jamie storm out the door. The front door slams shut and she flinches like the door hit her.

This is what she gets for not telling Jamie about her ex sooner.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

[ Jamie's POV ]

He has half a mind to drive up to Bedford to have a word or two with Z. How could her girlfriend sleep with Trevor knowing he's best friends with Jamie? He can't believe that the two most important people in his life betrayed him like this.

It's nearly midnight when Jamie knocks on Yorkie's apartment door. A second or two later, the door swings open. A surprise Cam asks, "What are you doing here? It's midnight, Jimmy."

"I, um," Jamie hesitates, not knowing if he wants to tell anyone what is going on. "I just needed to get out of the apartment. We had a fight, I guess you can say."

Cam moves aside to let Jamie into the apartment. He pushes past and sits on the couch in the living room. Cam joins him a second later.

All he can see is the pictures on his girlfriend's phone. Pictures of her. Pictures of Trevor. He shudders at the memory and resists every urge to throw up on the carpeted floor.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Cam asks. "The fight, I mean. It was bad enough that you had to leave."

Jamie pushes his hair out of his face and sits back. "She was in the bathroom," he begins. "Then her phone began buzzing and buzzing so I looked at it to see who was texting her so late at night. I opened her phone to Trevor sending pictures to her of the two of them. In bed together."

"Holy shit," Cam breathes out. "No way. Zegras hooked up with your girl?"

"I don't know when and I don't know if they are still hooking up but yeah, apparently," he says. He rubs his face and groans into his hands. "I can't believe the two of them would hook up behind my back. Like, I get that I'm not the easiest person to be with considering I've needed near constant taking care of over the past year and a half but talk to me instead of hooking up with my best friend."

"That's not your fault, Jamie."

"Apparently it is because why else would she go out and fuck Trevor behind my back?" he questions.

He pulls out his phone and pulls his his messages with Z. "What are you doing?" Cam asks.

"Texting Z because he needs to know that I know."

to: zzzegras - 12:02 am what the fuck dude ? my girlfriend ?

from: zzzegras - 12:03 am ????????

to: zzzegras - 12:06 am i saw the pictures you sent her. i'm not stupid. why her ? don't you have your own girlfriend ? why mine ?

from: zzzegras - 12:08 am i have know idea what you're talking abt jamie. what pictures did i send her ? aside from gifts for you for when you get better

to: zzzegras - 12:09 am what ??

A picture comes through seconds later of a screenshot. It's an exchange between his girlfriend and Trevor from the day before. There are pictures of buildings and tickets in the screenshot with a message from Trevor saying "he'd love that".

The final text in the chain is from (Y/N). It's from fifteen minutes ago and it says: "you were right. i should've told him abt my ex bc he just walked out the door thinking you sent me naked pictures when it was him. god, why can't trev just leave. me. alone ! he's going to ruin everything between me and jamie when i don't want jamie to worry abt this rn".

from: zzzegras - 12:12 am it wasn't me dude. you need to talk to her abt it. there's more going on that you should know, and it concerns her and she should be the one to tell you

Confused, Jamie looks up from his phone. "I don't think it was Z that sent her those pictures," he tells Cam. "I think she's in some trouble though."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

[ reader's POV ]

She sits on the mattress with her knees brought up against her chest while she stares at her phone. More texts from Trevor come through while she wants for something from Jamie so she can explain what's going on and that she isn't cheating on him with Z.

That's the last thing she ever wants Jamie to think because she loves Jamie and everything that comes with him. His baggage, his injuries, his laugh, his smile. She won't care when he retires from the NHL. She loves all of Jamie, hockey player or not.

The door opens while she's deep in thought and the sound pulls her out of her head. Jamie stands in the doorway. She pouts and tears begin to prick her eyes at the sight of Jamie in the doorway.

"Tell me who Trevor is," Jamie says. "Why is he sending you naked pictures of the two of you in bed?"

"He's my ex," she admits with a shaky voice. "He was manipulative and abusive. When I found the courage to leave, he told me that I'd never find anyone better than him. I did, and now he's mad about it."

Jamie's face falls at her confession. "I didn't know any of that," he quietly says. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want him to have anything against you because you have a career to lose," she cries. "I didn't have anything to lose. If those pictures of me come out then oh well, they'll probably get posted to some porn sites, but if he was able to get something of you and those leaked then I'd be devastated. I was scared that he'd ruin your entire career, our lives together."

He walks toward her at the same time her phone buzzes. She groans and hides her face. The bed moves as Jamie sits on the mattress. She looks up at him and watches him grab her phone. He scrolls for a second and says, "I could've helped you. Seriously. You didn't have to go through his alone."

She wipes away her own tears. "I did," she tells him. "Well, technically, I had Z because I texted him once asking him why most guys named Trevor were assholes and had to tell him but that was an accident. I didn't think he'd ask questions. I should've told you but I didn't want you involved."

The phone buzzes again. She sighs. Jamie taps a few more times before he holds the device up to his ear. Her eyes widen when she hears her ex's voice on the phone. Jamie winks at her before he says, "I don't know who you are but you have the wrong number. I suggest you stop sending those pictures though. They could do a lot of damage in the wrong hands."

Then he hangs up the phone. He smiles at her. "I don't- you aren't mad?" she asks.

"Oh, I am," Jamie replies. "It'll take a little bit for me to get over that you told Z instead of me but I won't let anyone ruin you or our lives together. No matter how mad I am. Not to mention, I love you."

She frowns and crawls up to Jamie. "I'm sorry," she says as she presses kisses to his shoulder. "I really am sorry. I should've told you but I was scared."

Her lips trail from his shoulder to his neck. Jamie looks over at her. "You can kiss me all you want," he tells her. "I'm still mad at you."

"We'll see how long that lasts."

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MASTERLIST

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[godsfavdarling]

How could you?

my masterlist, part 2

pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader (established relationship) words: 2,3k summary: You go to Spencer's apartment, only to witness a shocking betrayal that shatters your world. warnings: angst, hurt, spoilers for season 15! a/n: this was one of the ideas for the later chapters of my full story 'Keep Holding On' (completed and available here), but there wasn't really a place for it. so, I decided to just make it into a one-shot with a gender-neutral reader!

You and Spencer have been together for a few years now, your relationship a patchwork of late-night conversations, lazy weekends spent on a couch with books, and long nights in each other's arms.

Although his job isn't easy and you don't get him to yourself as much as you'd like to, you wouldn't change a thing. He and the love you share mean everything to you.

In the quiet moments when you're alone, you find yourself marveling at how unexpected and yet perfectly fitting your love story is. You never thought this could happen to you. 

You never let yourself believe that there would be a man like Spencer loving you and accepting every fiber of your being.

Spencer's presence in your life is like a gentle breeze on a hot summer's day, soothing and comforting. His unwavering support and understanding make even the toughest days bearable. And when he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, you feel a sense of belonging that you've never known before.

You cherish the simple moments shared over cups of coffee in the morning or stolen kisses in the middle of the day. In Spencer's eyes, you see a reflection of your own hopes and dreams, and in his laughter, you find the melody of your heart's desires.

As you drift off to sleep each night, nestled in Spencer's embrace, you offer a silent prayer of gratitude for the love that fills your days and the warmth that fills your heart. 

In him, you've found not just a partner, but a kindred spirit, a soulmate who completes you in ways you never knew were possible. And for that, you will always be thankful.

There's an unspoken language that exists only between you and Spencer. It's a language of love, trust, and understanding that transcends words.

You marvel at how effortlessly Spencer seems to know what you need, even before you do. His intuition is uncanny, his gestures of affection tender and sincere. 

Whether it's a simple touch on the small of your back as he passes by or a reassuring squeeze of your hand when you're feeling uncertain, Spencer has an innate ability to make everything feel right.

You trust him with your deepest fears, your wildest dreams, and every fragile piece of your heart.

In his arms, you find sanctuary from the chaos of the outside world, a safe harbor where you can be your truest self without fear of judgment or rejection.

And as you navigate the challenges of life together, you're constantly reminded of just how perfect Spencer is in your eyes. His kindness knows no bounds, his patience infinite. 

But it's not just his virtues that make him perfect; it's the way he loves you, wholly and unconditionally. In Spencer, you've found a partner who sees you for who you truly are, flaws and all, and loves you all the more fiercely because of them.

Now as you climb the stairs to Spencer's apartment, your heart flutters. Spencer has just started his 30 days of obligatory sabbatical, and you're looking forward to spending more time together now that his only obligation is his teaching job. You've picked up takeout on the way, eager to share a quiet evening together.

But as you open the door, your excitement turns to shock and disbelief.

There, before you, is Spencer, locked in a passionate embrace with JJ. Her hands are cupping his cheeks, their lips pressed together in a kiss that sends a jolt of pain through your chest.

Time seems to stand still as the bags of food slip from your fingers, crashing to the floor with a dull thud. You can't tear your eyes away from the scene before you, the weight of betrayal crushing down on you like a ton of bricks.

A thousand thoughts race through your mind, each one more painful than the last.

How could Spencer do this to you? How long has this been going on? And most importantly, how could you have been so blind to the truth?

Your heart feels like it's been ripped from your chest, shattered into a million pieces by the revelation before you. The love and trust you once shared with Spencer now lay in ruins at your feet, leaving you feeling empty and alone in a world that suddenly seems cold and indifferent.

As Spencer and JJ finally break apart, their eyes widening in shock at your sudden appearance, you feel a surge of anger rising within you. But beneath the anger lies a deep well of hurt and sadness, a pain that cuts to the very core of your being.

Without a word, you turn on your heel and flee from the apartment, tears streaming down your cheeks as you struggle to make sense of the betrayal that has shattered your world.

Everything spins around you in a blur of tears and confusion, you turn and run down the stairs, desperate to escape the pain and betrayal that threaten to consume you.

Each step feels like a marathon, your legs heavy with the weight of sorrow and disbelief.

But just as you reach the bottom of the stairs, your vision swimming with tears, you stumble, your foot catching on the edge of a step. You plummet forward, the ground rushing up to meet you with terrifying speed.

In that split second before impact, a pair of strong arms wraps around you, pulling you back from the brink of disaster. You gasp in shock and relief as Spencer catches you, his grip firm and steady.

For a moment, you cling to him like a lifeline, your body trembling with the force of your emotions.

You can't breathe, can't think, can't comprehend the enormity of what has just happened.

As you collapse onto the stairs, your sobs echoing in the empty stairwell, Spencer kneels beside you, his expression a mixture of concern and frustration.

He reaches out to touch you, but you flinch away, unable to bear the thought of his hands on your skin.

"Please," he pleads, his voice cracking with emotion. "Let me explain. It wasn't what you think. I didn't...I didn't do anything."

But his words fall on deaf ears as you struggle to make sense of the chaos swirling inside your head.

How could Spencer betray you like this? How could he let someone else touch him in that way?

As the truth begins to dawn on you, a wave of anger washes over you, hot and relentless. You push yourself away from Spencer, your chest heaving with the effort to draw breath.

"Don't," you choke out, your voice barely a whisper. "Don't touch me."

But Spencer refuses to give up, his eyes burning with determination as he reaches for you once more. "Please," he begs, his voice raw with emotion. "Let me explain. It wasn't me. It was her."

You place a trembling hand on your chest, trying to steady your racing heart as you struggle to catch your breath.

"How could you?" you utter, your voice barely above a whisper, the words heavy with accusation and pain.

Spencer's eyes are full of anguish as tears well up in his eyes. He reaches out to you, his hand hovering in the air between you, a silent plea for forgiveness that you're not sure you're ready to grant.

But before you can respond, JJ appears at the top of the stairs, her mouth open as if she's about to say something. But then, with a quick shake of her head, she closes her mouth and walks past the two of you without a word.

You stare after her in disbelief, your mind reeling with confusion and hurt.

You struggle to make sense of the situation. You knew of the hostage situation with JJ and how she had professed her love for Spencer. But you also remember how Spencer immediately came to you, confessing everything and reassuring you of his love for you.

He spent the whole night telling you every detail of what happened, assuring you that his heart belonged to you and you alone. He made it clear that you were the one he loved, not JJ.

So what happened? How could he be kissing her now, after everything he said and everything you've been through together?

With a shaky breath, you push yourself up from the stairs, your muscles tense with the effort to contain the storm raging within you. You want to flee, to distance yourself from him and the shattered remnants of your trust.

But before you can take a single step, Spencer's voice cuts through the tumultuous haze of your thoughts, pleading with you to stay. His words are a desperate plea for understanding, for a chance to explain the inexplicable.

"Please," he implores, his voice cracking with emotion. "Don't leave. I need to explain. I swear, it wasn't what it looked like. You have to believe me."

You hesitate, torn between the desire to escape and the need for answers. Despite the overwhelming pain coursing through your veins, there's a part of you that still craves the truth, no matter how agonizing it may be.

You groan loudly, the weight of the situation bearing down on you like a leaden blanket. Your mind races with a million questions, each one more painful than the last.

But for now, you're too overwhelmed to process anything.

With another loud groan, you turn and begin to make your way back upstairs, your steps heavy with exhaustion and despair.

You can feel Spencer's eyes boring into your back, his silent plea for you to stay echoing in the empty stairwell.

As you reach the top of the stairs, you don't look back, you enter the apartment and your only thought is to find a moment of solace in the solitude of the bathroom.

With trembling hands, you shut the door behind you, the click of the lock a final barrier between you and the chaos that threatens to consume you.

And as you sit there, trembling and broken, you realize that there's something about Spencer, something in the depths of his eyes that compelled you to stay, to hear him out.

It's a trust that runs deeper than words.

As you emerge from the bathroom after a few minutes, the weight of the silence between you and Spencer hangs heavy in the air.

You find him on the couch, his leg shaking uncontrollably, his fingers fidgeting nervously. His face is etched with worry and pain, mirroring the tumult of emotions raging inside you both.

He gave you space, just as he always did. It's one of the things you've always admired about him, his ability to recognize when you needed time to process and heal.

But now, as you sit in the armchair nearby, staring at him with a mix of curiosity and apprehension, you can't help but feel the need for answers, for some semblance of understanding in the chaos that surrounds you.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Spencer speaks. His voice is hoarse with emotion, the words tumbling out in a rush as if he's been holding them back for far too long.

"She just showed up," he begins, his voice barely above a whisper. "Out of nowhere, she started talking about how she loves me and how she was stupid for ignoring it for so long. She said she couldn't pretend anymore..."

You listen in stunned silence, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place. So it wasn't Spencer who initiated the kiss, it was JJ.

But why?

As Spencer continues to speak, his words are a desperate attempt to make sense of the madness that has engulfed your lives, you find yourself drawn to him, to the vulnerability etched into every line of his face.

Despite the pain and betrayal that still lingers between you, there's a part of you that can't help but empathize with his plight.

As Spencer falls silent, his eyes searching yours for some sign of forgiveness or understanding, you find yourself grappling with a whirlwind of emotions.

Hurt, betrayal, and confusion war with a lingering sense of empathy and love for the man sitting before you.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart and collect your thoughts. "Spencer," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, "I... I don't know what to say."

His eyes widen in anticipation, his expression a mixture of hope and fear. "I understand," he murmurs, his voice laced with regret. "I know I've hurt you, and I'm so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen."

"I need time," you finally say, your voice trembling with emotion. "I need time to process everything, to figure out where we go from here."

Spencer nods solemnly, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I understand," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "Take all the time you need. I'll be here, waiting for you."

With a heavy sigh, you push yourself up from the armchair, your limbs feeling like lead. "I'm going to go," you say, your voice barely a whisper. "I just... I need some space."

Spencer nods, his gaze following you as you make your way to the door. "I'll be here," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. "I love you."

You pause in the doorway, the weight of his words hanging in the air between you. "I love you too," you murmur, your voice choked with emotion.

And with that, you step out into the cool night air, the weight of the world heavy on your shoulders.

As you make your way home, you can't help but wonder will it ever be the same between the two of you?

[swordsandflowercrowns]

I was explaining this to a friend recently and I think it's an important distinction to make: not all queerplatonic relationships look the same.

A good way I've found to illustrate what exactly a qpr is, is to say "a qpr is to relationships what nonbinary is to gender". While both of these traditionally function on a binary (male/female, platonic/romantic), by defining our personal outlooks and experiences of the concepts of gender and relationships with new terms, we challenge the boundaries that society has put in place.

And yes, whilst redefining what actually constitutes romantic or platonic relationships, or male and female identities, and what makes them different (and acknowledging where they overlap, or where they can expand past what we traditionally expect) is important to increasing our understanding, so is providing options entirely outside of those two boxes.

And that's what it is - options. It's very easy to trivialise the concept of nonbinary and simply make gender into a trinary, rather than a binary. Male/female/nonbinary, which goes against the very purpose of the nonbinary label. This further erases the spectrum of gender. It's the same with relationships - by giving a strict set of instructions on how a qpr must look and act, you are simply creating a trinary. The point of the concept of qprs is to acknowledge that there are relationships between people that may overlap platonic and romantic, or fall partially within one and partially outside, or ones that are entirely separate from either category.

There are an infinite amount of ways a relationship can manifest, and if the people in the relationship feel that queerplatonic best describes their partnership without romance, or their affection without commitment, or their feelings towards each other that aren't quite what romantic or platonic is to them, or any other reason that rebels against amatonormativity, then they can choose to use that term. Queerplatonic covers the widest range of relationships that come in all shapes and sizes.

I think it's so important when discussing topics like relationships and gender to consciously make the effort to keep queering our ideas of the concepts - to remember that a spectrum is a spectrum. Labels can be useful for finding community, identifying your experiences and validating your struggles, but as soon as you try to start hyper-defining them, you lose the radical nature of queering our understanding of ourselves and our relationships. We name these concepts in order to give a voice to our subversion of society's arbitrary rules and expectations, not to police each other into conforming to a particular understanding of how a person (with a certain label) "should" act or be.

[everyonewooeverywhere]

MDNI 18+ BLOG -> ageless blogs and minors WILL BE BLOCKED

pairing ✭ bf!seungcheol x f!reader x bf!jeonghan

note ✭ this was requested by @asyre almost 2 weeks ago, and she's been so wonderfully patient 💗

synopsis ✭ having two boyfriends is better than one, but sometimes you let your indecisiveness get in the way.

content/genre ✭ smut 18+ MDNI, poly relationship

word count ✭ 1k

warnings ✭ thigh riding, nicknames/petnames (angel, baby), no penetrative sex in this one babes, jeonghan is a fucking tease

✭✭✭✭

In so many ways, having two boyfriends was better than one. When Seungcheol was swamped with work and didn’t come home until the early hours of the morning, you knew Jeonghan would be there to hold you while you slept in his arms. When Jeonghan was away on vacation with his family, Seungcheol would be there to cook for you and keep you company.

In other ways, though, it made life all the more difficult. You were an incredibly indecisive person, so many times you couldn’t decide how you wanted to have fun in the evening. Sure, they could have decided for you, but they were very keen on letting you make decisions (mostly because they enjoyed teasing you over it, but they would never tell you that). 

On nights like tonight, it was especially hard. Both of them sitting right next to each other on the couch not really watching the TV and whispering back and forth to each other. You had yet to join them and were instead standing behind the couch admiring them both from behind. 

“Angel,” Jeonghan turned to look at you, “stop lurking.”

Pouting, you joined them on the couch, sitting in Jeonghan’s lap with your legs resting over Seungcheol’s lap. You were restless as you tried to focus on the TV in front of you. But nothing could mask how undeniably horny you were.

They noticed this of course, from your uneven breathing to the way to gripped Jeonghan’s t-shirt in your fist. And they weren’t going to let it go unnoticed. Cheol made it a point to keep his hand on the inside of your leg. Thumb brushing over the skin of your calf and thigh. And Jeonghan, as he played with your hair, made a sly effort to brush your neck with his knuckles. He felt you shiver slightly every time he did.

Your brain was plagued with the infinite directions this could go. Straddling Hannie would be easiest seeing as you were already on top of him, and you couldn’t help but imagine yourself riding him in that moment. You could also beg Cheol to lay between your legs and go down on you. He wouldn’t be opposed, of course. That made would kill for just a single moment of feeling the bliss that came with your thighs wrapped around his head.

But, deep down, you didn’t want to choose between them. Of course, alternating was an option, one that pretty much dominated your sex life, but god you didn’t want that right now. You wanted them both. Together.

And, in a moment of clarity, you realized something.

You slid off of Jeonghan’s lap and stood in front of the boys. “Hannie? Can you scoot closer to him?”

Intrigued, Jeonghan did as he was told. Scooting over until his thigh was pushed up against his boyfriend’s.

“What’s going on in your pretty little head, baby?” Seungcheol asked you. Also incredibly curious as to where this was going, but he had an inkling.

An inkling that was confirmed when you sat back down, both of their thighs between your legs.

“Oh?” Jeonghan ran a hand over your hair, “Baby couldn’t decide?

You shook your head, whining, putting your face in his neck.

Cheol laughed, “Don’t be mean Hannie.” He loved your innovation. Running a hand along your thigh, he whispered in your ear, “You gonna ride us both, babygirl?”

“Yeah,” you whimpered, rolling your hips.

Seungcheol’s hand on your thigh, moved to your ass, flipping up your skirt to reveal your pink lace panties. He slid a hand under the elastic of them and pulled it back. When he let go it snapped against your skin. You gasped at the stinging sensation on your hip.

When you hadn’t moved in a few seconds, Jeonghan lifted his thigh and pressed it flat to your core, “You better get to work, angel. I wanna watch you cum in your panties just from riding our thighs.” He tangled his hand in your hair and pulled your head back, exposing your neck, “You can do that, can’t you? Make yourself cum?”

You nodded as much as you could with his hand holding your head in place. You rolled your hips on their thighs over and over and over again. Cheol helped you, the gentleman he is, and guided your hips with one hand. They took turns pressing their thighs to your core, giving you extra contact when they thought you deserved it.

Jeonghan kept his hand in your hair, leaving your neck exposed for him to kiss and bite. And he did just that. Whispering words of encouragement in your ear. “That’s it, baby. You’re doing so well.”

When your legs started shaking and squeezing in on their thighs, they both knew you were close. And they were right because in the next seconds, you reached your climax in your own underwear, but, at this point, both men had wet spots on their pants. With heavy breaths, you collapsed into Seugcheol’s chest. He pulled you into his lap. “Fuck, you’ll really do anything to avoid making decisions for yourself.” 

You nodded against his chest, which was also heaving from watching you get off on his thigh. Jeonghan leaned over to the two of you and kissed you softly. He smirked mischievously, though, when he pulled away from your lips. He was still just centimeters from your face when he whispered, “You did so good, baby, but we’re not done yet.”

[ja3yun]

i am on a jay bender and have been obsessed more and more as the days go by. what do u think would he be like as a bf? 🥹

jay has been bias wrecking me like crazy and this will not be good for my health but lets go: again there is smut so mdni!!

jake vers. | sunghoon vers. | heeseung vers.

first and foremost, he is putting his soul effort into you from the moment of your first date. when he is looking for a girlfriend, its a long term deal, not a fling or a quick summer romance. jay dates to marry. it can come across a bit 'whoa' but listen, he wouldn't be overbearing about it! he just wants to know that when he finds a partner that the effort he puts in will be worth jt.

dates when you're in the talking stages/getting to know will be very thought out, each detail will be meticulously planned based on your interests. he would love taking you to museums, dinner, camping, i think any date in which he could sit down and speak to you would be ideal for him. jay values connection over everything else so getting to know you during these dates and momentsnare crucial.

once you are in a relationship he is all you could ever ask for!! he is supportive, loving, affectionate, headstrong, and everything in between. i can see him really working hard to maintain a positive and steady paced relationship. he won't rush into things, knowing that the relationship has infinite time to blossom and develop - it's like a good meal, you don't scoff it down but savour it.

although steady, he is affectionate and always with you any chance he gets. jay is sooo romantic, more romantic than any of the others. his heart is so big that he has infinite love to give you, he will work you around his schedule, no matter how tired, he will always make time out of his busy day to see you. if he is on tour or really can't see you for whatever reason, he is facetiming you or calling you.

more under cut

when he comes to visit you, this might be controversial bc a lot of people don't see him as a yapper but i think he tells you everything about his day, particularly how he felt about everything (tired, excited, whatever). i think he would feel so comfortable with you and trust you so much that he confides in you about everything. i do think he would hold some things back, just as a way not to worry you - like his knee, i think he would play it off as no big deal even if it hurt really bad that day; worrying you isn't on his list.

jay is so used to looking after others and independent that he is either going to go two ways: babying you or asking to be babied. if its the first one, i think it comes second nature to him, he would look after you and make a fuss, doing acts of service like tying your laces when they come undone, making sure you don't go overboard when drinking (i need him for that), and generally care about your well being. OR he is going to come to you to be looked after. he would want a partner sensitive to his feelings, someone who can have open conversations about them and validate him. something about him tells me that he likes to be pampered by his partner; sharing baths where you cuddle and wash him, massages, make him dinner when he has had a long schedule, i do think he would love a face mask night in w you. its all about give and take with him, but he definitely loves to give a lot more.

as i've mentioned, he is headstrong and has core values. if you don't allign, he will literally try and persuade you to see his side of things. he loves to argue and debate, not in a mean or offputting way but rather in a 'i have this opinion, tell me yours and we'll discuss it' kind of way. loves to learn and expand his mind regarding knowledge so if you are knowledgeable about the world or certain things, he would love to listen and learn, possibly going as far as researching the topic on his own time. again though, you aren't changing his mind on his values but he will understand your point if you share them in an articulate manner. if you respect his opinin, he will respect yours!

it is obvious but he is cooking for you!!! he will prepare your favourite meals and also let you venture something knew. he doesn't always like to do it on his own though and will set up fun little 'cooking classes' to teach you. he can be a bit bossy but it looks hot on him so you never mind it. you will buy him silly kitchen gags like 'kiss the chef' apron etc. which he hates but he wears because it makes you laugh.

will also play guitar on quiet nights in, just as backing music, not to impress you or gain attention. he would just strum the guitar while you read or whatever you like to do. it will be the backingtrack to your conversation and i think he would cherish the calm and easiness in the air.

you must get along with his family. no question about it, he is so close to them that if they didn't like you, it would really impact your relationship. i think he would try and persuade his parents and try his absolute hardest to help you all get along; he might plan meals or day trips with you all to bond you. same goes for your family, whatever parental/guardian/sibling you have, he wants to impress them and get along with them. he is a family man through and through.

speaking of which, would talk marriage and kids with you quite early on, just to establish if this is something you are wanting. i think for sure marriage has to be on the table but kids are a tricky one, i feel like he understands that it is you who would be carrying the child/or/adoption would always be a choice. it can't just be his decision, he loves you so much that he would settle for being an uncle rather than a dad if you truly didn't want children (please be real core <3)

kisses: i think he loves to kiss you but not randomly, like he won't grab your wrist and spin you around to lay a smooch, he is the type to nuzzle your nose and tell you how beautiful you look. his kisses are soft and gentle, his tongue tender against yours as he devours you completely. hands ALL OVER your body when he kisses, loves to feel you on his finger tips. secretly, along with quality time and gift giving, i think physical touch is a love language for him.

bowchikawowow: rough and sensual. jay is going to do everything you like because as your relationship grows, he is going to make sure that he knows every little pleasure point on your body. LOVES to hear you moan and encourages it. 'let me hear you, baby' and 'do you like that?' are constant sentences in the bedroom. doesn't do quickies, likes to go for as long as possible. he is terrible for edging you, pushing you to the edge of tears while he withdraws his touch, his smirk would be plastered on his face. he would tell you how good you are for him, 'just a little more, my baby can handle that, right?' and ofc you would say yes!! kisses all over your body, lips all over your chest and tummy, loves to just feel you (again, physical touch).

aftercare is so important to him but i think because he already likes to look after you, it would be so normal. makes you tea, kisses and cuddles, words of affection and admiration; whatever you need, he will do it!

again, these are my opinion and if you disagree you are more than welcome to let me know what you think!! i love hearing opinons 🙏🏻

[adverbally]

Let the Stars Fall

Written for the @steddiemicrofic September prompt “Shower” | wc: 399 | rated: G | cw: none | tags: early established relationship, post-S4, Orionid meteor shower, stargazing, pure cosmic fluff | title from “Meteor Shower” by Cavetown

———

The “shower” in “meteor shower” is a little exaggerated, Steve thinks. It’s more of a sprinkle, a streak of light shooting across the sky every couple minutes, but it’s breathtaking regardless.

Hawkins doesn’t have much light pollution, so he and Eddie drive into the hills and camp out for a good view. The late October night is cool but they’re warm in their cocoon, having zipped their separate sleeping bags into one quilted pocket where they can curl up together against the chill.

When their eyes adjust and the Milky Way coalesces into view, Steve gasps. He’s never been one for stargazing or astrology or whatever Robin called it, but he has to admit that the night sky is a gorgeous sight, sparkling and swirling above them. It’s colorful, too, not black and white like he tends to imagine but deep blue and purple fading into orange near the horizon, freckled with red and yellow and green stars. There’s a beauty to it, big and small, dark and bright at the same time, that Steve can barely wrap his mind around.

More importantly, there’s a beauty to Eddie excitedly pointing out constellations, explaining the mythological stories behind them, talking through the most notable stars and planets for this time of year. It’s a lot to keep track of, but Steve tries to commit as much as he can to memory: Orion’s belt, the bright stars that compose his left shoulder and right foot, the Winter Triangle, the nebula that Eddie assures him is right there, where his sword would hang.

Once they glimpse the first meteor, they fall silent, eagerly awaiting the next one’s appearance. Some of them paint a radiant trail that lingers, while others blink in and out of sight so quickly that Steve wonders if he imagined them. When two appear in quick succession, Steve thinks about Eddie’s hand in his, the way they can’t seem to get close enough, the way they gravitate toward each other in an orbit neither of them wants to break.

When Steve flicks his gaze over to Eddie, he’s gazing right back, looking more awed by Steve than by the meteor shower. Eddie’s eyes twinkle, shining brighter than Betelgeuse and Rigel, and his lips are cold when Steve kisses him, and this thing between them is still new but it feels as infinite as the universe stretched out above them.

[avale-reves]

if this "no news/trailers/whatever at all until the year leading up to release" is the new normal for KH i think fandom is going to like, have to massively restructure the way it works, the things it celebrates and engages with, the stuff it values and considers 'high worth', because otherwise it's just going to be years and years and years of the same discussions repeated over and over with nothing new for us to even chew on in the meantime.

i find that the kh fandom massively undervalues fanworks. maybe as a side effect of how important 'word of god' and 'canon' are to understanding the series, idk, but like i think there needs to be a real shift in fandom perspective to champion them more, and making them far more central to what "being active in kh fandom" means. And I think this both because of just the practicality of keeping fandom alive in an era where the devs are more tight-lipped than ever, but also I think it's something that KH specifically needs to do.

Kingdom Hearts is always going to be a series of "missed/unfulfilled potential". There is no way it cannot be. The concept is just too expansive, the cast so wide, and there are endless ways to spin off of what they've given us, or endless ways to imagine where it could go. Even something as simple as a Disney world has all of this "potential" in how it could be explored, how it could be utilized, how it could play or look or feel, what themes it could have, what character development it could give certain characters etc. And the games will always have to take that infinite possibility and whittle it down to a single thing. KH itself will always have to contend with right/legal issues, Disney oversight and rules, the realities of game development and budgets, etc and so in that sense, it will never be able to reach the potential. But like... we can? We as fans can take all of the potential and use it as an endless playground for us to enjoy and engage with.

Idk, I just think back to, for example, Kairi and Lea training. A concept that has a ton of potential! Very interesting fertile ground for character dynamics, fighting scenes, mentor scenes, etc etc. Obviously, in KH3 this amounted to only a couple of core scenes where the devs put the focus on just their character relationships. Many were disappointed by this, by how little we see, but like, it was always set up as a "thing that is going to be happening off-screen", that's the whole point of 'merlin made a special place where time doesnt matter and they can just focus on training'. And when we think of KH3 with its endless things it has to juggle, its huge cast, etc. it makes sense that Kairi and Lea training can only be a tiny part of it. They have a budget. They have resource constraints. They even have disc space constraints to worry about (it's why their scenes are CG even! They literally did not have any room on the disc to actual make in-game environments for them!).

Like we can look at that and be very disappointed. We didn't get to see any of that stuff. But like, idk, at the same time, the fact that we didn't see a lot of it means that almost any fanwork about that time can "fit with canon" and be "something that might've happened". Like, we can look at it as a disappointment it wasn't more defined by KH3, but we could also look at it as a fandom gift. To borrow a phrase from iconic kh fan translator goldpanner: It is a crack in the concrete sidewalk of KH canon where fanworks can grow and thrive.

Idk. I know for some, fanworks will just never count the same as canon. But, I do feel like if people in general grew to appreciate them more, and have fun with them and engage with them, and share them and make them themselves, then it could do so much to smooth out the feelings of 'missed potential' that is inherent with this series and always will be through no fault of the devs themselves. And perhaps we would find, if, for example, we had spent the 4-6 years between MelMem and KHIV having a blast as a fandom exploring 'Kairi and Aqua training' through fics, art, comics, vids, fangames, music, graphic design, etc etc. We'd probably feel that by the time it was 'defined' by canon into a single thing it has to be for the story they're telling, even if that thing is nothing that we thought or wished for, we might end up feeling the 'potential' of the idea wasn't wasted, because we explored it.

[celaenaeiln]

On note of the Blockbuster thing and Dick’s over working himself, I can recall a time when after the first time Blockbuster got taken out, Dick was so lost emotionally and mentally, he went for months on end getting the absolute hardest cases and capers imaginable, getting more illnesses and injuries so much and frequently. It got so bad Bruce and Alfred had to drag him to the Batcave and Bruce had to get some tough love across.

He let Dick know that he was upset at him for failing to take care of himself and self forgive for what happened to Blockbuster. He forgives Dick for the latter case but will not tolerate Dick losing the value of his own life in self pity and guilt

Thoughts on this?

YES!!!

Dick overworks himself so hard that he kinda passes out and dreams so vivid that they're almost hallucinogenic but when he wakes up-

Nightwing (2016) Issue #117

Bruce is PISSED. Ofcourse it's gotta be because Dick let Blockbuster die right? He just stepped aside and let Catalina take the shot despite the no kill. He broke the OATH the two of them had forged. That's why Bruce is mad right?!

Nightwing (2016) Issue #117

WRONG WRONG WRONG!!

Nightwing (2016) Issue #117

"You have no right to expect me to excuse you - for losing sight of the value of yours."

CMON BRUCE!!

He basically said "I don't care if you killed someone. If you want me to forgive you fine. But don't you dare fucking think for one second that I'll forgive you for almost dying."

Bruce is crazy about Dick. I've already talked before how he has control issues regarding Dick life but I want to reiterate that Bruce wants control of Dick's everything. His life, his relationships, his death.

You can see the visible rage in Bruce's body. You can see how hard he grips Dick's chin. He's furious that Dick would put his life below anyone's.

This isn't the only time Bruce gets furious at Dick almost dying either. Remember Forever Evil?

Nightwing (2011) Issue #30

His sole reason for beating Dick is LITERALLY beat his frustrations and fear that Dick almost died!! He's the one that died Bruce!! Why are YOU mad?!

The thing about Dick and Bruce's relationship or rather Bruce's relationship with Dick is that Dick could literally be standing in a room of blood and corpses and the first thing Bruce would do is rush over to him and check if he's okay. And then scold him because "what if they're blood accidentally got into you, Dick? Haven't I told you the dangers of bloodborne pathogens and other transmittable viruses? How dare you let them hurt you!"

Bruce has a no kill rule but sometimes when Dick's life is in danger he definitely looks the other way. No punishment if Dick does something to someone else but he travels at the speed of light when Dick lets something bad happen to him.

Not only that, he doesn't mind other people dying if it means saving Dick's life. Between the world surviving and Dick, he will always choose Dick. And how do I know that? Because he's done it before.

Forever Evil Issue #5

"No, this is a search and rescue mission first--"

"Richard Grayson?"

"Yes, Luthor. Once Nightwing's safe, we can take down the syndicate."

The world is in SHAMBLES.

Central City

Forever Evil Issue #3

Metropolis

Forever Evil Issue #3

The justice league is gone.

The villains who actually wanted the end of the world are so shocked by the state it's in now that they've decided to become heroes. But none of that matters. It doesn't matter to Bruce that half the population is gone, people are killing, stealing, and dying. As long as Dick is alive - it's okay.

In fact an entire world could be corrupted beyond saying but as long as Dick isn't then it's a world worth saving.

Forever Evil Issue #3

Do you realize what this means? It means that Bruce's scale of measurement for evaluating the quality of a whole fucking planet IS Dick Grayson.

Even an hyper-intelligent construction questions what happens if his favorite, Dick, dies.

Infinite Crisis Issue #3

What happened after Blockbuster, where Bruce completely ignored the death of him. Ah-I said ignored but the reality is created an excuse for - is completely in line with his relationship with Dick and more importantly highlights two things.

Breaking the no-kill rule is acceptable if it's Dick Grayson or relates to Dick Grayson.

Bruce is crazy about Dick and he will go crazy for him.

[the-virgoperspective]

Part 2

Mars is one of the most important planets in a composite chart. In the composite chart, this planet represents a bond’s action and drive, a sexual one and ego-driven one. Mars is considered a malefic planet that comes with challenge no matter which house it is placed in. It can show you where the challenges can lie and what it will take to overcome them and bear the powerful fruits of a developed Mars. Mars can also show how you approach individuality as one and where your expression lies within a relationship. It is very important to review the sign placement and other planets and/or luminaries aspecting Mars, as this will give you a more detailed description of how they will affect the expression of this planet.

I will be using the writings of Robert Hand from his novel “Planets In Composite: Analyzing Human Relations” to describe the meaning and significance of Mars in each composite house. Enjoy! xoo

7H Composite Mars

Mars in the seventh house of the composite chart can indicate that the two of you have a great sense of common purpose. On the other hand, it can mean a total conflict of purpose to the point that you are clearly enemies rather than friends or lovers. Either you will feel that your energies are infinitely better expressed by being together rather than apart, or you will be in an extreme state of conflict with each other. Which way your relationship will work depends to a great extent upon finding a way to express yourselves together, discovering something that you can do together. The seventh is the house of partners and of open enemies. Even at the very worst you will know exactly where you stand with each other.

It is also possible, of course, for these two effects to occur together. This creates a love-hate relationship in which your feelings toward each other oscillate rapidly between loving and hating.

The presence of Mars in this house indicates that the ego-energies within this relationship are very strong. In this situation it is not always easy for one of you to accede to the other’s wishes. Here the martyr game that characterizes so many relationships-with one of you always conceding grudgingly to the other-will not work.

This position requires that the two of you be on an equal footing. Any attempt to place yourself over your partner will make a very tense situation. Give each other plenty of room to find fulfillment within the relationship and also to find something that you can work for together. Then this position of Mars will be a help rather than a hindrance.

8H Composite Mars

Composite Mars in the eighth house indicates that in this relationship the two of you express your egos in a way that forces you to look for new insights into the nature of your ways of living. The eighth house of the horoscope is very complex. It is the house of transformation and of the psychological energies that underlie any major changes within the self. As each of you encounters the other, you will be challenged, not necessarily in a destructive way, but in a way that will make growth necessary.

The eighth house also represents regeneration, and Mars in this house can create a great deal of sexual energy for regeneration of the self through creation of another person. In this relationship, sex will be very important and may even become a vehicle for transforming both of you.

This is the house of joint resources, which makes it very important to a relationship. In some cases there may be conflict between you about money or property. To avoid this problem you both must learn to back down and make sure that petty expressions of the ego are not getting in the way of the relationship. Try not to become too involved with your possessions. If you identify with them too strongly, they will become a source of problems.

9H Composite Mars

Composite Mars in the ninth, the house of the higher mind and long journeys, indicates a strong involvement with ideas, beliefs, and philosophies of life in this relationship. That is, your beliefs are very important to each of you, and being together makes them even more so. If your ideas and attitudes toward life are compatible, you will work very hard together to protect them, and you will try to convince others of the rightness of what you are doing.

If your attitudes are not compatible, you will waste a lot of energy trying to convince each other of them, causing much conflict in the process. The universe is actually large enough to encompass both sets of ideas, as well as the beliefs of those whom you disagree with. But the two of you probably do not realize this, feeling that if other people’s beliefs are true, yours cannot be, and vice versa. You are likely to react to opposition almost as if your lives were in danger. Be careful of this and try to expand your views so that they can encompass those of other people.

This placement of Mars may also indicate that the two of you will do some work together that involves traveling over long distances. Or it can mean working together in some academic or intellectual field.

10H Composite Mars

Mars in the tenth house of the composite chart means that the energy of Mars must be successfully expressed through this relationship, or there is likely to be trouble. The tenth is the house of the ego’s most complete expression, symbolizing what you must do in order to evolve in life. In a composite chart, the tenth house has to do with how well each of you can express your life purpose within the relationship. With Mars in this house, the issue of ego-drives will be even more important than in most relationships.

You must allow each other plenty of room to follow your own paths. It would not be a good idea for one of you to sacrifice your goals in life to order to allow your partner to pursue his or her objectives. Eventually that course of action would become a sore point that could disrupt the relationship. Each of you must be allowed to do your own thing while you are together. Obviously it will be helpful if you have similar ideas about what you wish to do with your lives. Whatever your ambitions, they will be an issue in this relationship.

If you can agree on this issue, the energy of the tenth-house Mars will serve you in good stead. You will approach business or any other joint activity very aggressively and energetically. The results should be excellent. However, take care not to let these energies get out of hand, because they could generate a great deal of opposition from others that would be harmful to your best interests.

11H Composite Mars

Composite Mars in the eleventh house indicates that the two of you will enjoy working with other people in groups. It is an indication that you will derive more satisfaction from your work and energies if you feel that what you are doing is part of a greater whole. Together you will identify with various group projects, movements, and other situations in which the individual ego is subordinated to group expression. It is easier for both of you to completely express your personal energies through your relationship this way.

This position may also indicate that you will try to dominate your friends or associates, which will make matters rather difficult for the two of you. No matter where Mars is located in the chart, you must be careful how you handle its energies so that they do not cause strife and arguments with others.

The eleventh house is also the house of your ideals and hopes in life. Mars in this position indicates that the two of you will work very hard to attain whatever you want out of life. Consequently it is very important that you have similar or at least complementary goals in life. Otherwise, disagreements on this issue are likely to be a great source of conflict.

12H Composite Mars

Composite Mars in the twelfth house makes it absolutely imperative that that two of you understand exactly what you want from this relationship and each other. You must arrive at a conscious understanding and agreement. In most relationships, agreements are made tacitly, not formally stated or written down. But for the two do you it might be very profitable to write out an agreement. By doing so you may discover that you have included all kinds of demands that you never thought you would ask for. If you don’t make the demands explicit, you can be sure that every time one of them is broken it will cause a conflict, even though neither of you will understand exactly why.

The literal meaning of Mars in the twelfth house might be stated as unconscious forms of ego expression. The twelfth house is not really unconscious, but it often indicates signals that you are sending out into the world very strongly but not acknowledging. Whether or not you acknowledge them, you will have to live with the consequences.

It is just the same with a relationship; the twelfth-house Mars signifies that you are putting into the relationship sources of conflict that could weaken it badly. Even worse, it would be very unclear why the problems exist. If you do not make an effort to find out what you really expect of each other, it will be difficult to ascertain why you are having conflicts. You may find that if you verbalize your wants, they will be full of contradictions, double-binds, and contract arrangements that can’t be fulfilled. Only if you take the trouble to examine your expectations closely will it be possible to understand what you really want from each other and whether your needs can be met.

part 1

☌ animated divider by @adornedwithlight ☌

[redclercs]

DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

iv. you and me would be a big conversation

— the one where both of you have big reputations.

warnings: this one got a little long sorry, bashing towards charles and y/n (i love them ok), taylor swift references,2.6k words.

masterlist ✢ next

FROM DATF1GURL ON TIKTOK: "IS Y/N Y/LN AFTER CHARLES LECLERC NOW?"

[female voiceover]: ❝(...) while it is true she has a contract with Elix the new MAJOR sponsor for Ferrari—horrible drink by the way—rumor has it y/n's actual goal is to get the monegasque driver to spare a glance her way... Like, okay girl, but you left a 3-year relationship five minutes ago, chill.❞

IN pure Taylor Swift fashion, y/n y/ln has found her own ‘Getaway Car’ in none other than the 25-year-old Monegasque Formula 1 pilot, Charles Leclerc.

While nothing’s been confirmed, (come on now, what celebrity will just confirm rumors of their own free will in this day and age? Screw you, PR agents) the actress has been seen at two Grand Prix and the Elix contract gives her good camouflage for being constantly photographed with her new beau.

No matter how much sex-appeal these two exude, let’s not forget that we have a victim here: Aidan Kim. How can you leave a three year relationship with the man that gave you everything and not even two months later you’re already with someone else?

Is it a rebound or are we looking at something serious? In your humble writer’s opinion it’s most likely the former. And let’s not forget what Taylor Swift, in her infinite wisdom, said: “Nothing good starts in a getaway car”, it doesn’t matter if it’s a Ferrari.

SEE ALSO:

→ Aidan Kim buys new home in Sherman Oaks.

→ Every celebrity present at the Miami Grand Prix.

→ Is y/n y/ln really done with RomComs?

May 13th, Los Angeles, California.

“ARE you sure this is who you want as your rebound, babe?” Victoria places the magazine down and turns her head to look at you, using the precise force and tilt for her sunglasses to slide down to the tip of her nose.

“Stop reading that garbage,” you warn, not bothering to change your position in the chaise-longue, you don’t even look away from the script in your hands.

The day started pretty well, sunny Los Angeles made you feel hopeful for the first time in a while as you opened the script Mildred sent you when you got back from Miami. A drama about a young widow. You can work with that.

“I just mean—” Vic shifts her whole body in your direction, “—You have options, what about Timothée? I’m pretty sure the Kylie thing is fake. And he wouldn’t say no to you.”

“Stop that, Vic,” this time you do look her way for emphasis, you mean it. “I’m not looking for a rebound, or anything else for that matter. I want a job.”

“Fine,” Vic makes a show of capturing her lip between her teeth to pronounce the “F” and lies back in the chair. “I’m just saying…”

You’re glad to be wearing sunglasses, so she can’t see the way your eyes rollback. To be fair, you’re at Vic’s house so she has every right to occupy the same space as you at any given minute. Which is all the time.

After the breakup you ran to Vic’s Los Angeles home and left the SoHo apartment to Aidan. Vic's house is amazing, with eight rooms, five bathrooms, a black granite kitchen and of course, the pool. But you miss New York, even if you can fit your own room two times in one of Vic's. At least, according to rumors, Aidan is moving out of the apartment so you might be able to return to it soon.

“I think it’s bullshit that they see me breathing near a guy and suddenly we’re dating,” you drop the stack of papers on your legs, startling Vic with the sound. “Bullshit.”

“It’s just tabloids, babe.” Vic goes quiet, knowing she’s annoyed you and now you feel guilty about that too.

“I know,” you sigh, picking the script back up. Suddenly you don’t like it that much anymore.

Of course you know it’s just tabloids. People talk shit just for fun, but you’ve been their main target for a few weeks now and you cannot wait for them to move on. Which seems unlikely.

You've never been more glad about turning down a Yankees game invite.

Following Ferrari’s disappointing Sunday and the respective mandatory Elix pictures, you hung around the Suite a little longer in aims of gathering your thoughts and the will to leave to meet Vic at another after-party.

“Hola y/n! I thought you’d left,” Carlos carried his bag in one hand as he struggled to put his sunglasses with the other.

“I’m about to,” you smiled at him, locking your phone. “You too?”

“Yep, going straight to the airport. See you in Italy?” he asked, running his now free hand through his black hair, all set.

“See you there, Carlos.” you waved him goodbye before leaning back on the couch.

Vic had apologized for the shenanigans she'd pulled the previous night, saying she knew she should have asked you instead of just running with things. So you were looking forward to the after-party, it would be fun to hang out with your best friend after making up.

It wasn’t even five minutes before Charles came out too, hanging up a call in his half-destroyed iPhone.

“Oh hey!” He greeted cheerfully, the bad aftertaste from the race wasn't evident in his demeanor anymore. They had their debrief and Charles was willing to let go of the negativity momentarily.

“Hi Charles,” your not-as-cheerful tone didn’t bother him one bit. “Are you flying back today too?”

You couldn’t picture yourself in an eight hour flight after everything they’d done today, but they’re not really regular humans.

“We’re driving to New York, actually,” his hand hovered over the refreshment table, until he picked one of the leftover Elix. Charles examined the black can he chose before speaking again, “We’re going to a Yankees game tomorrow.”

“That’s very nice, Charles.”

He hates Elix as much as the next person so you can't help but wonder why he drinks them even when the cameras are off. Carlos and you never do.

“Would you like to join us?” He offered, the last word deafened by the click of the can as he opened it.

You took a few seconds to process the question, long enough for Charles to down about half the can in one gulp.

“Thank you, but I’m flying back to L.A. tomorrow.”

Charles' mouth went down in one corner and you were uncertain whether it was your answer or the taste that caused it. He tilted the can making the remaining liquid dance.

“Maybe another time,” he added, downing the rest of the blueberry flavored Elix. “Don’t worry.”

“Thanks for asking me, though,” you smiled, grabbing your purse from the couch. You had recovered enough energy already, and you didn't want to miss the DJ set at the party. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“Thanks y/n,” his mouth was still frozen in that slight wince and you shook your head gently at the sight of the empty Elix. “I'll see you in Italy, right?”

“I’ll be there.” you assured, although you hoped not. But a week didn’t seem like enough time to secure a gig.

YOU land in Italy the day the Grand Prix gets canceled. Which is very much just your luck. It’s for the better, though, safety must always come first.

It makes no sense to run back to America when you have nothing else to do, so you resolve to stay in Rome and catch up with a few friends you have around. Matilde Bassi being the best among them, and she would rather die than let you stay in a hotel instead of her house.

"I said no," she repeats, and her accent—although barely even there— reminds you of Charles for a split second, before your brain lets go of the image. "I've told you a million times to come visit, I won't let you stay in a hotel."

You give up after that because you don't want to annoy her. Matilde has quite the strong character, which is the reason she got to Broadway in the first place. After years of being in New York, where you met her, she decided to move back to Italy. Mati, still pursuing her passion, is currently the European public's favorite Juliet.

The fact that all of this goes down in a phone call gives you time to pick up what little stuff you've gotten out of your suitcase and check-out of the hotel before Matilde gets there to take you to her house.

─────────

"So, how are you doing?" she asks, refilling your wine before moving back to the stove, where she's cooking your favorite Italian meal.

"I'm fine, I've told you," you chuckle, sipping the drink. Her house is beautiful too, and spacious, but it feels homey compared to Vic's. "Taking it easy."

One thing you tend to forget about Matilde is how she is able to see right through your bullshit, and that's exactly what she's doing now.

"You never take it easy, y/n. And I mean how are you really? How do you feel? A lot has changed for you lately." she flips her head back to remove a stray curl of hair out of her eyes, "You can be honest."

"I'm fine, seriously, Mati," you know drinking so fast will make the wine go straight to your head but you'll do anything to avoid really talking about this. Which is unfair, Matilde is being genuine.

"You moved from one coast to the opposite and you're fine? What are you working on right now?"

You sigh, managing to smell your own alcoholic breath. "I'm with Victoria, and I've lived in Los Angeles before, while filming, it's not a big deal. As for work... I'm just– picking some stuff out, seeing the best options."

Matilde nods and turns around to grab two plates from the sky blue cupboards behind her. "Are you planning on going back to New York?"

"Yeah, hopefully," you get up to help her and she gestures for you to take a seat again. "My name was on the lease and Aidan is moving out of the apartment, according to People Magazine, anyway so..."

"Your apartment was amazing," Matilde smiles, reminiscing the girls' nights you spent together while she worked in New York, it was always so much fun to be with Mati. "I hope you can go back. If that makes you happy, that is."

She manages to carry both steaming plates and the bottle of wine to the table, and finally sits down. "Well, enjoy!"

"Thank you, Mati, this smells amazing," you missed Mati's cooking so much because no matter how many Italian restaurants you visit, nothing compares to hers, and you're also glad to have something on your stomach that will make the effects of the wine go away.

Or that's what you hoped for anyway, because you're halfway through another cup of wine, almost done with your food, when you drop the grenade you've left unpinned in your brain for 2 months.

"I don't miss him," you whisper, resting the fork gently on the edge of the plate, between two of the yellow flowers painted on it. "Am I a horrible person because I don't miss him?"

You gave it a lot of thought ever since you took the plane from New York to L.A. the night you said no. You thought—still think—there's something wrong with you because the feeling that something was ripped out of your life and the hole that it left would never be filled never even appeared. There was no hole, it was a scar already, and you picked at it trying to make it bleed. But nothing happened. Nothing ever happens.

"You're not a horrible person, y/n don't say that."

You're glad Mati doesn't let silence fall between you, it would have made you regret everything that left your mouth, but she's already reaching for your hand and you feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

Mourning the idea of someone is worse than mourning their absence. And you had missed Aidan for a long time, even when he was with you.

"I just feel awful for leaving and not wanting to go back, I hate myself for being okay."

The rejected proposal is something you keep close to you still. You love Mati, and you trust her, but you cannot bring yourself to touch that subject.

Mati squeezes your hand, her food forgotten as well. "I'm glad you're okay. I liked Aidan, too. But you're my friend, and I love you and all I want is for you to be better than okay."

"Thank you Mati," it's her words that actually get the tears flowing, and you wipe them quickly with your free hand. "Sorry for dumping this on you so suddenly." you give a choked laugh before clearing your throat.

"I did tell you you could be honest," she laughs, giving your hand a last squeeze before letting it go. "How about we just go straight to dessert?"

You nod, grateful that she leaves to get the tiramisu you bought on the way home from the fridge so you can pull yourself together.

MONACO welcomes you the Sunday before the Grand Prix. Which you are excited about, for the first time in a while.

Matilde proves to be the best company once again, knowing her way around Monaco like it's her own home. You're glad she's attending the Grand Prix too and you were able to get her into the Ferrari Suite with you, unlike your failed attempt at Miami with Vic.

One thing you find out about Monaco pretty soon, is that they're obsessed with Charles Leclerc. He's in buses and billboards and you can see people waiting to catch a glimpse of him outside grocery stores. It warms you up inside that he's so loved in his own country, not many people can relate.

You don't love, however, that the articles online have brought attention to your presence in Monaco too. And although it’s far less than the one Charles gets for obvious reasons, the heat that comes from it is closer to ire than affection.

Still, you take photos with those who ask on your way back from dinner with Mati and ignore the “you’re here for your boyfriend, huh?” Questions that come from people with their cameras millimeters away from your face. Saying “it’s not like that” isn’t worth the effort because it won’t work.

May 23rd Montecarlo, Monaco.

Mati is introducing you to other celebrities that attended the All-Stars game, when Charles comes back from signing autographs to the part of the stadium where you are. He's messy, dirty and all dimples—again— which you start to find annoying. Although it's mildly sweet how he always smiles at you when your eyes meet, you cannot allow yourself to think of that too often. He's a nice guy, he's being nice.

"Hi y/n, I thought I'd see you until the weekend," he greets you, still drying off the sweat from the back of his neck.

You shrug, making way for a couple of guys who give Charles a bro hug, joke about the several mistakes he made during the match and then leave, acknowledging you in the form of a quick scan.

"Good game," you can't help the small laugh that follows the compliment, but Charles only smiles wider.

"I'm a natural," he replies, but takes his hand to the place he hit when he face planted. "Don't you think?"

"Definitely," you laugh again, raising both eyebrows. "I'm just glad you stick to racing."

"Me too," it's his turn to shrug, and run a hand through his damp hair.

“How was New York?” You look over your shoulder to Mati, who’s holding her own conversation a few steps away. “Did you have fun?”

“It was really fun, noisy, big. It’s a shame you couldn’t come.”

“Thank you again for inviting me. I do miss New York, but i had things to do.” You let the air out of your lungs hoping, albeit stupidly, he can’t see in your face that the things you did was read stuff on the internet about the two of you together.

“Oh you live in New York? That’s wonderful, so you know your way around. Lorenzo and I got lost.”

You chuckle gently. “It happens to the best of us.”

“Ready to go?” Mati puts an arm around you, smiling. “Hello, Charles.”

So it is true everyone knows each other in these circles.

“Hello Matilde,” Charles smiles back at her, “I won’t keep you any longer, y/n.”

“No worries, it was nice seeing you.”

“I’ll see you soon, maybe I can show you a place or two in Monaco.” Charles is very casual, but his eyes don’t leave yours for a heartbeat.

Matilde tilts her head and her ponytail falls into your shoulder, the small hairs tickling your ear.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks Charles.” You shake your head away from Mati’s and wave Charles goodbye as he walks by you.

“My advice,” Mati is still holding you by the shoulder. “If I may be nosy… You don’t want to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Charles Leclerc. You don’t wanna do that, y/n.”

You roll your eyes but Mati is unbothered by the gesture. “I’m not doing anything, Mati. He’s being nice, we see each other every weekend.”

“He is a homie hopper, trust me, run don’t walk.”

You tsk, making her shake her head this time. “If it makes you feel better, I’m not doing that, never, ever.”

And although you intend to keep your promise, the first thing you do once your phone is hooked to the hotel’s wifi, is google Charles and his reputation.

Even if you know better than anyone that the internet is full of lies.

─── team principal radio: ❝hello! i really enjoyed creating this chapter, especially the fake media so i hope you've enjoyed it too. thanks for reading!♡❞

✰ paddock club members: @majx00

[daechwitatamic]

Vice;Grip || chapter 4 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose.  A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!!

//

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out.

Section Specific Warnings: language, recreational drinking, depiction of a panic attack, there is a quick moment where you can infer that reader thinks vernon might be actively su*cidal but that is not the case and this is not outright stated, nip stim, dirty talk, piv sex, reader has a high fever but no specific illness is mentioned, a (verbal) fight with some yelling

wc: 6700

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

5 months ago

Five texts went unanswered.

I’m sorry.

I was so fucked up, I wasn’t saying what I meant.

Call me so I can explain.

I’m really sorry.

Please, Vernon.

Each time, they delivered, but no response came. You thought you might feel better if he told you to go away. The silence felt too open, like nothing was settled. Like maybe you just hadn’t said the right thing yet. Like maybe you could - or should - keep trying.

Four weeks passed; you tried not to let it drown you, tried to tread above the rising water of the situation. You swam through guilt, your own anger, guilt again. The knowledge of what had upset him nibbled at your toes like fish you couldn’t see in the murky depths. You tried to pretend it wasn’t there, that it was only seaweed underfoot.

You tried to reason with yourself; you hadn’t done anything that bad. He’d been upset because you’d implied he’d get bored of you someday - even though of course he would - and he thought… you didn’t know, he thought that was an attack on his character?

(You knew that wasn’t why he was mad.)

Or, because you’d implied that he would leave, when you were the one who’d gone silent before? That was valid, you thought. You had been the one to make him chase, when your grey days swallowed you up.

(You knew that wasn’t the whole truth, either.)

You kicked at the fish, kept swimming on.

Three times, you found yourself on the brink of coming clean to Chan. The first time, it had almost escaped from your mouth, prompted by nothing but your own need to hear someone absolve you; you wanted to tell Chan I think I hurt him, so he could say, it doesn’t sound like it’s your fault.

Chan didn’t lie to you, though, even when you wanted him to. He wouldn’t tell you it wasn’t your fault, because it was. So, you tucked the words back in, zipped them up safely.

The next time, he’d asked - “You still… with that guy?” He’d made a vague hand motion that must have meant still seeing, or still sleeping with.

I messed it up again.

I think I liked him too much.

“It’s been like a month,” you said lightly, like it was no big deal. “We’ve been busy.”

His sideways look was scalding. Chan didn’t lie to you; Chan was used to you lying to him, knew all the signs.

He let it go anyway.

Maybe he knew those signs, too. Maybe he knew without you telling him that you’d let the bunny rabbit instincts win - that you’d hid, scared, the second your fragile, broken brain told you to.

The third time, you almost told him all of it, even that it was Vernon. Chan was having dinner at your apartment, helping you clean up after, when his phone buzzed on the table.

“Hey, hyung,” he’d answered, tilting his head to grip the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he ran water in the sink and started rinsing the plates. “Yeah, I’m in. I don’t know, probably in like twenty minutes? Fifteen if I make all the green lights.”

You listened absently as you picked up the rest of the table - napkins in the trash, utensils tight in one hand, now-empty wine glasses in the other.

“Oh,” Chan said, surprised. “Vernon, too? Nice. Should I stop for beer since there’ll be more of us?”

You dropped a wine glass. Chan helped you sweep, and then you ran the vacuum cleaner. Still, you kept finding errant pieces of glass for days. You carried them carefully to the garbage.

It felt fitting, that hearing his name had caused this.

Twice, you called and left voicemails.

Two days after the argument, you’d called on your lunch break. It had rang six times and then his voicemail picked up.

“Vernon… listen, I know I pissed you off. I’d really like the chance to explain myself when I’m not… you know. I didn’t say it how I meant it. Text me. Or call me, whichever.”

After the four weeks crept by and the rest of your texts went unanswered as well, you tried again.

It took almost a whole bottle of wine by yourself to work up the courage, and you hoped he wouldn’t hear the slur in your voice when you told him, “I don’t know why I’m even calling. It’s been a month. I hate that this is just… unresolved. I hate making people mad. I want to know that you know I’m sorry. I want to know that… well. I just… wish we were talking again. I don’t… I don’t know why I’m calling.”

You sat at the stool by your easel for the first time in years, tested your balance, tucked one foot underneath the way you used to. Your hands shook a little as you mixed a purple so dark it was probably actually just black. You covered the canvas, the color of nine at night in the summertime, and stared at it, watching it dry.

When you could, you switched brushes, used a rounder texture to form something that might pass as clouds along the mottled sky. Then, you painted a full moon; it cracked like an egg.

You liked this, you followed the idea, paintbrush hurrying to chase the inspiration, whites and yellows coloring in whatever it was that might leak from the moon like marrow.

The bottom half of the canvas became a moving, living ocean; the blues were eight at night in the summertime but they looked good together with the hour after. You finished with the moon’s reflective path, a jagged yellow streak that dipped and bobbed through the waves.

You walked to the bathroom and washed your brushes, leaving them somewhere to dry where the cat couldn’t mess with them. Then you went back to the canvas, staring at it from a few feet away, your hands on your hips.

You’d done it - you’d painted something you didn’t want to burn.

One painting, one tiny step back towards the life you’d lost - that you’d let yourself lose, that you’d definitively pushed away.

4 months ago

It rained for three days. You lit lamps during the day, suddenly craved soups even though it was the height of spring and the weather had been consistently warm for weeks. The rain just called for it.

It called for you to sleep, too, luring you into bed with a steady patter against the windows. You slept early, and deeply, the cat curled up near your head. The rain beat against the windows like a metronome, helped your heart rate steady, helped your thoughts slow and settle.

You slept deeply, the sounds of the rain pulling you under, and when you were startled awake a few hours in, it was with no concept of where or who you were.

Your phone was still vibrating, jarring; you scrambled to grab it from the nightstand and the cat scrambled out of the room.

Your mom, you thought wildly. Or Chan.

What else could it be, but an emergency? No one else called at three in the morning. Someone used to, but only on the weekend, and that person hadn’t answered you in over a month.

“H’lo?” you mumbled, eyes too blurry to see the screen. You closed them, pressed the phone tighter to your ear to hear better.

No one spoke, but you could hear breathing - ragged and unsteady.

“Hello?” you repeated, more clearly, starting to wake up a bit, starting to worry. You rubbed at your eyes, then pulled the phone away so you could see the name on the screen.

Of course it was him.

“Vernon?” you asked, like you didn’t believe the word on the screen, but you were met with only silence - even his breathing went quiet for a second, like hearing his name had caused him to hold it. Like he suddenly wasn’t sure he wanted you to know he was there.

You said his name again, like a question, and it sounded like maybe he tried to speak but the noise - choked and quick - faded quickly. Your heart started to race, and certainty settled into your bones: something was wrong.

“Hey,” you said, a little sharply, like maybe he needed to snap out of it. “Are you okay?”

Finally, a word. “Dunno,” he managed, his voice thick.

“I’m coming there,” you said, already throwing the blankets off your legs and staggering to your closet to pull at some sweatpants. “Don’t leave, okay?”

“No,” he protested, but the way he gasped the breath after it cemented what you already knew - he needed you.

Or, he needed someone, and you were someone, and you would have to do.

“I’m on my way. Stay there, okay? Wait for me.” You were hopping on one foot as you said this, pulling clothes and shoes on, frantically reaching around in the dark for things like deodorant and car keys.

When he didn’t answer, you stopped moving, stopped trying to find your things. When you spoke again, your voice came out softer, a gentle plea instead of sharp instruction. “Hansol,” you said, quiet. “Wait for me. Okay?”

He ended the call without promising.

You stayed tucked into the building’s doorframe until you saw the Uber pull up; the rain was coming down in sheets, and you had to run to the car, splashing through still water until you could slide into the backseat. Your feet were soaked.

You spent the first five minutes of the ride wiping rain out of your eyes and trying to wring out the ends of your sleeves; the fabric clung to your hands, wet and cold. Outside the car, the rain water ran down the windows and the windshield wipers ran on the fastest setting.

im on my way, okay?

[ ]

vernon you’re scaring me

When the car pulled to a stop, you jumped out as soon as it was safe, bolting through the rain a second time and letting yourself into the building with the code you knew by heart. You took the stairs two at a time, heart flying. You were at once both scared to death of what you’d find when you got there, and refusing to put the specific fear to words, refusing to consider that it could be an option.

“Where are you?” you called, as soon as you got his door open. The apartment was mostly unlit, but for the light above the sink, and a dim light from the direction of his bedroom. “Vernon?”

You were met with silence and you almost choked on your heart as it climbed up your throat. You slipped off your shoes and made your way inside, heading for his bedroom.

You almost threw up with relief when you found him sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. The light you saw came from his bathroom - the door was closed almost completely, but light spilled out through the crack.

“What’s wrong, what’s happening?” you asked, inching closer. His hands were clenched into fists and bent back at an angle, veins raised along his tensed forearms. His breath went in raspy and came out in huffs, too quick to be productive.

You were pretty sure you knew what this was. You knelt in front of him, ran your hands over his tensed-up arms once, and then nudged under his chin gently with your forefinger, urging him to lift up and look at you.

He let you, his eyes faraway.

“Panic attack?” you guessed quietly. He nodded once, trying to tuck his chin back down, to look away and hide from the shame of this moment being witnessed - being recognized.

“If I put on my breathing app, will you do it?” you asked.

The sound he made was almost like a laugh. “I’ll try,” he muttered.

You opened your phone and set the app up, placing it on the bed beside him, the light from the screen tinting him pink. You heard the familiar, soothing voice begin to recite the directions, and you rocked back on your heels.

“I’m going to your kitchen real quick,” you told him, putting your hands on his knees to push yourself to standing. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll do the breathing with you in a sec.”

You shivered once as you stood with his fridge open; you’d been in his kitchen plenty of times, but never really perused on your own. Your gaze moved over beer and energy drinks, finally landing on juice. You slapped the bottle on the counter and rummaged in the closest cabinets until you found a glass.

Returning to his bedroom, you could hear your breathing app intoning hold… two… three… four… exhale slowly… two… three… four. It was hard to tell if Vernon was following - his head was still tucked, but his hands clenched and unclenched, like he was trying to return circulation after they’d fallen asleep.

You waited patiently until the breathing cycle ended, then nudged the glass into his hand. When he took it, you sat gently next to him, watching silently until he drank some.

“Where are you at?” you asked, and then started to explain what you meant.

Vernon interrupted; he’d understood the first time.

He usually did.

“Better,” he said, then added, “Not, like, better. But, better. Still buzzing.”

You knew the feeling - you tended to get buzzing in your legs first, then hands, and then it would crawl up your arms and into your chest if you didn’t shake it. When the attack receded, you usually felt it leave your chest first and then work its way slowly back down your arms.

“What usually helps?” you asked. “Is the breathing cycle better, or grounding?”

“Grounding, probably,” he said.

“Start by drinking some juice,” you instructed. “Then, can you tell me five things you see?”

“It’s dark,” he grumbled, but he brought the glass to his lips as requested. You rolled your eyes at his sass and walked over to turn on the lamp he kept on his desk. It cast the room in yellow, all the raindrops on the window suddenly catching the light.

“Now do it,” you said, coming back to sit by him again.

You heard him take a breath. He was better already - hands unclenched now, breathing still a bit quick but not raspy or gasped. “It feels silly to do out loud.”

“I’ll do it, too,” you said. “I see your laptop, your lamp, your cell phone, your dresser, and your very old and embarrassing Blink-182 poster. Literally, Vernon, is it 2003?”

He laughed, closing his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re roasting me right now,” he said, voice still a little thin and breathy.

“Five things you see,” you reminded him firmly.

He huffed in mild irritation. “Hamper,” he recited, finally. “Shoes. Empty Red Bull can.”

You laughed.

“Cologne bottle,” he finished, then looked up at you. “Girl who came out at three in the morning, in the rain, after a month of not speaking, because she was worried about me.”

You spluttered. “I was not.”

He knocked his shoulder into yours playfully. “I have it in writing.”

You let out an indignant breath. “I should have let you suffer alone,” you muttered.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” he admitted, then dutifully drank some more juice.

“Okay,” you said, remembering what you were doing. “Four things you can hear.”

He sighed. “Bossy girl,” he listed, and you whacked at his knee. “Rain. Aircon. Traffic outside.”

You finished the exercise together.

“Now how is it?” you asked, reaching to take his empty glass.

He flexed his hands in front of him. “Buzzing’s down to my hands,” he reported. “Think I’m past the worst.”

“How do you feel, otherwise?”

He grimaced. “Exhausted, honestly.”

You looked at the clock - it was after 4:30 in the morning, almost time for sunrise to begin.

“You should try and sleep more,” you said, starting to rise.

“Stay?” he asked, and you thought you heard a note of, well, panic in it. Like he was scared to be alone again.

Something inside you screamed and beat its fists against your insides, furious and terrified as it felt you melt into goo at his request. Something inside you knew that you were walking into a building on fire. But there was no way you’d stay outside, not now, not if he was in there.

“Of course,” you said, as if it was obvious, as if you stayed over all the time - as if this weren’t, in fact, a first.

He seemed to take in your appearance for the first time, the still-drying patches on your clothes, the goosebumps on your damp skin. “You’re cold,” he said, frowning, like you should have led with that as soon as you came in, handled your needs first.

“I’m okay,” you denied, but he rolled his eyes and leaned over the other side of his bed, coming up with a rumpled black hoodie.

“I promise it’s clean,” he said, a little sheepishly, and you pulled off your damp tshirt and tugged the hoodie over your head, instantly warmer and surrounded by his smell. He left for the bathroom, and when you heard the sink run and the telltale buzzing from his electric toothbrush, you got up and turned his lamp back off. When he emerged, you were under the blankets, huddled warm and cozy inside his hoodie.

When he climbed into bed, you draped yourself over him, a leg over his legs, an arm over his torso, your face pressing against his t-shirt. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you in, and you lay in silence for a while, listening to the rain, awash in relief that he was okay - that you two were okay, that he’d let you back in even after you’d fucked it up.

Just as you were starting to drift a little, you felt his chest move under you, and he said, quietly, “I’m sorry for making you come out in the storm. In the middle of the night, too.”

“Don’t,” you said, shaking your head but not lifting it up to look at him. Your words carried out into the dark of the room. “You can call me. You can call me when you need me. I don’t care if it’s late. I don’t care if it’s… a hurricane, or whatever.”

It was too honest. It was too close to the truth. You shivered in the dark again, and you felt him hold you tighter for a second, as if to chase the chill away.

He let the moment go, didn’t chase it down and shine a light on it. But you know he heard you - you think, probably, he heard the whole thing, all the parts you didn’t say.

You waited in silence again, let the moment go, let the rain wash this away, too. Then, you ventured, “I’m sorry for what I said to you, last month. Really.”

You felt him nod above you. “I know. It’s… it’s okay.”

Is it? you wondered. But you didn’t push it - because you were scared that his forgiveness was fragile and might shatter if pressed, because you’d already admitted something you weren’t sure you’d meant to tonight, because saying anything seemed wrong while you were between his arms with the rain serenading you both from outside.

You drifted off; you woke up with his hands on your skin beneath his hoodie. You sighed, eyes still closed, as he refamiliarized himself with your body. You breathed in deeply when his fingers brushed up your stomach and found your breasts, teased over your nipples so lightly that it almost tickled, made you shudder in place.

You felt his lips at the nape of your neck, and that made you shiver, too. He pressed kisses along the tops of your shoulder as he teased one peak and then the other, finally giving in to your tiny, needy noises and rolling both buds between firm fingers. You moaned, long, feeling it pulled from deep within you until he let go, soothing over the spots with warm palms.

“Missed that sound,” he murmured against your back, and you pressed back against him desperately, suddenly sure that if he wasn’t inside you this instant you would completely lose it. You reached backwards, grabbing at his hips, trying to pull him closer.

“Need you,” you whined, hating it but knowing it was true anyway, the need larger than the embarrassment. You could feel him pressing against your ass, too many layers between you, and you shifted against him, hoping to spur him into action.

He hummed, pleased, and slid a clever hand back down over your stomach and past the waistbands of your sweats and panties, groaning low in his throat when he found arousal pooling between your legs. He barely bothered to work you open, likely feeling the same desperation you were after the time apart. You felt him shimmy out of his shorts, then his hands back on your skin as he peeled away your bottoms as well.

You kicked them off of your ankles and inhaled as you felt him slide along your slit, teasing at your entrance. He kept one hand up your hoodie, pressed against your chest to hold you tight against him, as he pushed into your heat one inch at a time. You heard yourself make a sound you couldn’t name, somewhere close to a whine, as you felt each bit of him rub against your walls as they struggled to adjust.

“Fuck,” he breathed, mouth close to your neck. “Tighter than I remember.”

He bottomed out and stilled, that one hand still holding you tight against his body. You closed your eyes and felt the moment: his heart beating against your back, your own pulse thundering through your limbs, your pussy pulsing around him as it adjusted and fluttered, his breath warm and steady on your skin, his hands soothing and grounding as they held you tight, the rain still falling steadily outside. You stayed still, eyes closed, as he caressed your hips, your lower belly, your thighs, as he pressed chaste and feather-light kisses along your shoulder.

Finally, he shifted, fucking into you in small movements, barely withdrawing at all before tilting his hips to push back in. You rocked back against him, silently begging for more.

He pulled out almost completely, and then slid back in; the sound you let out bordered on a sob, your nerves alight and sizzling as he began repeating the motion, each stroke slow and long, unhurried, burying himself as completely as he could. You floated like this, completely enveloped by him, still wearing his hoodie, as he took his time with you, until you couldn’t bear it anymore.

“More, Vernon,” you begged, “please.”

“As you wish,” he teased, and used his knee to move yours, bending your leg and hooking it up around his to open you up more, to give himself more room as he set a quicker, steady pace. Relieved, you matched his strokes, half-tempted to roll over so you could kiss him, but not wanting to lose even a second of the delicious feeling of him stretching you, of the friction that made your eyes want to roll back and your toes curl up.

It took you completely by surprise when he began pistoning into you, holding you in place by your waist, and a gasp flew from your mouth, morphing into a series of moans and cries as his hips battered at yours. Even more so when he grabbed at your thigh and tugged, rolling you onto your back and readjusting himself over you, slipping right back in as you wrapped your legs around him and tried to pull him closer.

His pace slowed only marginally as he grabbed at your hands and raised them above your head. Bent close over you, you finally got what you’d wanted the whole time - his lips finally found yours and you kissed hungrily as he fucked you deep. Above your head, you felt your fingers curl against his, lacing together. You squeezed his fingers tight when you came, his name slipping from your lips as your legs shook and your world went white. Vernon came with a cry, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched as he emptied himself in your still-pulsing heat, and then collapsed next to you, both of you panting.

“Shower?” he asked, when he’d caught his breath.

You tilted your phone so you could see the time. “I should probably just go home,” you admitted. “I have work.” This realization hit you - you’d gotten maybe four and a half hours of sleep, and not even all at once. Thank god it was Friday and you only had one day to struggle through.

He nodded, understanding. After you dressed, he wandered after you like a shadow. “You around tomorrow night?” he asked, and you could hear the effort to sound off-handed.

“Yeah,” you said, eyes flicking to his for a second. “Yeah, I’ll be around.”

When your ride pulled up and you stepped outside, you shielded your eyes from how bright everything was in the early morning light after days of gloom and clouds. Around you, everything glistened and sparkled, still wet from the days of incessant rain, as if everything you could see had been washed clean.

3 months ago

hi :]

what’s wrong with your face?

are you insulting my smiley?

again i ask you: is it 2003?

im gonna ignore that. come over?

can’t, sorry. i’m sick

whats wrong with u?

should i start listing?

ha ha. girl stuff?

vernon!!!!

lmao i mean if its not that i figured youd just tell me whats wrong

i have a fever, you ass

It was true - you’d carried your comforter from your bed to your couch that morning and had barely moved since. The cat was on top of your legs and you didn’t have the strength or energy to move him. Through the day, your fever had risen; you hadn’t helped things by refusing to get up, which meant you were probably dehydrated. As Vernon texted you, you took mental inventory of how badly everything on your body hurt - your limbs, your hips, everything ached. The pain in your head was sharp and bloody, and you felt like you were sweltering even though your feet were ice cold.

You felt too miserable to even watch a show; instead, you looked around your living room absently. You were pretty sure you were seeing colors off to the side, hazy swatches of red and blue.

Well, you thought dryly, that’s not good.

Then, your hallucinations took form, because the couch was dipping under you and someone was placing a cool hand against your head. You closed your eyes, leaning into the touch just because the coolness felt nice.

“You need to drink something,” someone told you.

“I had the lemonade,” you said.

There was a pause. “I don’t… think there’s lemonade here. Hey - wake up and look at me.”

You blinked, and looked towards the voice. The world’s most beautiful man looked down at you, frowning.

“Wow,” you heard yourself. “You’re so handsome. What are you here for?”

He laughed. “I’m here to take care of you,” he said. “I’m bringing you water, okay?”

You frowned. “I don’t want water. My throat hurts. I want juice.”

There was another pause, and then the voice came again, from further away. “I’ll bring you juice, but you need to drink water now.”

Then he was back, snapping in front of your face. “Hey, look at me again. This is serious. Have you taken any medicine? I don’t want to give you double of something and overdose you.”

“I don’t think I’ve left the couch today,” you told him honestly.

“Okay,” he said, and you didn’t remember him moving or leaving but he was somehow pressing pills into your hand, waiting for you to place them on your tongue before handing you a plastic cup full of water.

“Drink all of it,” he instructed.

“You’re too pretty to be so bossy,” you grumbled around the mouthful of pills.

He waited until you drained the cup. “I’m going to go to the store,” he told you. “Can you think of anything else you need besides juice?”

You didn’t remember if you answered him, or even him leaving. You think you slept. When you woke, someone was rummaging around your kitchen.

“Chan?” you called, blearily.

Instead, Vernon poked his head around the corner of your kitchen, a grocery store bag hanging off his arm.

“Hey,” he said. “How do you feel?”

You blinked at him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what the fuck are you doing here?”

His smile widened. “Your fever must be down a little. You need anything? You still want juice?”

You just stared at him, bewildered. He finished putting away a few more things and then came back out to you, pressing a hand to your forehead.

“Definitely lower,” he said. “Do you have an actual thermometer? I couldn’t find it.”

“Yeah,” you said, still confused. “In my bathroom. Vernon, seriously, what’s going on?”

“Come on,” he said. “You should shower and put on clean pajamas and then maybe try to eat some of the soup I got.”

You shook your head. “I don’t think I can shower,” you admitted. “I don’t think I can stand up that long.”

He held out his hand. “I’ve got you. Just a quick rinse.”

He helped you off the couch and into the bathroom, where you sat on the closed toilet while he started the water and got it running warm, but not hot. You kept silent as he helped you undress, as he held your hand while you gingerly stepped over the bathtub’s lip, your legs aching.

“You okay?” he checked, once you were behind the shower curtain.

“Mhm.”

“Okay. I’m going in your room to get you clean clothes to put on.”

“Hurry.”

“I’m right outside. If you feel weird, just call me.”

You did okay, though, washing up and turning the water off on your own, reaching for the towel you kept on a hook. He came in when he heard the water change, and helped you dry off, his hands firm and his gaze gentle. Then he led you back to your bed, guiding you under the blankets.

“Do you think you could eat some soup?” he asked. “I bet you didn’t eat all day.”

You scrunched your nose. “You don’t have to cook for me.”

He shrugged. “It’s pre-made. I’ll heat some up.”

You tried to eat as much of the soup as you could, and then floated absently as Vernon cleaned up.

“Hey,” you said, struggling to sit up. “I don’t think I fed the cat tonight.”

“Tell me what to do,” he said, pushing on your shoulder to keep you from climbing out of bed.

“You can’t just- he’s particular - there’s a process -”

“Tell me the process, then,” Vernon said firmly.

Later, after he’d turned out all the lights, he came to the side of the bed and checked your temperature again - this time with your actual thermometer.

“I’m waking you up in three hours to take another fever-reducer,” he warned you, walking to set the thermometer down on your dresser.

“Okay,” you said, too tired to argue. You were already half-asleep as it was - you had no idea what time it was.

You barely registered it when he climbed into the bed next to you, just rolled over and buried your face in his chest, one arm reaching around his middle, already back under.

His alarm startled you both. You felt him pull away - you were sleeping in the same position, neither of you had moved - and then the alarm fell quiet.

“Medicine,” he said, starting to extract himself. You whined; you were comfy, and warm, and didn’t want him to leave.

“Don’t,” you whined. “Don’t leave.”

He laughed a little, a quiet huff of amusement. “I’m just going to the kitchen. Then I’ll be back.”

He watched you take another round of pills and drink half the water, leaving the glass on your nightstand. Then, as promised, he got right back in bed.

When you woke again, your bed was empty. And, impossibly, you felt both relief and disappointment. Then, from the living room, you heard a clatter and then a curse.

“Vernon?” you called.

Your bedroom door cracked open. Like a flash of lightning, the cat streaked into the room and under the bed.

“Sorry,” Vernon said from the doorway. “He was pissed that I wouldn’t let him in there with you. I wanted you to sleep. He was mutinying.”

You smiled despite yourself. “You didn’t go home?”

“Wanted to see how you were before I left,” he said. “You sound better. You look better, too - I mean, you looked really off yesterday. It was kind of scary.”

“I think I’m okay,” you said. “Okay enough that I can keep my fever down by myself. I shouldn’t have let it get that high yesterday, I should have stayed on top of it.”

He looked at you for a long time. Then, he clapped his hand against your doorframe, as if he’d made a decision. “Okay. I’ll go home, I guess. Just… let me know if it gets bad, okay? And eat something. I bought stuff for you yesterday - it’s all in the kitchen.”

“Thanks for doing that,” you said, a little sheepishly.

“It was nothing,” he promised.

After he left, you stayed in the bed, rolling onto your side so you could smell the blankets where he’d slept. It helped you feel safer, like you weren’t actually alone.

It occurred to you that you’d spent the night together twice in a row, now. The rules were breaking - the rules were changing.

Your head pounded, and so did your heart. Nothing had ever been this frightening in your life, you thought.

2 months ago

Vernon saw you as sunshine - not like it was your demeanor, because that wasn’t true. More like - something he needed without realizing he needed it, something he realized he needed only in its absence. Something that made things better and brighter, something that could sometimes be too bright. Something that made the grey days feel greyer in a can you understand happiness if you never feel sadness kind of way.

He tipped your head back to kiss you, caught your bottom lip between his teeth, rolled his hips into yours, watched your hands clench into fists in his sheets.

He forgot himself a little; or maybe he just gave in to something he’d been holding back for months - maybe even a year. Something cracked, marrow slipped out of him, sluiced into the rocky ocean below.

After, he held you close, whispered, “Don’t go home. Stay. Jagi, stay here.”

And, he had to give you credit - you were at least honest. You at least told him your truth, in your own way.

“I can’t,” you said, and he knew you, knew how you meant it. He didn’t argue or call you back when you dressed, when you left again, just how you’d done things almost every time over the last two years.

He couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t want you, maybe even love you, and only have parts of you. It was too hard, it wasn’t fair. Two years, and he had nothing to show for it. Maybe he’d find someone, if he wasn’t spinning his wheels with you.

He saw you like sunshine. Something that was missed when it was gone. Something that couldn’t be forced to stay, something that didn’t come when it was called.

1 month ago

You could tell that something was different. You’d been around Vernon plenty when he was low - this was different.

“You’re being weird tonight,” you observed.

His eyes cut sideways at you. He’d never looked at you like that - this was another clue. Then his face went flat again.

“I’m not,” he said, and you frowned.

“You are,” you insisted. “What’s going on? What’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem,” he said, tone hollow.

“I’m not playing this game with you, Vernon!” you said, temper flaring. “If there’s a problem, you’re going to have to use your words and tell me.”

“I said there’s no problem,” he repeated, cool and even. Something inside you snapped tight, painful. You could feel it all coming to a boil right before your eyes - the way the boundaries had been shifting, the way he’d called you jagi, the way he’d looked when you’d walked away. It terrified you, made you want to show your claws, and it was infuriating that he was icing you out when you were ready to draw blood.

“Vernon!” you cried. “I cannot deal with this little apathy game anymore! I need you to engage here. I need you to care about something, and not just give me this expressionless, emotionless -”

“Care about something?” he thundered, wheeling on you. It startled you into silence. “That’s bullshit. Because I have been caring about you way more than I should, for ages now, and look what fucking good it’s done for me.”

Stunned, you blinked at him. Your heart pounded painfully, and your thoughts felt staticky and unclear. You needed to get away from him; you needed to process this in silence.

Finally, you spoke, your voice coming out tiny. “I’m going home.”

Vernon rolled his eyes, slapped his hand down to grab at his phone. “I’ll take you.”

You shook your head. “I don’t want you to.”

He ignored this, picking up his keys. “I said I’ll take you. It’s fine.”

You shouldn’t have followed him to the car. You shouldn’t have assumed he’d be mad for a few weeks and then get over it again, just like you two had done more than once now.

He drove you in silence, his face coming in fragmented pieces as he passed under streetlights. You were watching him, silently, when he finally spoke again.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he said, still perfectly even.

Tears sprang to your eyes before you’d even processed the sentence, something inside you reacting before your brain really knew what you were reacting to.

“What?” you asked. “Why?”

You knew why.

He just kept driving.

“Pull over,” you demanded, suddenly furious, suddenly terrified, suddenly realizing you were losing him, right now, in real time.

He ignored you, didn’t even glance over at you.

“Vernon, I want to talk about this, pull over!” you cried, leaning forward in your seat, the seat belt tightening on your shoulder. “Pull over!”

Eventually, he listened, flicking on his turn signal and slowing as the car bumped off the pavement and onto the dirt shoulder.

“What?” he asked flatly, finally turning to face you.

“I asked why,” you said, heat laced through your voice.

He shook his head. “I’ve wasted two years with you -”

“Wasted?” you echoed, feeling the word like a punch to the gut. You felt like you couldn’t inhale.

“Well?” he asked, as if to say, well, wasn’t it?

“Fuck you, Vernon,” you spat.

“Fuck me is right!” he yelled, loud in the enclosed space of the sedan. “What are we doing? Just fucking, for eternity?”

You blinked at him. “You never asked me for anything else!”

“I tried,” he growled.

“Like hell you tried!”

“I did,” he asserted. “You ran, scared, every time.”

“Of course I was scared,” you snapped, because you couldn’t deny that one for a second. Your voice comes out choked. “I was right to be scared, and you know it!”

“Why?” he asked, the question falling between you, a landmine.

“Because,” you said seriously, the first tear finally falling. “This only ends one way.”

His jaw clenched, and he looked away from you, out the windshield again. Then, he clicked on his turn signal again, shifted the car back into drive, and pulled back onto the highway.

“Yeah,” he said flatly, as the car met even pavement again. “You’re making sure of that, aren’t you?”

<- Prev | Next ->

thank you so much for reading! one chapter left to go!

[mcflymemes]

FOURTH WING PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue from the book by rebecca yarros, adjust as necessary

a dragon without its rider is a tragedy. a rider without their dragon is dead.

i'm used to functioning in pain.

that stubborn, feisty look always makes me want to kiss you.

have you always been this tall?

if we let fear kill whatever this is between us, then we don't deserve it.

dragon relationships are absolutely incomprehensible.

tell him if he harms you, i'll scorch the ground where he stands.

i'm calling out for you.

i thought you said kissing me was a mistake.

you are the smartest of your year.

dragons always know.

funny how people rename everything that makes them feel uncomfortable.

what changed?

you make it hard to look away.

if you'd just man up and admit there's something between us, i would strip down to my skin so you could see every single inch of me.

it's hard to love a second home as much as the first.

why would you say that?

that does limit it a bit.

i am completely, utterly obsessed with [name].

even when i'm not with you, there's only you.

i can't seem to stay away.

kiling you wouldn't be any trouble.

we can live as cowards or die as riders.

i'm just not as strong as other riders.

i know exactly who and what you are.

i don't deserve you. but i'm going to keep you all the same.

strength of courage is more important than physical strength.

even temples can be rebuilt, but books cannot be rewritten.

i will not run.

you're not going to handle me?

what are you waiting for?

you turned oranges into a weapon?

thank you for being my shadow.

it's not fun if you expect it.

i am annoyingly aware of everything you do.

don't borrow tomorrow's trouble.

there is no me without you.

i wouldn't be standing here if i'd quit every time something seemed impossible to overcome.

i am the sky and the power of every storm that has ever been.

you still love me. it's possible.

i'm not afraid of hard work, especially not when i know just how sweet the rewards are.

i am infinite.

which one are you calling out for?

it's been my honor.

i'm so wildly in love with you that i can't imagine what my life would even look like without you in it.

if we're doing this, then we're starting from a place of complete honesty.

you never considered that it was you i couldn't stay away from?

coming in last is better than coming in dead.

i would rather lose this entire war than live without you.

if that means i have to prove myself over and over, then i'll do it.

you gave me your heart, and i'm keeping it.

hope is a fickle, dangerous thing.

you look all frail and breakable, but you're really a violent little thing, aren't you?

i'm going to keep you. you're mine.

thank you for being my friend.

none of this is worth it without you.

you're making us look bad. stop it.

i've been yours for longer than you could ever imagine.

lies are comforting. truth is painful.

it's just you and me in this room, and i don't share.

the right way isn't the only way.

i will not die today.

one generation to change the text. one generation chooses to teach that text. the next grows, and the lie becomes history.

you can't make me fall for you and then die.

going for blood today, are we?

[rosellacwrites]

if you want to call me baby (just go ahead now)

summary: As it turns out, the language of love is — all of them.

pairings: Steven Grant x GN!Reader

rating: general audiences

warnings: weapons grade fluff, established relationship, pet names (so many)

word count: 577

author’s note: Written for the Moon Knight Spring Bingo @moonknight-events — this is entry #4 for “Ritual.” Happy reading! ❤️

dividers by @firefly-graphics

It had started, as do so many things between you, in bed.

“G’night, my dear,” Steven had murmured to you, pulling your back snug against his chest and burrowing his face into your neck, but you’d started to giggle.

“‘My dear?’ What are you, eighty?” you’d laughed.

“What’s wrong with that? You’re very dear to me,” he’d protested.

“And you are to me, too. You know that.” You’d twisted around, craning your neck for a kiss. “It just struck me as funny — you have to admit it has pensioner vibes.”

He’d huffed and kissed you back, and as you’d drifted into sleep you’d heard him say something along the lines of just going to have to find something tomorrow you like better, then.

You’d forgotten about it until the next evening, when he’d dropped a kiss on top of your head on the way to the kitchen and said “Do you want some popcorn, habibi?” When you’d looked up at him quizzically, he was grinning. “‘My love,’” he’d translated. “Arabic. No ‘pensioner vibes’ there, yeah?”

You’d grinned at him and said you supposed not, and the next morning you’d handed him a cup of tea and called him petit chou, and belatedly remembered that he spoke French well enough to know you’d just called him a little cabbage.

And from that point, it was on. You racked your brains for long-forgotten vocabulary words and pored over language dictionaries online, the authorized and unauthorized alike. After that first one, he refused to translate for you anymore: “go on, I want to see if you can find out for yourself,” he’d said. Most of them weren’t so hard, but he’d stumped you with nedjem, which turned out to be Ancient Egyptian (because of course it did) for sweetie.

In revenge, you’d resorted to something he couldn’t possibly spell just from hearing it. “Oh, that’s not playing fair!” he’d protested, and you were weak enough to give him a hint. Knowing where to start, and using his best attempts at phonetic spelling, he got there in the end, all the way to a chuisle mo chroí, Irish for pulse of my heart.

It became your ritual, each new name another star in your shared sky. Persian kharâbetam, I’m ruined for you, taking its place next to Brazilian Portuguese chuchuzinho, little squash, and Ojibwemowin niinimoshenh, sweetheart. You start secretly keeping a list so you don’t repeat yourself, filled with German and Russian and Igbo, liebling, solnyshko, obi’m, but your favorite so far is the Spanish media naranja, because it makes you think of you and Steven curled up together in bed, fitting into each other seamlessly like two halves of the same orange.

Some silly, some sweet, some passionate: you find yourself humbled before the infinite possibilities, marveling at just how many ways there are in the universe to tell someone that you love them.

One evening he comes up behind you while you’re making dinner, and wraps an arm around your waist, kissing you just behind your ear. He whispers your name, and something else, besides.

“Veux-tu m’épouser?”

It doesn’t sound like a pet name, with the soft, nearly tentative way he says it; it sounds like a question. Like an important question — the kind of question you’ll see written in tremulous hope all over his face and cupped gently in his other hand when you turn around to tell him in plain English yes, absolutely, a thousand times yes.

@juneknight @spacecowboyhotch (mod tags)

(pssst today’s my birthday so I wanted to post a little supremely self-indulgent fluff)

Title from here, of course. I’m gonna make y’all listen to my old lady music if it kills me.

[swagglessmoth]

Badly made comic of And So The Moon Wept bc it just finished and I’m devastated

‼️CHAPTER 15 SPOILERS‼️

I wanted to make one more page between the second and third bc pacing, but I didn’t wanna rethink all three of those pages’ compositions. It’s pretty ass bc it’s all sketches, but the last ones came out pretty decent I think👍

(Don’t look at the house too closely, I really didn’t wanna look at a reference so I just freestyled it)

Scrapped versions bc idk

Now that that’s out the way, I’ll start with the ranting, you can leave now this is for me

THE ENDING⁉️ DAMN⁉️⁉️⁉️

I would start rereading immediately to see all the details and analyze the psychology of the ‘tsukuyomi world’ characters BUT I unfortunately have my global exams next week 🥲

Warning for -1000 media literacy‼️ while writing all this I remembered that my memory is bad an my analytical skills are even worse! So be warned :p

BUT ANYWAY!! This was a top tear fanfic, seriously at no point did I consider the infinite tsukuyomi as a possibility. And I think this has to do with the fact that the psychology and individual lives of the characters in this dream were so well developed. There’s so many POVs! And they’re so complex and detailed!! Really makes you wonder if this was really the tsukuyomi or if Kakashi’s consciousness was sent to a different world all together. Which is what makes it so terribly tragic. Kakashi lived so many years in this perfect world just to regain all his memories and find out that it really was all fake, a world made up entirely of his own fantasies.

Oh and what a fantasy it was, getting hit by that boulder and fucking dying! The only reason he got to live was bc of ‘Hound’ (which could be interpreted as his consciousness telling him to wake tf up). Everything felt so wrong to Kakashi not because he noticed this things weren’t right, but bc he was never meant to live in this world. This was the prefect reality for everyone around him, his dream, a world without him (FUCK BRO💔💔💔💔). Which is the reason why I think the characters are so three dimensional in this dream, maybe, idk bro I just made this up.

But even then, things don’t exactly add up (if you think about it they do BUT SHHHHHH LET ME DREAM). Why did some characters suffer so much if this was meant to be a better world for everyone else? Why did Rin’s parent’s die? Why did Sakumo try suicide so many times?

We know Rin’s and Obito’s relationship started declining when Rin didn’t believe Obito when he swore up and down that Kakashi was somehow alive (which IS Hound’s fault in a way, he saved Kakashi and that’s why Obito saw Kakashi sinking into the ground, making him believe that Kakashi didn’t die), but it goes farther than that. Rin’s real problem with Obito was that he was so stuck on his dead teammate that he neglected the rest of his living team, Kakashi was literally everything he thought about to the point it started negatively affecting others (which, yeah him being obsessed is pretty normal considering that Kakashi was part of the reason he activated his sharingan and THE reason he activated the Mangekyo). So what did he do? Go hang out with the one other person who would ALSO only think of Kakashi all day, Sakumo. Obito eventually accepted that Kakashi was dead, but he and Rin never reconnected.

Was this really the perfect ending for them? Come on tsukuyomi, you’re more creative than that.

For some reason I think that the tsukuyomi was freestyling all this. Bc (by my interpretation) the point of Kakashi’s dream was that he died at Kannabi Bridge instead of Obito, period. The rest is extra stuff bc their lives have to go on ig? Or maybe the infinite tsukuyomi is really big brained and depicted a realistic depiction of 🖐️🖐️🖐️HOLD THE FUCK UP I’M DUMB I JUST FIGURED SMTH OUT

Bro this is why I need to reread this instead of talking to myself when I don’t remember half the details in the fic.

OK SO HOUND DID FUCK SHIT UP🔥🔥🔥

I was trying to think why Sakumo would be alive (if my shit theory above was true, which it isn’t but I’m not deleting all that) AND IT WAS BC SAKUMO NOT KILLING HIMSELF IS HIS PERFECT WORLD 😭😭😭😭. The one thing I’m not so sure ab is Kannabi (I bet if I keep writing this I’ll find the answer) bc Obito WAS gonna get hit by that rock, but hey, he entered the dream after the Obito reveal so maybe his consciousness already knew he would survive, so maybe he’d just appear later in the dream idk. BUT BRO 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 WAS HE ACTUALLY SUPPOSED TO COME BACK HOME TO HIS DAD??? AND THEN HIS CONSCIOUSNESS KICKED IN AND HE SAVED OBITO INSTEAD??!!,.. oh I’m sick, this is so evil

That would literally make everything make sense. He derailed the dream so bad that it fucked everything up, making it no longer a perfect world but more similar to reality. If he really was supposed to die, then why did his death have such negative repercussions on everyone he loves? It that was his dream, wouldn’t it be a better world with everybody happy? He wasn’t supposed to die at Kannabi but Hound appeared and saved Obito from a rock, causing a massive butterfly effect.

Pretty romantic if you asked me, “I would leave behind my perfect world just to save you form getting hurt” like damn, it’s not like he remembered that Obito survived at this point in time, but still STOPP I’M DOING IT AGAIN I’M FOCUSING ON THE DETAILS AND NOT THE BIGGER PICTURE AAAA

El cazador de elefantes by Def Con Dos is a pretty good song, hm

Where was I going with this? Don’t remember tbh

This is kinda long, I’m stopping here. Bye internet void ✌️

[tcoaal]

EDIT: i made a few small edits since i posted this

hi i might be beating a dead horse but this rant has been building up since seeing the first comments on reddit. spoilers under the readmore + i didn't want to eat your entire dash

you're all free to like or dislike or love or hate The Coffin of Andrew and Renee mod all you want but something that's been driving me absolutely bonkers in criticism of it is people saying Renee was wholesome or loving in it. i have a lot of mean words about it actually but i want to keep it civil and just say: you are absolutely completely incorrect in every capacity.

the key difference between canon gravecest and Andrew's and Renee's relationship in this mod is Renee's abuse is completely different than Ashley's. the mod is quite arguably a LOT more fucked up than the source material when you pay attention to it!

(and also one of the mcs is a milf yada yada)

this mod at the end of the day is a fanfic. it's an AU fanfic you get to play. it's a really well written fanfic! not the same as the original, and there's definitely parts that are weaker (the first half of the 303 lady scene after the summoning was really weak before it became my favorite part of the mod) but it does a decent job at exploring this story with a major plot of divergence years before the canon start of the game and how that's affecting Andrew.

Andrew is considerably more submissive when things get rough around Renee than he is with Ashley. the thing about gravecest is that it's codependent. Ashley doesn't really force or make Andrew do anything: Andrew desperately wants to blame his problems on Ashley but deep down he's just as, if not even more fucked up than Ashley actually is. this is something we could debate and discuss for hours but: this dynamic is lost with Renee, and for good reasons.

Renee was the one that forced Andrew to be the one who raised his sister. and then Renee forcibly separated them and told him if he ever had problems come to her.

Andrew is dependent on Renee in a way Renee clearly is not in the mod.

Renee's life has kinda gone to shit. getting Ashley locked up didn't magically solve her problems: her life is actually worse than in canon. her doormat husband finally found the balls to leave her, Andrew clearly resents her deep down, she's locked in an apartment and her tie to Andrew is literally the only thing she has left. and boy is Andrew infinitely worse off for that! Renee actively controls every aspect of Andrew's life one way or another, and while I dislike the first half of the Room 302 scene the ending shows that contrast.

Andrew basically mentally shuts down whenever Renee gets serious about weaponizing his dependency. Renee is somebody who forced him to raise his sister, then forcibly ripped that person from her to make herself the one he's dependent on.

this scene was really fucking haunting to watch because she actively weaponizes using what she did. she was the one responsible for letting shit get so messed up when he was a kid. and then he uses it to hurt him: and then continues to weaponize the fact she "saved" him to make him back down.

"And... maybe I said some things that weren't called for myself."

^ the exact line that sold this characterization of Renee to me. this is immediately after her exploiting his trauma, trauma she is very much directly responsible for. this isn't a happy scene. this isn't a wholesome scene. look how tired Andrew looks compared to his mother.

even when she's blatantly, clearly in the wrong she won't admit responsibility. it was Andrew's fault for acting like a child. it's his fault for lashing out when his trauma is exploited by Renee and she has to further manipulate and abuse the trust she forcibly installed into him to make him back down. but maybe she said a few bad things too. she didn't mean it though. Andrew should know better though.

anyone with half a brain can tell this is horrifically fucked up and a very different kind of control and confrontation Ashley uses: Ashley just likes to get in his face and initiate a verbal argument regarding Andrew's hypocrisy more other than not and then said arguments run their natural course. Renee repeatedly uses textbook abuse and gaslighting tactics to force the person dependent on her to back down. Anderw is not naturally "a dutiful son," as the mod describes him, Renee made him become that and regularly abuses that fact.

Renee is a lot more gungho about being a cannibal and is extremely attached to a story about a monster that eats everything that threatens her child because Renee has lost everything else of value in her life and is forcing Andrew to be close to her, constantly picking needless fights at the idea of her own son leaving her side and leaving her alone, and emphasizing that he owes it to her to stay by her side and actively controls him to ensure he doesn't leave.

like, you can feel however you want. i've seen some people hate it. i've actually seen some people who like it more than the actual game itself. i certainly have a few criticisms of it, mostly tied to its format inherently, but i'll defend it unless chapter 2 drops the ball.

but every time i see someone comment "Renee is really wholesome and loving in this mod and that's really OOC for her," or when the criticisms mostly boil down to the art style i think i die inside a bit and i cannot take that person's complaints regarding this mod seriously in any capacity. anyways thanks for listening to my insane rant if you read this far manifesting chapter 3 soon my crops are dying