#i won’t be shutting up about these ever

[theartofwoompwoomp]

I never knew we could coexist together 

Shadow x reader

Summary : shadow is surprised to learns that humans understand grief. And he learns it from the human that’s the most tolerable and happiest in his life. 

———————————————————————

“Do you really think you could ever understand.” 

His voice ragged and tight from the anger. There’s no way anyone could understand what he lost. Especially not you…

You have everything. A happy family, friends, a place in this world. 

 he had nothing…

Sure others may have accepted him, yet it has never been the same and it hasn’t ever taken the pain.

Someone as happy as you wouldn’t and shouldn’t ever understand his pain. 

His grip getting tighter in his hand, he can feel himself shaking a bit as he lowers his eyes to the ground.

He feels bad for snapping at you. He wasn’t expecting to have all his pent up anger explode on you. Finally the shame starts crawling it’s way and he was getting ready to leave. He didn’t want to see your face.

Not right now, when he feels so angry with you even though you’re the only one thats stuck around. 

All his emotions are spinning all over his head just waiting for another opportunity to explode, and he does not want you to be at the end of it.

Without saying anything else, he keeps his head down as he turns to leave. 

But just as he’s a few steps away his are is pulled back quite forcefully towards you again.

“What do you think you’re doing—“

You hugged him.

Holding tight making sure you won’t let go of him. He tenses a bit not fully processing what you’re doing. 

Why are still trying? Why do you still care even if he hurt you? He doesn’t deserve you.

Before he realizes it, he’s holding you close as well. 

Nothing is said between either of you, he’s simply shaking a bit in your arms as you rub his back a bit.

Memories come back to him. Those of maria, his actions, and of you.

Small tears roll down his cheeks but he could care less at the moment. “It hurts.” His voice broken and tired from all the pain that never goes away.

You hugged him a bit tighter as you whisper a bit into his ears, “I know shads, i know.” Not daring to let go or abandon him in this moment, you wait it out. Feeling your own tears slowly dropping as well as his cries intensify.

He feels like he just got ran over, but at least you’re still there, holding him. Both of you more calmed down from the whole ordeal. 

He finally decides to let go from your embrace and you let him. 

He sits on the ground and you follow along and sit next to him. Just waiting to see who’ll be the first to speak.

Surprisingly after a few minutes shadow softly starts speaking, “i don’t want to talk about it.” His brows furrow a bit, “i appreciate your kindness, but I don’t like speaking about my pain.” 

He feels you caress his hand. “That’s okay,” holding it firmly when turns it offering you to continue your action of affection, “i understand that pain can be hard to share.”

He turns to see you, eyes glazing over you face wondering what ever could have caused you pain to make that expression.

“You might be surprised but humans suffer from many things. Some of us are just a little better at pretending nothing’s wrong.” 

“Doesn’t it hurt to do that?”

You look over, seeing his worry through his eyes. “Of course it does. Suffering is always painful.” Your eyes and hands never leaving one another. Sharing more emotions this way than any words could describe.

You lean a bit onto him, “but you know,” he reciprocates as you continue, “i think that’s a reason why there’s so many of us in the first place. Maybe so we could  help each other through the pain… it’s too bad many seem forget the value of this”

He shifts a bit as he feels you move again. This time you’re kneeling a bit in front of him. 

“That’s why I’m so glad that I at least have you in my life.”

His heart twinges a bit, feeling guilty for trying to ever push you away. And you notice it before he even says anything.

“Please don’t shut me out,” you’re hugging him again.

And he hugs you back, holding you softly as he feels your breath on his shoulder. Your actions and words melting all the doubt and numbing the pain. He’s comforted knowing that you’re not going nowhere, staying right there with him.

“Im glad that it’s you, and not anyone else at my side.” 

———————————————————————

masterlist

[what-even-is-thiss]

I’m gonna loosely rant without direction for a minute.

I’ve been thinking a lot about being trans and religious in the last few days. I’m not exactly sure why. It’s just that this one thing keeps coming back to haunt me.

I’ve been happier and closer to God than ever before since I started transitioning. Never once have I felt that God had a problem with me being trans. My soul feels cleaner, happier, more open to the Holy Spirit even with all the other problems and anxieties in my life taken into account because even in my darkest moments now I’m still being my full self.

The thing that’s been bothering me is all these people out there who think I’m doing religion wrong because I’m not being who God made me to be or something when I feel like I’m being more of who God made me to be every day I get further away from the closet. God made my spirit and my mind just as much as he made my body so why is my body supposed to be the only factor in that?

What really bothers me is that people want me to give up what makes me happy, what strengthened my faith even, and go back to being sad and disconnected. And for what? Believing their interpretation of God is more valid than mine? For their comfort that’s for some reason more important than my comfort?

I would really like to work in a church or a religious college. I really would. But jobs with accepting congregations are few and far between. I feel like I have to spend my life moving between safe islands. I need to find my safe pockets and keep other Christians at a distance. And I hate that I have to do that. It weighs so heavily on me sometimes that they don’t believe my faith story.

I used to be the sort of person who would jump up and share my faith story at every opportunity with other Christians because I’m a convert that has stuck with my faith even through hard times. People love that shit. But now that my gender is a part of my story I feel like I either need to keep my mouth shut or lie. And I don’t want to lie so I keep my mouth shut.

I don’t really have a point to this I guess. I just wish I didn’t need to play a balancing act in order to be a queer Christian. Act less religious in queer spaces, act less queer in Christian spaces. There’s such small pockets of life I can fully be both in happily and loudly with no friction from other people.

Because all the friction between my faith and my queerness has always always come from other people. Never from my beliefs, never from my gender, never from my God. Other people. Other people keep trying to insert themselves in between me and God and go hey that’s not right you should feel bad about that. But like. I don’t. I can’t. I won’t and you can’t make me. The thing making me feel bad is that other people want me to feel bad. Other people want me to be miserable for their convenience. I hate that. That’s the worst bit for me about being queer and Christian. Is learning just how little other people value the happiness of strangers.

[tinyluvs]

⁺‧₊˚ back massage 𖤐 aether&mountain ˚₊‧⁺

❥ summary; remember this post and how i talked about aether giving mount a back massage? well i expanded on that, enjoy ❥ warnings; a slight misuse of quint, unprofessional!aether but this is all consensual, don’t worry. mount gets a back massage & his ass fucked, good for him. i still don’t know how to tag lol ❥ authors note; got asked to elaborate, i did, everyone cheers ❥ wc; 1.8k ₊˚⊹♡⁺‧₊˚𖤐 read on ao3; ˗ˏˋ ꒰꒰ here !! ꒱꒱ ˎˊ˗ 𖤐˚₊.⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

aether looks up from his book when rain pokes his head into his room, “hey, mountain asked if you could go to his room to do the thing, he said you’d know what that means,” rain informs him, tapping his fingers against aether’s door frame

“yeah, i know what that means,” aether smiles, snaps his book shut and stands, leaving everything as is to go to mountain, “thanks rain,” aether hums, pressing a kiss to the water ghouls temple before making his way down the hallway

mountain’s door is cracked open an inch so he doesn’t knock when he gets there, just pushes into the room quietly. mountains room is in darkness, his curtains drawn, the only light coming from his little leaf shaped string lights hung around his shelves

the earth ghoul sits on the edge of his bed, looking utterly broken, his hand drifting up and down his lower back, “aether,” he whines, looking up as aether shuts his door and moves closer

“what did you do this time?” aether asks him, kneeling down in front of him, his hands rubbing gently over mountain’s thighs, thumbs pressing in small circles.

mountain huffs, “nothing,”

this is a lie but he isn’t about to admit he had once again tried to move four huge bags of soil at once and something had popped painfully in his lower back. aether chuckles lightly, he knows what has happened but he won’t tease mountain about it, not right now anyway

aether kisses mountains forehead and then his lips, “let’s get you comfortable then,” he hums, fingers dancing up underneath the hem of mountains top, pulling it up, up and off. he stands back to his full height, folding mountains shirt as he goes, “need any help?”

mountain shakes his head as he gently repositions himself, shuffling on his ass backwards across his bed, “uhm, actually, could you do the pillows please?” he asks, his fingers still pressing gently into his spine

“of course,” aether smiles softly and reaches over, grabbing at mountains pillows. the earth ghoul watches as aether fluffs his pillows and arranges them in a sort of nest, he’s done this enough times to know exactly where to put them

once he’s done he steps back, gesturing lightly to the space between the pillows, a perfect sized space for mountain’s body. mountain moves, only wincing once as he manages to roll onto his front, tucking his arms underneath his pillow, his cheek nuzzling against soft fabric

as his back stretches and settles he gasps, his body panic tensing and then untensing, “aether, fix it,” he whines into his pillow, peeking through one eye at aether, who is still stood just next to his bed

kneeling gently on his bed, aether moves slowly, carefully, as to not jerk mountains back at all as he straddles and settles over mountain’s ass, holding most of his weight in his knees. he’s a big ghoul and on any normal day, mountain could take his weight but not right now, thankfully aether won’t take it personally

gently, aether brushes his fingers up mountain’s spine, stopping at the base of his neck to drift back down, circling around what appears to be the problem area, mountain tensing ever so slightly as aether touches it

“here?” aether whispers even though he already knows, quintessence already bleeding into his fingertips, hovering just over mountains bare skin. mountains tail swishes gently in front of aether before wrapping around his wrist, tugging lightly to press aethers fingers to his back

mountains tail unwinds from his wrist, batting around aimlessly until it finds aether’s side, circling around his waist instead, “please,” he whispers, maybe a little pathetically but aether can’t see the way his cheeks heat against his pillow so it’s fine

aether starts slow, pressing his thumbs either side of mountain’s spine, pausing for a second when the earth ghoul gasps at his touch. he continues slowly, quintessence flowing from him to mountain, soothing the ache almost immediately

he rubs gentle circles in the little arch at the base of mountain’s back, pressing in just so, managing to drag a quiet, “fuck aeth,” from mountain, one of his hands sliding out from underneath his pillow, fisting lightly at his sheets instead

working up his back, aether doesn’t miss an inch of skin. brushing his fingers everywhere he can touch, his thumbs tracing underneath mountain’s shoulder blades, sliding in soft lines back and forth until mountain is visibly softening underneath him

“feels s’good,” mountain hums, quintessence flowing nicely through his body, making him perfectly pliant and soft, just how aether wants him, “don’t stop, please don’t stop,” he groans, his tail squeezing at aethers waist

“i’m not going to,” aether reassures, leaning forward slightly to press his thumbs up mountain’s spine, all the way from his coccyx, past the base of his tail and up to his neck, knots melting away in an instance, not standing a single chance against aether’s fingers

a never ending stream of moans and groans spill from mountain, soft whines and whimpers that catch in his throat but all of them go south to aether’s cock, a soft tent forming in the front of his pants as he fills out, only partially against his will

aether swallows thickly and pumps his quintessence, pushing it into his palms as well as his fingers, quickly flooding mountain’s veins with it. mountain whines softly as he feels it seeping into his limbs, his head, everywhere, all he can feel is aether and he wouldn't want it any other way

mountain’s body eventually goes lax, sinking into his mattress with a heavy sigh, his cheek squishing into his pillow, he’s not sure he could move even if he wanted to.

in the back of his mind mountain registers a shift in the scent of the room, aether’s obvious arousal being hard to ignore, even with enough quintessence to kill a human flowing through his body, but he’s too relaxed, too far gone to do a single thing about it

on the other hand, aether is starting to struggle. his cock pulses in his pants, a small damp spot soaking into the front as he leaks, his tip pulsing as it rubs sinfully against the too harsh fabric constricting him

in a moment of pure desperation aether takes a hand off of mountain’s back, moving to palm himself softly, rutting his hips forward to grind against his hand. he groans shakily, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling

“aeth,” mountain slurs, whines, a delayed reaction to aether stopping his movements. if he could move he would peek over his shoulder, would see aether shamelessly touching himself inches away from his ass but he can’t move, can’t see a sight that would make his mouth water

“y-yeah, fuck, sorry,” aether pants, returning both hands to mountain’s back though his movements aren’t as smooth as before, the amount of pressure he’s applying is all wrong, “f-fuck mount, just let me, hold on,” he rambles

aether shuffles backwards, straddling the backs of mountain’s thighs. his fingers tease at the waistband of mountain’s pants, dipping underneath just enough to tug on them, pulling them halfway down his thighs

the soft swell of mountain’s ass makes aether’s cock throb and aether breaks, shoving his own pants down, tucking them underneath his heavy balls and out of his way. he rolls his hips forward, sliding the wet ruddy head of his cock against mountain’s ass

mountain groans and pushes his ass up, or at least he thinks he does, he’s not entirely sure but he doesn’t have to think on it for long before aether is using his thumbs to spread him apart, exposing his little pink hole

“fuck,” aether whispers, to no one but himself as he presses the pad of his thumb against mountain’s wet rim. a small wet slick sound as he dips in makes him moan, mountain’s hole already perfectly loose and soft with the over abundance of quintessence he’s been dealt with

leaning over himself, aether spits on to his own cock, jerking himself off once, twice and three times, in too much of a hurry to even attempt to ask mountain where his lube is hidden, instead he swipes his thumb over his tip, soaking every inch of his cock with spit and pre

underneath him mountain starts to get impatient, whining and whimpering, words having left him, over the lack of touch on his back, it being forgotten about while aether preps himself, something mountain still can’t move to see though the room around him fills with a wet sound he knows all too well

“uh huh, i’m coming back,” aether moans loudly and lines himself up, pressing the throbbing head of his cock against mountain’s winking hole. slowly and gently he presses in, stretching mountain’s rim just right around the widest part of his tip before pulling back

mountain’s hole clenches, kissing aether’s tip wetly while his slick mixes with the pre spurting from aether’s cock, pooling between them with nowhere to go. aether watches, sinking his fangs into his bottom lip to stifle a groan and holding his breath as he pushes forward, slowly splitting mountain open on his length

aether hangs his head and presses his hands into the mattress when he sinks, inch by inch, into mountain, stopping when he gets halfway there, needing time to adjust to the wet warm clutch of mountain’s ass, something he doesn’t think he will ever get used to, before continuing, hissing as his cock disappears into the earth ghoul

once he’s seated fully against mountain’s ass, both ghouls groan in sync, “lucifer below,” aether pants, leaning over mountains back to press his lips to his neck, causing mountain to tighten around him, wet and warm and just right

“hmmm,” mountain hums, drooling onto his pillows, his fingers twitching to pinch and pull at his sheets. he hums twice, in quick succession, something that sounds enough like aeth-er to get his attention

aether shushes him, lips still teasing at his pulse. his hands finally return to mountains back, fingertips tickling down his sides, “stay still f’me,” aether whispers, knowing mountain can’t move anyway, “i promise it’ll help,” he finishes, nipping at mountain’s skin

mountain manages to stay perfectly still while aether massages his back. he stays still as aether’s fat cock splits him open, sliding in and out of his wet hole. he shudders, only slightly, when aether spills thick and hot, flooding deep inside him with cum

but, mountain drools, wails and full body jerks when aether slides a hand between him and the mattress to wrap his fist around his painfully hard cock, jerking him off slightly too fast but mountain is too close to care, spilling over aethers fist way too fast.

thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! & comment! i’ll give you a kiss if you do, mwah! send prompts to my ask box!

(ps; i’ll add the link for ao3 later)

𖤐 ghouls masterlist

[mylittlecrow]

i will never shut up about jon promising to protect sansa in 6x09 and then the parallel of lyanna begging ned to promise to protect jon IN THE NEXT EPISODE. something something “if the day should ever come when your lord father was forced to chose between honor on the one hand and those he loves on the other what would he do?” and we KNOW ned picked love. ned loved his sister so much he lied to his king and bff to protect jon. ned loved his daughter so much he sacrificed his honor and duty to the realm and lied to protect sansa.

the writers intentionally put sansa at the center of jon and dany’s conflict. sansa’s not in king’s landing during the battle in 8x05 or 8x06 but she still haunts the narrative, her name is brought up by FOUR different characters. jon was ready to die if dany saw him as a threat to the throne. “i'm tired of fighting it’s all i've done since i left home.” and the only way to get through to him and to get him to fight again and to kill dany is to mention sansa and how she’ll never be safe with dany around. “if we don’t take back the north we’ll never be safe i want you to help me but i'll do it myself if i have to.”

and sansa is so used to being alone. she spent months waiting for robb to rescue her from king's landing, and it never happened. robb chose the north, his duty, over her. and she's beaten for the north's independence and then sold to two different families who stole the north from her. and then she finally finds help in theon and brienne and podrick but she doesn't feel completely safe again until she's in jon's arms. but even then she's still ready for more disappointment, to be separated from her family again because “life is not a song” and “there are no heroes.” but jon isn’t robb. “jon isn’t tormund. jon isn’t davos, or the red woman, or stannis for that matter. jon is jon.”

“where will you go? where will we go. i won’t ever let him touch you again. we need to trust each other. until i return the north is yours. touch my sister and i’ll kill you myself. what you did for her is the only reason i’m not killing you. i’m her family too. what about everyone else? what about the other people who think they know what’s good? i’ll protect you, i promise. no one can protect me, no one can protect anyone.” but jon proves her wrong, he can protect her. he will keep her safe. because when his day comes and he has to chose between love and duty, he chooses her. there still are heroes in her story and their story isn't over yet.

[gotta-winwin]

(🎞️) ... hit the road docu.<> if i walked at my own pace

masterlist | cyana's masterlist

word count: 1.8k tw: anxiety, mentions of bullying, panic attacks, sleeping pills italics are interviews cut between scenes + english a/n: we're finally starting to dive into cyana's backstory + the mystery of what happened in LA! if any of the above trigger warnings trigger you - scroll away, stay safe, and come back for the next one 💓

Cyana never really understood how some of the members could stand to watch their own fancams. Sure, she understood that it was a vital part of analyzing their performance, but every time she tried searching up her own fancams, she was greeted with a wave of self-embarrassment and cringe. 

“It won’t be like that forever,” Vernon tried comforting her, pausing his own fancam on his phone to look up at her. “You’ll end up getting used to watching yourself on camera.” 

Cyana shuddered. “I can’t imagine I’d ever get used to that.” Reaching over, she pressed play on his phone. “Other people’s fancams, however, that I like to watch.”

Vernon laughed, his ears turning pink as he adjusted his phone, letting Cyana watch over his shoulder. 

“Woww,” She marveled at the end, quietly applauding the performance. “So cool.”

Vernon smiled, swiping out of the video. “Not bad, huh.”

“Psh.” She smacked his shoulder lightly. “Not bad my ass. Give yourself some more credit, Hansol.” 

His lips quivered into a small smile, amused by how Cyana seamlessly switched to calling him by his Korean name when speaking English. Ironic, but for some reason it fit. 

“Anything in particular you’re looking for?” 

Vernon opened the door to the record store, motioning Cyana to head in first. He had promised the girl he’d accompany her to get a couple records, knowing how much she had been looking forward to browsing the New York streets. He was just as excited, shopping for anything music related was probably the only shopping he found himself enjoying. 

“The National.” Cyana said, already flipping through the boxes of records. “The 1975, The Cure, really anything I can get my hands on.” She pulled one out, gasping as she presented it to Vernon. “No way! Look at this.” 

Taking the record from her hands, he turned it over to read out the artist. “The Beatles?” He looked at her, a little confused. “I didn’t think you’d be a big Beatles fan.”

Cyana looked a little offended at his words. “I am. Huge fan. I’m getting that one.” 

Vernon held the record out of her reach, tucking it underneath his arm as he moved to another aisle. “I’ll get it for you, don’t worry about it.”

“Really?”

Vernon hummed, sifting through the boxes, looking for his own purchase. 

“Wow. Look at you,” Cyana tucked into his side, a hand around his lower arm as she browsed the options with him. “So dependable.” 

“How are you feeling?” The doctor prodded at Vernon’s neck and throat. “Any soreness?”

He shook his head, thankful that he wasn’t feeling at all ill, unlike the others. “I’m doing fine, doc.”

He watched as the doctor moved on to Woozi, repeating the same procedure with him and asking the same questions. Pulling out his phone, Vernon scrolled in a daze, allowing his mind to shut off for a little bit before their concert. He liked letting his mind blank out for a moment, like it was rebooting all his thoughts, worries and signals. 

It was Cyana’s quiet voice that pulled him out, most likely because the girl was speaking English.

“Do you think I can get some meds for sleeping?” 

Vernon looked up from his phone, eyebrows furrowed as he watched Cyana interact with the doctor, who was packing up his kit, ready to go. 

“Have you been having trouble sleeping?” The doctor asked her, pausing to give her a proper lookover. 

“A bit.” Cyana mumbled, glancing around, as if to check that no one was listening. Her eyes drifted over Vernon before returning to the floor next to her feet. “Or just in case.” 

Nodding, the doctor pulled out a bottle, shaking it slightly before handing it to her. “Most people in your line of work ask for the same thing, so I always keep it on hand. Take two before bed, three, if it’s not enough. But no more, alright?” 

Vernon watched Cyana slip the pill bottle into her hoodie pocket, thanking the doctor before retreating back into her chair. He frowned before shrugging, returning back to his phone and putting his brain back on airplane mode. It was whatever, right? 

“I could remember our LA show extremely clearly because I remember how Cyana’s face looked minutes before it.” Vernon told the camera, moistening his lips before continuing. “She looked like going on stage would destroy her completely.” 

Even under the dim lights beneath the stage, Vernon could tell there was something different about the way Cyana looked as they waited for the platform to rise with them on top of it. Usually she’d be smiling his way with a bright, dazzling grin, all pumped up for their performance and buzzing with energy. Now however, as Vernon stared at her, she seemed distant - almost muted - as if something had drained all the color from her cheeks. 

He reached over and gently shook her shoulder. “You good?” He mouthed, searching her eyes for an answer.

She shrugged his hand off her shoulder and mouthed back an okay, before turning away and readjusting her mic.

He didn’t believe her one bit.

“I mean,” He tried explaining himself to the camera. “I could relate to her, I guess. I keep things to myself a lot too. If I'm struggling, I won’t hide it, but it’s not like I’ll talk about it either.” He let out a small sigh. “I guess that’s why I didn’t say anything for a long time. I thought maybe silence was just normal for her like it was for me.”

Looking back now, on that concert day in LA, Vernon could remember seeing her hunched over, backstage, after a particularly intense run of Getting Closer. He remembered chalking up her sweat and body chills to mere overexhaustion, simply handing her a bottle of water before going back up for his turn with the Hiphop Unit. 

He also remembered hearing her quiet sobs and harsh breaths from across the room, as they all waited for the Performance Unit to finish with their set. Cyana was mostly covered by a worrying Joshua, fussing over her and whispering something Vernon was too far away to hear. 

He remembered how worried everybody was that day. How DK and Hoshi were unnaturally quiet on the way back to the hotel, their eyes sending fleeting glances over to Cyana, unsure what they could do to help. How Jeonghan and Joshua could only sit and hold her hand, Joshua’s eyes sending signals to Jeonghan that Vernon couldn’t understand. But most of all, he remembered how Dino came to sleep in his room that night, tears tracking down his face as he sobbed over Cyana asking to room alone. The boy couldn’t understand why she had kicked him out - and why they were all useless to stop it. 

“I was already worried about Coups hyung.” Vernon recalled. “We look out of sync when we’re missing someone, and I didn’t want Cyana to need to leave as well.” 

Vernon had no idea what was going on, as he tried meeting Joshua’s eyes to ask him what the hell was up with their youngest member. The older boy infuriatingly refused to meet his eyes, only leaving Cyana’s room to grab food or water for the girl. 

“Just wait.” He told Vernon when Vernon finally got a hold of him, just about to leave the washroom after brushing his teeth. “She’ll explain when she feels better.”

“Why can’t you just tell us now, though?” Vernon asked. “Everyone is going insane. Both DK and Dino went to bed crying last night and Mingyu looks like a kicked puppy waiting outside her door. Seungkwan even told me Wonwoo’s affected, something about how his face is stuck permanently in a worried expression. I’m going insane too, hyung.” He admitted the last part rather timidly.

Joshua looked torn. “I can’t.” He finally said after a painful pause. Moving behind Vernon, Joshua left, leaving him standing in front of the bathroom, looking incredibly stupid and pathetic. 

“I just wanted answers.” Vernon mumbled, not looking at the interviewer or the camera as he spoke. “And it felt like no one really had them. All of us had recounted that day, trying to piece together what could have affected Cyana so terribly - but none of us could think of anything at all.”

Cyana made sure to walk right next to Woozi as they exited the venue in between the barricades holding their fans back. It was rather strategic of her, she knew. Walking next to Woozi would ensure a constant presence - he wasn’t one to run up to the barricades and interact with fans, wasn’t one to draw attention to himself and therefore those around him. Cyana chose to be next to him for send-off for one reason: to not be seen. 

She couldn’t justify the fear to herself - let alone other people - so she kept the fear she knew was irrational and childish hidden. How was she to explain she was afraid of the crowd? Of their beloved fans?

Oh hey, Joshua. Yeah, I can’t do today’s concert because I’m afraid I’ll go up onstage and someone from the crowd will jump me. Or shoot me. Or throw a knife at me. Or throw acid up onstage. Or- anyways, yeah. So I can’t perform today. I feel like I might pass out onstage. Why? Oh- I kinda have people who want to kill me in LA. Yeah- from highschool. Bullies. I know, a long time ago. So it’s irrational. Right? And it’s not like they said they’d kill me. So it should be fine, right?

A swirl of thoughts wrapped around her as she continued to walk, putting one foot in front of the other, trying to block out the loud cheers and screams from the crowd. She had gone through the concert. Now all she needed to do was walk through the sea of fans, enter the company car and go home. 

You have to at least wait till you’re back in the hotel room before you break down. She chided herself. You must.

A scream, not much louder than the rest of the fans, caught her ear. She whipped her head around at the sound of her voice - yelled out through a sea of fans. She knew that voice. Her blood grew cold as her ears rang - muffling the world around her - and Cyana felt as if she was sixteen once again.

Her eyes drifted from face to face in the direction of the scream until it landed on a girl in the front row, holding a bright pink banner with Vernon’s name on it. 

“Cyana!” The girl yelled out again, her eyes twinkling in a way that made Cyana’s skin feel ice cold. 

And she watched, horrified, as the familiar girl mouthed an all too familiar five words at her. I’m going to get you. 

[thepixelelf]

Oh Baby, You Part 54 - Hope Yet

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You wonder if it’s because you’ve had so much going on, so many layers of thought piling on top of each other until they’re compressed like ash, that you just pushed what Mingyu had said a few days ago to the back of your mind.

Or maybe you just didn’t want to think Mingyu would doubt anything about your son. His son. His son that is your son but not your and his son.

Oh, god.

No. You will not make Mingyu’s doubts your own, and you won’t project your doubts onto how you perceive Mingyu. That’s not fair. 

“Thanks again for this,” you say on Saturday morning as you hold your son out for Mingyu to take. It’s not that you mean to avoid his eyes, but for some reason, you can’t seem to stop yourself.

“No problem.” Mingyu pulls a gleeful Orion up into his arms. “Don’t worry about a thing. He’s safe with me.”

Despite your inner turmoil, you have no doubts that Mingyu will do at least that— keep Orion safe. You pat Orion’s back “I know.”

Mingyu rocks back on the balls of his feet. “So…” he says, and now, he’s the one avoiding your eyes. “Going on a date?”

“Oh. Actually, no. I’m meeting up with Jihoon.”

“Jihoon?” Mingyu’s eyes widen as his head snaps up. “Not the same Jihoon who completely cut you out of Wonwoo’s life three years ago.”

You shrug. “He’s trying to make up for it.”

“You’re too forgiving, Sunshine.”

About to defend Jihoon or at least yourself, you stop when Mingyu adjusts his grip on Orion and mutters, “But I guess I should be thankful for that.”

“Mingyu…”

“Have a good time with Jihoon.” Voice back to normal, Mingyu puts one hand on his front door and starts to close it. “If you can forgive him, maybe there’s hope yet.”

You frown. “What do you—”

The door shuts.

“—mean. Okay.”

=

After Jeonghan’s personal driver returns you to your apartment, you wait for Jihoon in the lobby until the nicest yet normal-looking black car you’ve ever seen pulls up out front. He doesn’t say much when you get in, and he really only looks at you when he asks what you want from the drive-thru cafe. You sip your drink in silence for the drive, but when he pulls into the parking lot of a park you suggested, you finally speak up.

“If this is your idea of talking, Jihoon, it’s a bit… underwhelming.”

Grimacing, Jihoon shifts the car into park and runs his hand over his face. “I…” He groans. “It was a lot easier to think about what I should say than it is to say it.”

“Well.” You tap an awkward finger on your leg. “What were you thinking about saying?”

He meets your eyes. “Sorry. About a million times.”

With a snort, you smile and bring your drink up to your lips. “That’s a start.”

“And… something about how I don’t want to make excuses.”

“That would be nice,” you say, nodding.

He continues, “But, also, explain why I was so… so stupid and presumptuous and aggressive and— and—”

“Protective?” you finish for him.

He groans again. “Is it protective if there was nothing to protect him from?”

“You didn’t know that.”

“Stop.”

Pausing, you let your hand with your drink in it rest on your lap. “Stop…what?”

“It’s like you’re defending me for me— to me,” he explains, frustrated but not upset. His eyes focus on something past the front windshield. “You’re always doing that. Rationalizing why people do the things they do, even when it’s stuff that hurts you.”

Suddenly defensive, you shrug your shoulders upward and keep them there, looking out your window. “Everyone has their reasons, don’t they?”

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, and when you turn back around, your eyes meet his. “Just because I had my reasons doesn’t mean what I did wasn’t stupid, and messed up, and—”

“Jaded,” you finish for him.

He exhales and nods. “That too, but it’s not as important as those other things. I was an idiot first and foremost.”

“Jihoon…” You sigh, shifting a bit in the car seat to face him better. “I — Mingyu and Jeonghan and I — practically did everything we could to convince the entire world that I was pregnant and had a kid. It’s not your fault the news reached you before I could.”

“You’re doing it again,” he says, and you sheepishly distract yourself with your drink. When he softly calls your name, you look up at him again. “Maybe it’s not my fault I fell for that crazy plan, but making sure Wonwoo fell for it too? That’s completely on me.”

You tilt your head. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

Scoffing lightly, Jihoon puts one hand on the steering wheel and taps his thumb against it. “And you shouldn’t. If you keep arguing on my behalf, I can’t get started on my apology.”

You think about all the anonymous gifts he’s already sent to your apartment. “You haven’t started yet?”

“Hardly,” he says, a shy smile back on his face. You haven’t seen him genuinely smile in years, if you don’t count how he smiled for his fans back at the concert. Which you suppose you do. He shifts the car back into drive, and you fumble to put your seat belt back on. “I have three years of forcing you to be a single parent to make up for.”

“Okay, it’s not your fault I stayed single—”

He shuts you up with a look.

You take another sip of your drink. “Where are we going?”

“The gym.”

Your mouth drops open. “Your idea of an apology is to make me work out?”

Turning out of the parking lot, Jihoon glances at you after making his shoulder check. “I’ve started kickboxing recently. I figured, maybe it would be nice for you to hit something; or someone.”

The corners of your lips lift up. Somehow, against all odds, you missed this guy and his roundabout ways. “You?”

He shrugs, not meeting your eyes, but a wry smile appears on his lips as well. “If that’s what you’re into.”

“Jihoon…” You shake your head and laugh in disbelief. “You might not be as horrible at this apology thing as I thought.”

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[nerdishpursuits]

Funny how wanting to teach a rapist a lesson all of a sudden makes a woman less. Oh no, she’s succumbed to her ire and wants to retaliate because the justice system failed her. Oh no, deciding to become fluent in violence, because it’s the only language said rapist responds to, is heinous and turns her into a horrible person. Women aren’t supposed to retaliate. No. They’re supposed to endure and accept, resigning themselves to whatever scraps they’re being offered as meagre compensation. A woman defending herself, and others, is a freak of nature. That’s not for her to do. No. Taking matters into her own hands only proves she’s hysterical, incapable of calculated reasoning, forever ruled by her passions and not her intellect. She ought to know her place and defer to her masculine betters.

Funny how when men crusade for justice, it’s expected. All the more, it’s to be admired. Especially when they deal out justice themselves, due to a corrupt and broken system. If they do that? Well, they’re the consummate romantic heroes. They get the girl too, who swoons at their daring feat in defense of her. “He slew the villain, ensuring the bad guy got what he deserved”. Everyone celebrates and lives happily ever after. The male vigilante is encouraged and acclaimed. The female one? She’s a pariah. The village witch. She’s an aberration that disturbs the natural order. As such, she needs to be put in her place. Reminded that she’s wrong for feeling the way she does, banished and vilified.

So God forbid, that for a moment, Marta risked donning the proverbial cape of the avenger. Oh, no. She’s suddenly no better than her murderous brother and kingpin father. Her ensuring a rapist got roughed up a little equals murder. Her morals are forever compromised, if nonexistent. The Queen has lost her crown. She’s turning to the dark, down a path of no return. The end of days is upon us.

Personally? I’m baffled. Because as much as we may want to? The high road is not always the solution. In fact, there’s times when it preserves the status quo and those in power profit from it. As a result, going low remains the only option to strike back. And Marta tried taking every high road available to her. Until she had enough of running into closed doors or having them shut in her face.

I also think Fina’s “this isn’t about you” is a nonsensical. Fina’s not insular, she’s not a lone wolf. She’s part of a whole now. She and Marta are indivisible, together in whatever it is they’re facing. What happens to one of them, happens to both. Fina’s pain is Marta’s pain. Fina’s anguish is Marta’s anguish. Fina’s terror and helplessness is Marta’s as well. And therefore, Fina’s fight is Marta’s fight. They’re a common unit, a united front. Fina can’t just ask Marta to let it all slide, because Fina didn’t go through it all alone - even as no one really asks Marta if she’s alright (well, Carmen did ask at some point, but curiously enough, Fina hasn’t and it’s Fina who needs to hear, and know, how Marta’s been impacted by this situation. If anything, most people are fiercer in defence of others and would go to lengths they’d never go to for themselves. Marta is one of those people. Fina is sacred to her and this is Marta’s holy war. For Fina, for herself and for the countless women to whom justice is denied)

I also don’t think Marta’s disrespecting the wishes of the true victim. Fina may have the physical bruises, but Marta carries them like a debilitating echo within. If Fina won’t be able to see that? To realise that Marta’s fight is her own fight? That it’s their fight? I confess I’ll be rather disappointed. As will I be if the show decides to send the message that victims should swallow their pain, be thankful what happened wasn’t worse and resign themselves to abusers getting richly rewarded. For if they don’t? They’re just as bad as their aggressors, or worse.

We’ll see. Agree to disagree, as always. Until then? I’m all for Marta being unapologetic and proud. She’s nothing to be remorseful about, even as the world will try its hardest to shame her into believing it.

[sturnswrites]

guarded hearts - pt.8

fratboy!chris x fem!reader

⤳ you meet chris while working on a class project, your personalities are very different but chris is determined to get you out of your shell.

⤳ resolving angst, fluff

----------------------------------------------------------------

The silence after Chris leaves your apartment is deafening. The door clicking shut feels final, like a chapter of your life closing. You don’t move from the bed for a long time, staring at the spot where he stood just moments ago. His voice, his pleading eyes—they’re burned into your memory, and no matter how much you want to push them away, you can’t.

You should feel relieved. You stood my ground. You told him to leave. But the second he walked out that door, the loneliness crept back in, stronger and heavier than before.

The nights that follow are endless. You toss and turn, the empty space next to you a cruel reminder of how many nights he stayed, holding you close, whispering things that made you believe you were safe with him. Now, the silence is unbearable, stretching across the room and settling in your chest like a weight you can’t shake.

You cry more than you want to admit. To yourself, to anyone. Your roommates try to distract you, dragging you out for coffee or insisting on movie nights, but nothing fills the void. Every time your phone buzzes, you hope it’s him—even though you were the one who told him to leave.

-

Chris’s Point of View

Leaving her room was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Every instinct screamed at me to stay, to keep begging her to let me fix this, to hold her until she believed I wouldn’t leave again. But the pain in her voice, the way her body was stiff even as she cried—it told me everything I needed to know. I had broken her.

The walk back to my apartment feels endless. My chest is tight, my hands trembling as I unlock the door and step into the darkness. I don’t bother turning on the lights; the darkness feels appropriate. I collapse on the couch, staring at the ceiling, her words replaying in my head like a broken record.

“You broke me, Chris.”

I should’ve known this would happen. I thought I was doing the right thing by pulling back, by trying to protect her from me. But instead, I became the exact thing I was afraid of—a source of pain in her life.

The days blur together. I barely leave my apartment, ignoring texts from my friends, dodging questions about why I haven’t been at parties. The only thing I can think about is her—what she’s doing, if she’s okay, if she’s as miserable as I am.

-

It takes you days to muster the courage to even think about seeing him again. The hurt is still fresh, raw, but beneath it, there’s something else—an ache that won’t go away, a pull you can’t ignore.

You tell yourself you’re stupid, that you’re setting yourself up for heartbreak all over again. But no matter how much you try to convince yourself to let him go, you can’t.

When you finally decide to go to his apartment, your hands are shaking the entire walk there. Your mind is racing, every step filled with doubt and second-guessing. What if he slams the door in my face? What if he’s done with me? What if I’m making a mistake?

Before you can chicken out, you knock. The sound echoes in the quiet hallway, and your heart pounds as you wait.

The door opens, and there he is—Chris, looking just as wrecked as you feel. His hair is messy, his eyes tired, and for a moment, he just stares at you, like he can’t believe you’re standing here.

“Y/N,” he says softly, his voice hoarse.

“I—can I come in?” you ask, your voice trembling.

He nods immediately, stepping aside to let you in.

The apartment is dim, cluttered in a way that screams he’s been neglecting everything. Empty takeout containers sit on the counter, and a blanket is haphazardly thrown on the couch. The sight of it tugs at something inside you, a reminder that you’re not the only one who’s been falling apart.

You stand awkwardly in the middle of the room, unsure where to start. The air between you two is heavy, filled with everything left unsaid.

“What are you doing here?” he asks again, his voice softer this time.

You let out a shaky breath, staring at the floor. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I’ve been trying to figure that out since I knocked on your door.”

Chris doesn’t say anything, and the silence stretches. It’s unbearable, like it might crush you if you don’t fill it.

“I thought I could move on,” you say, your voice trembling. “I thought if I stayed away long enough, it wouldn’t hurt so much. But it hasn’t stopped hurting, Chris. It just keeps getting worse.”

You glance up at him, and the look on his face—hopeful, broken, desperate—makes your chest tighten.

“Y/N…”

“No, let me finish,” you interrupt, holding up a hand. “I don’t know if this is a mistake. I don’t know if I’m setting myself up to get hurt again. But being without you—it’s killing me.”

His expression crumples, and he steps closer, his hands twitching at his sides like he wants to reach for you but isn’t sure if he’s allowed. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?” he asks, his voice breaking. “Every second of every day, Y/N. I’ve missed you so much it feels like I can’t breathe.”

You swallow hard, tears stinging your eyes. “Then why did you leave? Why did you make me feel like I wasn’t good enough? Like I wasn’t worth staying for?”

Chris flinches like you’ve slapped him, his face twisting in pain. “I was scared,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was so scared of messing things up, of hurting you, that I did the one thing I promised myself I’d never do. I hurt you anyway.”

“Yeah, you did,” you say, your voice cracking. “You hurt me more than anyone else ever has, Chris. Because I trusted you. I let you in, and you left.”

“I know,” he says, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I know, and I hate myself for it. But I’m here now, Y/N. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. If you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that you can trust me again.”

You stare at him, your heart aching at the raw vulnerability in his voice. “How am I supposed to believe that, Chris? How am I supposed to believe you won’t leave again the second things get hard?”

“You don’t have to believe me right now,” he says, stepping closer. “But let me show you. Let me prove it. Because I can’t lose you again, Y/N. I can’t.”

The tears spill over before you can stop them, and you wipe at your face angrily, hating how exposed you feel. “You broke me, Chris,” you whisper. “I don’t know if I can put myself back together for you.”

Chris’s voice breaks as he replies, “You don’t have to put yourself back together alone. Let me help you. Please, Y/N.”

You close your eyes, the weight of his words pressing down on you. Every instinct screams at you to protect yourself, to run before you get hurt again. But there’s a small, fragile part of you that wants to believe him. That wants to believe you can find your way back to each other.

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice trembling. “I’m scared of getting hurt again. I’m scared of putting my trust in you and having it break me all over again. But being without you… it hurts more than the fear. It hurts more than anything.”

Chris moves closer, his hands reaching for yours but stopping just short, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. “Y/N,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll never hurt you again. I swear. I know I messed up, and I know I don’t deserve this, but if you let me try—if you let me prove myself—I’ll spend every day showing you that you can trust me.”

His words wash over you, and for the first time in weeks, the tightness in your chest eases just a little.

“You have to mean it, Chris,” you say, your voice firm despite the tears in your eyes. “I can’t go through this again. I can’t handle it if you change your mind or decide I’m not worth it.”

“You are worth it,” he says immediately, his voice breaking. “You’ve always been worth it. I was just too stupid to see that I was pushing away the best thing in my life. But I see it now, Y/N. And I’m not going to mess this up again.”

You stare at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt, any hint that he doesn’t mean what he’s saying. But all you see is sincerity, raw and unfiltered.

“Okay,” you whisper finally, your voice barely audible.

“Okay?” he asks, his eyes wide.

“Okay,” you repeat, nodding. “But this is your last chance, Chris. If you break my heart again, that’s it.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “I won’t,” he promises, his voice steady. “I won’t.”

When he pulls you into his arms, you let yourself believe him. Just this once, you let yourself hope.

-

Rebuilding with Chris feels like learning to walk again—hesitant, unsteady, but full of determination. Every step forward is deliberate, built on a foundation of late-night conversations and whispered reassurances.

He’s patient with you, more than you ever expected. There’s no rush, no pressure, just quiet understanding. The first time you hold hands again, it’s during a walk through the park. His fingers intertwined with yours, warm and steady, and for the first time in a long time, you feel safe.

You spend nights talking until dawn, the words spilling out like they’ve been trapped for too long. Chris tells you stories from his childhood, his biggest fears, his dreams. You open up about your past, the parts of you you’ve always been afraid to share. He listens without judgment, his eyes soft and full of something you’re still learning to trust.

One night, the two of you make pancakes in your kitchen. They’re a disaster—burnt on one side and raw on the other—but Chris laughs so hard he almost drops the pan. “I think we’ve discovered a new low for culinary arts,” he says, grinning as he flips the pancake onto the counter instead of the plate.

You laugh too, the sound surprising even you. It feels good—light, unburdened.

“Maybe we should stick to cereal,” you reply, leaning against the counter.

He smirks, sliding an arm around your waist. “Or we could just keep burning pancakes together. Could be our thing.”

The intimacy of the moment makes your heart ache in the best way.

-

A few weeks later, Chris invites you to a party at his frat. This time, you feel different walking into the crowded house. His hand rests on the small of your back, steady and sure, guiding you through the chaos.

The music is loud, and the room is packed, but Chris stays close, always keeping you within arm’s reach. At one point, he leans down, his breath warm against your ear. “You doing okay?”

You nod, smiling up at him. “Yeah, I’m good.”

You both make your way to the kitchen, where his friends are gathered around the makeshift bar. Chris greets them with his usual charm, his confidence infectious. But when he introduces you, there’s something different in his tone.

“This is Y/N,” he says, his arm slipping around my shoulders. He looks at you like you’re the only person in the room. “My girlfriend.”

The word sends a rush of warmth through you, and you can’t help but smile. His friends greet you warmly, their jokes lighthearted and teasing. But it’s Chris’s hand in yours, his thumb brushing against your skin, that keeps me grounded.

Later, you both find a quieter corner of the house, away from the noise. Chris pulls you onto a worn couch, his arm draped over your shoulders. You sit there for a while, talking and laughing like it’s just the two of you.

“Did you ever think we’d get here?” you ask, your voice soft.

Chris tilts his head, his eyes meeting yours. “I hoped. Even when I thought I’d messed everything up, I hoped. I didn’t want to lose you, Y/N.”

You reach for his hand, squeezing it gently. “You almost did.”

He nods, his expression serious. “I know. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure I never come close to that again.”

For the first time, you believe him completely.

As the night winds down, Chris leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. The warmth of it settles deep in your chest, a reminder that maybe, just maybe, some risks are worth taking.

And as you leave the party together, his hand in yours, you know we’re not just rebuilding. You’re creating something entirely new. Something strong. Something real. Something worth guarding.

----------------------------------------------------------------

This is the last chapter! Ah I love the two of them so much and a little happy ending 

⭒ margot

@mattsdillon @hesvoid3434 @admeliora94  @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan

[archivequinn]

Never Have I Ever, Drinking Game.

Summary: Eddie and Steve confess their feelings for each other in a fun drinking game. fluff, happy ending.

Words: 2,767

ao3 link | dividers by @strangergraphics 

Eddie was placing a six-pack of beer on the old but sturdy table in the corner of the caravan, smiling at Steve as he did. "Beers are ready. Even if Robin doesn’t show up, our night won’t be ruined," he said with a teasing tone in his voice.

Steve, slouched in a worn but comfortable armchair in the corner of the caravan, was running his hands through his hair and whining. "I mean, seriously... She didn’t even say why she’s not coming! She just sent a message: ‘I can’t make it today, have fun.’ What does that even mean? I don’t get it!"

Eddie chuckled softly as he opened one of the packs on the table. "Oh, it means that sometimes people change plans. Sad but true. But hey, at least we’ve got a perfect excuse to watch a cheesy horror movie tonight. Plus pizza... That’s non-negotiable."

The interior of the caravan was lit by the warm, slightly yellow glow of Eddie’s lamp. Sitting in the armchair, Steve threw his hands up in exasperation and kept talking. "We were supposed to be three tonight. Like a group. A dynamic trio, you know?"

"Three people, two people, what’s the difference?" Eddie said as he sat at the table and popped open one of the beer bottles. "Be honest, Steve. You’re not really upset about Robin not coming tonight. The real issue is, who’s going to comfort you during those dumb jump scares in the horror movie?"

Steve rolled his eyes and grabbed a beer. "You’re ridiculous. Horror movies don’t scare me."

At that moment, Eddie pulled out an old VHS tape from the cabinet above, holding it up in the air. The cover was worn, and the faded label read “Night of Darkness 3” in scrawled letters. "Are you ready, Harrington? This movie was voted the worst horror film of all time. It’s so bad that people cover their eyes out of secondhand embarrassment."

Steve groaned. "If it’s that bad, why are we even watching it?"

"Because there’s an art to badness." Eddie grinned as he slid the VHS into the player and adjusted a tangled pile of cables next to the TV.

The caravan filled with the bluish glow of the old TV’s flickering screen. Between Eddie’s loud laughter, Steve’s grumbling, and the dramatic music of the outdated horror film, the night slowly took shape.

Eddie rolled his eyes as he noticed Steve continuing to complain. Even the terrible horror movie playing on the TV wasn’t enough to distract Steve from Robin’s absence. Meanwhile, a slow grin spread across Eddie’s face. He had a brilliant idea. A perfect way to shut Steve up and have a little fun.

"Alright, Harrington, cut it out. We can’t let the night go to waste just because Robin’s not here. I’ve got a proposition for you," Eddie said, his grin impossible to hide.

Steve looked up at him, his expression skeptical. "What kind of proposition?"

Eddie got up, grabbed a handful of shot glasses from the table, and headed toward the kitchen. “We’re going to play a game,” he said without looking back. Opening the cupboard, he started pulling out various drinks: beer, whiskey, red wine, white wine, and a mixed cocktail. He brought them all to the table and began filling the shot glasses.

Steve frowned as he watched him. “What’s this? A drinking party?”

Eddie shook his head, laughing as he handled the bottles. “Much more than that, Harrington. This is a drinking game. It’s called Never Have I Ever. Here are the rules: We sit across from each other, raise our hands, and take turns saying something we’ve never done in our lives. If the other person has done it, they put a finger down and take a random shot from the table. You can’t choose what you drink—it’s all up to chance. Whoever runs out of fingers first loses. Got it?”

Steve squinted at him. “Alright, but… what if I put down all my fingers at once? Or keep picking the wrong glass?”

Eddie barely held back his laughter. “That’s the fun of it. Nobody wins, everyone loses. But at least we’ll laugh a lot. So, what do you say? Got the guts?”

Steve couldn’t resist Eddie’s challenge and crossed his arms. “I’m not scared of some dumb drinking game!”

Eddie grinned and gestured with both hands. “Hands up, Harrington. I’ll start: Never have I ever flown on a plane.”

Steve gave him an annoyed look. “Seriously? That’s your opening question?” Shaking his head, he put down one finger and grabbed a random shot. He had picked the cocktail. After taking a sip, he raised an eyebrow slightly. “What is this? A tropical candy?”

Eddie responded with laughter. “Oh, Harrington, this is just the beginning. Your turn. Be creative.”

Steve took a deep breath, shot Eddie a challenging look, and raised his hands again. “Alright… Never have I ever jumped onto a concert stage.”

Eddie’s grin froze for a moment. “Oh, clever. You’re targeting me on purpose, aren’t you?” Laughing, he put down a finger and took a shot. He’d picked the whiskey. After a sip, he raised his eyebrows and sniffed slightly. “Good one. But remember, when it’s my turn, I won’t hold back.”

The game picked up pace, laughter and drinks creating a cheerful rhythm that echoed through the caravan as they played.

Eddie, blending the burn of the alcohol with his laughter, was pleased to see Steve’s mood improving. Steve’s exaggerated expressions and muttered comments every time he put down a finger and reached for a random shot made Eddie laugh even harder.

Steve, a bit more relaxed, said, “Alright, my turn,” furrowing his brows as he thought. After a moment, he spoke with a sly grin on his face: “Never have I ever… played Dungeons & Dragons.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up, and then he dramatically lowered a finger. “Ah, Harrington. You and your ordinary life! But guess what? This only makes me stronger.” He picked a random glass and downed it quickly. When he realized it was wine, he scrunched up his face. “Wine? Seriously? Not my thing, man.”

Steve couldn’t help but laugh. Eddie raised his fingers again, signaling it was his turn. The mischievous grin on his face widened even more. “My turn. Never have I ever… been popular in high school.”

Steve’s laughter stopped abruptly, turning into a strangled groan at Eddie’s words. “Really, Eddie? That’s your move? Can’t you stop targeting me?” He lowered a finger and grabbed a shot glass from the table. This time, it was whiskey. As he sipped, his face twisted, but his defiant glare at Eddie didn’t waver. “You’re going to pay for that.”

Eddie leaned back in his chair, laughing. “Bring it on, Harrington. You’re terrifying me. Your turn.”

Steve thought for a moment with a cheeky grin before speaking. “Never have I ever… used a fake ID to get into a bar.”

Eddie burst into laughter again, reluctantly lowering another finger. “Alright, alright! I admit it, I’ve done it a few times. But for the record, I didn’t get caught.” He grabbed a random shot, relieved to find it was beer this time. “Looks like my luck’s turning around. But that won’t stop me from destroying you with my next confession.”

The game continued, the confessions becoming both funnier and a bit more personal. When Eddie said, “Never have I ever helped someone put gel in their hair,” Steve lowered another finger, rolling his eyes. “The fact that you make it sound like a crime is upsetting,” he retorted in mock indignation.

When Steve declared, “Never have I ever cried during a horror movie,” Eddie had to lower a finger. “But it was an emotional moment, okay? It happens in good movies!” he defended himself.

Eventually, both of them were down to their last finger. Eddie leaned back against the couch, smirking lightly as he looked at Steve. “One last move, Harrington. Make it count.”

Eddie’s chaotic yet cozy caravan was filled with the faint haze of alcohol, laughter, and gentle shaking from their movements. Steve leaned his head back against the couch, locking eyes with Eddie. Fueled by the alcohol and feeling the weight in his heart begin to lift, he sensed it was the right moment to let it out.

Eddie noticed the look on Steve’s face and smirked teasingly. “Harrington, judging by how hard you’re thinking, is your next move going to be that big? What are you hiding? Come on, let’s hear it.”

Steve took a deep breath, his eyes locked on Eddie’s bright, almost childlike but deeply expressive gaze, and began to speak. “Never have I ever… admitted to someone, especially someone, that I’m truly in love with them.”

Eddie’s laughter stopped abruptly. The sudden shift in mood left him staring at Steve in surprise. “Wow, that’s… that’s a big one, man. I mean, yeah, not the usual kind of thing to say during this game. But… solid move. So, in that case, I guess—”

Steve noticed Eddie trying to brush it off lightly and cut him off. “No, Eddie. I’m not done.”

That statement snapped Eddie’s full attention back to him. The determination in Steve’s expression cut through the air like a knife. Eddie, who had been casually slouched in his seat, straightened up and leaned slightly closer. “Alright, Harrington. I’m listening. Who’s the lucky person? Who’s got you all serious like this?”

Steve hesitated for a moment, studying Eddie’s slightly bewildered but curious face under the dim light of the caravan. It felt as if the rest of the world had disappeared, leaving just the two of them in a heavy silence. “That person...” Steve said, his voice slow but resolute. “That person is you, Eddie.”

Eddie froze in his seat, the weight of Steve’s words landing like a thunderclap. For a moment, he couldn’t speak. The sincerity in Steve’s eyes burned so intensely that Eddie knew instantly this wasn’t a joke.

“Harrington...” Eddie swallowed, searching for words. His face was a mixture of surprise, a faint smile, and a trace of confusion. “This… this is something you say in a drinking game? Or are you actually...”

Steve cut him off again, leaning in slightly. “Eddie, this isn’t a game. It’s not a joke. I’ve felt this way for a long time, but I didn’t know how to say it. Maybe I was scared. But now, here we are, and I have to tell you. Because I can’t keep it to myself anymore.”

Eddie just sat there, staring at Steve, clearly not expecting this kind of confession. Words seemed to elude him, an unusual occurrence for someone so quick-witted. His hands unconsciously gripped his glass tightly.

Steve grew uneasy at Eddie’s lack of response. “Eddie...” he said softly, almost timidly. “Say something, please. If… if this was a mistake or if it makes you uncomfortable...”

Eddie took a deep breath and finally spoke. “Hold on, Steve. This... I mean... are you serious? Really?” His voice wavered slightly, making him appear more vulnerable than Steve had ever seen.

Steve looked into Eddie’s eyes and, summoning every ounce of courage, nodded. “Yes, Eddie. I’m serious. But don’t you understand why it scared me so much to say this? You... you’re different. I never knew how to approach you. Because… what if you rejected me?”

Eddie was still in shock. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned back against the couch. “This... how long have you felt this way?”

Steve lowered his head slightly and sighed. “I don’t know. I can’t remember exactly when it started. But I think the first time I truly felt it was when we were walking and talking together in that damn Upside Down. Watching you, I thought... this guy is someone special. It was hard to admit how I felt at that moment. Because… because you’re the complete opposite of everything I am.”

Eddie let out a sarcastic laugh, but it was nothing more than an attempt to mask his astonishment. “And that’s why you said nothing? Seriously, Steve? God...” He paused for a moment, then averted his gaze from Steve and added, “You know what’s ironic? I’ve... I’ve had feelings for you since high school.”

Steve’s face froze entirely. “What?” he whispered in disbelief. “Eddie, are you... are you serious?!”

Eddie rolled his eyes, though it was just another way to cover up his shyness. “I’m serious, Harrington. But you, Steve Harrington, were the King of Hawkins High. Popular, handsome, the guy everyone chased after. And who was I? A ‘freak,’ the outcast kid. How could I have said anything to you?”

Hearing Eddie’s words, Steve almost flinched as though in pain. “But Eddie… you… how did I not see it? God, I wish I had been braver.”

Eddie shook his head, a bittersweet smile playing on his lips. “If you couldn’t be brave, neither could I. Because I felt the same fear. The fear of losing you. Even when there was the slightest hint of friendship between us, I didn’t want to risk it. And… tonight, when Robin didn’t come, I realized being alone with you scared me. Because I knew exactly how I’d feel.”

Steve became even more emotional at this confession. “That’s why I was a little nervous today, too. But Eddie... the fact that tonight started as just another game night has already made it one of the best moments of my life. Because now, I’m not hiding. And I’m not carrying the fear of losing you. No matter what, I had to tell you this.”

Eddie’s smile slowly faded as he gazed into Steve’s eyes. Steve’s eyes were glistening, fighting back tears. His lips quivered slightly. “Eddie... but what if... what if I made a mistake tonight? What if... what if I ruined everything?” he said, his voice cracking and low.

Eddie immediately grew serious, reaching out to take Steve’s hands in his own. “Hey, hey. Listen to me. This is not a mistake. It’s never a mistake. Everything you’ve said, everything you’ve felt, it’s all real. And I’m here. I’m right here with you.”

Steve nodded, taking a deep breath. “But I’m scared, Eddie. Even just sitting here with you... the possibility that everything could go wrong is killing me. Maybe… maybe I was too open.”

Eddie leaned in closer to Steve’s face, his brown eyes radiating a heartfelt warmth. “Steve Harrington, you are the bravest person in the world. What you did—opening your heart to me—is the biggest thing anyone could do. And know this: I feel the same way. We don’t have to rush this. But there’s one thing you need to know: everything is okay. You and me... this feels so much more right than you think.”

Steve, Eddie’s words seemed to calm him down a little, though he still couldn’t hide the emotional expression on his face. He smiled faintly, licking his lips for a moment before nodding. “So... Eddie, can I ask you something?”

Eddie raised his eyebrows slightly. “Of course. Ask away.”

Steve cleared his throat and spoke a bit shyly. “Who won the game?”

Eddie stayed silent for a moment, then smiled and shook his head. “We both did. Something far more important than any game.”

Steve paused at those words, then leaned in closer to Eddie. “Eddie... I... thank you. For accepting me like this, for seeing me for who I am.”

Eddie tilted his head gently and lightly touched Steve’s cheeks. “You don’t have to say that. I’ve already accepted everything about you long ago. And if you’ll let me... I’d like to try something.”

Steve’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t hesitate for even a second before nodding. “I’ll let you.”

Eddie smiled softly as he leaned toward Steve. The distance between them gradually disappeared, their breaths mingling. And finally, Eddie’s lips brushed against Steve’s. It was a kiss that felt soft, gentle, and like the beginning of everything.

After the kiss, Eddie pulled back slightly and murmured with a smile, “I’ve been waiting for that for a long time.”

Steve, still looking slightly stunned and bashful, gazed at him with a wide smile on his face. “I should’ve done this sooner.”

Eddie couldn’t hold back his laughter, shaking his head. “Maybe now was the right time. But you know what, Harrington? This is a pretty good start.”

And in the dim light of the trailer, an old horror movie played in the background. But tonight, neither of them cared to watch. They were about to star in their own movie.

taglist: @t-folklore13 @multyfangirl @nicholaschavezslut69

[sequinsmile-x]

would like to suggest a hotchniss christmas fic that's basically the song "i saw mommy kissing santa claus"

omg YES. YES.

Here you go bestie xo

-x-

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus

Evie Hotchner sees something on Christmas Eve that she doesn't think she should have seen.

AKA - the one in which I've written exactly what you think I've written.

-x-

Warnings: None

Words: 2.1k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

“You excited for tomorrow, Mommy?” 

Emily smiles and puts the book she’d been holding down on her lap as she turns to her daughter, “I am, baby. I love Christmas.” 

Evie’s smile gets wider, the three year old no closer to sleep than she was when she’d brought her up to bed 40 minutes ago, “Me too!! Lots of presents.” 

“Lots of presents,” Emily chuckles and kisses her forehead, thinking of all the gifts hidden in the attic that she’d promised to help her husband with once the kids were in bed. 

“And it’s Zaccy’s first Christmas,” she says, her eyebrows furrowing, the serious look that she’d inherited from Aaron spreading across her face, “Will Santa know about him?” 

Emily runs her fingers through her hair, an old trick that had helped to send her to sleep since she was a baby, and she tugs Evie closer, the love she had for her little brother enough to make Emily want to cry.

When she was first pregnant with Issac, she’d worried about Evie’s reaction to becoming a big sister. Since she was a tiny newborn, she’d always been all about Emily, desperate for her mother’s affection and attention at any given moment. It had made those early days long, when she’d refuse to settle for Aaron - something that Emily knew upset him - and she’d sit up in bed with Evie asleep on her chest because it was the only place she’d sleep for longer than 10 minutes. When they brought Issac home, the final missing piece to their family, and Evie was complacent about him at best,  Aaron assured Emily that their little girl would be fine, that there would be an adjustment period for all of them, but that she loved her little brother even if she didn’t know it yet. 

He was right, just like he was more often than Emily would care to admit, and Evie was obsessed with her little brother now. Sometimes they’d find her asleep on his bedroom floor, curled under her bedding that she’d pulled in after her with her favourite stuffed animal in her arms. 

“Yes,” she says, kissing her forehead again, “Santa knows about Zaccy, don’t worry,” she smiles as she thinks of the 6-month-old sleeping in the next room, “And remember what we said - he’s small so he doesn’t understand it all yet.” 

“It okay, I open his presents.” 

She chuckles, “Okay, sweet girl, you need to go to sleep.”

Evie sighs like she has the weight of the world on her shoulders, “I’m too excited to sleep.” 

She hums and continues to run her fingers through her hair, smiling to herself as she tells her daughter the only white lie she’d ever tell her, “But Santa won’t come if you don’t sleep.”

Evie’s eyes go wide before she squeezes them shut, her grip on Emily’s shirt getting tighter, “I go to sleep now.” 

Emily kisses the top of her head and picks the book back up, holding it with one hand whilst the other still plays with her little girl’s hair as she reads to her. She slowly feels Evie get heavier as she falls asleep, her grip on her shirt loosening just as Emily finishes the book. She sneaks out from under Evie and tucks the covers around her, dropping a kiss against her temple before she slips out of the room, making sure she’s quiet as she pulls the door closed behind her. She checks on Issac and Jack, relieved to find them both asleep, and heads downstairs. 

She smiles when she walks into the living room to find the presents all gathered around the tree already, toys and books she’d spent weeks agonising over all wrapped up and ready for her three kids to tear into them all in seconds. She sometimes had to pinch herself when she thought about the fact that this was her life. She had a family of her own, one she’d built together with the love of her life, and she was able to give her children the Christmases she’d always wanted when she was a kid herself. 

Aaron would always gently make fun of her and her love of the holidays, his smile wide and full of love as he patiently stood next to her as she picked out decorations and sparkling lights. It never went further than a playful comment or a raised eyebrow because he knew how important it was to her. 

She hears his footsteps behind her, and she turns, “Sorry, honey, I would have helped but Evie…” she trails off when she sees him, her words turning into a laugh as she’s met with the sight of him in the Santa Claus outfit they’d bought and hidden with all the gifts. He’d insisted on it, his eyes full of excitement as he said he’d surprise the kids with it, something she knew was his own attempt to give them what he’d never had, “Why are you wearing that?” 

He shrugs and pulls the fake beard down, “I wanted to check that it fits,” he asks, and she watches as he turns as if he’s trying out a new suit for work, “What do you think?” 

She hums, love for him thrumming under her skin, “It looks good.” 

He chuckles and raises an eyebrow at her, “Santa? Really?” 

She rolls her eyes and slaps his shoulder lightly, smiling when he captures her hand and kisses her knuckles, “No,” she exclaims, her nose scrunched up with disgust, “Not like that.” 

Aaron leans in to kiss her, “I know that look, Issac exists because of that look.”

She shakes her head at him and wraps her arms around his neck, her fingers curled around the bobble on the end of his Santa hat, “It’s not the Santa suit,” she says, stamping her lips against his, “It’s you being such a good Dad.” 

He hums against her lips, “Love you.” 

She pulls back just enough to speak, her lips skimming his as her breath skips across his face, “I love you too.”

She kisses him again, and they get lost in each other, both of them too distracted to hear a quiet gasp from the doorway followed by their little girl's footsteps on the hardwood floor as she runs back upstairs to her bedroom.

__

Emily wakes up at the sound of a bedroom door opening down the hall, closely followed by thundering footsteps. 

“Incoming,” Aaron says from behind her, his voice rough from sleep and misuse as he encourages her closer with the arm thrown over her waist. She has just enough to turn and kiss him before the door opens, Evie and Jack speaking in unison from the doorway, Issac smiling widely in Jack’s arms, his tiny hands already reaching out for his mom.

“Merry Christmas!” 

Emily and Aaron both sit up as they smile at their children, beckoning them over to the bed as Aaron switches on the lamp on his nightstand.

“Merry Christmas,” Emily says as she opens her arms up to take Issac from Jack. She kisses the baby’s cheek several times in a row, “It’s your first Christmas, sweet boy,” she kisses his cheek again, “Are you excited?”

“He was already awake when we went into his room,” Jack says as he settles on the bed in between his parents, “He was just sitting there like he was waiting.” 

“Were you waiting for your brother and sister?” She smiles as she settles Issac into her lap, “My patient little guy.”  Issac was Aaron all the way through, his quietness in comparison to his older sister already pronounced at only 6-months-old. Emily had lost sleep in the early weeks of his life for an entirely different reason to Evie’s, so used to how her little girl had cried for hours at a time that she was convinced something was wrong with her newborn son. She turns to look at Evie who was sitting in Aaron’s lap, her attention focused on a loose thread on the hem of his t-shirt, “Are you okay, sweet girl?” 

Evie shrugs and doesn’t look up at her, and Emily and Aaron exchange a concerned look. He adjusts his hold on the toddler so she’s looking at him. 

“Do you want to go give Mommy a Christmas cuddle?” He asks, trying to pull a smile out of her by tickling her, and she shakes her head fiercely, holding on to him tightly. 

“No,” she says, the tone in her voice cutting deeper than Emily thought possible as she looks up at her, “Mommy was naughty.” 

Emily furrows her brow, the serious look on her little girl’s face a vice around her heart as she tries to figure out what she’d done wrong to upset her, “What do you mean, baby?” 

Evie shakes her head again, “Can’t say.” 

Aaron looks at Emily and doesn’t miss the hurt flashing across her face, and he knows he needs to fix whatever is going on before it ruins their first Christmas morning as a family of five, “Princess, you can tell us anything, you know that.” 

The little girl sighs and looks up at her father, her lower lip sticking out as it wobbles ever so slightly, “Mommy kissed someone else,” she says, turning to look at Emily again, “I saw you kissing Santa.” 

Any concern she’d had that she’d somehow upset her daughter without knowing how disappears in a second, replaced with amusement she has to swallow down. She keeps her eyes fixed on her daughter, knowing if she made eye contact with her husband she’d laugh, and that would only upset Evie more right now. 

“Baby-”

“I saw you,” Evie says, her arms crossed over her chest, “Last night.” 

Aaron tries this time, desperately trying to think of how he could explain this to his little girl without running Christmas for her, without shattering the illusion of Santa years before he’d hoped it would happen. 

“That wasn’t the real Santa,” Jack cuts in, missing the look of panic in his parent's eyes as he tries to help. 

“Jack-” Aaron warns, but Jack carries on undeterred. He’d mentioned this year that he knew Santa wasn’t real, which Emily knew Aaron found harder to accept than he’d anticipated. They’d sat him down and explained that it was important for his brother and sister to still believe it, and he’d nodded along, pleased to be in on the secret, his smile wide at Evie’s excitement when they’d gone to meet Santa in the mall a week ago. 

“The real Santa is busy, right?” Jack says, cutting over Aaron. Evie nods in response and Jack carries on, “So he has Mommy’s and Daddy’s help out with putting out the presents - that was Daddy you saw Mommy kissing last night.” 

Evie’s frown loosens a little, her eyes flicking back and forth between her parents, “Really?” 

Emily looks at Aaron and he shrugs, both of them grateful that their eldest had come up with an answer when they hadn’t been able to, “Yeah,” she says, reaching out and tucking some of Evie’s hair behind her ear, “Really,” she looks up at her husband and winks, “Daddy’s the only person I want to kiss.” 

Evie sighs in relief and finally slips into Emily’s lap, “Merry Christmas Mommy.” 

She smiles and holds her close, one arm around her and the other around Issac and she drops kisses on top of both of their heads. She looks over at Aaron and Jack, both of them beaming at her, and she sighs contentedly, “Merry Christmas, baby.” 

“Right,” Aaron says, throwing the covers off of his lap and standing up, “How about some Christmas pancakes?” Jack and Evie exclaim and scramble off the bed, both of them already in the hallway before he can call after them, “Jack, make sure your sister is careful on the stairs.” 

“Yes, Dad!” 

He turns and looks at Emily, his smile turning into a smirk as she stands up, Issac on her hip, “So-”

“Don’t even say anything,” she replies, raising her eyebrow at him, her cheeks warm with embarrassment, “I can’t believe she saw that,” she blows out a breath, “Thank fuck Jack can think on his feet. We’re going to have to be more careful next year.”

He hums and wraps his arm around her waist, tugging her close to kiss her temple, her cheek and then the corner of her lips, “We’ll keep the Santa kissing strictly to the bedroom.” 

She rolls her eyes as she pulls away from him, “How many times do I have to say it was not the Santa costume I found attractive, but you being a good dad?”

He chuckles and wraps his arm around her shoulders, taking a moment to run his knuckles down Issac’s cheek before he starts to lead them out of the bedroom. 

“I believe you, sweetheart,” he says, leaning in to kiss her cheek, “Thousands wouldn’t.”

[earthlybeam]

Part 2 continue reading below.

I can’t even explain how much I love writing about Gil-galad—he’s everything! He deserves nothing less than the absolute best words I can give him. This is for real Gil-galad Supremacy ✨🫶🔥❤️‍🔥

Gil-galad would react to his human S/O organising him a birthday party, complete with homemade gift, and baking and decorating him a birthday cake

Part 1 here

✨👑🏵️ 𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭 🏵️👑✨

🜲 You step closer to him, smiling as you carefully take the pendant from his hands. Gil-galad watches you with a soft, awed expression, as though he still can’t fully grasp the depth of what you’ve done for him. His gaze is tender and full of gratitude, the pendant glimmering faintly in your hands as you reach up to place it around his neck.“Let me help you with this,” you say softly, your voice gentle, intimate, and full of warmth. Standing close to him, you carefully fasten the chain, your fingers brushing against his hair at the back of his neck. Once the star-shaped pendant is in place, it rests perfectly against his chest, catching the golden light of the setting sun.

🜲 You take a small step back to admire your work, your hands lingering lightly on his shoulders. “It suits you,” you murmur, tilting your head as you gaze up at him. “A symbol of who you are—my brightest star, my guiding light.” Gil-galad’s breath hitches at your words, and his hands instinctively come up to rest on yours, which are still on his shoulders. The tips of his long fingers lightly brush against your skin, his touch reverent. “You honor me more than I deserve, meleth-nîn,” he says, his voice unsteady yet full of emotion. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt more seen, more loved, than I do in this moment.”

🜲 Smiling, you step closer and rise on your toes to press a soft kiss to the tip of his sensitive ear. His breath catches audibly, his hands gripping your arms a little tighter as his eyes flutter shut. You take the chance to whisper into his ear, your voice low and full of love. “You are everything, Gil-galad. Not just to your people, but to me. You’ve carried so much for so long, but today is about you. You deserve every ounce of love, joy, and peace in this world—and I’ll make sure you have it, always.” For a moment, he is utterly still, as though your words have rooted him to the spot. Then, he exhales a shaky breath, his head dipping as though to hide his face, though you can see the faint glimmer of tears in his eyes again. “Your words… your love… they are the greatest treasures I could ever receive,” he whispers.

🜲 You give him a moment to collect himself before gently taking his hand and leading him toward the table, where the cake sits waiting. As you approach, you light the candles, their flickering glow casting a warm light against the evening backdrop. The stars above Lindon now shine faintly, as if blessing the moment. You gesture for him to sit, and as he does, you begin to sing “Happy Birthday,” your voice soft and slightly playful, but filled with affection. Gil-galad watches you the entire time, his lips curving into a smile that is equal parts amusement, wonder, and pure love. When the song ends, you grin at him, leaning close to the table. “Make a wish,” you say, your tone conspiratorial, as if you’re sharing a secret. “And don’t tell me what it is, or it won’t come true.” Gil-galad chuckles softly at your words, a deep, melodic sound that fills the quiet garden. He looks at the cake, the candles flickering like tiny stars, and for a moment, his expression turns thoughtful. Then, with a soft breath, he closes his eyes and leans forward, blowing out the candles. The flames disappear, and the warm light dims for just a moment before the lanterns around the garden seem to glow a little brighter.

🜲 When he looks back at you, there is a twinkle in his eye that wasn’t there before. “I don’t need to make a wish,” he says, his voice soft yet firm, “because everything I could ever hope for is already here—with you.” His words take your breath away, and as you sit down beside him, his hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “Thank you,” he whispers, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. “For this, for everything. You’ve turned what was once just another day into a memory I will carry forever.” You smile up at him, your hand resting on top of his, and together, the two of you sit under the stars, basking in the warmth of each other’s presence and the light of love that fills the air around you.

(His Lil tongue 👅 playing peak a boo)

🜲 You pick up the delicate knife and begin to cut into the cake, the blade sliding effortlessly through the soft sponge layers. The gentle aroma of elderflower and honey fills the air, mingling with the sweetness of wild berries and the faint floral note of lavender. As you place the first slice on a plate and offer it to Gil-galad, his expression is one of curiosity and anticipation. “This is beautiful,” he says, marveling at the intricate design of the cake as you pass him a fork. “It’s almost a shame to eat it. You truly thought of everything, didn’t you?”

🜲 “Well,” you tease lightly, sitting beside him and picking up a fork of your own, “a king deserves a feast, doesn’t he? But you’re not just going to look at it, are you? Taste it.” Gil-galad chuckles softly, his deep voice warm and filled with affection. “How could I refuse, with you watching so intently?” He takes a small bite, his elegant movements always carrying a natural grace. The flavors seem to bloom across his senses, his expression softening as he savors the unique blend of the elderflower sponge, the silky vanilla cream, and the delicate sweetness of the berries. “This… this is extraordinary,” he says after a moment, his eyes meeting yours, filled with sincere admiration. “I’ve tasted the finest dishes crafted by the hands of Elves, but nothing has ever compared to this. You’ve captured Lindon itself in a cake, meleth-nîn. How do you do it?”

🜲 “Love and a bit of human stubbornness,” you reply with a grin, reaching for a piece of cake yourself. But as you watch him take another bite, an idea forms in your mind—a playful one. Before he can react, you hold out a small forkful of cake toward him. “Here, let me,” you say, your voice innocent, though there’s a mischievous glint in your eyes. Gil-galad raises a brow but leans in, humor sparkling in his gaze as he indulges you. He takes the offered bite from your fork, his lips brushing lightly against the metal. “You spoil me,” he murmurs with a chuckle, but as he speaks, a small smear of cream remains at the corner of his mouth. “Oh no, look what I’ve done,” you say, feigning innocence as you lean closer. Your thumb brushes the corner of his lips, as though to wipe it away—but rather than stopping there, you gently trace the cream down toward his chin, leaving a playful streak. Gil-galad blinks, caught off guard for a moment. “You missed a spot,” he says dryly, clearly aware of your antics now.

🜲 “Did I?” you say with exaggerated surprise, leaning in even closer. Before he can respond, you tilt your head and press your lips to the cream on his chin, licking it away with deliberate slowness. His sharp inhale is audible, his hands twitching slightly on the table as if unsure whether to pull you closer or simply let you carry on. “Meleth-nîn,” he says, his voice both amused and slightly strained, “you are a dangerous creature.” You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, a cheeky smile playing on your lips. “Dangerous? I’m just making sure my cake presentation is flawless,” you reply, laughing softly.

🜲 Gil-galad shakes his head, though his laughter joins yours, low and warm. “You are impossible. A force to be reckoned with.” Despite his words, his hand comes up to rest lightly on your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a gesture of pure affection. “But I wouldn’t have you any other way.” You beam at him, feeling a warm rush of affection as you reach for another forkful of cake. “I’ll let you get me back later, but for now, finish your cake,” you tease. “You still haven’t had enough to judge if it’s truly worthy of the High King.” Gil-galad leans closer, his smile softening. “Worthy? It is perfect. As is everything you do, my beloved.” His words send a pleasant shiver down your spine, but the moment is lightened as he takes another bite of cake, still smiling at you like you’re the brightest star in all the heavens. And perhaps to him, you are.

(The smile in this so cute 🥰)

🜲 As the last bite of cake is savored, you notice the subtle shift in the air. The breeze carries the faintest rustle of leaves, and the light of the star-shaped lanterns hanging from the branches above casts a soft, golden glow over the private garden. The scene feels almost magical, the backdrop of Lindon’s hills and sea stretching into the distance, touched by the silver light of evening. Gil-galad sets his plate aside, his fingers brushing yours briefly as you gather it. He studies you for a moment, his deep, blue-gray eyes filled with a mixture of affection and curiosity.

🜲 “Thank you for this,” he says, his voice low, reverent. “Not just for the celebration, but for everything. You’ve given me a moment I will cherish for all my days.” You smile warmly, reaching out to take his hand in yours. “Well,” you say softly, “I’m not done yet. There’s one more thing.” Standing, you gently tug him to his feet. His movements are fluid and graceful, but there’s a hint of curiosity in his gaze as he allows you to guide him to the open space beneath the glowing lanterns. The soft, golden light sways with the gentle breeze, casting delicate patterns across the ground.

🜲 “What are you up to now, meleth-nîn?” he asks, his tone playful yet tender. You step closer, sliding your hands up to rest on his shoulders as you look up at him. “Just one dance,” you whisper. “No music, no distractions. Just us.” His expression softens, and without hesitation, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you gently closer. “You know the Elves of Lindon could hear even the faintest music if it were playing,” he murmurs, the teasing lilt in his voice accompanied by the warmth in his gaze. “But I find the sound of your heart far sweeter.” Your breath catches at his words, but you tilt your head and smile. “Then listen closely, because it beats just for you.”

🜲 Slowly, the two of you begin to sway together, the rhythm dictated not by music but by the natural cadence of your bodies and the love that binds you. His hands are steady on your waist, his touch light yet firm, and his movements graceful as though he were born to dance. You, by contrast, move more simply, but there is an intimacy in how you follow his lead, in how you fit together so seamlessly. The lanterns above sway gently in the breeze, casting fleeting light across his face. You catch glimpses of the way his features soften—his eyes fixed only on you, his lips curling into the faintest smile. You feel his warmth, his steady presence grounding you, even as your heart seems to soar.

🜲 Neither of you speaks for a long moment. The only sounds are the rustle of leaves and the distant crashing of waves far below. The stars above seem to shine brighter, as though bearing witness to this quiet, sacred moment between the two of you. When Gil-galad finally breaks the silence, his voice is hushed, like a prayer meant only for you. “Do you know what you mean to me?” he asks. “You’ve not only shared my days, meleth-nîn—you’ve brightened them, filled them with joy I never thought I would feel again. You are my light in this world.”

🜲 His words make your chest tighten, your emotions catching you off guard. You lean closer, pressing your forehead against his, letting your eyes flutter shut as you whisper, “And you are mine. My anchor, my star. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than here, with you.” The dance slows further, your movements becoming almost still as you simply hold onto each other. It is as if time itself has stopped, leaving only the two of you in this perfect, fleeting moment.

🜲 And then, as if the stars themselves wish to honor the High King’s birthday, a single firework blooms in the sky. The sound is distant but sharp, the explosion unfurling into a cascade of brilliant colors—silver and gold that rain down like stars upon the backdrop of Lindon. You both stop, turning slightly to look up, but neither of you lets go. The firework lights Gil-galad’s face, and you can see the soft wonder in his expression as his gaze shifts back to you. Without a word, he cups your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin, and lowers his lips to yours.

🜲 The kiss is slow, tender, and filled with every ounce of love and devotion he has for you. His lips are warm and soft, lingering as though he wishes to pour all the unspoken words of his heart into this one gesture. You kiss him back with equal tenderness, your hands slipping up to tangle in his hair as the distant firework fades, leaving only the warmth of each other. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and his voice is a whisper. “I wished for you long ago, though I thought it impossible. Yet here you are, my heart’s greatest treasure.” You smile, your own voice catching as you reply, “And you are mine, for as long as you’ll have me.” Gil-galad chuckles softly, his arms tightening around you. “Forever, meleth-nîn. Forever and beyond.”

[lovebittenbyevans]

A Love Rekindled | Part 3

Summary: It has been two and a half years since you and him have seen each other. As you and Oscar Piastri crossed paths with each other again – you both start to wonder if the love you both had for each other truly faded

Pairing: volleyballplayer/ex-boyfriend! Oscar Piastri x Female Reader

Warnings: none

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Part 3

You let out a sigh feeling annoyed. Your mind was racing a mile a minute. You didn’t expect him to question you at all about you and him. You haven’t thought about being with him again.

Being back in New York for almost a week you feel like home again. You kind of felt back to normal and yourself again. Your mind has been turned on for the last few days. You need a week in Chicago to shut your brain off and not think.

“Mate, why can you never be real honest with him?” George asked you.

You thought about it for a second before you started to talk. “Because I know the answer he is looking for and I am not willing to argue with him about it.”

George sat on the chair stool next to you and said. “You can’t be scared forever, Y/N.”

You scoff. “Excuse me? Who said I was scared? I am allowed to feel however I want.”

He rolls his eyes and places his hand on yours. “Look, Oscar is like a brother to me and I would hate to see him not be with the woman who loves to run from her problems and not face them.”

You hate the fact that he knows you better than yourself sometimes. You sigh and shake your head. “G, we both know it won’t work between us.”

George raises an eyebrow. “How long are you going to keep using that same excuse?” He pulls his hand away. “I think you should just stop running and text him.”

A part of you wanted to argue with him but you took a moment to process what he was telling you. You know he was right but at the same time you didn’t want to feel disappointed again.

You huffed and took your phone from your pajama pocket. “I hate you.” Your tone was playful.

He chuckles a bit. “I am just looking out for you, love.”

You type in his name before you click on it and send him a message. You thought about what to tell him and then began typing on your phone.

You: Oscar, I know you probably don’t want to talk to me but I am truly sorry. You are right I am scared. I am scared that we would have gone our separate ways once you became this BIG volleyball star. I was scared that you wouldn’t love me at all. I was scared that you fell out of love with me once we went our separate ways. I was starting to not love you anymore once you got good at volleyball and people began to recognize you. I’m sorry.

You hit the send button and then looked at George. “I sent it but how are you?” You finally changed the subject.

He shrugs. “I’m good. I’m happy I have these few days off before game day.”

You nod. “And how is Nicki?”

He clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. “She’s good and busy.”

“Uh huh.” You smirks. “Are you in love George?”

His eyes widened as you both noticed your phone vibrating against your lap. “It’s kind of too early, mate.”

You shake your head and check your phone, noticing that Oscar has responded to you. You were kind of nervous to read what he said to you. You clicked on the three messages he sent and read what he wrote to you.

Oscar: scared, huh? You are not the easiest woman I have ever dealt with. You used to be so sweet, down to earth and laid back but now you are this woman who has an attitude lol I never thought I see the day that you apologize but I will say I am happy you are finally being honest with me

Oscar: Everyday I thought about you and I still love you

Oscar: baby steps but when I’m in New York we will definitely talk again y/n

You smile a bit reading the text message before you place your phone back into your pajamas pocket. “I’m guessing from that smile everything is ok?” George got up from the chair stool and went straight to the kitchen.

“Something like that.” You glance to see him taking some pots out the cabinet.

He placed the cutting board on the counter. “Well, we both know Oscar can’t stay mad at you for long.” He placed the green pepper and red pepper on the cutting board.

You rise from the chair stool and head to the kitchen. “Whatever, what are you cooking for me today G?” You prop yourself up on the counter and glance at him.

George began to slice the green peppers in half. “You will see.”

“Do Nicki cook for you?” You tease him.

He shot you a look. “See yeah no we are doing this. Get the brussel sprouts out of the fridge and start cutting them up.”

You jump off the counter and laugh. “One day you tell me all about her.”

“Worry about Oscar first.” He told you while cutting up the green and red peppers with a sharp knife.

[lalavenderangel]

i just…🫠😮‍💨🥹🤍

[nessa007]

i still can’t believe how lucky i got with having halle and jonah as ariel and eric! 😭🩵

[themonsternextdoor]

I need this. I don’t care about anything else but this show, they DESERVE a show as leads and as a main couple.

[berilynzoe]

your blurb about Caracalla is wild I was fully convinced he killed him out of jealousy like he did in real life I never thought of how you put it

Exactly. I’m glad people are seeing it from a different light (it also helps seeing the film more than once & being able to pay more attention I plan to go see it again & really pay attention to Caracalla)

I think Joe & Fred took creative liberties (with guidance from Ridley of course) with their interpretations of these real life people.

If you look at real life Caracalla | Geta vs GII Caracalla | Geta there’s major differences.

Real life Caracalla & Geta weren’t twins, they weren’t red heads & the biggest thing is HATED each other. They were never around each other & lived completely separate lives. Their mother had to be the one to bring them together to get anything done & it was her apartment where Geta was murdered.

GII C&G were always seen together. Geta was the one who was responsible for calming his brother down & acted as his keeper. They barely fought in the film but we also got like 0 information for their history so there’s that. He was definitely jealous don’t get me wrong. He told Macrinus straight up “nothing is ever mine, it’s always ours” so there’s was that jealousy there, which I think can be reflected on real life. Caracalla was the oldest of the two and Geta was becoming more popular so he was jealous 100%. From what we were given in the film though, they didn’t hate each other as they did in real life.

I’ll die the hill telling you I don’t think he would’ve killed Geta in this film & don’t hold him solely responsible for his death.