#start rebounding for fitness

[definitelynotnia]

i need The Greatest, Chihiro, Blue and L'amour De Ma Vie injected into my bloodstream stat.

[wachinyeya]

A major review of over 67,000 animal species has found that while the natural world continues to face a biodiversity crisis, targeted conservation efforts are helping bring many species back from the brink of extinction.

The study draws on data from the IUCN Red List, the world's largest database of species conservation status. The researchers say their results, reported in the journal PLOS Biology, highlight both the successes and the need for urgent action.

The world is facing a global biodiversity crisis, with 28% of more than 160,000 assessed species threatened with extinction, and an estimated one million species facing this fate due to human activities. However, conservation measures can be successful if there is concrete evidence about what works.

The researchers, led by the University of Cambridge with the IUCN, BirdLife International, and Oxford and Durham Universities, used Red List data to assess whether conservation measures had been put in place, and whether those actions had a positive impact on a given species' conservation status.

"We found that almost all the species that have moved from a more threatened category to a less threatened category have benefited from some sort of conservation measures," said lead author Ashley Simkins, a Ph.D. candidate in Cambridge's Department of Zoology. "It's a strong signal that conservation works."

While there is no 'one size fits all' solution, the researchers observed some connections between conservation success stories. Many of these species live in isolated areas, such as islands, where intensive conservation efforts—such as habitat protection, captive breeding and reintroductions—can be fully implemented.

"While biodiversity loss is a genuine crisis, it's vital that we celebrate the success stories wherever and whenever we can," said Simkins. "It's so hard for a species to improve its conservation status, but with the right effort, we can turn things around."

The Iberian lynx, once the world's most endangered cat, has rebounded from just a few hundred individuals to a few thousand. Likewise, the kākāpō, a flightless parrot from New Zealand, has benefited from dedicated recovery programs. And the European bison, which was hunted to extinction in the wild in the early 20th century, now roams parts of Eastern Europe thanks to sustained conservation efforts over decades.

Marine species have also seen dramatic recoveries. Humpback and blue whales, once driven to the brink of extinction by commercial whaling, have made a comeback after an international moratorium on whaling. However, despite these success stories, the study found that six times more species are declining than improving.

The researchers say that, like human health care, preventative measures in conservation are preferable and more cost-effective to emergency interventions.

"Humans have gotten pretty good at what could be considered 'A&E' conservation—focusing on species at very high risk of extinction," said Simkins. "What we're less good at is preventing species from becoming threatened in the first place. We need to move beyond treating the symptoms of biodiversity loss and start addressing the root causes."

The researchers also emphasize the need for collaborative, locally driven conservation. In Papua New Guinea, for example, conservationists worked with local communities to replace tree kangaroo hunting with sustainable forms of animal protein, including farming of chickens and fishing—an approach that benefitted both people and wildlife.

"It's vital that we as conservationists are working with stakeholders, rather than dictating to them, whether that's an Indigenous community in Papua New Guinea or a farmer in Somerset," said Simkins.

"Conservation doesn't have to be a zero-sum game—there are compromises that can benefit both the natural world and human society."

"In this climate of constant stories about wildlife declines and insufficient political action to protect nature, it's important to realize that there are also many success stories and that conservation efforts are making a real, demonstrable impact on the world," said co-senior author Dr. Silviu Petrovan, also from the Department of Zoology. "Conservation works if given the chance."

"This research sheds light on which actions to save species have been effective, and what interventions are needed," said co-author Dr. Stuart Butchart, Chief Scientist at BirdLife International. "Governments need to turn their words into actions, and rapidly scale up efforts to save species from extinction and help populations to recover. Safeguarding our natural heritage for future generations depends upon this."

"The IUCN Red List of Threatened Species informs and guides on-the-ground conservation decisions; actions which are further guided by the research presented in this publication," said co-author Craig Hilton-Taylor, Head of the IUCN Red List.

"Almost everyone will have their own favorite example of a conservation success story, whether it's the bald eagle in North America, or the red kite in the UK," said Simkins. We need joint action to ensure these positive stories aren't the exception—they're the norm."

[peanutalergy]

letting – asking 𖦹 s.r. × reader

in which fem!reader takes what is meant to be a casual thing too far

tags: insane angst, spencer is a bit of a dick ngl, mentions of sex (nothing explicit), post prison!spence, age gap mentioned but not really that relevant, inexperienced!reader, reader is so me lowk

wc: 2.2k

a/n: first time ever posting the shit i write please don't make fun of me this sucks so bad I can't write nicely but I had a vision and I needed to read this I'm aware it's insanely ooc don't worry I hate it too but I'm trying to overcome my anxiety I need to post it I'm sorry. english isn't my first language !!

is it casual now?

you were a rebound. you've known since the very beginning, he was kind enough to let you know. he had just gotten off a long-term relationship with a woman much closer to his own age — who you couldn’t help but notice looked an awful lot like you — and all he wanted was comfort. spencer said he couldn't have, couldn't give anything else. he wasn't looking for anything other than a warm body. you were that for him. a young, pretty, lonely college girl. that's all it was.

but it's been going on for far too long. you met last summer, and it was almost spring again. you don't really have that much experience with situationships, hell, you don't have that much experience with anything, and yet, even you know this shouldn't have lasted as much as it has. it's not normal to have a copy of his keys, or a space in his dresser, or a makeup bag in his bathroom, is it? is it okay that he's been calling you things like my love and my baby and my girl?

truth is, you'd fallen in love with him. you've known it since halloween, a few months into this, when you two dressed up as the tenth doctor and rose for trick or treating together. after you got home and he was helping you take off your makeup while rambling about doctor who, you looked up at him and simply knew.

you started calling his apartment home after the first time he went on a case and let – asked – you to stay there for the whole week. you still have your own apartment, but you're barely there. it's just an extra place to keep the clothes you couldn't fit into the drawers he emptied out for you. this was home. he was home.

when he asked you to be his valentine by sending chocolates and a bouquet, the first real bouquet you ever got from a guy, it's safe to say you were confused. when he took you out to the nicest restaurant you'd ever been to, and gave you the most gorgeous necklace you've ever seen, and told you you're the prettiest girl in the world when you put it on along with the dress he bought for you, you were convinced there was something going on. you spent the whole evening thinking he might have changed his mind, he might actually want you to be his girl, despite the agreement. people change.

until you got home and, after having sex, he shattered your silly dream with a simple question:

“you know you can see other people if you want to, right?”

you're not even sure why those words hurt so much, after all, deep down, you knew you could. he's not your boyfriend. but the fact he feels the need to remind you of such thing, especially after the night you two had, hurts, a strange kind of pain you'd never felt before, and you're sure he could feel your heart breaking inside your chest beneath his head. if he hadn't heard it then, though, he certainly did after a beat, when the next words slipped out of your mouth in a shaky whisper.

“have you been seeing other people?”

“no, of course not. i just think i should let you know. i can't give you anything more than what we have now, so i don't think it's fair to ask you for loyalty.”

and you haven't been able to think straight since then. all your other answers that night were short and dry, and the fact that spencer didn't ask if you were okay made it clear that he knew you weren't, and he knew why.

you loved him.

now, weeks after, you were standing on his balcony with a warm cup of tea in hands, trying to pretend you didn't feel the cold wind hitting your bare arms. you woke up too early and didn't want to be stuck for hours in the torture that consisted of a mixture of your overthinking mind and his sleeping body subconsciously holding you, so you carefully untagled his limbs from yours and went to his kitchen, giving yourself the liberty to have breakfast. after all, he said to make yourself at home when you basically moved in.

you don't even hear the glass door sliding open, which is why his arms wrapping around your waist and his head burying itself in your neck startled you.

“it's too early, why are you up?” he mumbled against your skin before pressing a soft kiss beneath your jaw, his warm breath bringing some sort of comfort from the cold, until you remember why you're out here, in the first place. “jesus, baby, you're freezing. let's go inside.”

“i’m not cold” you almost cringe at how pathetic your voice sounds as it comes out of you. trying to hold back tears only resulted in a weak mumbled whisper, somehow worse than just turning around and sobbing uncontrollably in his arms.

“what's wrong?” he asks, and when he's answered with a long moment silence, he gently spins you around to be facing him. “are you okay? what's happened, love?”

love.

it probably isn't meant to, but his tone of voice feels almost mocking. the smartest, most rational part of your brain tells you you're probably just overthinking it, like everything else. but the emotional voice, the loudest one, is screaming he knows.

he knows what's wrong and he's making fun of you. he's trying to make you say it. he's trying to get you to admit you're in love with him.

but it's only when you feel his hands cup your cheeks, breaking you out of that train of thought and slightly cheering you up, that you come to the conclusion that you should probably leave. this is toxic, and you both know it.

the money you've spent on therapy over the past five months is being poured down the drain every second that you spend here. but then again, he's been paying you back in gifts and kisses and cuddles, and, probably most importantly to him, sex. that doesn't matter, though, because when it ends and you're left alone with the knowledge he doesn't love you, you feel somehow worse than before.

you hesitantly look up, and when you see his soft eyes roaming all over your face with a worried expression, you're almost convinced he loves you. his gaze feels so warm, you almost forget you're standing outside in the winter wearing only a shirt.

when he says your name in a whisper, in that gentle tone that made you feel like the love of his life, you're reminded of the truth. you're not.

and then it snaps. you want to be mad, you want to yell and hit and cry and give him all the reasons you hate him. but there aren't any. you can't be mad. he warned you about this, didn't he? he said it was just a casual thing, nothing else was going to happen, can't get too attached. it's your fault for taking it too far, isn't it?

so you just pull away and walk inside. you know he'll follow you. you drop off your half drunk tea cup in the sink and you walk to the bedroom. this isn't a conversation you can avoid, you know that, but the only reason you should have it out there in the cold is for your own suffering. and you're trying to have more self respect.

it's not long before you hear the expected soft knock on the bedroom door, and he doesn't wait for an answer before slowly pushing it open and sticking his head in. he meets your eyes and you nod, quietly letting – asking – him to come in.

“what's wrong, baby?”

“please, could you just- please stop calling me that.”

he's silent for a second, staring at you in slight shock, before moving to sit down in front of you in the bed. “okay. is there a reason you're suddenly pushing me away like this?”

you had a whole monologue scripted in your mind. you were going to say how this relationship is confusing, and you were going to put to practice everything your therapist said about setting boundaries and proper communication. but the words leave your mouth before you can even think about it.

“i love you.”

he's either a really good actor, or a really bad profiler, because his reaction convinced you that he actually had no idea. and also that that was the last thing he wanted to hear from you. “sweetheart, you know i can't-”

“i know. i know, i'm sorry. i'm just- i got too attached, and, and it's totally my fault, we agreed on- and it's okay. i'm stupid, i shouldn't have gotten attached, i'm too sensitive, whatever, i know. i'm just-” you let out an exhale as you rub your eyes, trying to slow down in order to keep the tears in “-i have to leave.”

he's quiet for a moment that feels like it will never end. your mind would usually start drifting off to the worst possible things that could happen, but you can't think of any scenario worse than him letting you leave. when he speaks again, though, there's a hint of desperation in his voice “no, you don't have to leave. please. stay. we’ll pretend this never happened. stay.”

that might actually be the worst outcome.

“no, i can't just- that's not how that works. i can't forget i love you. i can't stay here if you can’t love me back. i- i know what we agreed on, but you don't get to treat me like a girlfriend without making me one.”

“what, you want to just have sex and leave?”

“yes! yes, actually. that's what casual means. not- not dates, and gifts, and pet names, and keys, for fucks sake.”

he seems to notice the tears forming in your eyes, something you barely noticed yourself, and he wraps his arms around your shoulders, tugging you against his chest as his hand moves up and down your arms in a soothing manner that only makes you more upset because you know he doesn't mean it in the way you wish he did. you don't have the strength to pull away, though. not physically. you just can't bring yourself to pull away.

you bury your face in his chest and cry quietly, mumbling things like i'm sorry and i fucked it up and i love you while he presses kisses to the top of your head, whispering comforting words that you don't fully process due to your current state.

when your breathing slows down a bit, he pulls away to look at you and takes your face in his hands, wiping away the tears and saying softly “stay. please. don't leave. i need you. you- jesus, you can't- please don't leave. you helped getting me through the breakup, and… i can't love you the way you want me to, but… i do care for you. so much. please.”

you stand up, shaking your head as you put distance between the two of you — if you don't, you'll be crawling back into his arms in no time. “no, no, spencer, don't do that. you've been so confusing, and, i just- i can't do this. not like this. please. don't do that.”

another bit of silence. he looks down at the striped bedsheets where his fingers absentmindedly trace patterns, then up at you almost pleadingly “please, let's just go back to how it was before. casual. that was nice. we don't have to-”

“no, god, please, no, stop.” you sob as you wipe your face, looking around the room in an empty attempt at calming down “that wasn't casual, spencer. and it can't be. to me, at least. never. please, stop– stop it.”

his eyes move between you and the bed a few times, before settling on a spot on the bedsheets to stare at for what feels like forever before he gives in and nods, asking you to leave. you're both glad he's doing so, and disappointed he didn't fight for you a bit more.

you have to battle the urges to go up to him again and kiss him and sit on his lap and hold him close. instead, you put on a pair of sweatpants and grab your phone and jacket before walking out. you didn't forget about the clothes, you just didn't have the energy for packing. you know he'll do it. you wish he wouldn't.

when you get “home” after the longest cab ride of your life, you collapse onto your bed, and don't move for hours. it was already dark when you looked outside again, so you just went back to sleep.

all that goes through your mind is how sweet and caring he was to you, and you hate that. you hate that he had the guts to be such a loving man when he felt none of that love. you hate him.

and sure, in a few days, when he gets lonely, he'll call you again, and you'll go again. you'll stay a long time over there again, you'll forget today ever even happened. you'll fall in love with him all over again, and you'll be convinced he loves you too. you'll be the happiest you've ever been (for a while) again. you don't have that much self respect, after all. in a few days, you'll get to pretend to be his again.

but for now, you hate him.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || 141 x Reader

[ Chapter 10 ] || [ Chapter 12 ]

Pairing: 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.1K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: i'm in love with gaz

Chapter 11: Excuse me?

A DM suddenly shoots up to the top of the pile in Kyle’s Tinder DM list and his eyebrows raise when he sees your name.

It’s been a month and a half, maybe longer, since you two last matched and after the brief rejection and you having gotten with Price, his life moved on and he kind of forgot you existed.

But your sudden message whose preview starts with “hey sorry to be botheri-” intrigues him so he presses it.

you: hey sorry to be bothering u but i figured it was safe to dm u about this because between u and johnny u seemed to be the most mature one! is simon okay? he stopped replying to me like a week ago and im concerned

Kyle’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead upon reading the question.

Kyle: he’s been texting u? 🤨 you: HI! yeah he has Kyle: excuse me? 🤨🤨 Kyle: like texting texting u.  Kyle: as in you text him and he answers and u 2 chat? 😐 you: yes? 🙃 Kyle: tf kind of witchcraft did u pull on him? 🤨 Kyle: he doesnt text.  Kyle: not one of us can get more than a thumbs up reaction to our texts in the groupchat. 😑 you: he texts me! Kyle: 😫?? Kyle: jesus christ.  you: you didnt answer is he okay?? 😭😭

Kyle thought back on a reason why Ghost would suddenly, well, ghost you. But he can’t think of any… Ghost is a notoriously bad texter, it doesn’t surprise him that he went MIA…

And then it hits him.

It’s 8 A.M. in the rec room of their floor and Ghost was making tea just as Johnny was taking a seat in the couch.

Kyle oofed as Johnny hit him, throwing his legs over Kyle’s lap. “Watch it mate, fuck you’re bloody heavy!” He complained.

“AH, FUCKIN’ HELL!” Ghost cursed as he threw his hands up in the air the sound of water dripping on the floor catching his attention.

Kyle looked over to see Ghost had spilled his boiling hot water everywhere on the counter.

“You alright L.T.?” Soap asked a she lifted his head over the back of the couch to peer at Simon just like Gaz was.

“Great.” Ghost grunted as he picked up his phone from the counter, which was also dripping in water, while his other hand threw a rag onto the mess of water dripping down from the counter.

“Oh fuck… ‘s your phone dead?” Soap asked and Ghost grumbled under his breath, not quite answering the question, as he busied himself soaking up the spilled water.

Just then, Price showed up at the rec room door. “Simon, gear up. Got a briefing for a solo mission in 10.”

“Fuckin’ hell, yeah, yeah, I got it.” Ghost grunted as he cleaned the mess and then rushed out the door, leaving his mug of tea in the counter and clutching his now broken phone in his hands.

Kyle: hes fine. Kyle: he spilled water on his phone and killed it I think.  Kyle: and he got sent out before he could get it fixed. 🙃 you: oh okay good! you: thanks! you: sorry to have bothered you! 🙏 Kyle: now wait just a minute. 😤 Kyle: u need to explain how in the hell u and ghost talk.👀 you: ghost? Kyle: that’s his work name. 🤷‍♂️ you: fitting seeing as i thought he ghosted me Kyle: THAT’S THE JOKE I MADE JUST NOW TO MYSELF! 😭 you: were in sync it seems 😭 Kyle: answer the question tho. you: idk what u want me to answer with Kyle: wdym u dont know??? explain yourself. Kyle: how do you get ghost to text u???? you: idk? im funny ig Kyle: 😑 you: im sorry if thats not what u want to hear Kyle: wait Kyle: a couple weeks ago he was out all night Kyle: during morning training soap was talking about how he had a date Kyle: was he with u? 👀👀 you: soap? Kyle: johnny. Kyle: keep up cmon now. you: jeez don’t patronize me you: yes simon was with me Kyle: 👀👀👀 Kyle: i see. Kyle: tell me more. you: theres nothing to tell Kyle: thats a lie and u know it.  you: its not!!! Kyle: cmon. Kyle: u cant just meet with a bloke with a skull mask on and then say u dont have anything to tell. 😑😑 you: a skull mask?? Kyle: did he not wear a mask when he was with u? 🤨🤨 you: yes? you: a black one Kyle: with a skull print on it yeah? you: no??? 🙃 you: just black! Kyle: jesus christ. Kyle: and what? what happened? you: nothing?! Kyle: walk me thru it. you: we went out for a drink then came back to mine and watched a movie! Kyle: 🤨🤨 Kyle: and had a shag? you: NO???? Kyle: wdym no? thats what would normally happen with a bloke. you: and???? you: this is simon were talking about kyle you: nothing about him screams normal exactly 🙃 you: hes joked about being able to kill me with his bar ehands you: bare hands* Kyle: fair. Kyle: this raises more questions for me. you: what Kyle: like u would meet with a masked bloke that can kill u with his bare hands alone without protection? 🤨 you: i had protection Kyle: not a condom. you: oh 😅 you: well we met at a pub soooo  Kyle: what did u 2 do then Kyle: other than watch a ‘movie’ 🙄 you: played mario kart you: slept Kyle: as in Kyle: you SLEPT? like honk shoo honk mimimimi? you: yes🙄🙄 Kyle: im confused. you: ur confused? im fucking confused bro Kyle: wdym u SLEPT TOGETHER? 🙃 Kyle: WHAT KIND OF WITCHCRAFT IS THIS?  Kyle: wtf have u done to him Kyle: like ghost doesnt text, he sure as shit doesnt visit people, and he doesnt go on dates, he doesnt sleep next to people, im almost sure the man doesnt have feelings or emotions and only speaks in sarcasm  Kyle: how can u get that out of him?? 🤨🤨 Kyle: no one else can! you: well with that mentality you cant you: idk what to tell u you: we hit it off 🙄 Kyle: explain yourself. you: ive been explaining it!!!!! Kyle: no explain it better. Kyle: I think Im having a stroke.  you: idk how to make it clearer??? Kyle: thats it. Kyle: are you free rn?? Kyle: I need u to explain urself. 😑 you: Im at work? Kyle: whens ur lunch break? 👀 you: in 35 minutes. Kyle: do u like ramen? you: yes? Kyle: whats the closest japanese to ur job? you: Akira Kyle: meet me at Akira for lunch. Kyle: I’m buying. you: who said i want to meet up with u?? 🤨🤨 Kyle: man just get down there. Kyle: im offering to pay. you: fineeeee 🙄

Kyle quickly hopped up from his seat at his desk with a start and rushed back to his room to change out of his fatigues.

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

taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!): @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @xxshadowbabexx , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @zombie-freak , @wittleespur

@severenswife , @enarien, @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago , @sodavrr , @cutiecusp , @lilliumrorum , @c-nstantine , @kneelforloki , @comeonatmebruh , @codsunshine , @waiting-so-long , @captainquake42 , @gazspookiebear , @mynameismisty , @reap3erslov3 , @reaper-chan666 , @poohkie90 , @kitwithnokat , @stick-the-dumbass , @mothsdrabbles , @justanerd1 , @thesinsoflust , @thriving-n-jiving , @blckbrrybasket

[daphwritesworld]

Chapter 4— YKWIM?

content: Top!Leah, Bottom!Reader, pussy eating (both receiving), impact play (R receiving), face riding, degradation, caught cuddling, little flash of toxic!Leah, angry!Leah, & mean!Leah

warnings: allusions to heavy dom/sub relationship, one slap in the face, angst, Leah taking her anger out on Reader, calling reader a slut once, crying reader oops

synopsis: The arrival of a familiar face brings a whole new wave of emotions over you. Can you withstand the flesh and blood reminder of your past, or will it start to tear you apart?

word count: 3.7k

Series Masterlist: here.

!! 18+ MINORS DNI !!

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“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL– Y/N?!” A loud and all too familiar voice booms out. You and Leah jolt awake from the commotion, and you end up on the floor as a result. A rough sounding groan slips from your lips as the wind gets knocked out of you, sitting up as you rub at your head. “Darling, are you alright?” Leah’s concerned morning voice pulls you from your dazed confusion, scooping you up as she settles you back into couch cushions. 

“Somebody better start explaining– NOW!!” It’s only then that you realize she’s actually here, and that this isn't some horrible nightmare. Before Leah even has a chance to get words out, you’re springing up and dragging Keira into the downstairs bathroom. “HEY! Where are you two going?” Leah’s hoping up after the shock wears off, hot on your trail. “GIVE US A MINUTE!” And that stops her right in her tracks. Leah has NEVER heard you speak like that. The anger and hurt in your voice, and what’s that look on Keira’s face? She can't quite place it...

She just stands there with her hands in her pockets, anxiously biting at her lips as she thinks about all the possibilities. Oh god did you and Keira date? Is she her best friend's ex's rebound?? Are you married? Is that why you won't talk about your sudden departure from Barca? OH GOD..Leah is a mistress?!? Is that why you left in the middle of the night in Ibiza? Leaving Leah with nothing but your scent on her sheets and the fond memories you both now share…Because you had to cover up the tracks of your affair? Then like a brick drops on her head— did you break Keira's heart somehow? That look on her face…it was one of betrayal. And no matter how much she cares for you, she'd never speak to you again if that were true.

She gets pulled out of her head when the bathroom door reopens. Both of you come out, laughing and smiling as Keira shoves at your shoulder. You both come to a stop as you take in Leah's disheveled appearance, Keira cracking up as she runs to mess up Leah's hair with her hands. "You look like utter shit! Better go shower before I take your girlfriend home with me!"

A groan leaves your lips as wrap up in the blanket on the end of the couch, "She's NOT my girlfriend!"

"Oh sure! You just cuddle through the night with all your friends with benefits, don't you?" The redhead says as a smirk spreads across her face.

"You told her we're friends with benefits, you little worm?!" Leah looks at you with an offended look. 

"NO! I didn't even tell her we've had sex! Let alone—"

"I FUCKING KNEW IT!" Keira erupts into a fit, jumping off of Leah as she points an accusing finger your way. 

Your face goes red as you snap your mouth shut, not even realizing what was coming out of it until it was too late. "I'm delusional from the flu right now, don't put words in my mouth!"

Keira rolls her eyes as she crosses her arms across her chest, "YOU PUT THOSE WORDS IN YOUR MOUTH, YOU DINGUS!"

"HEY! Don't call her a dingus, carrot top," Leah hops back in. 

"Oh you've got it bad, Le. Defending her already? It's barely been a week, and you've let her come back to your flat? Are you sure you aren't the sick one?" Keira keeps poking fun at you two, making kissy faces at the blonde. 

"We've known each other way longer than a week! What are you even talking about— LEAH!" It's you interrupting her now. A pointed look on your face as you glare at her. Keira furrows her brows at first, looking between the two of you as the gears start turning in her head. Back, forth, back, forth, back, forth— her head snaps from you to her best mate. Then a lightbulb goes off, "OH MY GOD!" She turns to you as an incredulous look overtakes her face. "YOU'RE IBIZA GIRL!" 

"NO I'M NOT!" You yell out as you jump up to defend yourself. 

"YES YOU ARE!" Keira shoves her finger into your shoulder. 

"LEAH?" "LEAH!" You both turn to the blonde, looking for an end to this argument. She's just smiling at you two, silently laughing at the scene playing out in front of her. All her worries and doubts about you are completely gone from her mind at this moment. They just slip away as the ease of being with her two favorite people sinks in. 

"Oh, no. This is between you two. Figure it out like big girls," she moves to sit Keira down on the couch. Making you face each other as you roll your eyes at the cocky look breaking across her features. You can't keep your next words in, too tired to hold the sass in. "Stop making that face. It makes you look constipated."

"Keep deflecting! I know it's you," she smiles at you.

"Oh, yeah? How?" You look at her and tilt your head as you squint your eyes.

"Because you were gone last year at the exact same time. Those 3 weeks when Leah abandoned me in Ibiza? That's the same 3 weeks you said you were visiting back home, but then couldn't provide a single photo from your trip. It wasn't because you forgot, it's because you were getting your back blown out in a different continent. Plus, I'm the only one Leah's ever even told about her. So the only way you'd know is if you are her. BOOM!" Keira uses her hands to mimic an explosion at the end.

You stare at her with your mouth dropped open, cheeks redder than a tomato as her proud smirk mirrors Leah's. Did she really put all that together from the time she walked in to now? I guess you can never really hide anything from Keira…you already knew that though. Sooner or later she always finds out what you're hiding. 

"Okay, fine! But you are sworn to complete and utter secrecy, Walsh!" You point a finger this time, a smile finally gracing your features. "But seriously, we are NOT dating."

"Oh, come on! What does a girl gotta do to take you out?" Leah throws her head back dramatically, a loud sigh filling the space at the end of her tantrum. 

"I've already told you, Leah! I don't date my coworkers. Maybe if you transfer to Chels—"

"I'D RATHER BLOODY DIE THEN WEAR THAT JERSEY!" Leah cuts you off with a scrawl on her face. 

"Guess we'll stay acquaintances then, Williamson," the cocky smirk is on your lips now.

"We'll see about that, y/l/n." Leah leans in closer as she raises her eyebrows.

"Watching you two is like interactive reality tv. It's a fiery mess, but you can't look away…Anyways, I was just stopping by to see if Le would let me stay with her. I really don't feel like sleeping on a hotel bed for a few days," Keira says.

"Of course you can stay! God, Keira like that's even a question. You act like you don't have your own room and spare key," Leah says.

"Well I wasn't going to ask…Until I saw you all cuddled up with y/n in your little love nest," Keira fires back.

"Excuse you, if we're labeling it then it was more like a love cocoon," Leah challenges her. 

"Hey? Where are you going?" Keira asks you.

"Yeah! Was it a nest or a cocoon, darling?" Leah pouts your way.

And even though it does make your heart skip a beat, you push that feeling down. You wrestle it from your chest all the way down into your stomach. Where it's going to twist and turn your heart, your mind, and your sanity. "Sorry but this is between you two. Work it out like big girls," you use her earlier works against her. You go to grab a towel from the hall closet before heading to the bathroom, "I'm gonna hop in the shower now that I'm feeling better!" 

"Without me?" Leah calls out.

"Keep talking and I'll call Russo to be my new roommate!" You tease before shutting the door. As soon as the barrier of wood is up you feel your facade start to crumble. You truly do love Keira, but seeing her has been a rush of emotions. You know you two left things awkward and unsaid when you left Barca, but she did really try to be there for you…and you pushed her away. You iced out one of the only true friends you have, and then left without warning. You know you two have more to talk about, but at least you're back on good terms. The last time Keira caught you in a compromising position with someone, it was the beginning of a trainwreck. The reason for your departure….A messy and convoluted tale of her. A name that causes so much pain your brain refuses to even whisper it. She remains nameless and faceless in your mind. That’s the only way you can push through it— if you erase her from your being completely. You don’t allow the feelings to encompass your heart, and in turn, you never allow them to heal your soul. Just a walking open wound, always bleeding out with sorrow. Lashing out and hurting the ones closest to you. Because after all– hurt people hurt people.

So you follow through with your teasing threat, and you dial Alessia's number. She agrees to let you stay with her for a while after you explain the flu situation. As the phone call ends the shame bubbles up and spills out of you. You run to the toilet to release the burning sense of disgrace tumbling out of your throat. You flush before taking a second to let the sick feeling in your gut subside. 

You must take longer in the shower than you think, because soon Leah’s knocking on the door. “Hey you alright in there, darling? I’m starting to think you passed out and I need to kick the door down!” You laugh at her concern as you let the worries boggling your mind wash down the drain. Leah is a source of comfort...and you haven’t quite figured that out yet. You just know she makes you forget. All the pain, guilt, and memories…they all vanish when she's near you. Maybe that's why you always give into her advances; because the blinding pleasure brings a shield of solace in her embrace. "I'm fine, just needed a good ol’ fashion deep clean!" 

You turn off the water before reaching for your towel, and the door opens just as you pull the curtain back. You're scrambling to cover up your exposed body as a surprised yelp leaves your lips, "LEAH!" Your cheeks heat up as she racks her eyes up and down your body. She keeps walking towards you, purpose pouring out of every step she takes. When she approaches the shower entry you back up until you feel the cold tiles strike a shiver down your spine. "W-what are you doing?"

She walks right in and cages you to the wall, still dressed in her clothes and all. She grabs the top of the messily wrapped towel around your body and yanks it down. Her hands are quick to slide from your hips up to your chest, playing with your nipples as you shutter from the feeling. Leah's getting on her knees now, leaving a trail of kisses as she does. "Y-your pants, Le!"

She growls out as she nips at the skin above your navel. "I don't give a fuck about my pants! Keira finally left and I'm starving. Now be a good girl, and let me have my breakfast, okay?"

She doesn't give you a minute to protest, diving her tongue straight through your folds. She doesn't even pull back when she speaks again, the words mumbled into your pussy. "Been too fucking long since I've got to taste you." 

It makes you arch your back, pushing your cunt down onto Leah's face even more. "F-fuck! Please, Le— want your fingers!" 

"No. This isn't about you right now. So shut up before you get nothing," it's like a switch flipped. She was being so nice, and now her grip is tightening on your chest. The stinging feeling running down to your clit as she pinches your nipples. 

"But Le—" and with that she pulls away. An anger burning behind her eyes you've never seen before. "What did I say?" 

Your eyes widen at that, mouth falling open as you stare at her like a deer caught in headlights. Your cheeks get redder as the silence grows between you two, falling victim to the fiery look ablaze behind her eyes. It's like diving into the ocean and being swept away by the tides; there's no use in fighting it. "Fine. If you don't want to listen," She's standing up now and pulling at the sweatpants around her waist. Her panties quickly follow the same path as she throws them both behind her. "Then you're gonna use your mouth for the only thing it's good for." 

You can't help the way arousal seeps out of you at the thought. During this whole reunion of sorts, you've been the only one receiving. It sparks a passion in you to taste her cum, and after all like she said— it's been too fucking long. She grabs your hair as she forces you to your knees. It makes a whimper leave your lips from the force, but the pain in your legs only adds to your pleasure. She spreads her legs as she steps over you, and you moan as your hands go to run up her thighs. You feel the grip on your hair loosen and before you know it, she's on you. Her hands are pinning yours to the wall behind you, switching them to just one as she positions herself atop you. A light slap is sent across your cheek, and it makes a surprised moan fall from your lips.

Leah grabs your jaw after, forcing you to look her in the eyes. "You're just a selfish slut aren't you? Can't ever follow orders because it's not what you want, hmm?"

You go to defend yourself, but Leah's eyebrows raise as your mouth opens. You decide on closing your lips and shaking your head instead. A furrowed brow and a pout easily settling into your features. She just rolls her eyes at you, throwing your face out of her hold as she scoffs. "Oh, don't give me that look. It's not gonna save you this time. Now stick your fucking tongue out for me." 

Your need to prove her wrong is stronger than your need to be a brat right now. So you swallow down the sassy remark in your throat and do as she says. Open your mouth as you lay your tongue out flat. She's so close you can feel the heat radiating off of her, and it takes all your strength to hold yourself back. Your eyes go to watch as she sinks herself down onto you, and they close as her taste hits your tongue. But the sudden reentry of her hand into your hair ruins that, and she yanks your locks. Just a bit, enough to make you whimper and shift your sights to her. "Keep your eyes on me. Understand?"

You nod as best you can, and it makes your nose nudge against her clit. Causing a sequence of moans to tumble out from her lips. She starts grinding down into the pleasure, keeping your head in place with the hand in your hair. You could cum just like this, but it's still a struggle to not rub your thighs together from the sight above you. Leah's not got her shirt off, but you can still see her hard nipples poking through. It makes you moan into her pussy, and her hips stutter from the vibrations. You miss seeing Leah's tits, but you miss sucking on them more. Every night in Ibiza she'd have you straddling her lap, your mouth around one of her nipples as her fingers buried themselves inside of your cunt. 

Her hips grind into your face harder as she throws her head back. The muscles in your legs are burning now, and you know your knees will be bruised before the end of this. But you don't care, not when it's Leah. You'd stay down here till your legs went numb if that's what she needed. "Fuck me," she pulls on your locks, "Fuck me with your tongue, y/l/n."

You want to frown at the use of your last name. You like it when she calls you pet names during intimate moments like this— hell you even like it when she degrades you. But this seems more personal, like she's actually mad at you. Like that fire behind her eyes is more than just her dominant side taking over. So you do as she says, moving your tongue to slip into her hole as you try and prove yourself to her. You want to make up whatever it is you did to piss her off so bad. She starts moving your head along with her hand, adding extra force behind your thrusts. Her legs start shaking as the minutes pass by, her orgasm building with every flick of your tongue. Her juices are running down your chin, neck, and chest at this point. Effectively ruining the shower that turned your fingers and toes into prunes. 

"Just like that, keep going!" She groans out as above you. 

She spurs you on, laser focusing on keeping everything the same. You want— no you need to make her cum. Your jaw is beyond sore, but it doesn't deter you from your task at hand. How can you think about the pain in your jaw when you have a goddess placing her pussy onto your mouth? Easy— you don't!

You feel her legs start to close around your head a bit as she leans forward, bracing herself against the shower wall. Your head moves with her until you're pressed back against the tiles. Leah uses her newfound support to grind herself against you faster, sending a chorus of beautiful sounds to spill from her mouth. She's fucking your face as she has you completely pinned down and at her mercy. You're so exposed…so vulnerable. In your pleasure induced daze, you think about maybe— just maybe! Letting your guard down around her. You make the decision right then that you need to cancel your move to Alessia's, mentally writing a note to text her. You'll do it as soon as you two get done fooling around. Plus you'll both need a shower after this..and you guess she can join you this time. 

It only takes about five more thrusts for her to let out a broken moan, the precious cum you've been working towards finally spilling out onto your tongue. You can't help but let out a moan, too, the taste of her casting a glaze to cover your eyes. You slip further and further into the spacey feeling as you lick up her arousal. Now that she's let you have a taste of her, how are you gonna stop? 

You're pulled out of your thoughts as she pulls away from your body. She helps you up after she regains her strength, letting you cling to her as your legs wobble like a newborn foal. She sits you on the toilet as she goes to get you both some clean clothes. You smile to yourself as your fingers come up to collect some of her cum around your mouth, pushing them into your mouth as you clean them up. Even when she isn't looking— you're her good girl. You reach for your phone and click on Alessia's contact, but the door reopens just as you go to hit send. "Here, I put a few days worth of clothes in this. I washed your shorts and put them in there, too. Should keep you covered till you can swing back home."

She just turns around after handing you the bag, walking back towards the door. "W-wait! Where are you going? And do I really need my own bag while I stay here?" Your confused tone stops her in her tracks. You hear a scoff before she turns around, met with an infuriated Leah. 

"The last time I checked you ran in here to tell Alessia to come pick you up. So stop the bullshit. But I guess that's all you're good at, huh? Being a bullshitter," she says it without an inch of comfort in her voice. You suddenly feel way too exposed for this conversation, covering your naked body as best as you can with your hands. You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes as you start shaking your head. "L-Le, no that's not! I'm not— please just let me explain!" 

"You left me in Ibiza, you left your last crew, and so go ahead and leave again! Apparently it's the only thing you're bloody consistent at. You can't stay loyal to a god damn football team, so I don't know why, god forbid, I thought you'd stay for someone who actually fucking cares about you!" She's shouting now, her chest rising and falling with the anger brewing in her chest. 

The sobs can't stay locked inside you anymore. They rock through your body, enabling you speechless as the shock of her words sink in. She just shakes her head before turning back around, slamming the door so hard behind her that it bounces back open. Once you've calmed down after a few minutes, you quickly change into a pair of the clothes from the bag she gave you. You cry a little harder when you smell hints of her scent on the fabric, but it only fuels you to get dressed faster. You grab your phone and the bag from Leah before walking out of the bathroom. You keep your eyes on the floor, avoiding her presence in the living room. You reach for the front door as you storm out, more tears blurring your vision. You end up bumping into a body before you push past them, a whimpered apology leaving your lips. 

"Hey, y/n— what's wrong," Keira turns around to go after you, but Leah stops her as she approaches the door to watch you leave.

"Don't! Let her go. It's not like she ever stays, anyways."

[topherwrites]

MELROSE AVENUE

summary - an ill-advised phone call to your ex.

pairing - jake seresin x (fem!)reader

word count - 3.3k

rating - not 18+, but mdni!

content warnings & tags - no use of (y/n) / angst / post-breakup blues / calling your ex / mutual pining / drinking / implied rebounding? / lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: title comes from the song 'promise' by laufey. this one is for all my fellow angst™️ lovers. reblogs, comments, and likes super appreciated!

TOP GUN MASTERLIST / LIBRARY BLOG

"That guy has been eyeing you the entire time we've been here," Lana says. Your wonderful friend dragged you out for a drink, making apparent that your hermit-like behavior since returning to the city is disconcerting.

You’re fine. Well, you will be. Eventually. Maybe.

"I know."

She leans back in her seat, making zero attempt at hiding the fact that she's looking at him. "He's cute.”

You blithely return, "I noticed."

Before you can stop her, she slides off her stool, taking her purse and coat off of it, "I'm going to go to the bathroom."

"Lan-" you sigh, beginning to protest, but she's already weaving through tables.

The man who's slid into your friend's recently surrendered seat—apparently you “need to get back out there”—gives you a smile as he flags down the bartender.

He’s cute, even more so up close; you'll give him that.

A broad smile that fits in with the rest of his features and enough charm to put you at ease—it rouses memories of you in a similar position only three years ago—and then he speaks, and the southern twang to his flirtation promptly drills a pit into your stomach. You’re starting to think the universe may genuinely have it out for you.

Hyde, he introduces himself as. He very formally holds out his hand for you to shake, large and warm around your own, offering him your name as he leisurely releases you with a squeeze. You refrain from making a Jekyll joke, sure that he’s dead tired of hearing them, instead, you ask him where about he’s from.

Georgia, he says. 

At least it’s not fucking Texas.

You accept his offer of a drink, telling him your order with a smile that you hope comes off as happy to be here, definitely not devastated!

And If there’s one thing you know it’s that Jake isn’t lamenting the end of your relationship, turning down flirtations from pretty women.

He no longer has reason to. And neither do you.

He has to keep pushing his hair back from where it falls attractively into his face, curling up at his neck. And as you get into the groove of getting to know a new person, you begin to think that you can do this, live without him. He offers the basics about himself, and you internally sigh in relief that he’s a firefighter. You have a new rule: no military, not ever again.

Halfway through your Manhattan, he grips the lip of your stool and pulls it flush with his own, cheekily murmuring with a smile that makes you feel a little fuzzy, maybe it’s just the gin, “Want you closer.”

If it was any other night, you’d find the move unbearably corny and far too much far too soon, but he’s pretty and affable enough that he can pull it off. So, you let the outside of your thigh press to his, feel the denim of his jeans against your skin. And you're surprised to find yourself excited, marginally.

You should bring him home. Let him, anyone, touch you. Maybe sparking intimacy with a new person will push you past all this—

Maybe.

A half hour later and numbers exchanged, he waits with you out on the sidewalk for your Uber. He's angled his body so his broad shoulders block you from the light wind, the night air cooling your heated skin. It’s sweet, he's sweet, you think.

Jesus, you’re a lightweight now. Those three drinks are hitting you a little too hard to be cute. Lana waves bye to you as she nearly skips down the street, inordinately smug.

You look back up at him, hands fidgeting slightly as you worry your cuticles—you're out of practice at this, you hope it's not off-putting—an uncertain edge to your voice, “Alright, well, call me.”

But he takes your nervy manner in stride. He tips his head, a soft smile on his face as he looks down at you, swinging open the car door for you. “Yes, ma'am.”

A different timber, but the same southern twang echoes in your head again. You freeze for just a moment. Luckily, he hasn’t seemed to catch your brief deer-in-the-headlights look. You send a small wave goodbye as you duck into the car, letting out a long breath as the driver pulls away.

Dropped off, it’s on your three-story walk-up that you let the three drinks you had back at the bar influence your actions. It’s as good of an excuse as any.

Pulling out your phone, you scroll through your contacts and hit the call button beside the one marked; Hangman (do not answer). You let out a sad little laugh at that.

You had changed it to his callsign a week after the breakup, or back to his callsign, back to a stranger. Seeing his name every time you pathetically agonized over calling or texting him became too painful. The “do not answer” now lingers ironically. The wall of silence finally broken by you; no attempts at contact from his side. Only his right as the dumped party, you suppose.

The line rings, the sound echoing around the concrete stairwell as you finally step foot on the landing of your floor. It continues to ring while you heft open the metal door to your hallway. A thought runs through your head, he’s not going to answer.

You calculate the time difference: 2 a.m. in New York, 11 p.m. in San Diego. 

Which means that he’s probably at the Hard Deck, sidling up to some woman, shooting her a smile and a line. And, just like you once were, completely defenseless against his square jaw and green eyes, he’s charming his way into her pants. His phone is probably buzzing away against his ass and he’s ignoring it in favor of pressing her up against the siding of the bar.

You're sure there are still suspiciously you shaped clearings in the dust there.

You unlock your front door with a sour taste crawling up your throat. You're about to let reason win out, take the hint, let the scab go unpicked—then the line clicks, connecting.

In your front hallway, you’re rendered stock still, mind racing to catch up to the fact that he did, against all reason and odds, answer. A sharp spike hits your chest, and you bring a hand up to soothe it away, fingers pressing hard at your sternum. The discomfort pulls you back down.

A groggy voice, his voice, comes crackling through the line, “Hello?”

Then you hear a shifting of sheets, a heavy sigh, and a yawn that recedes as the phone is pulled from his ear—the sound stops abruptly. Clear-cut silence remains.

You hazard he must’ve checked the caller I.D.

For one very long second, you wonder if he’s simply hung up on you, but the rustling of sheets on the other end confirms that you are still very much drunk dialing your ex.

Your name is whispered as a question—like he can’t quite square that you’re calling him. Fair, the ending felt pretty definitive. Moving across the country doesn’t scream open to reconciliation. And you aren’t. You think.

You shouldn’t be, at least.

Intaking one large breath, you answer as you release it, “Yeah.”

“Uh, did you mean to-” he cuts himself off, then says as though you’re not aware, “This is Jake. Are you alright?”

The genuine concern in his voice makes emotion work its way up your throat, a thickness taking hold of your vocal cords. You miss him. You cough, clearing the feeling away. “Yeah.”

He’s rendered you monosyllabic.

“Yeah, you meant to call me? Or yeah, you’re alright?” His voice comes through so crisply—if you closed your eyes, you could pretend he was here. You try to ignore that.

Leaning back to rest against the wall, you whisper to the hallway, “Both,” you clear your throat, “I guess.”

“Oh.”

He doesn't seem to know what to do with that. And in his defense, you're not being very fair, you know that. You're just prolonging the amount of time it's going to take to get over him.

But you can’t help yourself from inquiring, “You're not out?”

“Haven’t been in the mood.” Then, he asks as though it takes incredible effort to do so, “Have you?”

It’s clear to you that he’s trying to suss out both whether this call is the result of alcohol—it is—and if you’ve been out on a date—not intentionally.

You continue your streak of being vague, “Sort of.” You clear your throat, deciding to offer up, “Lana and me went out for a drink.”

“A, as in singular?” He teases.

You blow out a long breath, your shoulders loosening at his tone, the familiarity therein. “…Maybe a bit more than a.”

There’s a short silence. But there’s no bitter aftertaste to it when he says, “I figured.”

“How are things there?”

His eyes land on the empty space beside him. “Quiet.”

Your eyes scan the moving boxes still piled high in the living room. The way your loneliness, now that you aren’t really distracted from it, seems to seep into every dark corner of the room.

Ignoring any possible subtext—easy enough, as tipsy as you are—you take the most straightforward meaning of his answer.

“Good, that’s good.”

Blowing out a long breath, you peel yourself from the floor, teetering on unsteady feet as you make your way into the kitchen. Setting your phone on the counter, tapping the speaker button. You blindly fumble in a cabinet for a glass. Knocking the tap on, you watch as it fills.

Jake tries to settle into a steady rhythm of catching up, it’s easy to pretend you’re just old friends. Well, not easy. But certainly easier than acknowledging all the baggage that rests between you.

“You settling in over there?”

Turning the tap off, you look about your apartment as you take a sip.

Again, the boxes. Still packed high, still taped shut.

You hum, “Forgot what a pain moving is,” adding after a moment of thought, “Can’t find my fucking silverware.”

His laugh rumbles through the speaker, you share in it with him lightly. The sound mixes nostalgically.

You pick up the phone, holding it to your ear as you lean your elbows on the counter. And not that you would ever admit, you let your own laughter quiet, get a clearer ear of his.

You know in one of those boxes—you didn’t mark which one, idiot—is a collection of photographs, photobooth strips and polaroids snapshots and underexposed disposable camera film. There’s probably one too many in there where Jake is the sole subject, him squinting against the sun on the towel next to you or the silhouette of him moving through waves. You can't make many excuses for why you took them.

The ones that are worse on your heart are the ones you squirreled away of just the two of you—his chin resting on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your middle. Another of you resting on his shoulders in Penny’s pool, haphazardly trying to push Mickey off of Reuben and into the water. Laughter echoing through time. 

The one Nat snuck of the two of you, sequestered in your own little world at Penny and Mav’s reception—his arm along the back of your chair, fingers gently running along your bicep. Private smiles and quiet conversation. Dreaming of something stupid.

All some hazy, happy memories.

Preemptive grief—that’s what runs through your body, leadens your chest. He’s still there, in your ear. But soon, he won't be. It’s odd to consider how every second is memory—sand in an hourglass. It's unlikely you’ll ever cross paths again.

It’s for the best.

Those words drag at the bottom of your stomach. It’s a cliche you’re tired of clinging to. 

Without it, you might go insane.

“Would you tell your mom hi for me?”

“I-“ he sighs. Maybe it’s too weird, too familiar, too soon.

“What?” After another little drag, “Jake?” It comes to you in the silence: “You haven’t told her yet.”

The knowledge hurts. He’s been putting it off. And so your mind plants a horrible, viscous little thought, maybe he thought he wouldn't have to. You swallow it down. 

“Hadn’t gotten around to it.”

His mother will take one look at him and just know—he fucked it up.

It wasn't mutual. Not really. 

You’re blameless. Jake was lacking. As always.

His mother loves him despite his flaws. Despite the way that sometimes his voice hits his ears and all he hears is his old man. That old need to pick at and put down—he’s no Freud, but he knows where he learned it. 

That man infected him.

You're the first person who didn’t seem to love him out of some sort of obligation. And he fucked it up. 

He only went to see that therapist twice—then the conversation landed one too many times on his father, his childhood in that house, and he still hasn’t gone back. Keeps paying the no-show fee, week after week, just in case. 

“I need to know how you're doing.” It’s probably a streak of sadomasochism that makes you ask it. But part of you needs to know if this has all hit him as horribly as it has you.

“Bad.” He laughs a little as he says it. In your head, you can picture the bittersweet smile on his face.

You take short, torturous breaths through your nose. Like you're trying to shove down every terrible, misguided, pathetic impulse that ultimately leads you to say the one thing above all else you shouldn’t, “I miss you.”

It’s an admission of defeat to yourself. Cringing, you bite down hard on your cheek in punishment for letting that last line of defense slip, waiting with bated breath for his response.

On the other end of the line, Jake attempts to compartmentalize.

Pulling the phone from his ear, it digs into the side of his temple as he curses—hopefully quietly enough that his phone doesn't catch it. 

Closing himself off to unpleasant feelings is second nature—guilt, anger, fear, inadequacy—switch on, switch off. The therapist Reuben recommended to him after you left tells him it’s a coping mechanism—an unhealthy one, her voice echoes in his head. It’s not working as well this go-around.

Alone in his bedroom, he has to swallow down the horrid lump crawling up his throat in order to speak, hoping you don’t hear the shudder in his chest.

“You're gonna be so happy,” he says. “You’ll get over this,” him, “I promise.”

He speaks to you as though you’re a friend. It’s all he can do.

With you, he had proven to himself, once and for all, that he’s incapable of being in a relationship, he can’t make anyone happy, not for very long at least. But in that short moment where he did make you happy, he’d convinced himself it wouldn't be just that—short. Delusionally, selfishly, wrongly.

He convinced himself it was for the long haul.

And he didn’t appreciate it well enough, didn't burn those early mornings and late nights and gentle affection into his memory. He remembers plenty of it, his fuckups, especially, have played over and over in his head ad nauseam as he’s drifted to sleep these past few weeks. But he wishes he remembered every second.

This is another one, right now, another second with you that he’ll tuck away.

It was over two months ago now—after a nauseatingly quiet fight that ended with you shutting yourself away in the bathroom till you’d assumed that he’d fallen asleep, tentatively slipping under the sheets—that he answered a question for himself: can someone be the one if it’s clear you're not theirs?

So Jake did what he does best—what branded him with his call sign to begin with—he left you out to dry. A gradual distancing over a few weeks. Not making plans as often and spending the night at his own place. Worse, even, that it felt like you were expecting it—already at acceptance, just passively coming to terms with the end of your relationship. You were expecting him to fuck it all up that it didn't even come as a shock.

All a long time coming.

With wringing hands, you’d given him a sit-down and the stock standard, ‘this isn’t working anymore’. It was over so quickly, simple agreement and a bag packed in all of fifteen minutes. You didn’t even look up as he closed the door behind him.

Jake still fantasizes about a scenario in which he put up a fight.

His words ring hollow in your ears. You feel like this ache has imprinted itself in your heart. You swallow down your disappointment. Even though it wouldn’t change anything, you wanted to hear him say, I miss you, too.

Because you miss his eyes and his broad shoulders and his deep dimples. You miss his bright, eye-crinkling laugh, his yes, ma’ams’, and the way he softly hums old country tunes while he cooks. You miss the way that genuinely, for a moment, you thought he might be it. Something as silly as “the one”.

Forever is now a word, a concept, that makes you feel unbearably naive. Like a child who still believes in Santa Claus far too late. Like a joke you weren’t in on. Like every time some friend of a friend, always a few years your senior, seemed to doubt the longevity of your relationship, you should have heeded their cynicism.

You just wonder, retrospectively, how much of it was rose-colored glasses, if the good of your relationship was really as good as you remember it. 

It was so far from you the moment it was over, you’re left unable to trust your own recollection. Disdain and sentiment and remorse clouding every moment brought to mind.

You’re still learning how to square it all in your mind. The before and the after.

Despite the fact that he pushed you to the breakup, you were still the one to put an end to it. Take the relationship out back and shoot it. He doesn't really owe you- no goodwill, no kind words. And yet he extends them anyway.

“It’s probably time for me to let you go,” he says as though he were the one who initiated this.

There’ll be no “I’ll see you around” or “I’ll talk to you later”.

“Yeah. I, uh…” you can’t bring yourself to say it, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. “Goodnight, Jake.”

His name still sounds so familiar in your mouth. You wonder if your body will ever really forget him—or if some form of muscle memory will always recall the way you loved him, will always paint him with a fond brushstroke.

“Get some rest, alright?”

You force a hum out of your chest, take a shaky inhale through your nose. This is where you should hang up. 

You know that. But you make no move to do so.

All you want is another minute. So you stay on the line, unable or unwilling to be the one to press the end call button. For a moment, all you hear is his gentle breathing through the speaker and wonder if he feels the same.

It doesn't matter much anymore. This is a bookend. No point in settling the minutiae any longer.

Back in San Diego, Jake counts off to five in his head, then ten. Renegotiates to fifteen. 

It's for the best. 

Three sharp beeps and you're left in the echoing quiet of your apartment. You stay standing in the half-dark kitchen for a long time after.

The sounds of the city leech into the space. You'll find a new dream, a new future. It'll just take you a little while to let go of the old one.

On the other side of the country, Jake comes to the realization that he’s alone once again—as he always was before you and will be after you.

e/n: i might've also written an alternate ending to this one if anyone is interested. thank you for reading!

[intheupside]

He had a long conversation with President of Hockey Operations and GM Kyle Dubas and some of the hockey operations staff about what Tomasino could bring, where he might fit, and how to best set him up for success. Since Tomasino is a skilled player with good offensive instincts, he’s been skating alongside Evgeni Malkin – who recorded the only assist on the tally.

“Oh my gosh, I think I’ve said it 10 times that I've looked up to this guy my whole life, so it's awesome,” Tomasino said with a laugh after the game. “I mean, I feel like he sees plays even before you do. He's obviously one of the most skilled guys ever, and one of the most skilled guys I've ever played with. So, it's really cool. He made a heck of a play, and it's nice to finally get one here.”

Tomasino’s goal came with 12:34 left to play in the game. The play started when he got the puck to the net with Drew O’Connor there. Sullivan said he flipped O’Connor and Michael Bunting to give that second line a spark.

The rebound popped out to the halfwall, and Tomasino managed to whack it over to Malkin at the goal line. He dished it back, and Tomasino’s sixth shot of the night made it past Jeremy Swayman.

awww the geno fanboy with the goal of a geno assist

[b3ach-bunn7]

FORWARDS BECKON REBOUND

You find Dabi bleeding out on your front porch. Despite recognising his face from the five o'clock news, you take him in.

angst, villain dabi, quirkless reader, Dabi POV

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

He should’ve killed you the minute he’d woken up. 

Left your house burning blue with you inside of it, before you even had a chance to run. But it had been Dabi who’d passed out outside your house, and it had been you who lugged him inside, lanky bones and all, so he felt some obligation not to do it. He was barely conscious, just awake enough to hear you mumbling curses under your breath as you scrounged through your cupboards for a first aid kit. 

It wasn’t a nice way to go, bleeding out on a random street. It was embarrassing, the famed cremation villain dying to a knife wound that hit a little too deep. He’d killed the man who’d stabbed him, of course, but that fact that he would kill Dabi was what had him praying to a God he didn’t believe in that he’d live. Maybe it was a fitting death. A person like him, bleeding out with the dirt of a flower bed slipping down his shirt, only the sounds of the night echoing in his ears. 

And then you appeared.

Wearing scrubs that fit too loosely over your body, a puffer jacket and a scarf covering the lower half of your face. He had enough energy to wonder why someone like you, someone that looked down at him with so much worry etched on your face, was in a neighbourhood like this, one where people like him lurked. You dropped your bags, abandoned the scarf and the coat and dropped to your knees. He’d watched your scrubs soak with blood as your hands hesitated in front of him.

“God. Fuck. What do I- Fuck.”  You grabbed your scarf and wrapped it tightly around his chest and then you slipped your arms under his, groaning at his dead weight. 

“This is my good deed for the day.” You huffed, starting the slow drag towards your home.

And he’d passed out after that, he thinks. Everything is very jumbled up but he supposed that’s what happens when you’re bleeding to death.

And when he woke up he thought he might be in heaven. A heaven that was very cluttered and full of way too many pictures hung up on the walls. His head was killing him, and his chest fucking hurt.  He was sprawled on a couch too small for him and his legs were touching the floor. He tries to rise and he stops, immediately, cursing at the shot of pain that spreads through his body.

“Oh no, don’t get up! The stitches will pull.” 

He turned his head to the source of the voice and it's you.

On your knees, scrubbing at the blood stains on your floor. The sleeves of your hoodie were pulled up past your forearms and you were wearing shorts that rode up your thighs. He would’ve made an inappropriate comment about the sight of your legs but he has no idea who the fuck you are.

“I- I’m a nurse so don’t worry, the stitches are done right. That’s for you, too. You should drink it, you lost a lot of blood.” You laughed nervously, pointing at the coffee table.

There was a juice box waiting for him. He didn’t grab it though. Just kept staring at you, silent.

“Uh. I’m Y/N, by the way.” You hand twitched like you’re about to offer it to him, but you decided against it.

There’s no way you don’t know who he is. Dabi’s face has been plastered on the news more times than he can remember, and his face isn’t one you can forget. He watches you now, your eyes flitting from his face to his chest. You sit back on your knees, rubbing at your face with your clean hand.

“I- I can make you some food. If you think you can stomach it.” 

What the fuck is wrong with you? Don’t you know what he could do to you? How quickly he could kill you?

He moved to stand again and you got up that time, moving towards him. “Look, seriously, you can’t move. The stitches will open and I can’t deal with any more blood today.” You said.

Dabi cursed. You flinch at the deep gravel of his voice.

“I know you probably think I’m crazy. I just- You can stay, until you can move again. It’s fine. I just don’t want you dying in my house, please. Or on my driveway.” You breathed out, taking another step back.

Dabi looked at you again. You looked like he could take you out now, stitches and all. He’s sure if you were going to call the police, you’d have done it by now. And he can’t remember the last time somebody actually doted on him. So he made the incredibly stupid move of listening to you. 

He reached forward and snatched up the juice. He popped it open with his thumb, downing it in one go, squeezing the carton to get it all out. Dabi threw the empty carton on the floor when he was finished. He leant his head back on the couch, and drifted off quickly into sleep.

The first few days are spent in and out of consciousness. The times he is awake, he doesn’t speak to you, not unless he has to. When you ask him what size clothes he wears, when you ask if he has any allergies. It doesn’t stop you from talking though. It’s all you do, whether to a friend on the phone or just to yourself. 

The couch has become the place he spends most of the days. He doesn't move unless it’s for the toilet or to let you change his bandages. The one time he’d actually gotten up for longer than five minutes was so you could clean the couch, silently mourning the fact you’d have to get a new one once he was gone. His blood still stains your carpet though, faint but there, and he feels something he can’t describe at the fact a part of him will always exist between your walls.

The first time he does speak to you, he doesn’t even mean to.

“God, the lady at the pharmacy definitely thinks I’m a serial killer. I'm there for bandages and painkillers like, four times a week.” 

You sigh and drop the shopping bags on the floor. You’re in your scrubs again, blue this time, as opposed to the green ones he’d stained with his blood. You run to the kitchen to grab a wet cloth and the antiseptic, and Dabi sits up gingerly on the couch.

He isn’t exactly healed, but you’d assured him once he could be conscious for longer than an hour that the cut wasn’t as deep as it seemed. It still hurt like a bitch, though, and his stitches still stung as he pushed himself up. YYou kneel in front of him, carefully unwrapping the bandages around his chest. You keep your distance, just close enough so that you can reach him. The bandages stick to his skin and you make quick work of cleaning it, dabbing it with antiseptic. 

Dabi notices that you won’t ever look him in the eyes. Always darting around his face but never at him. You always linger on the scarred skin around his body, the staples hastily holding them together. You’re looking at them now, absentmindedly as you search through the bags for the bandages.

“My skin gross you out, lady?”

Your eyes do look up at him then, and Dabi feels like he should definitely talk to you more if you’re going to look at him like that. You laugh nervously and he tilts his head, blue eyes boring into yours.

“No, I just. Ha, no, I just haven't seen anything like it. The staples-” 

Your hand touches one gingerly and before you can move it away he grabs it with his own. He lets his hand heat up, not enough to hurt you but enough to let that lick of fear inch up your face, and he grins. Your hand is soft against the calloused, scarred skin of his, and he rubs his thumb up and down the back of it, watching the shiver you try and hide from him.

“Did I say you could touch?” He raises his eyebrows and you snatch your hand back. You turn away, inching just that little bit away from him.

“You didn’t complain about my touching when I dragged you from off my front porch.” You mumble under your breath.

His grin widens at that. “You got a mouth on you. But it’s okay, you can touch me anywhere you want, baby.”

Oh, that look. You were cute, he’d admit. He loved those shorts you were always wearing. Made your ass look amazing.

Your cheeks turn a delicious red. “I- Shut up. Let me finish.”

“Yeah, I’ll let you finish.”

“My god. Are you twelve?” You huff, placing the dressing over the stitches.

Dabi just watches you. He enjoys the way you squirm under his gaze. “You’re brave, sweetheart. You know who you’re talking to?”

You don't respond for a few seconds. “Of course. I’m not stupid.”

“Really? I’d say housing a villain in your house is pretty stupid.”

You say nothing, just gesture for him to sit up from the couch, where he was leaning against it. Like this, him sitting up and you still kneeling in front of the couch, he towers over you. It’s a compromising position, you fit in between his spread legs. Dabi can imagine you like this in another situation, maybe without the bandages and without that shirt you’ve got on.

You wrap the bandages around his chest silently. You finish, pinning it down so it doesn't come loose. You look back up at him. “It’s nearly been two weeks. If you wanted to kill me you would’ve.”

“Maybe I’m waiting until I’m all healed up. Really take my time with you.” He lets his voice drop, a low drawl.

You swallow. “I hope not. Would be a waste of my time if you did.”

Dabi scoffs. Your eyes trail back to his staples. He tugs at one and you wince. “Does- Does it not hurt?”

“Nah. Lost feeling a while ago. These staples are the least of my worries.” 

After that little encounter, Dabi takes to annoying you anytime he can. You’re avoiding him, he can tell, and it’s pissing him off. You spend every day holed up in your room while he has to sit on the couch like a fucking idiot and just wait. Maybe for you to call the cops on him, maybe for him to commit some heinous crime because he’s so fucking bored.

It’s why he starts trying to piss you off. Purposefully loosening his bandages, whining about the pain. You don’t complain, just dutifully bring him water, bring him whatever stupid request he asks of you. You’re being too kind, and he knows it’s fake. He wants to see how long it takes until you break, until that pretty polite smile you throw at him turns into that delicious anger from before. He wants your real emotions. Not this fake shit that makes him want to set the couch on fire.

Maybe it’s fake, or maybe Dabi can’t accept anything from anyone, not without them expecting something in return. And until he figures out what that is he doesn’t give a shit what you think of him.

It comes quicker than he thought. Only three days later, after he spent the entirety of your work phone call turning the TV higher and higher, until the show he was paying no mind was so loud you had to walk out the room. You’d come back out twenty minutes later and there it was, that frown he was missing.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You snap, snatching the remote off the coffee table to turn the TV off. Dabi just watches you, a small amused smile on his face.

You shake your head. “Don’t just fucking sit there. You’ve been trying to piss me off for the past few days and here, I’m giving it to you. Happy?” You yell.

You rub your eyes furiously. “I just- I don’t get it. I’m- I’m helping you, I kept you from dying. Why are you being suc-“

“Why?”  

His voice is enough to silence you completely and he likes what little control he has over you. 

“Why what?”

“Why the fuck are you helping me? I don’t understand you.” He says, watching you pace across the living room.

“Some fucking nobody in the middle of a shitty town in an even shittier apartment housing me. Why? Makes no sense to me, and I don’t like things that don’t make sense.”  

You stop. You flalter slightly. He catches it, the way your hands twist in the hem of your shirt.

“What, you expected me to let you die?” 

“Yeah. I do it a lot.”

“Yeah, well not everyone is a sick sadistic psycho like you are.” You snarl.

You seem to regret the words the second they leave your mouth. Dabi grins and you cross your arms and look away.

“Aw, don’t get all shy on me. I love that bratty mouth of yours.” You grimace at his words.

“Shut up.” You in breathe once. Purposeful and unsteady.

“I don’t know- Well I do know what you’re like. I guess all of Japan does. But I wasn’t going to let you just die on me like that. I don’t give a fuck who you are. Nobody deserves that.” You speak purposefully, trying hard to hide your emotion.

“And what are you expecting back?”

You look at him, then. And he sees something shift in your expression and you scoff.

“I don’t want anything back. I just did a good thing. I know that might be a foreign concept to you, but to us normal people it isn’t.”  

So bratty. He’d shut you up if he could move without popping a stitch. 

“Just.” You rub your eyes again. “Just stop trying to piss me off all the time. It’s working and it’s so fucking annoying.”

“And what makes you think I’m going to listen to you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the fact you’ve been living in my house for two week?”

“I don’t fucking understand you.”

“I don’t understand you. I mean, how much time and money have I spent on you? It took me ages to get all the blood out my carpet and my toilet. And you still fucked up my couch, even though I covered it up. You think I can afford a new couch? One not covered in blood? I just-“

You pause. Take another deep breath.

“I don’t really know why I’m doing this either. I feel weirdly obligated to. As a nurse, and all. And- I don’t want the hassle, and the attention that would’ve been brought at my door if i had called the ambulance. And I’m sure you wouldn’t have either. So just do me a favour and stop making it so difficult.” 

He stares at you. The slump of your shoulders and he thinks the emotion he’s feeling is pity, or something similar. He doesn’t really know and he doesn’t really care.

But he still wants the healing, and he wants that really good ramen you made the other day. So he shrugs.

“Whatever.”

“Yeah. Whatever. Fucking hell.”  You mumble, stalking off into the kitchen.

Things change after that. You slowly start to spend more time with Dabi. Which might be an overstatement. You sit on the loveseat beside him. Usually reading or catching up with work or throwing too much commentary at a show he’s watching. You catch him staring at your book once and you hold up the cover to him. The title reads, ‘The truth behind the Commission’.

“Quite the problematic read.” He nods and you smile slightly.

“I guess. I like this author. He doesn’t bullshit.”

“You hate heroes, then?”

You shake your head quickly. “‘No. Well. I don’t hate them, I just. There’s a lot of things wrong with hero society. A lot. And I think a lot of heroes get away with shit they shouldn’t because of that title. I don’t know. It’s all fucked, and I’m not gonna sit here praising them just because they do good things. Doesn’t make them good people.” 

He doesn’t reply that quickly and you look sheepish. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”

He makes a noise. “Nah, I loved your little anti-hero rant. The league could use a girl like you.”

Your face pales and he barks out a laugh. “Don’t say that!”

After that you start leaving books on the coffee table for him. He doesn’t thank you for it. 

The second time Dabi decides he’ll trust you happens quickly. There’s a box of pizza in front of the two of you, and you’re both not paying much attention to the TV. He’s more looking at you, the way you twirl a strand of hair around and around your finger, bite at your top lip when you’re thinking. Then your face frowns.

“Ew. Pass me the remote.” You hold your hand out to him.

He looks at the TV, and there’s daddy dearest. It’s a documentary, he thinks. Some stupid shit that praises the worst man in the world because he’s a ‘good hero’. He’s got his reason to hate him. But the look of disgust on your face is more delightful than it is confusing. 

“What? Not a fan of our number two hero?” The words leave a bitter taste in his mouth but the look on your face washes it away.

“Fuck no. There’s something about him I don’t trust. I don’t fucking like that guy.” You frown, quickly changing the channel. “I miss All Might.” 

He doesn’t reply to that. He doesn’t know what he’d say if he did.

And then Dabi realises he actually likes being around you. Especially when you’re always staring at him when you think he doesn’t notice.

“You know, I bought you shirts, too.” You speak the words quickly and without making direct eye contact.

Dabi had taken to not wearing any, despite the fact you had bought him some. He only wore  different sweats you’d bought him, slung low on his hips. He always ran hot anyway, and you never complained until now.

He grins. “Aw, this ain’t a pretty sight for you?”

“No, of course not!” 

You face flushes and Dabi leans a little further down on the couch, letting his sweats drift a little lower. Dabi knows he’s fit, and he knows the distinct shape of his V line is what’s making you avoid his form on the couch entirely. He’s not stupid, he’s caught you looking before.

“Right, I didn't mean that. I was just wondering. You know?” 

“Right, right. Don’t worry, baby, I wouldn’t wanna make you uncomfortable. Be a doll and pass me that shirt, yeah?”

You nod. So obedient, he thinks. He grabs the shirt from your hand, letting his fingers drift against yours. You hand twitches slightly and Dabi smiles, sickly sweet.

“Thanks.” 

“S’fine.” 

When you give Dabi the green light to get up and move, he waits for you to go to work so he can thoroughly snoop around your house. He walks his way around the living room that he's grown too accustomed to. He doesn’t care about the kitchen or the toilet he’s been to a million times. Where he really wants to explore is your bedroom.

You’re so stupid. Letting a villain like him in your house. His hand trails over your dresser, the souvenirs and trinkets from holidays and birthdays. There’s even more pictures in here and you’re so loved he can feel it through the paper. You’re always smiling, teeth shining and impossibly bright and for a split second he wonders what you’d look like smiling at him like that.

Your room is quite messy and it doesn’t surprise him. Clothes littered all over the floor, books and a makeup bag scattered over your desk. Your bed is hastily made and your sheets are a soft pink. And he can see you on it begging for him so prettily, so obedient like you always are for him. 

He opens your bedside tables drawers, searches through the junk for something. He doesn’t even know what. There’s old movie stubs and receipts held together with a bobby pin. A postcard from someone called ‘Becky’ in Italy. Some empty lip gloss tubes and a candle burned down to the bottom. Then he sees a small rock. Hidden beneath the postcard and a letter telling you to go to the opticians. Shiny and blue just like his eyes, his flames. He turns it in his hand for a second, the smooth surface cool on his skin, before pocketing it swiftly. 

You don’t notice when you get home. If you do, you don’t say anything. 

You only get bolder in your approach with him after that. You start sitting on the couch with him. You ask him stupid small talk questions. What’s his favourite colour, his favourite food. And if you see how incredibly weird the whole situation is you don’t comment on it, so neither does he. Dabi feels more like a roommate than a patient now. You both don’t bring up the fact he’s healed enough to leave. You tell him he needs a few more days and he lets you lie.

“It’s nice having someone else in the house.” You say one day.

The two of you were on the couch, just that bit closer than the time before. Dabi’s arm rests on the back of the couch, and if he moved just a little to the left he’d be touching you. 

“What?” 

You shrug. “I get lonely, you know? All my friends live miles away, and the same with my family. I don’t know anyone around here.” 

You turn to him then, and shoot him a small smile. 

“It’s nice having company. Makes my house feel lived in.”

“Even if it’s a big old villain?”

You roll your eyes. “Haven’t been very villainous though, have you?”

“It’s never too late, baby.”

It’s the beginning of the end when he starts to do stuff for you.

It’s nothing crazy at first. He sees dishes in the sink so he puts them in the dishwasher. There’s a load of washing in the washer so he puts it in the dryer. He's just bored. He hasn’t left this house in weeks now, and while he likes the stress-free environment, he’s starting to feel antsy. 

And then he saw your face once, looking at the empty washer like he’d given you a diamond ring. And it felt good that he put it there. And Dabi decided it couldn’t hurt to pull his weight a little more around the house. If you’d look at him like that again he’d do anything you asked for.

You come home at three in the morning one night. Stupidly, he thinks. The area you live in is not a safe one, but it’s hardly his problem if you get kidnapped on your way back. When you walk through the door, the lights are all low and you stumble, mumbling curses under your breath. You turn them on and Dabi thinks you look perfect. Cheeks red from the cold, the dress you’re wearing slowly slipping up your thighs. The top is cut enough to make your tits look great, and you brush a strand of your hair out your face as you bend down to take your shoes off. He shouldn’t look, but really it’s all your fault for inviting a villain into your house. What did you expect?

You look up and your face lights up when you see him.

“Dabi! Oh my gosh, hey! I did- I thought you’d be sleeping.” You say the last word in a whisper.

And if that wasn’t tell enough that you were drunk, the way you almost fall walking to the kitchen is. You grab a water from the fridge, and Dabi watches as you down the whole thing in one go, drops of it dripping down your chin and your neck. You breathe heavily, chest heaving up and down as slump against the counter.

“God, I'm so thirsty. The drinks, I mean we had drinks. Of course! Mimosas and like, they were all pink and glittery. Can you tell I’ve been drinking?”

“Oh, not at all.” 

You grin. “Okay! Good! And then, this guy kept buying me drinks. So many drinks. The pink ones again. And I drank them. They were good, though.” 

You walk over to the couch and plop yourself next to him. Your bare thigh presses into his and Dabi lets it. He’s more focused on this little friend of yours buying you so many drinks than anything else.

“What guy?”

“Dunno. Some freak. I think- He was hitting on me. That's what my friend said to me.”

Dabi nods. “Mhm. You didn’t like him?”

You grimace, shaking your head.  “Ew, no way. He’s- He was so blond. And like, preppy. It was gross. He was gross.”

Dabi snorts a laugh. You grin at the sight of it. “Blond and preppy not your type?”

“No. No. I like.” You turn to face him. You cross your legs on the couch, tugging your dress down as it hikes up. You look at him quizzically before nodding your head, like you’ve figured something out.

“Actually, you are my type.” 

Dabi thinks he needs to get you drunk more. He likes the way you’re looking at him.

“Really?”

“Oh for sure. I like- You know like, emos.”

Never fucking mind. 

“I’m not emo, what the fuck?”

You laugh, loud and boisterous. “You so are! The black hair and, and the staples are like piercings. I bet you listen to heavy metal. Do you?” 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

You giggle, leaning over to rest your head on the couch. Your eyes travel down to his torso, exposed in the vest he was wearing. You reach a hand up, tracing it down the lines of his muscles, over the scarred skin. 

“Love your arms. So big. Can’t even wrap my hand around them.” You mumble. You demonstrate, taking a deep breath when your finger can't meet at the other side. 

“And. I like your voice. So raspy. It’s hot as fuck. And your eyes. So blue. Like the ocean. Like hat billie eilish song.”

He huffs a laugh. You look up at him, eyes shining from the light of the TV. You smile softly, hand still burning a hole on his arm. 

“Thanks if- for not killing me. And going all villain on me.”

Dabi hums. Sees your eyes trail down to his lips and back up to his face. 

“Never say never.”

“Shut up. Don’t say that. You’d never kill me. I’m too loveable.” 

“Too fucking full of yourself.”

“Wish I was full of you.” 

Your hands cover your mouth the second you say the words and you sit up suddenly. Dabi barks a laugh, and you whine, covering your face with your hands.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry. I’m so drunk. Oh my god.” You groan.

“Don’t worry, baby. We can make your dreams come true.” He smirks.

“Stop. Now. Before I die of embarrassment.” 

Dabi pats your shoulder. “S’fine, baby.” 

You slump a little, yawning loudly. You glance down at his hand that still hasn’t left your shoulder. “You're so warm.”

“It’s almost as if I have a quirk that produces fire.”

You roll your eyes. You turn slightly and lean against Dabi. He stiffens slightly as you adjust yourself, pulling one of your throw blankets down over your body. 

“The fuck are you doing?”

“I’m cold. You’re warm.”

“Go sleep in your bed, you idiot.”

“No. Don’t tell me what to do.” 

“The fuck?” 

You don’t say anything. Dabi looks down and your eyes are shut. He can feel your bare skin on his body. It’s so cool in comparison to his. That’s why he lets you stay there. He’s warming you up and you’re cooling him down. And you just stay there, sleep soundly like he isn’t a murderer, like he isn’t worth the same as the dirt on your shoes.

The next morning you don’t speak of it. Just rush yourself to the bathroom because, like an idiot, you went out on a Wednesday night like you didn’t have work the next day. 

Dabi realises he needs to leave when you almost kiss him.

You’re not drunk this time. He wishes you were. Wishes he could blame it on the alcohol coursing through your veins and not something else. This time, you aren’t both sitting on the couch like you usually are. You both stand at the big window in your living room, Dabi smoking a cigarette and you looking at the stars. It’s late, but it’s a weekend, so you don’t have anywhere to be. You’ve been talking and he’s been listening. The occasional response. He’s more focused on you, on the way the moonlight streaks across your face, the way you’re wearing one of the shirts you bought him. It dips down past your waist and he feels like you're his.

“Oh my god! You’ll never guess who came into work yesterday.” You turn to him excitedly.

“Who?”

“Remember I was telling you about that guy who kept buying me drinks?”

Dabi nods. “The blond one who’s not your type?”

You nod frantically. “Yes. He came in because he had to get tested for an STD! Can you believe that?”

Dabi scoffs. “Yes. Any guy buying pretty girls drinks is a guy that sleeps around.”

“Aw, you think I’m pretty?” You coo.

“Gorgeous.” It’s meant to be sarcastic, but it comes out much more real than he’d hoped.

“Well, it’s no matter. I wouldn’t have gotten with him, drinks or not. I'm safe from any STD’s.”

Dabi takes another drag of his cigarette. “So harsh. It’s what’s on the inside that counts, I thought.”

“Not when it comes to a hookup. And not when there’s literally some-“ You cut yourself off. 

“When there’s what?”

“Nothing. Shut up.” 

Dabi rolls his eyes. He turns so he’s facing out the window completely, resting his elbows on the windowsill. He presses the cigarette into the wall beneath it. 

“Well, desperate times, baby. You wouldn’t believe some of the girls I’ve hooked up with.”

“I find it hard to believe you struggle to hook up with people.” 

Dabi barks a laugh at that. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

You shrug. “You're hot. Isn’t that all guys need to hookup?”

“The whole ‘wanted villain’ thing scares people off. Usually.” He gives you a pointed look. “That, and the scars.”

You look at him and gesture at him to face you. You’re looking at him so intensely he feels nervous. Dabi, a serial killer with more kills under his belt than you can imagine, is nervous because of a silly little civilian.

“What’s wrong with them?”

“What’s right with them? They’re ugly, and they’re being held onto my face with fucking staples. Freaks people out.” He shrugs.

You furrow your brows. You look at his face, his arms, his chest. Where yes, he isn’t wearing a shirt again. The scar across it from a knife wound that feels years away.

“Shut up. Do you actually think that?”

Dabi tilts his head. “You don’t?”

“Of fucking course I don’t. They- You’re hot as fuck! I don’t understand why your scars would change that?” You splutter. And you look angry for him and Dabi feels his chest tighten.

“It’s alright, baby. I don’t care. My dick still gets wet when I need it to.” 

You wince. “Ew, Dabi. That’s gross.” 

“You’re gross for having a crush on a villain.”

You blush. “Shut up. I don’t have a crush on you.”

“Sure, sure.” 

Dabi can hear the sound of cars a few streets down. The breeze is light, and he can feel it rustling with his hair. He wonders if you notice the white of his roots peeking through. If you look enough to notice. 

He’s pulled from his thoughts when he feels your hand on his arm. Trailing up and around the divide of skin and scars. Your fingers trace over the staples. You touch him so gently. So softly. He wants to rip your hands off and lean into them all at once.

“Did I say you could touch?” He speaks quietly. You smile slightly, looking up at him for a second.

“I don’t hear any complaints.” 

You brush against the panes of his chest. Dance across the scar that will only ever remind him of you. Dabi thinks he leans into you. He wonders if you notice. You move up the sharp lines of his collarbone, the curve of his Adam’s Apple. And then your hands rest on his face. And they’re softer than his will ever be, free of the marks of his childhood and his days burning to quieten the noise in his head. Your hand curves against his cheek and he wonders if you can feel his heart beating as heavily as it is. 

Your fingers brush under his eyes. The small patch of purple skin that rounds them, like ever present eye bags. 

“Your eyelashes are so pretty. So long. I’m jealous.” You murmur.

Dabi doesn’t reply. He doesn’t think he could if he wanted to. 

And then you look at his lips again. Then back up at his eyes. And you look at him with so much emotion that he wants to gouge his own eyes out so he never has to think about it again. Never has to see you looking at him so tenderly. And when you lean forward, just that bit more, hand still on his face, he takes a breath. 

And then your phone rings, and the moment is shattered. You curse under your breath, fumbling around for your phone. You smile sheepishly as you brandish it at him.

“I’m sorry. It’s my mum. Give me a second.”

The two of you don’t meet at the window again. Dabi falls asleep to the sound of your voice in the next room.

He wishes you were horrible. Wishes you were annoying, or ugly, or maybe Endeavour’s number one fan. Instead you’re not. You’re funny and you’re a good cook. You’re fucking stupid for letting him into your life. You’re so kind. You start bookmarking the parts you think he’d like in the books you leave him and he wants to turn the pages to kindling. You talk to him like you actually give a shit what he has to say. Like you give a shit about him.

Dabi wants to leave a mark on you like you’ve left one on him. Because he’s seen the pictures hung around your house and you’re loved. You have your people, you have a place. You don’t need him. But Dabi? He hadn’t been to the league in however many weeks, and he hadn’t heard a peep. Nobody cares about him. Nobody has his picture up in their room. Dabi could’ve bled out in your driveway all that time ago and nobody would give two shits. 

He wants someone to give two shits about him. He wants you to give two shits about him. And it’s a thought that keeps Dabi up every night. Legs still impossibly too long for the couch, as all he can think about is how you’ve ruined him. You’re too fucking good for him. And he knows you’ll soon realise that. 

That’s why he leaves.

Dabi doesn’t know what you expected. That he’d stay? That you’d live together like this forever? He’s fucking realistic. He knows this goes nowhere. There’s a blue collar prick working in some construction site you’ll end up with one day. A man who you can introduce to your parents, one who won’t stain your carpets with his blood, who you can hang up on your walls.

Dabi takes nothing except for the clothes on his back. He waits until he knows you're asleep on those ugly pink sheets and he slips out silently. And he doesn’t look back as he walks away, as the sounds of life hit him properly for the first time in forever. He doesn’t look down at the front porch where he’d almost died, not at the flowers he’d destroyed when he’d collapsed on top of them.

He leaves before he can destroy everything else. Before he destroys you. You and your soft hands and your piercing gaze. He hates you. He hates you so fucking much he feels flames licking at his clothes at just the thought of you.

When he makes his way back to the league, nobody says much of anything. He stalks his way back to his own room. There’s no pictures hung up on the walls. It’s unbearingly small and it feels so lifeless. He lays down on a bed that fits him perfectly. Digs in his pockets for your stupid fucking rock, the same colour as his eyes, that you had hidden in that drawer. 

Dabi throws it across the room. He watches it hit the wall, skid under his dresser. He leaves it there.

——————————————————————-

yo ah really thought u could fix him 🤣🤣 I’ve been too nice to u guys recently so I had to mix in some angst 🙏 this is much longer than usual so I hope u like!

btw recently every title of the fic is based on the song I listen to while I write it so I highly recommend listening to it while u read these :P

I have been posting an INSANE. Amount. Like I think I posted once a day all last week and it’s all been about Dabi 😭😭 I’m very busy this week, so I fear my streak might be lost

lemme know if u want a pt 2!

[pushingdaisies1]

hihi I am not sure how to submit a request because I have never really done one before but isit possible if u could do a myunggi x female reader fic😓😓🙏🙏 I haven't really seen much ffs about him and I really want to see his protective side being portrayed🙌

➜ ౨ৎ Paz Con Usted.

― ꒰ PAIRING: Lee Myung-gi x Reader! ꒱ ― ꒰SUMMARY: Your last relationship wasn't left on the best of terms. It was a small little fling, only lasting for five months. But the way he left was sudden and abrupt. He told you flat out that he wanted to end things, and that was that. Didn't give you any time to ask why, was it your fault? He had mentioned once or twice about his ex-girlfriend. But after making up this grand charade to your face you didn't expect to be the rebound. But in hindsight... you were. Now you are here, being told that you have an opportunity to abolish your debts. A hefty prize, an amount of money you've never seen in your entire life. This was the worst time to run into your jaded ex-boyfriend. But maybe he still had some room in his heart left for you. You weren't so gullible, fool me twice and whatnot. But him swooping in to stand up for you definitely made you feel those same old butterflies rise in your gut.꒱ ― ꒰WARNINGS: Honestly the biggest one I can think of is you and Myung-gi being messy. Like within the context of your prior relationship.. if that makes sense... yk? Start is kinda angsty!! Woops!! There's no violence (excluding regular squid game violence mentioned) but Thanos is Thanos!! No Jun-hee slander here folks. Mentions of Abortion (Jun-hee.) Consequences of Myung-gis actions with a somewhat happy ending!! yay!!! Like you two don't like reforge a whole relationship but no bad blood by the end of this..... wooo!!! Use of She/her pronouns once for reader. Also this is a tad bit long n may have spelling mistakes , woopsie...꒱ ― ꒰AUTHORS NOTE: Ohh no dw!! Yes ofc , here you go!! I really do hope you liked this!! I tried to stay as in character for Myung-gi as possible. He's very much a 50/50 character amongst fans. His actor's so funny and I honestly like his character. Like you envy him but you cant help but feel sympathy for him in moments. Crypto bro who I wanna dissect/look at under a microscope!! Also like... look at him... he's a cutiepatootie. He has his moments but like bro Jun-hee defender forever lmao. Also, I got this title from a beautiful song. It's by the band Ataquemos!! It's just so sweet and a generally warm song. I think it fits Myung-gis's motivations at heart. I tried to deliver on this as hard as I could, enjoy!!<3꒱

☓﹕You never thought you would see Myung-gi again. After your breakup, it all seemed a done deal. He hadn't truly explained his reasonings to you. About... splitting ties with you. I mean it was utterly absurd? Throughout your entire relationship, you always tried to do and be better than before. ☓﹕Always listening to his woes even if they were a little bit baffling for your tastes. What was his problem? You could tell he wasn't being entirely honest with you about everything. His past relationships, his history. But that was his business and not yours. But your breakup definitely surprised you out of left field.

☓﹕He wasn't answering your calls for a good week leading up to it. You were worried sick about him. Thinking that something terrible must've happened. You were so naive to his true intentions. When he finally answered your multiple texts and missed calls, he only followed with, "I'm sorry but I can't do this anymore. I loved you I really did. But I'm not in a well enough place to continue with this relationship. I hope you can understand. I'm breaking up with you and blocking this number. I'm sorry." ☓﹕The familiar sensation of your chest winding tight took over your entire body. Your hands began to tremble as you held your phone. No tears at the sight. But you were practically blown away. Ghosts you for a week and then break up with you over TEXT?! ☓﹕This was jarring beyond the humiliation and general grief you felt swelling inside of you. Did you mean that little to him? What was his fucking deal? He'd even met with your parents on a couple occasions. You at least thought you were serious enough for him to at least break up with you face to face.

☓﹕You didn't even bat an eye about the fact that he was a crypto-bro! Or, that he never truly got over his last relationship. I mean you at least never thought he did. Throughout your past committed relationships, you valued the honesty in partners about what their dating life had been like before meeting you. ☓﹕ It felt like their openness was full transparency, you know? Even if the relationships they had before meeting you were full-blown train wrecks. But Myung-gi was a whole different story from other previous partners. It was odd but again you never tried to pry at him. Were you truly in love or just blind with infatuation?

☓﹕It had been a month since he had cut you off from his life. It had been a month full of bitter spite and just... sorrow. The amount of loans you had taken out definitely started to pile up. You had teetered on the line too many times at work. Eventually losing your position after you accidentally blew up at a coworker. It didn't take you long for your debt to increase even more after that. ☓﹕With how bad the job market was you stayed unemployed for too long according to the bank. Job interviews weren't pulling through. You were practically drowning in unpaid loans and growing unpaid rent bills. Never were you a person to take handouts from friends or family. You were too stubborn for your own good. It was so isolating as your landlord continued to threaten to kick you out if you didn't have all that money in a week. If he was nice enough, he'd outstretch it to two.

☓﹕It was one humid evening when you were waiting for a train. That a man approached you. He looks clean-cut, a businessman-looking briefcase held in one hand. His faint eery smile didn't falter at all as he slid down right next to you. You had spent the afternoon visiting friends for once and running errands with what little you had. One headphone is looped and tucked around the left ear. Of course, you noticed him. He stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the middle-men office workers office workers, or the families trying to get home and escape from the summer heat.

☓﹕You kept your eyes straight ahead. "Pleasedon'ttrytoconvertme..." you repeated over and over again in your head. All you wanted to do was just rinse and repeat the same routine you had accumulated. The same pathetic routine you lived with ever since Myung-gi broke things off with you. But you were totally moved on now! It's been a month... that's a lot of time... right? ☓﹕ The sharply dressed man beside you broke your train of thought. Addressing you very formally, he offered you the opportunity to play a game. What game? , ddakji - for a cash prize every time you flipped his card to the opposite side. By the time you finally gave him an ounce of acknowledgment, most people had already gotten on their designated train. The station was empty and you still had awhile so why not? ☓﹕Shockingly you had won a majority of the rounds. Your arms shot up as soon as you saw his card flip over. He may have gotten one or two slaps in after you flat-out told him you had no more money on you to pay for your losses. "That's okay, you'll pay with your body.", excuse me? ☓﹕By the time he handed you the money he now owed you, he quickly started to latch up his briefcase. Trying to bring levity to the situation, he stopped you before you could get any other words in. From his pocket, he slipped out a card. A circle, triangle, and square on the front of it. Flipping it over it looked to be a phone number. Examining it with keen eyes you heard him mutter "Have a great rest of your evening." under his breath. Before you could thank him or do such a thing he was already gone. ☓﹕Vanished right before your eyes. Your head spun around, eyes landing on the now arriving train. Time to think about this and more once you finish your trek home.

☓﹕If it was only a little game, how hard could it be? You needed the help desperately. No matter how pathetic it was you called the number. Giving the unknown voice on the other end your name and birthday. Quickly and precisely they explained where and when you would be picked up. ☓﹕Seemed easy enough from your point of view. The place they referred you to was one of the largest shopping centers in Seoul. The time was way after the park's hours. It was odd but guaranteed a spacious and empty environment for the pickup to happen. As you listened you couldn't help but feel a low twisting in your gut. This felt wrong, not right at all. You were too far gone now. So you agreed to the terms and hung up the phone.

☓﹕The day finally arrived. You tried to get your assets in order. Told ones closest to you that you'd be busy due to a "new job offer." It was shocking how they all bought the lie. You just wanted to make a quick buck to lessen your debt, that's all. Your eyes flicked down to your phone as you clicked it on. The breeze rustled your hair. The home screen of your phone reads that it is finally midnight. You had gotten there earlier than told on the phone. ☓﹕Just to shake the impending nerves away. It felt like a bust because right on schedule, a van arrived. A masked man rolled down the window and stated your name. Your eyes widened as that pit feeling got deeper and deeper. The door of the van slid open and you slid inside the vehicle. Getting a feel for the van you right saw the slumped-down bodies beside you. Your throat tightened as you tried to find answers to your questions. Before you knew it heavy gas started to fill the backseat. The car whirred to life as you slowly collapsed, finally unconscious.

☓﹕By the time you awoke, you were met with the sounds of classical music and a bed. The metal squeaked gently as you sat up in the bunk bed where you lay. People who were dressed in similar attire as you, with numbers on their chests and backs littered the beds around you. Some were already starting to climb down and stand around on the main floor of the dormitory. Standing back, you were puzzled by where you now were. You were practically whisked away from your life on the outside. This wasn't disclosed in the phone call.

☓﹕Murmurs could be heard in the wide crowd of participants forming in the middle of the room. Others were scared of what this might entail, while some were dumbfounded by the swift change in scenery. The same masked men with different variations of their masks walked out, one outwardly greeting the bewildered players. Immediately as soon as they started taking questions, people kept on giving and giving. By now you had joined the crowd, standing more by the back wall of beds.

☓﹕All of a sudden your ears get all warm and irritated as soon as you hear a specific voice. The same voice of the guy who ripped your heart out and left it beating on the cold floor. Asking for his phone and wallet for market checking of all things? You were staring directly at the back of his head as he whined in annoyance. If it was anyone else, you would've been remorseful. These "guards", had stripped everyone of their personal belongings and usual clothes. But hearing that prick made your head get all hot and all rationality gets just as fuzzy.

☓﹕On the screen they displayed multiple of the players. Their individual names, and the debt amount they had to their name. Myung-gi's face flashed on screen with his hair mostly hidden with a bucket hat. Playing the same game you had when the recruiter found you in that subway. His face getting slapped, holding his cheek. You especially heard ringing in his ears when you heard he had CHARGES against him?

☓﹕During the time you had spent with him, he never once brought that up. Nor the crypto coin scam he ran on multiple people. Other player's faces followed after his. One person's debt reaching into the billions. But your head was spinning at the fact that maybe you didn't know your ex-boyfriend that well. You weren't judgemental of the fact that he dealt with cryptocurrency. Which was probably your biggest mistake. The rose-colored glasses were even more damaged now. Who really had you been dating for those five months?

☓﹕After the square guards' passionate but monotone speech, consent forms were immediately dished out. Four guards stood at each individual post. Handing participants pens to sign the contracts, the rules all in bold. Your number was somewhere in the middle of the large range of game participants. So let's just say you stood around in that line for a while. You didn't really take the time to strike up a conversation with anyone.

☓﹕An older woman, the same one who was arguing with her son earlier was behind you. She was kind enough to take the initiative. She seemed like a nurturing sweetheart. Her words were kind to you as she asked you why you were here and other small talk. It was the most sympathy you had heard from someone in a while. Finding the time to crack a grin of three as she commented "You look like a respectful kid." It was the most conversation you had... since you had gotten here.

☓﹕You two both discussed how this may work. The entire you mostly listened as she talked about how this all seemed "too bizarre for her tastes." You chuckled, cluelessly shrugging with a "We'll find out soon enough." Her son the entire time was trying to get his mom's attention. But she was determined to keep on talking to you. Until it was your turn to sign your signature. ☓﹕Glancing over the rules your head cocked to the side a little. Already here, it felt useless to back out. Leaving with nothing is worse than leaving with something. Readjusting your hold on the pen you quickly signed the contract. Gently placing the pen back down where it sat before, your mind now clear, you started to walk out and away from the four single-file lines. ☓﹕Until you heard a scuffle at the other side of the room. Chu Su-bong and another player were towering over another player. You don't realize who the victim was until you hear the purple-haired one rather loudly announce the name "MG Coin." You wanted to scoff at the cheesy name. Clearly, if those guys were picking a fight with Myung-gi they must've been the people who invested in the coin. ☓﹕You know what? , serves him right. Facing his comeuppance face-on and head-on. But you couldn't help but feel some odd form of pity as you watched Su-bong almost swing on "MG Coin." Thankfully the other player riled him down. The two walked off and the air in the room stayed as stale as it was before. Something inside of you was eager to approach Myung-gi. Before you could stop yourself your feet were already walking to where he was sitting.

☓﹕He looked so small and so pitiful. His head was in his hands as he rubbed his face. Your steps were precise as you walked towards him. Your arms were crossed as you looked him up and down. "Was I just some joke to you?" You sneered. As soon as he heard you his head shot up. Eyebrows creased and mouth agape. The last time he had spoken to you, he didn't expect you to be here of the sort at all.

☓﹕"What are you even doing here?" He whispered, trying to keep his volume to a low. Not to make another fool of himself again. "I should be asking what you're doing here? Oh wait, never mind, I know. Guess I was dating a criminal. I wasted a lot on you. Supporting you, listening to you, being an above-average decent human being for you? And you repay me by keeping me in the dark about something as big as this?" You snapped back at him. Not holding back any resentment that grew towards him during your mutual time apart.

☓﹕"It's not like that-" Your eyes went wide and your jaw fully dropped. "No, I think it is like that. You don't hide stuff like this from someone Myung-gi! What was I even to you? And by your actions.. clearly nothing." He couldn't stop the scoff escaping him, which just pissed you off even more. "Do you ever stop talking? Everything was always my fault when it came to you. But when I tried to explain myself you'd immediately patronize me." ☓﹕"Patrionize you?! You didn't tell me you were wanted by the authorities! For five months, I thought you were just struggling. That's why I helped you so much. That's why I practically let you live with me after a while-" The realization came to you. Was he just using you to hide from the cops? He put his hands up in between the two of you. "When I met you I was in a rock and an even harder place. I-I was trying to turn a new leaf... I had hurt so many people. But you took me in and I..." ☓﹕"And you what? Found an easy cash grab to live off of until you felt guilty enough in that bitter heart of yours?" Your words pierced every muscle in his body. "I loved you, you piece of shit. I loved you a lot. You met my parents! You saw the best of me. You are acting like our time together was nothing. I for sure thought it was something and guess you didn't feel the same." A sigh left you as you got everything out. Everything that started to slowly form after you got that text.

☓﹕"... Are you only here to scream at me? Right now, here? Gotten it out of your system?" His words were like an even deeper twist of the knife. He clearly could see on your face that his response was the incorrect thing to say. He tried to stammer out an apology but you were already backing away. "I'm here to revel in your misery. I've seen enough... good luck." ☓﹕Turning around you noticed a specific player in the sea of people looking at you. She was sitting by one of the bunks. A hand gently cradled her stomach. Her eyes looked glazed over with unshed tears. Her stare was icy and almost demeaning as you looked back at her. They told a story that you didn't quite understand, at least not now. Shrugging it off you went to go find a place to cool down before the first game.

☓﹕It was comical hearing what the first game was. A children's game you used to play with your classmates when you were young. Shouldn't be that off-putting on the outside. Definitely was more with the larger-than-life doll staring all four hundred and fifty-six players down from the finish line. An older man, the 456th player, immediately ran up before the games even started. Yelling that this wasn't just any ordinary game. That lives were at stake and the doll had motion sensor eyes?

☓﹕You definitely started to believe him along with many others once the first player died. One by one gunshots rang out. Bodies were either piled up at the entrances or littered across the sandy ground. People immediately changed their tune and began to run in a lot more of an ordered fashion. Because the doll would only pick up the first person's motions. In following the orders this stranger shouted you actually made it to the finish line. You shockingly made it out alive... only after the first game. ☓﹕After a good chunk of the players were left, everyone was escorted through that colorful maze of stairs back to the dormitory. People were practically cowering in fear and begging for mercy from the guards. The same stranger who had practically saved the lives of every remaining player urged for a vote to take place. Since it was in the forms and already promised, it had to be done. ☓﹕The bloodshed you saw was terrifying. People dropped like flies even if their hands were trembling. It was mortifying to see so up close. By the time your number was called you immediately felt a sense of determination. You weren't desperate enough to watch others lose their lives while participating in gruesome children's games. Nor did you want to die here and have no one you knew realize you died. You'd rather get your body stripped for parts.

☓﹕It wasn't shocking that Myung-gi went for the opposite side as you. You clearly barely knew the man, so anything made sense at this point. It was neck and neck, practically so close to having your side win. But one person broke that, and the opposing side ended up winning. Their cheers were met with broken hearts and people who had just lost a fraction of their hope. ☓﹕The air in the room was building with tension. As players were given food one by one by the circle guards, the entire time in line you could only think about one thing. The girl who was staring daggers into your soul. You didn't know if it truly was something to worry about. But hell you had a ton of time to kill. So you thought the best thing to do was to try and ask the million-dollar question.

☓﹕You slinked back to the side. Your eyes scan around the spacious area to look for her. You recognized the same head of the older woman you had conversed with. During the first game, you noticed that in a fleeting second, the two had conversed. It must've been something to do with that. Right away you started walking over. Her son giving you the perfect moment to approach player 222.

☓﹕She was eating her food, not noticing your steps. At least that's what it looked like. You gripped the water bottle in your hand. Clearing your throat, you two made eye contact. Her gaze was less hurtful. More hollow, as if she was yearning for something. But you had no idea what. Words were stuck in your throat, you were at a loss. ☓﹕"Can I help you...?" Her tone was cautious as she let her tin of food rest in her lap. Her arms were more closed, resting towards her side. You stammered out a "Here." Your hand offered up the water bottle. Her eyes looked at the hand, and then back to you. Almost as if she was waiting for you to finish your sentence.

☓﹕"I-I saw you earlier in the game ... I know it's impolite but it was all just me guessing I didn't mean to offend you-" You were surprised you weren't cartoonishly slipping on a banana peel here. Expecting her to cut you off, she still kept on staring back at you. "Thank you." She whispered as the palm of her hand opened. You immediately handed her the water bottle.

☓﹕The quiet was suffocating. Everyone's conversation and consumption drowned out your subconscious. "Are you Jun-hee?" You abruptly questioned her. She lost all the color in her face. Instead of responding to you verbally, she nodded her head as she stared down into her lap.

☓﹕You could easily connect the dots. Myung-gi had mentioned her by name once when you asked him about his previous partner. She was here, trying to win to make money for Myung-gis unborn child. You had lived five months blissfully unaware of this, of any of this. "Is that why you were watching me earlier?" You asked with a tremble of your lip. Repeating her prior action, she nodded her head. ☓﹕"Oh my god... I... I'm so sorry." Your words were a mess as your past relationship with this perfect guy broke apart. You had fit each other so perfectly. You didn't expect this behavior from him, how could you? Jun-hee was clearly holding in a lot. But she couldn't muster any anger. You clearly were clueless about his lies. By the way, your eyes went wide and your mouth parted, she couldn't stop herself from feeling pity for you. ☓﹕"When I told him, he originally wanted me to get rid of it. Said that we'd handle it." She spoke up as her tone of voice wavered. "I had already invested into that Dalmation coin and he was being hounded by the cops. By then I found out about its failure, he already left my life without another word. I decided that our child didn't have a father anymore and kept it. It's been six months."

☓﹕Anger burned in your chest. Jun-hee looked like a sweet girl. She was so beautiful, like a little button. You felt wronged and betrayed but also vengeful? She stopped you from thinking any harder. "I don't need him. So please do not feel bad for me. When he left he lost his chance. I tried too many times to be there for him, but he didn't try once for me. He's not a good guy."

☓﹕Your head lulled in recognition as you listened intently. "I-I seriously had no idea. He told me a whole other story." She simply shrugged at your response. "That sounds like Myung-gi." She remarked in a reserved way of speech. You couldn't help but crack a small laugh in defeat because it sure was him. ☓﹕You felt pure remorse running through your veins. You extended a vine of friendship to the poor girl. "I know we know each other for the worst of reasons. But... I hold only anger for that man. If you need anything or anyone, you have a friend in me Jun-hee." You lamented as your shoulders lost some of the tension they held before. ☓﹕She plastered a small but noticeable smile on her face. Either real or fake, you took it as a win either way. "I appreciate your kindness." She politely remarked as her head bowed at you, you did the same. "You are a good person. I hope we make it out together and can form a real friendship." That seemed to lighten her spirits. "I hope so as well." Her words were direct but her tone was soft and gentle. ☓﹕You were already bothering her enough. With a small wave of your hand to bid her farewell, you began to walk away. Opening up your tin of food you spent the next couple of hours picking at the once-enclosed meal. You were too stuck in the past. Every sweet moment you had with Myung-gi rotted and turned sour. The only things that gave you any ease at night were thinking back to your exchange with Jun-hee and the warm glow of all the prize money in the middle of the ceiling.

☓﹕The next morning came as a definite wake-up call. The same classical elegant tune blared over the speakers. You wished you could curl back into bed with the pillow muffling the repentant noise. But thanks to the system in place you were stuck here. People were quickly rising out of beds, no one really stopping to sit.

☓﹕Walking down to stand at your bed post you noticed two familiar figures conversing. Myung-gis bruised face and Jun-hees stern brow. You could remember the fight that broke out in the middle of the room, and the reason why he looked so beat up. The same purple-haired guy, Su-Bong beating down on him with the help of what looked to be his sort of right-hand man. Only until the same player who broke the vote count tie stepped in. Myung-gis and Jun-hees exchange didn't look pleasant but no time to focus on that. Guards were already walking in, ready to escort every current participant through the game hall.

☓﹕After making it through the long and winding staircases, you were brought into a large room. It almost resembled an elementary playground. With the bright colors and two rainbow roads, as well as the back walls resembling a sort of school structure. You were set to make teams of five with ten minutes on the clock. Nobody wasted any time in finding teammates. You were having a hard time locating one to join.

☓﹕Time was ticking down bit by bit. It felt more like five minutes to decide who to team with as you saw people right away strategizing. Your fingers danced at your sides as you cautiously walked around. You had gotten rejected from two groups. One because they were already full, with wishes of good luck as you walked away. The other one was because they were also full and you didn't have "the look." ☓﹕Suddenly you heard someone trying to get another person's attention. When you looked back you saw that someone was trying to get your attention. The same guy who was ready to beat Myung-gi to a pulp if he had the chance. The same guy who was pushing people over in the first game as if they were only dominos. He walked with pride as two men followed behind him, one of them the same person who was also beating up on Myung-gi. ☓﹕"Owww Senorita... you're too cute to be alone. Let's play this game together." He purred as he approached you. His arms were crossed and his chest was clearly puffed up. Player 124 clearly didn't look happy about this. Chewing at his inner cheek with an unpleased look on his face. Player 256 was clearly awe-struck with the guy, practically ready to kiss the ground he walked on. ☓﹕You would rather get gunned down than be stuck with this guy and his lackeys. It was a hefty gamble... that's why you never participated in the act. Besides he may get you killed in the next game, if not in this one. So you flashed on a polite but guarded expression. "Sorry but, I'm alright over here." Player 124 scoffed in relief as Su-Bongs head turned back, almost as if sending him a long and lengthy message only with a glare.

☓﹕"It's only you over here though. Come onnn... I'll protect you the whole game. You don't have to worry about anything when you are in the Thanos world. It's a pretty perfect deal." He smirked with confidence. On accident you let a sheepish laugh slip out. He took that as the initiative to push even harder on your buttons.

☓﹕"Whatever the game is I'll destroy anything that tries to tear us apart." He hummed with a boyishly sinister way of speech. You've denied him multiple times by now. Before another polite "no" could be added to that list, you looked up to notice Myung-gi. He was standing in between you and Thanos. His feet are firmly planted in the ground. The clock just now ticked past four minutes.

☓﹕"Ahhh MG Coin, I'm a little busy over here." Thanos snarked as he took a step back. Myung-gi huffed out a reply, "She said no man. So listen to that and go find two other people." By the way, Thanos's expression appeared; he thought this was humorful. "Are you looking to continue where we last left off, MG Coin? I think your purple and new red would look nice together." He replied with promise laced around every word. ☓﹕Myung-gi wasn't backing down and you were taken aback. His body guards Thanos from approaching close to you a step further. Why was he doing this? The clock on the wall took no pause for this. Clearly, this little confrontation was only wasting time. Thanos backed down but "took it to heart." He placed his hands on his chest in a quick heart rate motion. "You hurt my feelings MG Coin. Thanos never forgets." He emphasized his statement as he and the two other players walked away in the opposite direction.

☓﹕As as the three men leave out of sight he's already turning around to face you. "Are you okay?" His voice was signaturely dry but almost sweet. Outwardly trying to sound as apologetic as possible without saying it. You hadn't seen Myung-gi act like that in a while. It definitely made something in you stir. But you weren't going to say anything of that. He was met with a similar closed-off attitude he was met with by Jun-hee. This time with anger simmering beneath the surface. ☓﹕"Is that your way of apologizing?" You remarked with no remorse. "I-I do feel terrible about what I said. Please... I'll explain it to you after you join me." Your eyebrows creased, your expression reading like he had just dropped a bomb of news onto you. "You don't have a team and the people I partnered with - we need one more person... I'm begging you." His voice was finally filled with genuine emotion and emotion that wasn't him whining about problems he caused. ☓﹕"Fine." Your response was one note but that's all that he needed. He led you over to the group of older men. They were much more friendly faces than some of the participants you had to interact with. The game was finally introduced, more like the game and minigames were introduced. Right away, as soon as the monotone voice on the speakers was done explaining the ins and outs, you all started talking about what games would be your biggest strengths. ☓﹕Watching each team go up was like a game of chance. Either both teams would cross the finish line with triumph and hurrahs of joy and relief. One would have their moment in the spotlight of victory while the other would be mercilessly gunned down. Teams who didn't even make it past the second or third game would be shot without notice by the time the timer was done. You tried to stay as focused as you could, examining the surviving team's strategies for your group's potential success.

☓﹕By the time yours and Myung-gis's team went up, there was still a pretty size-able audience left of players. You kept your hands gripped into fists as a circle guard locked your ankles together. The previous rounds of gunfire from the guards still rang in your ears. But your top priority was to survive all five games and make it out of this one alive. You weren't going to die running around a rainbow road playing some small little minigames anytime soon, that was below you. The five of you felt that same momentum coursing through your veins , and then you were off.

☓﹕The sportsmanship that coursed through the crowd with previous teams was already heavy. But experiencing that yourself felt electrifying. Like the only time players who wanted to leave and those who wanted to stay felt truly equal. It was another asset that pushed you and your fellow teammates to finish every game with perfect precision. Your mind wasn’t focused on your potential demise when your turn arrived. The cheers made you focus on the task in front of you.

☓﹕It was with Myung-gis's final kick that your team made it. You made it with time to spare! Arms quickly locked together, each final step you and your teammates made was quick and firm. Everyone erupted with applause and cheers as your team jumped around with utter relief and joy. You had the freedom to walk out with your spirits still held, being led back to the dormitory by a couple of the guards. ☓﹕Making it back, there were only a few teams in there. You had recognized the same familiar face of the older woman. The same woman who was conversing with Jun-hee and one of the winning teams. Other groups of players were littered around in tight units. Only some looked back to the door to see who arrived back. ☓﹕ It was a lot more quieter now compared to before the second game began. This made sense since more five-player teams still had to compete and make it out alive. The door unlatched open and you were absorbed in the ambiance of whispers and emptiness. You gave gentle nods of recognition as your older teammates boasted about your combined success. You noticed how sullen Myung-gi was. ☓﹕Your stomach contorted as a deep sigh left you. "Hey." He heard you call out to him. You were walking directly behind him. He slowly spun around to face you. His eyes bore into the ground under the two of you. "I-I know I... I know I messed up. Especially with you and I am sorry." He looked up to face you. But you were trying to guide him away to a more secluded area of the multiple bunks. He followed you like a lost puppy. ☓﹕You sat down on the edge of a random bunk, the metal under you squeaking at the sudden pressure. He sat down right beside you, arms hanging low in his lap. You looked to him as to give him the room to speak, to "explain himself." You could hear how tight his chest was while he spoke. Bursts of air left his upper frame at every grating word that left his mouth. ☓﹕"When I met you... I was a mess." Your head lulled in a nod as a sign for him to continue. "I had hurt so many people, so many people I once held close to me. But you didn't know who I was. You looked at me like... no one else had. You were someone who still thought of me with some respect. I-I didn't want to ruin the image you had of me so I was a coward and hid that from you." A shaky chuckle left him. His words were so warm, they reminded you of the good times you two shared together. But you were past feeling pity for him, it was more so guilt now. Guilt for a relationship built on falsities that you participated in. ☓﹕Your head turned in his general direction. But your eyes didn't meet him. "Were you using me?", you bluntly asked. "No... I took the help you offered me. I was happy with you-" Your eyes began to water. "I know about Jun-hee." He almost looked surprised as the two of you locked eyes. "... I didn't know about it. I didn't know she kept it." A sheepish chuckle left you as you wiped away falling tears from your eyes. Dribbling down your cheeks, staining them with your constant reminder of turmoil. You didn't want to cry in front of him, but he noticed. ☓﹕"My life was falling apart. I had people out there who wanted to see me hang for what I had done. Which ... wasn't entirely my fault if you think about it. I met you and you closed up all my wounds. You didn't look at me with shame so many others did. I finally felt good about myself for once in a very long time. But then my feelings just grew too complicated. I didn't want to pop our little bubble.. so... I ran away." ☓﹕"You're an asshole." Your words had so much emotion in them. But he couldn't help himself. "I know I am. I regret the times I could have been better... for you." A long and lengthy pause for silence grew in between the two of you. You rubbed your eyes as you thought of whatever you could say next. You were too tired to argue with him. "Do you promise me that if you make it out of this alive, with her, you'll be a better man..?" It was a dumb question to ask of him. Could men like Myung-gi ever change?

☓﹕"Yes. One hundred times yes." He nodded his head adamantly. Your expression was bittersweet. Your head lulled in a nod one more time before you just sat there with him. He turned his head away from your direction. Staring down into the floor, the silence shared between the two of you was almost comforting. It was a familiar sort of ember that burned in the coldness that was your entire relationship. -> "I hate your guts." He smiled, hearing an emotion that wasn't resentment in your voice. "You have every right to."

― ꒰AUTHORS NOTE: Aghhh I know this one was really angsty I'm sorry!! Guys, I love angst can you tell? The idea seemed so somber like u 2 r so tragic it’s aghhhhhh. I really hope this was an enjoyable read. If you’re interested in sending me a request , check out my currently pinned post<3 Ly all , byeee!!! ( ^ . . ^ )

[barcameowski]

𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐒 ⁻ pedri

pairing: pedri x reader , charles leclerc (ex) x reader

face claim: alexandra saint mleux

warnings: none

𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽

liked by pedri , pablogavi , charles_leclerc , feeeeeeeeeeerrrr and 419,000 others

yourusername: the latest 🫠

view comments

user1: charles seen kicking his feet and crying

user2: pedri and gavi lurking 👀

user3: that looks like pedris head…

⇝ user4: alright lets get you back to bed grandma…

user5: literally gorgeous

charles_leclerc: 😊

siramartinezc: guapísima 🤩

⇝ yourusername: 😘🫶🏽

user6: I’m starting to believe she is dating pedri

⇝ user7: fr, siras comment and his brother liked the post

user8: all I do is cry on this app

francisca.cgomes: the prettiest 😍

⇝ yourusername: thank you gorgeous

user9: obsessed with her and charles’ relationship 🙃

⇝ user10: sorry to burst your bubble..

user11: I will never show my face ever again if pedri is dating her

user12: my heart hurts

user13: have my children

user14: I will never be the same after seeing this post

user15: I feel like 20 different emotions right now

pablogavi: is this her ? alejandrobalde

⇝ alejandrobalde: why are u asking me? ask pedri

user16: I have no words

user17: the best looking ex wag

user18: the paddock lost a soldier today 🙂

user19: no more wag meets between yn and kika 🥹

user20: it’s a bittersweet feeling

story posted by pedri

replies:

user1: mi amor don’t do this to meeeee

user2: so nice of you to take that photo of me 😭

pablogavi: who is that ?

⇝ pedri: no one

yourusername: 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

user3: NOOOO DONT CHEAT ON ME

liked by pedri , pablogavi , ferrantorres and 329,000 others

yourusername: my favorite photos from this weekend 💋

view comments

pedri: hermosa 🤩

⇝ liked by creator

user1: PEDRI ?

user2: the first photo !!!

user3: NILO?!?!

user4: I love this relationship and it isn’t even confirmed

user5: I wanna see them post together for once

user6: I have hope that this relationship is pr

user7: is she like a nepo baby or smth?

user8: charles seen (once again) throwing a fit

user9: charles new rebound coming soon

user10: my parents are sending me to a mental institute after the breakdown I just had

user11: I’m skydiving with no harness !

user12: I was not ready for this

user13: can we show appreciation for the second pic ?

⇝ yourusername: IM GLAD SOMEONE CARES

user14: i just puked from crying so hard

user15: I feel like my heart got ran over, I am the biggest shipper of charles and yn 😭😭

user16: I wish I could support this relationship but I’m still grieving

⇝ user17: chill it ain’t even confirmed homie 😀

liked by pedri , charles_leclerc , pablogavi and 299,000 others

yourusername: I love the canary islands 🫶🏽 🇮🇨

view comments:

pedri: yeah but I love you more

⇝ yourusername: my favorite person 🫶🏽

user1: ITS CONFIRMEDDDD

user2: LETS GOOOOOOOOOOO

user3: my charlesyn heart is broken

arthur_leclerc: ❤️

⇝ liked by creator

user4: she traded a ferrari for a honda civic

user5: i just dialed my moms phone number, I only call her when I’m depressed

user6: my dog had to give me cpr after seeing this

user7: I’m a feminist, but I hate you

carmenmmundt: angel woman ❤️

⇝ liked by creator

user8: I’m hopping off the empire state building yipeee!

user9: cute

iamrebeccad: so gorgeous !

⇝ liked by creator

user10: my new essay is based on my heartbreak

user11: I know this is NOT happening

user12: my worlds collided

user13: I’m getting surgery to look like this woman

user14: my favorite model, wag, ex wag, ferrari girl

[lushrue]

hockeyteam!141 x figureskater!reader pt 3

thank you all a million times over for all your love on this series! comment to be added to the taglist and send some asks my way if you have a scenario that you wanna see these characters in, i eat it up!!

cw: drinking

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9

price stood at the center of the face-off circle, his stick resting on his knees as he sized up his opponent. it was the third period and the score was tied 2-2. price’s team was on the power play after the visiting team had received a two minute minor for slashing. figured, he thought. they’d been playing dirty all night; the ref just finally saw fit to call them on it. it was two minutes where they had the upper hand, two minutes to take advantage of their strength in numbers. he adjusted his stick in his grip, looking over his shoulder to make sure gaz and soap were in position before turning his attention back to the face off. he inhaled, and on the exhale, the sound of rubber smacking the ice hit his ears.

price gained control, taking the puck down the ice into the opposing team’s zone. he glanced to his left, meeting soap’s eyes before making a pass. soap received it, the puck smacking off his stick as he took up position on his side of the ice. a defenseman skated towards him, poised to try for a steal. but soap was ready. he made quick eye contact with gaz, sending the puck sliding his way. gaz took advantage of the fact that no one was on his ass, taking it and skating ever closer to the opposing goal. price was lined up, ready to go. it was the perfect position for a slapshot straight over the goal line. the goalie wasn’t watching his right flank, still preoccupied with gaz skating towards him. perfect. gaz made the pass, simon smacked the opposing defenseman into the boards to stop his approach, and price swung. the puck slid over the line before the goalie even knew what happened, setting the buzzer blaring.

through it all, you were watching in the stands. their coordination on the ice was enough to show you why they were first line, why laswell trusted them more than anyone else to get the game started on the right foot and to end it just as smoothly. you were one of the first on your feet after the goal, shouting and clapping. soap skated past price, giving him a congratulatory knock on the helmet as gaz held up his glove for a fist bump. simon gave price a thump on the back, skating behind him as they returned to the bench. “good shot, cap,” he shouted over the music, stepping off the ice as the second line stepped in to relieve them.

you smiled and waved as soap turned to meet your eyes. you’d taken to sitting right behind the bench, making your presence known to them rather than blending into the crowd like you’d done before. soap winked before nudging kyle, who tapped simon’s helmet, who elbowed price. soon, all four sets of eyes were on you. you blushed under the weight of their collective gazes, but managed to collect yourself enough to give them two thumbs up. price chuckled, nodding his head in thanks at your gesture. soap tugged his helmet off, the sweat making the longer strands of his mohawk stick to his forehead. “come out with us after tha game!” he called, his voice slightly muffled by the plexiglass. you didn’t even hesitate. “yeah, ‘course i will!”

…

it was a handy victory after that, simon managing to eke out a goal of his own before the game was over. this win would move them up in the league rankings, signal to everyone else that they’re a force to be reckoned with. with an ever-rotating roster of fresh blood, rebuilding years were bound to happen. but now they were on the rebound, and it felt better than any vice they indulged in. 

that wasn’t going to stop them tonight, though. the four of them stepped out of the locker room to find you waiting, your coat draped over your arms. your eyes were glued on your phone, a familiar crutch to pass the time. the moment you heard soap and gaz’s jovial chatter, your head snapped up, meeting the eyes of your victorious men. you flashed them a smile and a little wave, closing the distance between all of you. “that was a really good game tonight,” you said sincerely, your eyes flicking between the four of them. it wasn’t just a win for one of them, it was a win for all of them. you wanted to make sure they all felt properly congratulated.

“thanks, dove,” price replied, a smile of his own threatening to show through. usually, his mind was racing with thoughts of how they could improve, what they could’ve done better. but not tonight. tonight was for celebrating, and he wasn’t going to let his overactive mind get in the way of that. gaz chimed in, putting his hand on price’s shoulder. “well, it helped havin’ our good luck charm in the stands. didn’t it, cap?” his pointed glance settled on you as price chuckled, your cheeks flushing a pretty shade of pink. their good luck charm. how about that? “good point, kyle,” price said. the weight of their eyes boring into you threatened to overwhelm you, like the tide overtaking the shore.

thankfully, johnny’s scottish brogue broke the tension. “did’ja see my assist in the second period, bonnie?” he asked, shouldering past gaz to be closer to you. you couldn’t help but laugh a little, nodding at him as you clutched your coat a little closer to your body. “yeah, i did,” you reply. you also hadn’t missed the way he skated with more gusto after that, knowing that you’d seen him. “it was impressive. you all work so well together out there.” simon finally made his presence known, shifting on his feet beside price. “yeah, we’ve worked really hard to get ourselves there,” he said, sounding proud of the progress they'd made as a team. you notice kyle and johnny exchange a glance, but you can’t quite read it. there’s something there under the surface, something that goes beyond the game.

before you can spare it a second thought, price places his hand on your shoulder, guiding you out the doors of the ice rink. “c’mon, dove. we’ll take my truck.”

…

it’s around your third mixed drink that you start to get a little more comfortable.

they’ve paid for the last two rounds for you, indulging whatever fruity concoction you find yourself craving. they took you to the one good bar for miles where the air was free of stale cigarette smoke and depression. the five of them weren’t the rowdiest table by far, but they were holding their own. the boys carried on their own conversations in the background, chattering loudly about the game. as you sip at your vodka cranberry, your attention is on kyle’s phone screen as he swipes through pictures of his family. “and tha’s my brother, steven. he’s got a wife and kid. haven’t seen ‘im in a while, they live kinda far.” soap nudges him, causing his phone to nearly tumble into his pint of guinness. “don’ bore the poor lass,” he says, his words already starting to slur a little. johnny was drinking whiskey, which hit a little harder than the beers that his teammates were nursing. no wonder he was on his way to being three sheets to the wind.

you blush and shake your head, giving kyle a reassuring glance. “it’s not boring, i promise. i like getting to know you all. it’s what friends do, right?” friends. you hadn’t stopped to think about it before, but you supposed you’d fully entered friend territory with all of them. you’d come to watch them play multiple times now, and they’d come and watched you skate. not only that, they’d stayed for both your programs and stuck around when the final rankings were posted. mere acquaintances didn’t do that. 

your words seemed to strike some chord in each of them as the hum of their side conversations abruptly stopped. you caught price smirk over the rim of his glass as he took a swig of his drink, his posture confident with his shoulders back and chest forward. johnny looked at you like you’d hung the moon and stars just for him, but only for a moment. kyle’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, like he hadn’t expected you to perceive them as friends. and simon, as usual, was hard to read, but you were getting there. there was a tightness in his expression that spelled unease to you. you faltered, opening your mouth to backtrack before price waved a hand to cut you off.

“nah, the bird’s right, johnny. guess we should know some things about each other if we’re gonna be friends.” his smirk remained, his eyes now fixed on you. maybe it was the alcohol talking, but you could swear you saw a glint of hunger in his eyes. you swallowed, desperate to ignore the electric thrill that struck your core. “why don’t you start us off, love? we wanna know more ‘bout ya,” he said, leaning back against the booth seating and staring you down expectantly. you clear your throat and take another long drink from your glass. you’d need some liquid courage for all this.

“well, i’ve been skating since i was little. i’ve loved it for as long as i can remember.” the memories brought a smile to your face. you recalled sitting in front of the television set, cross-legged as you watched the figure skaters dance on the ice in your ballerina dress. your dad sat next to you, telling you that that could be you someday. you certainly hadn’t competed in any olympics, but you were proud of the level you’d achieved. johnny chuckled, his hand coming to rest on your thigh. it sent a bloom of warmth through you and your cheeks flushed crimson. “somethin’ besides the ice, bonnie,” he said playfully. “we wanna know you, not the skater.”

you composed yourself quickly after being startled at his touch, settling into the casual display of affection. glances were once again exchanged, but this time, it was price and simon. “umm…my favorite color’s green,” you said, looking between johnny and kyle for approval, to see if this was what they wanted. when you got a nod in reply, you decided to continue. you told them about your favorite foods, family vacations, the artists that were on heavy rotation in your car radio. they seemed to hang on your every word, letting the aura of you seep into their bones so they’d never forget it.

the more you drank, the more you talked. so price kept the drinks flowing.

…

kyle drove you home in price’s truck, your swaying body sandwiched between ghost and soap. johnny had an arm around your shoulders to keep you steady and simon had his hand on your arm for comfort. you’d been drunker in your life, but you certainly had a good thing going. all this contact from attractive men was only fueling the fire, butterflies stirring in your belly that weren’t born of alcohol. you muttered things you knew you wouldn't remember in the morning, something about how warm their bodies were and how good they looked in their pads and gear. they were gentlemen, of course. their touches remained innocent as they walked you to your door and made sure you got in safely, staying until they heard the lock click. they had to be satisfied that you were secure for the night.

as the four of them piled back in the truck and headed back down the road, it was simon who broke the silence first. “we gotta have her, yeah?” he said, his voice a rumble that harmonized with the engine. kyle and johnny didn’t respond, looking to their captain for a response. ultimately, he made the final call. price hummed, his head falling back against the headrest of the passenger seat.

“yeah, think we do.”

taglist: @cadotoast @jupiternighties @hxnneydew

[riality-check]

TW: past verbal and emotional abuse

The Harrington house is a game of perfection.

Steve has known this fact for as long as he can remember. There is a right way, a narrow way, a rigid way, of doing things. Numbers dictate all: rebounds, points, and assists for basketball, new PRs in freestyle and backstroke for swim. The numbers themselves do not matter; all that does is that they grow and shrink appropriately.

Infinite growth is not sustainable; not for Steve's stats, not for Richard's stocks. Both of them strive for it anyway.

The house must be clean. The parties can't be busted. The people of Hawkins will only say good things about the Harrington family. Gloria strives for these things, day in and day out.

The Harrington house is also a game of Perfection.

Steve hated that game growing up. The one with the little yellow pieces and the blue board. He was never able to get all the pieces in the right spot before the board spit them all back out.

It made a ticking noise, like a time bomb. Steve doesn't know when he started associating that sound with his parents.

It fits. It fits almost too well. They're fine, at least for a little while. The ticking starts quiet, then grows louder and louder until everything blows up.

The thing is, in Perfection, that the board blows up even if you put all the pieces in the right spots in time. The thing is, in the Harrington house, that everything blows up even if Steve does everything right.

The ticking lasts for days sometimes, weeks others. It's impossible, random, and impossibly random.

The only consistent thing is the board blowing up. And when that happens, so does the shouting.

The Party thinks that Tommy and Carol taught Steve to be cruel. That they're the ones who taught him how to bare his fangs and spit venom. That once he left them, the rage left him.

He's okay with letting them think that. It's easier than explaining that Richard and Gloria are the ones who taught him how to snap and shout, how to tear holes in other people with a few well-spoken barbs.

When Steve thinks of his parents, he thinks of fighting. He thinks of his father calling him useless and his mother calling him an idiot. He thinks of his mother calling his father dirt and his father calling his mother a bitch.

There are never any apologies. "I'm sorry" is never said in the Harrington house, even when the board gets reset.

They say "I got you pizza for dinner." "I saw this at the store and thought of you." "Do you want to come with me to get gas?"

And with that, the ticking starts up again.

Horrible things are said when the board blows up. Steve says horrible things when the board blows up. He's called his father an asshole and his mother self-absorbed and apologized without any apology at all.

He cleaned the pool instead.

Steve doesn't want to the board to blow up in the middle of the Munson trailer. It's why he's keeping his mouth shut while Eddie yells at him.

"What the hell, Stevie?" Eddie shouts, arms flying. "I told you that you can’t do that!"

“You told me you don’t want me to,” Steve says, staying calm and measured.

Calm and measured. Not blowing up. Steve isn’t going to snap or shout or bitch. He isn’t.

“Fucking semantics!”

“They were saying-”

“I don’t care what they were saying!” Eddie roars. “I don’t give a shit what they say about me!”

It’s true. Wayne calls Eddie “Teflon,” says that nothing sticks to him, least of all anyone’s opinion. Steve knows that Eddie doesn’t care about what most people in Hawkins think about him.

But he cares very much about what the people who care about him think.

Steve can say a whole lot of things right now. He’s angry, physically biting his tongue to ground himself. He can say a whole lot of things to cut Eddie to the bone, to end the argument and then some.

But he won’t.

Love is knowing how to hurt someone and choosing not to. It’s using a knife to split an apple to share instead of to cut skin to ribbons.

Steve can’t trust himself not to slash Eddie open. He says awful things when everything goes to hell like this, snaps back hard when snapped at first, operates purely on instinct.

He doesn’t want to hurt Eddie, so he keeps his mouth shut.

“I care that you could have gotten hurt when you swung at those assholes,” Eddie continues. “I care that I wasn’t there with you when you defended yourself. I care that you won’t let me take a look at your hands and make sure they’re alright.”

Steve squeezes the knuckles of this right hand in his left. It stings, but he’s fine. Nothing broken. He knows from experience

“Stop it, you’re hurting yourself,” Eddie barks.

Steve lets go of his hands, lets them hang loosely at his sides.

“So, what the hell, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, still loud, still snappish.

A variety of terrible answers surges to the front of Steve’s mind. Eddie’s biggest insecurities, the things he’s only told Steve when he thought he was asleep. Ways to wipe the anger off his face and replace it with stuff easier to manage: shock, hurt, sadness. Things he would say if he didn’t particularly like Eddie, if he were still in high school, if he were still in his parents’ house.

Steve doesn’t say anything. He keeps the knife in its drawer. He closes his eyes tight and breathes in once, then again.

“Hey,” Eddie says, softer.

Steve opens his eyes to find him a step closer, hands up in surrender.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says.

Oh.

Well.

Steve doesn’t know what to do with that.

He’s said it before. Of course he has. He knows the words, knows that he needed to say them to Dustin and Robin and Max, and he has. He’s stepped too far with jokes and forgot about some things and missed some things they’ve said.

But he’s never yelled at them. They’ve never yelled at him.

This is not how this is supposed to go. Eddie isn’t supposed to apologize. He’s supposed to clean Steve up or make him dinner or invite him along to go grocery shopping.

And Steve was supposed to snap back.

“It’s okay,” he says because that’s what he’s supposed to say, yeah?

Eddie shakes his head. “It’s not. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“It was bound to happen.”

Eddie stares at him, big doe eyes shining, like he has five heads. It makes Steve want to put his bloody hands behind his back, make him shrink.

He swears he can hear ticking, but the board just reset. Didn’t it?

“What?” Eddie asks.

Steve shrugs. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I got scared, but that doesn’t mean I get to yell at you. That’s not okay.”

What does Eddie get to do, if not yell?

I deserve it, Steve thinks, but he’s smart enough to know that saying that out loud will just lead to another fight.

There’s been barely any time to put the pieces back.

Steve doesn’t get it. But, he figures he’s always been a little slow on the uptake, so he can watch. Observe. Figure it out later on his own. He’s pretty good at that.

“Okay,” Steve says.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, and he holds his hands out for Eddie to take.

He’s dragged along to the sink, where Eddie rinses the cuts out with cool water before bandaging them up with the remnants of a box of Band-Aids from the bathroom. When they’re dry and finished, he presses a kiss to each knuckle, feather light.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, looking at Steve very seriously.

“Me, too,” Steve says, voice a little hoarse. “I’m sorry.”

It feels good to say. It feels good to mean.

Standing there in the kitchen of a trailer in Forest Hills, looking at the mismatched furniture and half-full ashtrays of the living room, holding hands with his boyfriend formerly accused of murder and apologizing for the first time and meaning it, Steve feels like he can finally breathe.

The ticking has finally stopped, and silence sounds so sweet.

[imaginesig]

“If they call me a slut, you know it might be worth if for once”

Lewis Hamilton x singer!reader

SMAU

yourusername

liked by lewishamilton, user1, y/nhq, and 402,038 others

yourusername: my muse <3

tagged lewishamilton

lewishamilton its an honor love

user1 when will I find someone to call me love

lando.jpg your own jpg account when??

yourusername I'll stick to my day job

user2 anybody else bothered by how quickly she goes from man to man

user3 right? like I swear she's had about 7 "muses" in the past 3 years

user4 she's literally done nothing wrong?? how dare a women date more than 1 person in her life??

carlossainz55 so new music when?

Charles_leclerc the Ferrari playlist needs an update

yourusername update loading 🔄

user5 oh please be a new album!!

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lewishamilton

liked by roscoovescoco, yourusername, user6, and 183,829 others

lewishamilton: race weekend with my loves

tagged: mercadesamgf1, roscoelovescoco, yourusername

landonorris interesting order

yourusername we all know Roscoe is the real star here

roscoelovescoco listen to the lady 🙌

mercadesmhf1 we love having the Hamilton family in the paddock

yourusername ahhh love to be there!!

lewishamilton 💚

georgerussell63 always a good time with these two in the house

yourusername ahhhh Georgie 🫶🫶

user1 "Georgie" 🥹😭

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tmz_offical

liked by user9, user1, user3, and 937,273 others

tmz_offical: just days after the end of the season, f1 driver Lewis Hamilton is spotted out with young girlfriend Y/n L/n. The couple is notorious for keeping their privacy, making paparazzi pictures a rare instance. Click the link in our bio to see what else was taken during their night out on the town.

tagged lewishamilton, yourusername

user1 no wonder they keep private, I would too if ended up trapped in a relationship with a slut like her

user2 didn't she and Dylan O'Brian break up right before they got together? Didn't think he rebound guy would last this long

user3 I could never imagine dating someone that much older than me

user4 fr someone tell her to take it down a notch, her sluttiness is showing

User8 the one sided hate is mid boggling

user5 the negativity is DEFINING

user6 right, y'all can't stand to see a women happy, healthy, and unbothered

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y/nupdates

liked by lewishamilton, user5, user9, and 749,934 more

y/nupdates: Y/n seen outside the studio with her producer after radio silence all winter!!

tagged yourusername

user1 she's cooking

user2 she's entering her reputation era I can feel it

user3 fr, after that one tmz post blows up and her comments are flooded with negativity, she locked herself away with her love, and is now seen for the first time in awhile leaving the studio

user4 I CANT HANDLE THIS RN

user5 not the slut trying for a comeback

user6 how about you lead by example? Leave and don't come back 🫶

user8 you know the records gonna slap when @/producer sprinkled her magic

user9 I need them and Taylor+Jack to release something

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yourusername

liked by user5, lewishamilton, y/nhq, and 394,028 others

yourusername: "Slut!" out now on all streaming platforms!! The rest of the album, "Amor Omnia Vincit" out this Friday!

when I originally sat down to create this new album I didn't image I'd write half the songs that made the final cut, but I did. This has been a very therapeutic experience for me.

Thank you to this album, my amazing team, and my lovely muse for keeping me going in the difficult time <3

tagged: y/nhq

lewishamilton you are so Shawn Hunter coded

lewishamilton I love you dear

yourusername I love you too darling

user1 they are so domestic I'm crying 🤭😭

user2 lets all start a thread of our fav lyrics from "Slut!"

user3 "if I'm all dressed up, they might as well be looking at us" WE KNOW THIS COUPLE ALWAYS BRING FIRE FITS

user4 very obvious but "if they call me a slut, you know it might be worth it for once," just hits so hard, like this is an issue she's dealt with for so long but Lewis makes it all better bc their relationship trumps everything

user5 piggy backing off of @/user4 's reasoning, "the sticks and stones they throw froze mid air"

user6 "IN A WORLD OF BOYS HES A GENTLEMAN" 🔛🔝

user7 I'm still not very her admitting that all the negavity around her dating has affected her so bad that she told Lewis "I said it might blow up in your pretty face"

scuderiaferarri we will not apologize for the people we'll become when this drops ‼️

Charles_leclerc we've always been #1 y/n stans

lewishamilton you red fuckers can take two steps back that's my title

carlossainz55 I thought you were her muse?

lewishamilton I'm both

user8 ok possessive king

youruserame for me and me only 🥰

load more

lewishamilton

liked by georgerussell64, your username, user1, and 789,739 others

lewishamilton: SO, SO, SO PROUD OF YOU LOVE!! Watching you work through a rough patch with such grace was beautiful. Thank you for allowing me to be apart of it and listen to these songs+more. I'll be your muse forever if you'll have me <3

tagged yourusername, y/nhq

yourusername forever and always <3

lewishamilton <3

user1 that water look very ~aquamarine~ to anyone

user2 he def knew what he was doing

lewishamilton I had a message to send 🤷🏾‍♂️

user2 LMAOOO HES SO PETTY

yourusername sassy man epidemic isn't a joke

user3 I love that she left like people wanted and wrote a whole song to shut down the hater but also put her and Lewis's relationship on the pedestal it deserves

producer such a sweet album!! Some of the best love songs out there!!

Charles_leclerc Vigilante Shit is my new pre-prix anthem

yourusername watch out @/maxverstappen1

maxverstappen this is where the dutch anthem falls silent 😔

carlossainz55 wasn't ready for Dress

yourusername but...

carlossainz55 its my fav

user4 I love that lewis posted for the whole album when Y/n didn't, but she's replying to comments in his section when he isn't

user5 they really are made for each other huh

roscoelovescoco amazing work mom!!

user5 I will never get over the mom

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yourusername

liked by landonorris, Charles_leclerc, user5, and 937,039 others

yourusername: surprise!! Since this album taught me what it was like to write and create in such an intamate space with very few people/outide influence I wanted to celebrate it with 3 small shows in Monaco, London, and Ottawa!

tickets on sale at 12 pm eastern this friday, see ya then ;)

tagged y/nhq

landonorris do friends get discounts??

yourusername everyone on the grid plus any serious significant others get VIP entry courtesy of me and my team 💖😘

y/nhq we'll be reaching out soon to select the show

lilymhe you don't understand how excited this makes me!!

yourusername well I couldn’t celebrate without my girls (and their men too ig 🙄🤚)

oscarpiastri thanks a lot y/n

alexalbon anybody else feeling loved??

lewishamilton completely 🫶

user1 this will start world war 3 I can feel it

user2 this is the eras tour all over again

user3 except that was selling stadiums, these are small venues

user4 any f1 driver want to link up for a show?? you'll never have to speak to me ever again

user5 I regret to inform you babe, but I think this is the reason she said serious significant others...

user6 official tour soon?? Please mother??

yourusername oh so very soon...

load more

lewishamilton

liked by your username, georgerussel64, landonorris, and 379,268 others

lewishamilton "got lovestruck went straight to my head" <3

tagged yourusername

user1 crying throwing up

user2 quoting her song?? that's about him?? I'll be resting my eyes on the highway if anybody needs me

user3 my toaster looks like a fun bath bomb

yourusername "got lovesick all over my bed" <3

landonorris beautiful show, beautiful couple 🧡

yourusername 🧡

scuderiaferrari maybe we're colorblind but that doesn't look like Mercedes green

mercadesamgf1 watch your back

georgerussell64 👀

georgerussell64 slayed so hard

yourusername an honor from the meme king?? I'm not worthy

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yourusername

liked by Charles_leclerc, user9, lewishamilton, and 930,393 others

yourusername thank you to everyone who came out to a show this weekend!! I had a blast sining new stuff, covers, and old pieces with you all- the love I experienced was unreal!! I cannot wait to see what happens in the future 💖

To all those close to me, our relationships mean the absolute world!! Special love to Lewis who held my hand through my darkest time, showed me what a true relationship was, and gave me a perfect little boy (I love you Roscoe). Darling, its been a wonderful experience being with you <3

tagged y/nhq, landojpg

lewishamilton love you so much angel <3

georgerussell64 definitely gave me and Carmen the night of our lives!!

alexalbon the show was so amazing I almost forgot you flirted with my gf in the invitation

yourusername stay mad

lilymhe 🥵

Roscoelovescoco can I come next time??

yourusername I'll see what I can do...

landjpg thank you for photo creddits and well as the opportunity to photograph these unique shows

yourusername you didn't not dissapoint 👏👏 thank you for doing it

Charles_leclerc I had an amazing time!!!

carlossainze55 you should hear him try to speak, voice complelty gone

yourusername that's the kind of energy we all need

comments have been limited

[logosbot-tm]

I'm not even a shipper but I did see a post (and several tbh) about Mumbo's death in wild life being turned into Mumbo being a rebound/replacement for Scar??? It's so weird even as a nonshipper I know Grian and Mumbo have been iconically Like That (and everybody knows it and jokes about it) for years. I'm convinced a chunk of this fanbase just skips through video

I will say that I'm not fully sure why this was sent to me, but yeah, I've seen it too. Gonna take off the shipping goggles for a hot sec.

(More below the cut...like a lot more, this ended up as a long ass ramble)

Mumbo's treatment within fandom is rather... odd, in my opinion. He gets pushed to the side a lot, he's treated as if he's pathetic (which yes, Ik that the "wet cat" thing is a joke, but when he's consistently portrayed as pathetic you start to wonder), he's treated as a replacement/rebound for Scar, Grian and his interactions are spun into being about Desert Duo (yes, I've seen this happen multiple times, its weird), disloyal, completely incompetent, and when he died he was immediately talked about as "The new canary".

Which

1) That was Jimmy's curse, why are you trying to apply it to someone else who doesn't fit?

2) No, Mumbo wasn't the first one out when the curse was first broken, that was Lizzie

Mumbo and Grian's friendship is also treated as Not As Important As Desert Duo™️. Grian being distraught about Mumbo's death? Nah, let's focus on Desert Duo being friends instead. Grian bringing Mumbo (and Skizz) back to life? Let's focus on the fact that Scar and Grian flew around together (which is cute don't get me wrong). Mumbo killing Grian after being instructed to do so? Let's talk about how this a Desert Duo parallel.

Hell, Grian and Mumbo's friendship isn't even the biggest "victim" of being twisted as only existing to further the Desert Duo narrative. The friendship that has been most affected by it (within fandom ofc), is Grian and BigB's friendship.

Which, is even odder to me. Grian and BigB have known each other for ages, Grian went and looked for BigB himself (because He Wanted To Be Secret Soulmates), Grian said in 3rd life that he didn't want to kill BigB, and the two of them have known each other for long as hell and have even travelled to Sweden together irl (wayback in like 2017).

There's a lot to say about the fandom's treatment of BigB but yeah, not what this post is about.

It's very difficult to interact with fandom content within both the Life Series and Hermitcraft nowadays. You can't escape Desert Duo or Scarian, even if you try. A lot of the time another ship tag, duo tag, or character tag ends up clogged with Desert Duo/Scarian stuff, and if you block the tag it gets filled with blacked out post saying "This post contains Scarian, do you want to see it anyway?" (<can't remember the exact wording), and often UNTAGGED Scarian/Desert Duo posts pop up in other tags, often tagged with another ship that has nothing to do with the post (<Seen this happen a few times in the Grumbo tag). The Scaridarity tag is filled with Scarian posts, which makes it hella annoying to go through/follow that tag.

And yes. Grian and Mumbo have been a duo since... 2017? 2018? Somewhere around there. They're genuinely close as all hell, having gone on a roadtrip together, and having travelled to Sweden together. They both put references to each other in their videos all the time, they have a robot son named after their (at the time) duo/ship name, and in the life series they've been on a team 2/3 times + they always base closely on Hermitcraft (more than once they've linked their bases, more than once they've had a messaging system).

But nowadays that's largely ignored/pushed to the side, and for a little while there was this odd idea about a "Grumbo divorce".

Which, yes I know it was a joke, but also...what???

On the Hermitcraft server, the Hermits doesn't interact all the time. It's literary called /Hermit/-craft. Often, this is because the Hermits are busy with their own projects, things irl, or they just don't interact. This doesn't mean that a ship is getting "divorced" or anything. Hell, it's a ship. The shipping shouldn't be your main focus when watching a video. The shipping is just something for fun.

So yeah, it was weird to see the "Grumbo divorce" jokes be made, when they're still very close, and Are Still Like That™️ about each other.

There's also this odd thing I've noticed within the fandom, where people can't let Grian and Scar do things on their own without twisting it into Scarian.

No, I promise that in the escape room video that Scar wasn't in, Grian didn't think at all about the fandom's headcanon that Scar is a vex.

All this being said, I also have to say that:

I don't hate Scarian. Does it frustrate me? Yes! Very much so.

But that's because of the fandom. I am a Scarian shipper, I enjoy Scarian, and I enjoy Desert Duo a lot. The fandom has made that experience a lot less enjoyable, because of the weird treatment of other people, because you can't escape it even if you try, because everything gets twisted into Scarian/Desert Duo all the time.

It's frustrating, because it's barely the Hermitcraft or the life series fandom anymore, it's basically the Scarian fandom.

Which, fine, I get it. Its the biggest ship, and I understand the enjoyment of it, nothing wrong with that.

But there's other people on both servers, other duos, other teams, and I promise you everything isn't about Scarian all the time.

I think that Scarian shippers/Desert Duo enjoyers mainly watch Scar's videos, with shipping goggles already on, and then they watch Grian's. They read into things that genuinely doesn't matter, all to further the narrative of Scarian. (I'm not saying everyone does this, or that they do it on purpose, but it comes across as such.)

I can't say that I haven't read too much into something because of a ship, hell, I've been here for Mumbo and Grian as a duo since before the duo even existed.

But to me it feels as if it's going a tad bit too far now.

I keep seeing more and more people get frustrated and tired of Scarian/Scarians, and I get it entirely. I see this happen from multiple corners, from multiple people.

Also, Grian and Mumbo are a duo to such an extent that the Hermits comment and joke about it, hell, even non-Hermits do that. I mean Tommyinnit straight up said "You (Grian) and Mumbo come as a pair".

I'd also like to mention the odd treatment of Grumboers from Scarian. Yes, I know that some Grumbo shippers have entered the Scarian tag just to hate on it, don't do that. Just... genuinely, don't do that, what the hell are you even doing actually.

But when Scar said that people were "Annoyed with him and Grian teaming together all the time" (Which they haven't done. They've interacted a lot, which ain't surprising. They're p good friends), there was an odd wave of posts I saw that blamed Grumboers?

I assure you, that whole thing wasn't our fault. People who've complained about that have done so in the YouTube comments, on reddit, and ofc some have done so on twitter (which is just an awful cesspool of negativity, which is why I don't use it).

It's not our fault. A lot of Grumbo shippers are also Desert Duo enjoyers/Scarian shippers. I mean, I am.

There's also this odd narrative that "Grumbo shippers never experienced this much hate when Grumbo was the biggest ship"

Which is just blatantly false.

In the past, people got hate and death threats for shipping. Didn't matter what you shipped, you got hate for it.

At the time, there was a bunch of posts, much more negatively charged than this one, where people went "This isn't the Mumbo and Grian fandom, stop treating it as such." There were a lot of posts about how Grumboers were annoying as all hell, and how we clogged tags. There were straight up hate posts being spread, often by the majority of the fandom.

Shipping with in the Hermitcraft fandom wasn't accepted at all, and Zombiecleo got bullied of off tumblr for saying that she didn't care if people were engaging in shipping.

I'm glad that shipping is accepted now, because by god it was an awful time, but don't say that "Grumbo shippers never had it this bad". We had it a lot worse. Shippers as a whole had it a lot worse. Don't pretend like it didn't happen, and don't try to act as if it's only Scarian shippers that have been hated.

In all honesty, I'm just tired of all of this. Like really tired. I'm tired of seeing everything get twisted into Scarian/Desert Duo, I'm tired of the ignorance of the fandom's past, and I'm tired of seeing hate aimed at any ship/shippers

But I do think that its time to leave the desert. It's not fun to be in the fandom anymore due to the behaviour. Sure, keep shipping, keep having fun. But for God's sake please stay in your lane, tag your things properly, and please stop trying to force Scarian/Desert Duo upon everyone.

I don't think that the hate is deserved, but everything isn't about Desert Duo.

This is most likely the only time I'll make a post like this, and I'm only making it because I'm finally fed up and tired.

Thank you for the ask.

[redclercs]

DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

iv. you and me would be a big conversation

— the one where both of you have big reputations.

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

masterlist ✢ next

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

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

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

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

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

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

SEE ALSO:

→ Aidan Kim buys new home in Sherman Oaks.

→ Every celebrity present at the Miami Grand Prix.

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

May 13th, Los Angeles, California.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s very nice, Charles.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

─────────

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May 23rd Montecarlo, Monaco.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No worries, it was nice seeing you.”

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

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

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

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

“Do what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✰ paddock club members: @majx00