#super excited for this new year (not at all)

[incomplete-leclerc]

　𝗣𝗢𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘 𝗖𝗔𝗧, 𝗦𝗟𝗘𝗘𝗣𝗬 𝗖𝗔𝗧.　oscar piastri · #81

　　　your boyfriend loves to take naps, and occasionally, you decide to join him.

genres : fluff ... established relationship.　word count : 0.7k.　warnings : none.　 note : my first official f1 fic!! super excited but also nervous to be posting this :') it's the start of a new era <3　　　( masterlist )　( taglist )

Oscar took the chance to nap whenever he could. The constant jetlag messed up his sleep schedule throughout the entire season, so when his body felt tired and there was even 5 minutes to spare, he would take the chance. Lando, not missing any opportunity to tease him about something, said it was because he was still going through growth spurts at twenty-three. 

Given your boyfriend’s habit and love for sleep, you often arrived to see him completely knocked out, whether in the garage, hotel room, or at home. It was endearing, and you had your own way of finding enjoyment in his habit. For instance, your camera roll was overflowing with sleepy Oscar pics; excellent blackmail material if you ever needed it, but most often, you just looked at them whenever you missed him. But your favourite part of it all was waking him up.

Tousling his hair, poking his cheek, booping his nose, kissing his forehead or lips— your methods were practically endless. A lovesick smile was permanently stuck on your face whenever you heard the groggy mumbles he let out as he woke up or saw his scrunched up face at the feeling of your touch. There was a certain charm to all his clumsy, loserish habits, contrasting so starkly with his confidence on track. There were many sides to Oscar, and you had fallen in love with all of them over the years.

It was around 2PM when you opened the door to your apartment, grocery bags in hand. It had been a day full of miscellaneous errands that you had kept putting off, one of which was stocking up on Oscar’s favourite snacks. Now that the 2024 season was finished and he was back home with you— yours for the next four months— you wanted to cook him some of his favourite meals. You had expected to see Oscar in the kitchen or living room, as he usually was. But the house was unusually quiet as you put away food in the fridge. Though, one look into your bedroom told you where he had been hiding.

After knowing Oscar since you were teenagers, it was unsurprising to you when you found him fast asleep on your bed, hugging your pillow to his chest. You smiled at the sight, figuring he must still be struggling to adjust back to the timezone. With you gone first thing in the morning, there wasn’t anything to keep him awake, either. It was no secret that Oscar was the clingier of you two (quite a problem when it came to races conflicting with your schedule), and for all the hoodies and shirts of his that you stole, he liked your pillows. 

The mere sight of your boyfriend comfortably cosied under the blankets on the bed had you starting to feel drowsy yourself. You hesitated for a second about whether to wake him up, join him, or leave him entirely and drink another cup of coffee to get through the day. But you realized quickly that more than anything, you missed his touch the last couple days. Cuddles to sleep was all you craved for. So with all hesitation gone, you climbed up on the bed, easily slipping your arms around Oscar’s waist, hugging his back. The movement was enough to wake him, and he blinked, slightly dazed as he turned around in your arms. 

“You’re back,” he mumbled, words barely above a whisper before he closed his eyes again like a cat squinting in the sun. You giggled, adjusting the pillows as Oscar nuzzled closer to you. “You smell nice… did you get a new perfume?” 

You smiled, closing your eyes as well as Oscar wrapped his arms around your waist and your hands found their way to his hair. “I did. It’s peach. You like it?” He hummed in confirmation. “Still jet lagged?”

A gentle squeeze from Oscar was all the answer you got, but it was all you needed to understand. With the scent of your perfume, your hands threading through his hair, and a soft kiss pressed to his lips, he was already falling back into his dreamland. You soon followed, wrapped in his arms; close, content, and comfortable.

[onlygarden]

[so good, light up the neighborhood] - park sunghoon

genre: smut

description: after moving into a new home, you develop a less-than-subtle admiration for your neighbor - a handsome, charming man who also happens to be forty years old. sunghoon is 40, reader is in their 20s, dilf sunghoon (he's not a father, just a dilf if you know what i mean), unprotected sex, biting, power play kinda, sunghoon is flirty, dom sunghoon, older sunghoon (whatever you say daddy)

a/n: this fic kinda beat my ass, but i'm super excited about it :D been brewing this idea for a little while heheh

the late afternoon sunlight brightened the expanse of your living room, dramatically bright rays resting upon your eyelashes and obstructing the view of the drama on your television. albeit, you were rewatching it, anyway; and only half watching at that, since your mind obliged you into pondering the gentleman who now lived next door to you. 

your recent move-in concluded only a week ago, the less-than-impressive dimensions of your new home still littered with empty boxes which sat in a neat pile beside your front door ��� your poor attempt at tidying the muddled mess of your unpacking process. 

you approach the clutter of empty boxes, thoughts of your new neighbor lapping your brain rampantly, their stubborn insistence rousing a sigh from your lips. images of his delicate, genuine smile as he introduced himself, his habit of using ‘sweetheart’ rather than your name, his firm ‘you don’t have to strain yourself, let me…” as you attempted to carry all your boxes into the house alone remained on a continuous loop, beyond any of your better judgment or hollow efforts to distract yourself. 

your knowledge of him doesn’t extend very far, similar to your brief list of interactions with him – the only information you’ve gathered thus far is his name age, and the fact that he’s so inconceivably handsome your breath hitched in your throat when you first cast your eyes towards him. the shocking difference in age between the two of you didn’t deter your admiration at all – sure, he’s forty years old, and sure, that’s much older than you. in your mind, however, the fact that he was old enough to be your father only strengthened the enchanting spell your body and your wits were under. 

“hey, sweetheart,” his familiar, yet charming voice rings out, gently diverting your attention away from your unseemly contemplations. 

your legs halt, pausing your movements in your short trek to your recycling bin. you eagerly direct your gaze to his direction, and goodness, there he is; just the sight of his gorgeous face causes a smile to glide it’s way across your features, followed by a subtle blush. the sound of his car door closing reaches your ears in the same moment that his classic, sly grin adorns his face, fueling a flurry of warmth in your tummy. you were so overcome by your thoughts, that you hadn’t even noticed his car returning to his driveway… 

“oh! hey, sunghoon,” you utter all too evenly – the pressure of the thump, thump, thump in your chest, and the shameful nature of your thoughts was not betrayed by your demeanor in the faintest degree. 

oh, he’s coming over here, you think as he suddenly begins to approach you. his legs drag him closer to you until he’s standing directly before you, the width of his shoulders and his daunting stature causing you to feel caged in. you invite the feeling, however, shamelessly basking in shelter he can provide with his frame alone.

you fling the thought from your mind as his gruff, warm voice reaches you again, his proximity intensifying the metaphorical embrace your senses receive whenever the sound reaches them. with such a limited distance between the two of you, his voice was much softer, more intimate – you were certain you could feel the resonance his voice created in his chest across your skin.  

“getting rid of all those empty boxes, huh?” he questions, his sly smile still proud on his face, but resting in such an easy manner. the ease of his expression mirrors the ease of his demeanor, not a single fray of tension shedding from him. 

“oh, yea… yea, i am,” you respond, your gaze shifting to the boxes in your hand in a fleeting glance, before returning to his captivating eyes – his eyes were chasms, shimmering dark orbs absorbing every grain of your attention, unpermitted and unforeseen by you. though if you did garner any control of the situation, you wouldn’t try to resist, anyway. 

his own gaze descends, falling upon the boxes you held before being captured by another, lower view. the pleat of your black tennis skirt was snagged underneath the boxes in your grasp, revealing the shorts underneath – the shorts designed to prevent situations like yours from becoming any less fortunate. though in your case, flashing the man in front of you with the sight of your thong would only serve to further gratify him. 

he noted the sight of the not-so-generous fabric, paying particularly close regard to the way the shorts sink into your flesh, your thigh pillowing around the constricting material. you truly didn’t realize, did you? you were so blissfully oblivious to the mishap, but equally as oblivious to the subtle change in his relaxed gaze to a more appreciative one.

a muted huff drifts past his lips, and he allows his eyes another moment to delight in the glimpse of your flesh bared by such a favorable accident. shielding your skin from his own ravenous leering, he tugs the fabric down, freeing your skirt from the captivity of the box and effectively concealing the skin of your upper thighs. in the process, he allows his deft fingers to graze your skin, lingering only for a moment before his hand falls to his side. well, there goes the view, he thinks. 

the vague blush which already plagued your features only brightens as you come into collision with the realization. the way he momentarily allowed his fingers to skim across your skin surely did not offer your rattled, wickedly jumbled mind any support.

a soft gasp spills from your lips, your eyes stretching wide as you struggle to accept the fact that sunghoon – your neighbor, and the man occupying every crevice of your brain – just saw up your skirt, whether the skirt in question was made with shorts or not.

“oh god, sunghoon… i’m sorry, i –” he intrudes on your frantic apologies, shaking his head dismissively as the warmth of his husky voice travels to your ears again. 

“need some help, sweetheart?” he inquires plainly, though the tone of his voice seems to insinuate a path of events that are obscured from the realm of plain.

your heart stutters beneath your chest, a sense of almost pleasant alarm crawling over your body. the breath in your throat catches, much like usual while you’re conversing with your neighbor. 

“help… help with what?” you inquire in return, the sound of your voice a feeble murmur, the breathiness only further shrouding your words. 

his grin returns to his lips, stretched wide enough to allow his pointed teeth to slip, a memorable feature you came to realize during your first conversation with him. 

“with the rest of your boxes,” he starts, a teasing lilt traveling through his voice. “i could help you bring them out.”

your shoulders begin to relax, the tension subsiding, leaving a subtle sense of disappointment to wander – a gesture you hope his gaze didn’t catch. 

“oh, my boxes…” you utter, your head dropping slightly as a faint chuckle leaves your chest. of course he was talking about the boxes, how could you let yourself get so carried away… 

“yea, i could use some help,” you follow, your eager declaration accompanied by a sweet smile. 

as you oblige in a shameless degree of willingness, sunghoon removes the boxes from your grip, striding casually to your recycling bin. 

your gaze remains on his frame for another moment, roaming over the expanse of his shoulders again, admiring the manner in which his black tee clung to him before you manage to avert your eyes – the fear of being caught grips you cruelly. 

as you head towards the door to retrieve another set of boxes, sunghoon pushes the door open a bit wider from behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder, and allowing it to follow the course of your spine down to the small of your back. he ushers you inside with gentle grace, an equally gentle “right behind you, sweetheart…” passing through his lips. you’re endlessly grateful for his position behind you, since it shielded the apparent heat on your face from his eyes. 

gosh, what’s his problem. the dominance behind such a simple gesture almost made you forget that it was your house, and you were the one leading him inside. 

he permits his eyes to travel throughout your home, observing the manner in which you arranged all of your belongings. 

“very cozy in here, darling,” he compliments. “did you do all of this by yourself?” 

darling. that was new. goodness, he hardly even knows you, but he always manages to sneak an endearing title into conversation with you. you desperately cling to the conviction that it’s completely normal, he’s just being friendly, he probably speaks this way with every young girl… but the distant belief that he’s trying to communicate more than just that is beginning to outshine the former. 

you face him with a quiet smile. “oh, yea. i did. i’m not entirely finished, but i’m glad you think it’s cozy. as my neighbor, you know.” 

a soft chuckle escapes him. 

“as your neighbor, yea…” he starts, a charming lilt littering his gruff voice. “well, i hope that as your neighbor, i’ll be invited over more often.” 

a blend of slight shock and enthusiastic excitement mingles together in your expression. the slight increase of your heart rate causes your voice to sound a bit breathier than you intended, but he doesn’t seem to mind. in fact, he seems almost delighted by the reactions he keeps pulling from you. 

“of course, you’re always welcome,” you respond naturally, hints of kind enthusiasm lacing into your words. you continue, hoping your eager yearning doesn’t come across him. 

“is that something you would want, sunghoon?”

his eyebrows lift faintly, his expression relaxing from his usual sly demeanor. 

“yea, it is, but…” he starts, taking a step closer to you. 

“i hope i’ll get to see more than just the living room, darling…”  

a gasp wanders from your lips beyond your will, prompting the familiar sly smile to return to sunghoon’s lips. before you can even begin to formulate a response, however, his voice rings out again. 

“i’ll grab the rest of these boxes, and then we can chat, if you don’t mind,” he expresses with a hint of intrigue, his hands steadily emerging from his pockets and his head tilting in gesture to the bundle of boxes beside your front door. 

your mind encourages you to nod, your body complying with the request to an almost instinctual degree. you move to assist him in collecting what remained of your moving clutter, following his figure through your front door.

“yea, i’ll… i’ll grab some too,” you manage out, surprised that your frenzied mind could feed you a coherent sentence. 

once the two of you complete the task – a task which should have been simple, but was filled with tension and embarrassingly hungry anticipation on your end – you encourage him to sit on the couch, to which he complies easily. as your take your place beside him, he slithers closer, close enough for his knee to make contact with yours. 

this contact, this proximity – you’d be completely comfortable with it under any other circumstances. if anyone else, or any other guy, for that matter, were in his place, you wouldn’t be flustered in the slightest. it’s him, though, and any bit of contact that he’s generous enough to grace you with turns every fiber of your body into putty. putty meant to be molded, maneuvered, and played with by him alone. 

“you seeing anyone, darling?” he utters breezily, almost too casually for your poor mushy brain. other parts of yourself were beginning to grow rather mushy, too… 

“no, i’m not seeing anyone,” you start, shaking your head gently, your hair swaying a bit with the gesture. 

“why?” you continue. 

his expression brightens marginally at your answer, though the brightness of his expression is still maintained by his sly, casual smile. 

“you see, doll,” he prods, his voice a low timbre, coating your senses in a fresh wave of heat. his hand comes to rest on your knee, rousing every nerve beneath your bare skin, igniting a pleasant burning sensation with his touch. 

doll? gosh, this man is non-stop.

“the first time i saw you in the neighborhood, i couldn’t help but notice how beautiful you are,” he compliments, the words tumbling from his lips in the same charming manner in which they always do. 

he allows his hand to inch up your skin, fingers fluttering across your skin as he offers the flesh of your thigh a light squeeze. 

his eyes falter momentarily to watch your flesh cushion around his fingers, but he regains his firm, locked gaze. “you’re such a beautiful, beautiful, sweet girl… it really shocks me to hear that you’re single, but…” 

the distance between the two of you shrinks as he leans closer, breaking his stubborn gaze to speak against your ear. 

“would you let me be the one to change things?” he urges, his breath warming your ear, while sending shivers to travel down your spine simultaneously. 

what? you could hardly grasp the belief that this was reality, real life, he’s really asking you this question right now. you only spent a little over a week pining for your much older neighbor, yet here he was, in your home, making you aware of his reciprocated admiration without a hint of subtlety. 

“y-yes, sunghoon…” you mutter, somehow discovering a way to form words despite the wildly intense thrumming in your chest. 

his hand sweeps your hair from your shoulder, revealing your neck to him, and his middle finger traces along your jaw, tilting your head up a bit in the process. his fingers crawl to the back of your neck, still resting halfway against your jaw, dragging your face toward his.

“thought so, darling.”

his lips meld with yours, capturing your lips with his own, creating a rhythm which you matched enthusiastically. as though his hunger was beginning to struggle against the seams, his hand flies up skin of your thigh, squishing a greedy handful of your flesh.

his tongue slithers tauntingly along the seam of your lips, hardly waiting until you part your lips to shove his tongue inside of your mouth. he explores your mouth as though he was searching for something, seducing your tongue into an eager dance with his own.

garnering every bit of restraint from every tendril of his body, he parts from you, his nose gliding along your cheek. 

“how far do you wanna take this, doll?” he breathes out, his voice littered with arousal and restlessness. the rasp in his voice gives way to just how narrowly he’s managing to control his impulses. 

“as far as you wanna go, sunghoon…” you murmur feebly, inviting every unfettered bit of him to demolish you. 

a sound resembling a growl rumbles in his throat, and he lays back against the couch, pulling your body on top of his. as you begin to adjust, his large, veined hands glide along your back until he grips a generous handful of your rear. his tongue skates along the sharp line of your jaw, and he begins to treat the flesh of your ass, ardently squeezing and kneading underneath the pleat of your skirt. 

“you know how much i’ve been staring at this ass, darling?” he inquires rhetorically, one of his hands leaving your flesh to land a smack there, though he quickly returns to the kneading that he cannot seem to get enough of.

his hands reluctantly leave your ass, and he begins to lift your top over your head. he pats your bottom, instructing you to stand up, observing with awe as you pull your skirt and panties down without a single word from him. 

he rids himself hurriedly of his own clothes – tossing his shirt aside and abandoning his pants and boxers in tandem, not sparing a glance in their direction as they fall onto the floor. 

just as the final contents of his clothing reach the floor, you allow your unclasped bra to join them, before returning to your seat in sunghoon’s lap. 

sunghoon’s hands reach for your hips before you can fully settle yourself, and he watches in stunned admiration as a string of your arousal gushes from your drenched, lavish pussy, dripping onto his aching cock as though extending an invitation. 

“fuck,” he breathes out, his heavy eyes unable to tear away from the sight of you. his cock twitches powerfully from the subtle stimulation he received from your lavish arousal, and he removes a hand from your hip to stroke his cock, spreading the gift your pussy graced him with over his length.

“you get this wet just from being around me? god, you’re filthy, doll…” he tells you, thoroughly enjoying your shamelessness, and the plentiful flow of arousal you were offering him. 

the temperature in your face rises, but before you can truly react to his words, he begins to lower your body onto his cock, filling your leaking pussy with his daunting girth. a groan escapes him as you engulf him, flooding his cock with such a luscious, warm wetness that he can’t wrap his mind around. 

your feverish moan reaches his ears, and your hands grip onto his own, as though telling him ‘wait, let me get used to this…’ – sunghoon doesn’t allow you any amenities, though.

“goddamn you’re wet…” he announces, grunting at the snugness of your realm of warmth surrounding him. a sensation he had suffered deprivation from for so long, but now he’s finally indulging in it, finally sliding his cock into you. now that he’s captivated you, however, he doesn’t think he’ll ever want to miss out on the feeling of being encompassed by you.

all of your reasonable judgment was easily forsaken, and all you desired was to learn and memorize the feeling of his length inside of you.

“f-fuck, hoon!” you wail, as the rhythm of him fucking you onto his cock begins to overflow from your body, the squeeze of his hands against your hips as he guides you up and down only pleasuring you even further.

“mhm… there it is… let it out, my sweet girl,” he encourages hoarsely, any sound and syllable that falls from your lips a pleasant melody for his wicked ears. 

at the sound of your goading cries, sunghoon’s pace hastens, his hips bucking his cock further into you as he forces your hips down to meet every merciless passing of his length through your warm, glistening spring. he’s unfaltering in his movements, sending your body and his own to such astonishing heights of euphoric delight. 

as unimaginable as it seemed, sunghoon intensifies the sheer enchantment he was bestowing onto you as he leans forward, capturing your nipple with his mouth, suckling as his tongue glides over the nub in a gentle caress. 

your cries, moans, and whines only blend pitifully into unintelligible sobs, convoluted pleas of “oh god, oh fuck!” floating from your quivering lips, pouring an abundance of sinful satisfaction onto sunghoon’s body. good god, you’re just heaven to him.

“gonna cum now, sweet girl?” he inquires in a dark breath, detaching his lips from your nipple only to begin suckling the other one, his clenching hand on your hip allowing his thumb to begin circling your fluttering clit. 

your body can’t even conduct an action as simple as a nod, yet the way your body begins to tremble, and the way your helpless hands latch onto his shoulders in a form of nonverbal begging tells him all he needs to know. he exhales with a chuckle as your tears of devastating pleasure begin to fall onto his chest.

“you crying, doll? it’s just sex, i’ve got you…”

obliterating the sentiment of his sweet yet condescending words, his leg bends, allowing him to brace one of his feet against the couch cushion, and he brutalizes his pace of plunges into your pussy. his cock stimulates places inside of you far beyond the range of anything you could ever hope to even imagine.

you know you can’t hold out any longer as a wave of incomprehensible bliss coats your body, hazing your senses and your vision, your shuddering body absolutely staggered as the pleasure he provided showers you in a fountain of violent hysteria.

his hands tense around your hips, deft fingers constricting around your flesh as he compels your body into meeting flush against his own, luscious grinds and ruts into your flowing pussy suffocating him in a pit of pleasure, completely drowning every crevice of his body. though he’s enamored with this form of drowning, as long as it’s you submerging him. he floods you in return, spilling a stream of his cum inside of you, sharing his surging pleasure with you. 

he meets your eyes, locking his stare to yours as he cums. “mmm… yea, fuck, darling… look at me while i’m fucking you…” he mutters with gruff timbre, his mouth falling open, bordering on delirium. 

allowing the both of you a few moments to regain your breath and search for your composure, his veined hand coasts along your back, his breaths resounding heavily in his chest and lifting your delicate, fatigued body. 

“can’t believe i’ve been missing out on all that, sweetheart… i think i like you needy,” he casually informs you, scattering a few wispy kisses across you shoulder. 

he lifts your body off his cock, a soft grunt passing his lips as he leans up from the couch, cradling your weary frame in his arms, the mess of your combined clothing receiving neglect – save for the devious way he crouches down to slip your thong into the pocket of his discarded pants. 

“so, darling…” he begins, his body striding toward the direction of your staircase. “where’s your shower?”

you don’t even pretend to resist the urge to rest your head against his bare shoulder, you wouldn’t ever dare to resist any urge you felt towards him anymore. 

“last door on the left,” you relent, voice nearly too weak to carry to his ears. 

a soft chuckle vibrates in his chest, tickling your skin as he ascends the stairs toward the destination you directed him in. 

“so what about you, sunghoon?” you query, hushed voice still unable to conceal your curiosity. 

he places you onto the bathroom sink, allowing your legs to dangle, gripping the counter on either side or your thighs. he leans a touch closer, his stark features even more apparent, now. 

“hm? what about me, sweet girl?” he responds fondly, his expression twinkling with tender admiration.

your legs swing faintly, creating a bump, bump, bumping from your bare heels.

“i mean… have you dated anyone recently? or… are you seeing anyone now?” 

the fondness in his expression intensifies, and a tranquil smile wanders across his face. he couldn’t quite say that he wasn’t expecting the question, but his eyebrows lifted nonetheless – in an almost pleased manner.

“no, darling, i… i haven’t dated anyone in a while,” he reveals honestly, another chuckle following soon after in preparation of his next words. 

“...and no, i’m not seeing anyone now. don’t i strike you as a loyal man?” he teases gently, flashing you a charming smile, those familiar sharp canines revealing themselves again.

a giggle erupts from your lips, and you send him a playfully skeptical look. 

“don’t smile at me like that. aren’t you a little too old to be playing that ‘i’m cute’ card?” 

a husky chuckle emerges from his lips at your mischievous response, and his hand travels to your hip to grant a squeeze. 

“cheeky little thing, aren’t you?” he observes, shortening the distance between your faces even further.

he pauses for a fleeting moment before continuing, a casual, relaxed smile returning to his features. 

“i’ve gotta say, darling… i really wanna spend a lot more time with you,” he adds, his fingers dancing along the smooth skin of your cheek. his doting gaze does little to conceal the thoughts running unabashedly through his mind. from the moment he saw you, it’s like he was met with a certain clarity he’d never realized before. he can’t quite find the words, but he knows he’s unwavering in his desire to continue drawing you closer to him. now that he’s gotten you this close, he can’t afford to lose or waste a single moment.

“now,” he announces, his voice interrupting the rampant thoughts in both of your minds. he lifts your body from your sitting position, allowing you to steady yourself on your feet, before whirling you around and bending your body over the counter.

“you don’t think we’re done here yet, do you, darling? you think i’ll give my sweet girl a break that easily?”

my sweet girl? the impending frenzy in your mind is thrown into delay, replaced by surging arousal as his hands run down the course of your back, his touch almost like a torch across your skin. 

he allows his eyes to immerse themselves in your prone form, before leaning down to sink his teeth in the flesh of your ass – the sharp edges of his canines nearly breaking your skin. 

as you gasp, and snap your head behind you to gaze at him, he runs his tongue over the mark he created, expressing his appreciation with a grin.

“mine, now.”

[13uswntimagines]

All In My Head (Alessia Russo X Singer!r)

Part III of the Safe Harbor Universe. Find other parts here

Summary: Being Sick on tour sucks, but that doesn't mean that you want your team to inform your girlfriend. She has her own career to think about. The problem is that honesty is rule number 1 in your relationship.

Warnings: there is mention of a D/s dynamic, but nothing is super explicit. Alessia is referred to as daddy.

Authors note: Yes the ending is a cliffhanger. But this has honestly been in my drafts since like August, so i wanted to put it out. I'm considering a Pt. 2, but it will depend on if people want it. I really hope you enjoy it, and let me know what you think.

You sighed heavily, leaning against the stadium's cool stone wall and twisting the bracelet around your wrist. 

Which stadium, you couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter, really. They all looked the same after a while anyway, blurring together in the never-ending cycle of rehearsals, performances, interviews, and meet and greets. 

All your life seemed to be was performing and promoting music you weren’t even excited about anymore. It was a nonstop grind filled with late nights and early mornings, with almost no time for your well-being. 

You almost wished your girlfriend had implemented a rule that placed a limit on how much you could do. At least that would give you the power to say no. 

You did your best. 

You squeezed in as many phone calls with your girlfriend, Alessia as you could, but she had her own commitments with the Lionesses as they prepared to defend their European championship.

Most of the time you ended up passing out over FaceTime, and waking up to texts telling you she loved you. 

You understood. You both had careers and obligations. You both had to make sacrifices to get to do the things you loved. 

It was… intense, but for the most part, you enjoyed it. You loved playing for the fans. You would deal with all the promotional bs just so you could interact with the people who loved your music as much as possible. 

They deserved that. 

And this tour had been going far better than the ones you had been on before it. You were holding it all together far better than you had in the past. 

Or it had been. 

It all started with a slight tickle in your throat in the city before last. A whisper of huskiness that went away with a nice steam session and some tea. 

It was easy to ignore in the beginning. 

Then you played 4 shows back to back last weekend. 

By the end of the 3rd show, you knew you were screwed, you could barely muster a horse whisper. Alessia had commented that you sounded like a chain smoker, your first sign that she was seeing through you, but you assured her you would be fine. You even joked that you had enough throat coat and grether's pastilles to turn her off for a year. She let you soothe her worries. 

You pushed on, powered my menthol lozenges and Honey, and you made it through the 4th show. 

It would have been fine. It shouldn’t have mattered that your ability to make any sound at all was hanging on by a thread. The 5 days off you had should have been enough to set everything right.

Except you didn’t have 5 days off. 

It was filled with promotional performances for a new album and interviews about how well it would accompany the movie it was attached to. If someone else asked you about how it felt about the possibility of an Oscar nod, you were going to scream. Or rip all of your hair out or both.

The tickle had turned to hot nails, and nothing - not the steam machine or tea and honey - had the power to soothe it. 

You sounded like you were talking through gravel, and your team had been hesitant to even let you go on tonight. 

Alessia definitely would not have, if she knew how bad it really was. You started avoiding her two days ago after you couldn’t make it through a sentence without a crack, and you couldn’t continue to blame the low whistle that accompanied every one of your breaths on allergies. 

You knew going in that performing tonight wasn’t a great idea, but you refused to let the fans down. There were only 4 shows left. Surely you could make it. 

The entire show felt like a battle. 

You had to fight for every note. For every breath. 

Your lungs felt like they were on fire and your throat was raw before you even got to the piano set. 

It took everything in you to hide the thinness in your voice. To prevent every sound from cracking as you forced each lyric out. 

It was…rough to say the least. 

But you made it- even if it was only by the skin of your teeth. 

You were shot by the time you did your final bow and disappeared backstage. You ignored the cold Gatorade being pressed into your palms, knowing it would only aggravate the glass shards in your throat, and shrugged off Steven and Clint. 

You didn’t need their concern, you needed to escape the roaring in your ears. The pounding in your chest. 

So you took turn after turn until you were in an abandoned section of hallways. 

You sighed, grasping at your throat as you slid down the cool wall, pulling your knees to your chest and pressing your forehead into the rough material of your costume to drown out the pounding in your head. Your fingers tangled in the hair at the back of your head and you groaned. 

The sound felt like hot coals in your throat, and it made your chest ache. 

You feared that no amount of steam, or tea, or pastilles would stop it this time. 

The cold bricks of the stadium felt nice against your skin, leaching the heat from your body, though it did nothing to help the fire in your chest. 

A fire that was quickly moving past the gray areas in your agreement with Alessia, and into a place that your daddy would definitely have something to say about. 

You were treating your limits with her like a tightrope, carefully toeing the edge. Except with the way you felt, you knew you were about to topple one way or the other. 

You ignored the sounds of clicking shoes coming closer, hoping that whoever it was wouldn’t see you. That they would leave you be to pull the cracked pieces of yourself back together. 

But your team knew better than to leave you to your own devices.

“Y/n?”

You tensed at the soft hand on your shoulders, and the sound of shifting clothing as someone settled on the ground beside you. 

“You ok, kid?” Natasha asked softly, running soothing circles on the top of your shoulders. 

You let out another breath before you pulled your face from its hiding spot, resting your chin on your knees. “I’m ok. Just wanted some quiet,”

You frowned at the horse whisper that left your lips, and the flair of pain that accompanied it. 

Natasha hummed. 

She had been part of your team from the beginning, back when you were a dumb 16-year-old, long before Pepper, Tony, Steve and the rest of the crew had joined, and she knew you nearly as well as Alessia did. 

She raised an eyebrow at you. “Just some quiet?” 

You knew that wasn’t what she was actually asking. 

The question went much deeper. 

She knew about your… dynamic with Alessia, and she had seen the striker take care of you in various ways. She was asking you what you needed. 

You nodded, looking away from her, afraid that she would see through you. 

“I needed a minute,” You said, your voice barely a squeak. “It was all too much, and I wanted to be alone before I got pulled into something else,”

She made a low sound at the familiar explanation. “And this has nothing to do with how you sound like you’re gargling rocks?”

You grimaced. “Nothing at all,”

She hummed. “So you’re not in any pain at all?”

“Nope,” You breathed out, the p the only clear part of the word. 

“Y/n,” She sighed. “I know you have an… aversion to admitting when you’re not… at the top of your game, but pushing yourself isn’t going to help anything. You don’t have anything to prove here,”

You ran a hand through your hair and rolled your eyes dramatically at her. She chuckled at the action. 

“There are only 3 more shows,” You said. “I can make it 3 more shows,”

“And how would Alessia feel if she knew you were going to put your comfort aside for 3 more shows?” Natasha asked softly. “And not just your comfort, your health. You sound like shit,”

You huffed at the mention of your girlfriend, your fingers instinctively finding the braided bracelet that never left your wrist. 

You knew how she would feel. You could practically hear what she would say. I expect you to take care of the things that belong to me. I expect you to treat them with respect and give them the love and care they deserve. 

“I’ve got it all under control,” You rasped, wincing at the action. 

It was Natasha’s turn to roll her eyes. “Sure you do. Since you have it all under control, you’ll stop ignoring your girlfriend,” She pulled the device out of her back pocket and balanced it on top of your knees. “She’s been blowing up your phone all day. I think she’s worried,” 

You stared at the phone, and as if on cue, it buzzed again with a new message. 

Alessia was going to be furious with you, and your daddy would be on another level entirely. 

She was usually the one to take the reigns when you were set on driving yourself into oblivion for the benefit of everyone else. But she wasn’t here. 

You sighed heavily. 

You knew that if you told her, she would drop everything. She would move heaven and earth if that was what you needed. 

You didn’t want that. 

She needed to focus on her game, and that meant that you couldn’t be a distraction. You would not disappoint her. Not when you were so close to finishing. 

“She needs to focus,” You mumbled, your voice straining. “She’s gotta impress Sarina to make the team. It’s important,”

“I think you forget that you are also important,” Natasha argued back softly, patting your back before carefully pushing herself to her feet. “I’m going to have Pepper cancel the meet and greet. You’re in no shape to meet fans. I should also have her call a doctor, but I already know you’ll fight me on it,” 

You frowned. You never sold meet and greet tickets, choosing to instead have your team select fans at each show. 

“But-“ 

She held up her hand before you could argue. “That isn’t up for debate. Get rest tonight, and we’ll assess tomorrow in the morning.”

Your jaw clenched, but you nodded, knowing there was no arguing with her. 

“I know the world thinks you’re superhuman, but it’s ok not to be indestructible,” She said, softly. “You need to remember to be Clarke Kent sometimes too. There’s a reason Lois fell in love with him first,”

With that, she walked away, leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

The silence of the empty hallway wasn’t as welcoming as it had been. It didn’t quiet your thoughts like it had. 

Instead, it felt suffocating. Like the walls were closing in on you, trapping you in your misery. 

You sighed another painful breath, before you grabbed your phone, reading the top notification, longing not to feel so…alone. 

Hey babe, caught the end of your show on a random livestream. Are we still on for our FaceTime tonight?

You let your head fall back, thumping the wall. 

Everything in you longed to say yes.

But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. 

It was still nice to fantasize about seeing her. About hearing her say ‘Hello my little one,’ with a soft smile that brought out her dimples. If you closed your eyes you could almost feel the pressure of her fingers on the back of your neck, running through the baby hairs that lived there. ‘I’m here, and I’ve got you,’

You let your mind linger there for a long second before you forced your eyes back open. 

It took you three tries to type out your reply: sorry darling, I’m super tired. Rain check?

And you paused, your trembling finger over the send button, knowing you shouldn’t send it, but hitting the little blue arrow anyway. 

It was awful but necessary. 

You let out another long, ragged breath before you forced yourself to your feet and shoved your phone into your pocket, so you didn’t have to see her reply. You leaned heavily on the wall, no longer enjoying how it sucked the warmth from your skin, but using it to stay upright as the entire hallway tilted to the side. 

You should go back to your dressing room before Steve sent out a search party. Dealing with Nat was one thing, dealing with the overprotective instincts of Steve, Clint, and Thor was another. 

You didn’t have the mental capacity for that, and maybe your dressing room couldn’t make you feel like there was a rope on your lungs, dragging out your soul.

*****

You were not particular about a lot of things when you were on tour. You didn’t care about the size of your hotel room or the cars you were shuttled around in. You didn’t request overly expensive foods or special bubbly waters. 

The only thing on your rider that you were very specific about was your dressing room. 

It was your sanctuary away from the noise. A place you would spend more time in than your hotel room. 

It was important to you that it was always the same. Lit with twinkling fairy lights, the comfy gray couch that followed you on every tour stop standing near the table with your kettle and vocal steamer, and a diffuser already filling the room with the soft scent of lavender and honey. 

It filled your lungs the second you stepped through the door, wiping away the burning ache that accompanied every breath for just a second. Reminding you for one fleeting moment of the honeysuckle of Alessia’s favorite shampoo (the reason she picked the essential oil blend to begin with), before the knives returned to your chest. 

You rubbed your knuckles over your sternum to quell the feeling, stumbling over to the couch and collapsing into it. 

You pressed your nose into the soft gray material, wishing that you had grabbed the bright red sweatshirt you stole from your girlfriend when you last saw her. The smell of her perfume was beginning to fade, but it wasn’t gone yet, and there was a distinct longing in your stomach to be close to her. Even if you were the reason there was any space to begin with. 

You could hear your kettle bubbling next to you, and you knew you should make yourself some tea to soothe the sharp edges in your windpipe, but the thought of moving felt like too much. 

Instead, you sunk into the couch, your arm dangling off the cushion, your fingers brushing the ugly red carpet. 

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket, and you didn’t have to look to know who was texting you. Still, the urge to see what she would say was too great for you to ignore it. 

It took all of your strength to move your heavy arm to your pocket and pull out your phone. Your fingers fumbled over the screen as you squinted at the device with the eye not pressed into the couch. 

The light made the throbbing in your head worse, and the words written on the screen made your lungs constrict.

Ok, my love. Are you sure everything is alright? This is the 3rd time this week.

You could almost hear the worry in her voice. See the suspicion in her blue eyes. 

They never failed to see through you. To strip away your exterior and leave you vulnerable and raw beneath them. It never made you feel exposed, even in the beginning when the two of you decided to extend your dynamic beyond your bedroom. Instead, you felt seen and safe. 

Sometimes she liked to have to work for your submission. She liked to peel away each layer of you one by one until you were a trembling mess beneath her. Open and vulnerable in a way no one else ever got to see you. 

Other times, you gave your submission willingly, stripping off your public persona like a dirty shirt and allowing her to envelop you in her warm comfort. 

How much you wanted that. How much you needed it. 

It was a desperation that filled your entire being. 

Before you could process what you were doing, you had already pressed her contact photo and brought the now-ringing phone to your ear. 

You laid the device on the side of your head and let your arm go back to dangling. It was too heavy to hold. 

It only rang twice before her voice filled your ears. 

“Hey my love,” She said, worry and relief mingling strangely in her tone. “I’m so happy you called me. How are you?”

Her voice washed over you like a soothing wave, like a balm on the sharp edges of your nerves, though it did little to help the fire in your lungs and throat. 

You pressed your nose into the couch, pretending that it was her shoulder for just a second. That the honey and lavender surrounding you was her perfume. That she was here. 

“Y/n, are you there?” She asked, and you opened your mouth to respond, but the words just wouldn’t come out. 

You couldn’t force any sound, beyond a low whistle past your inflamed throat. Your lungs crackled with each breath. 

Your inability to make sound didn’t bother you as much as it should have. 

“Y/n? Did you butt-dial me?” Alessia asked again, and you could almost feel her running her nails through your hair, gently scratching your scalp. “I’m worried,”

The words were said with too much force, not at all the soft murmur your brain had been waiting to hear. 

It shook you out of your haze just enough for you to reach up and grab your phone, clicking the decline button too fast. 

You let the phone drop to the floor with a low thump as it immediately began to ring again. 

Your fingers twitched above the screen, but you didn’t have the strength to reach for it, even as it lit up again with your girlfriend's contact photo. 

Well, it was a photo of the two of you. You were curled up in her lap, in one of her blue UNC sweatshirts that were too big, and she was kissing the side of your head. 

It had been taken after a particularly grueling day in the studio. It was Alessia’s turn to host team bonding night. You didn’t remember exactly who took the picture, Leah or Lotte, maybe, but it was one of your favorites.

What the camera didn’t catch was that your arms were not in the sleeves. Instead, they were tied with intricate knots behind your back, hidden by the sweatshirt. 

It was something the two of you often did, and it was one of her go-to's when you were starting to spiral out of control. 

A part of you longed for the feeling of the knots now, and her fingers twisting the soft rope against your skin. 

Sure, the weight of your bracelet was nice, but it wasn’t enough. 

You let out a wheezing breath that crackled and hurt. 

If you asked, she would be here. She would wrap you up and pull you from your free fall. 

It took you a long second to remember why you couldn’t have that. 

Alessia had a job to do, and you wouldn’t stand in the way of that. 

The phone buzzed again against the ugly carpet, the little voicemail icon flashing. You doubted you would be able to resist calling her back if you listened to it.  

Still, you had to do something. 

So you flicked the screen with one finger, going to your messages, and typing out words that felt fake, even to you. 

Sorry, I’m ok. Just tired. I’ll call you tomorrow after the game. Love you.

You clicked send before you could overthink it though, or your trembling fingers could betray you and type out the truth. You laid your head back down on the couch, curling into yourself as a painful cough forced its way past your lips. 

You weren’t sure how long you laid there, shivering before there was a soft knock at the door, and then the little click as it opened. 

A part of your brain hoped that it would be Alessia. That she had read your mind and somehow teleported to whatever city you were in. 

But the feeling of gentle fingers on the top of your shoulders told you that it wasn’t. 

“Y/n?” Natasha asked, very close to your ear, and you blinked up at her. 

You didn’t remember closing your eyes. 

“Hm?” You hummed, the sound raw and painful. 

“Let’s get you changed, and then we can go back to the hotel and you can sleep,” She said, placing a hand under your armpit and guiding you to a sitting position. 

The tiny movement had coughs ripping past your lips. 

She held you steady with one hand and grabbed you a change of clothes with the other. 

“Easy,” She breathed out, carefully unbuttoning your shirt and pulling it from your sweaty skin. 

She left you shirtless for a long second as she disappeared into your bathroom, and the cool air of the dressing room felt nice on your overheated skin. 

It didn’t bother you. Natasha had seen you in far less clothing than your sports bra and underwear. 

She returned only a moment later with a towel, using it to dry you off before she slipped a light blue t-shirt with a foot on the back over your head. 

The pants took a little more wiggling, but eventually, she was able to get you out of your costume and into a pair of sweats that were far too big for you.

She slid a pair of Converse onto your feet, scooping up your phone and tucking it into her pocket. 

“Let’s get you to the car,” She guided you to stand, keeping an arm wrapped tightly around you. 

“People?” You asked, leaning more of your weight onto her as she pulled you towards the door. 

You missed her eye roll. 

Of course, all you were worried about right now was who would see you, and what they would think. 

“Not here,” Natasha reassured you gently, opening the door. “Only when we get back to the hotel,”

You made a low, painful sound as she half-carried you into the hallway. 

You still had time before you had to pull yourself together. 

******

The city lights blurred into a distorted kaleidoscope of colors during the short ride back to the hotel. 

The cool glass felt nice against your temple, though it did little to ease the throb in your head or the lava in your throat. 

The feeling of eyes watching you for any wavering in your resolve also wouldn’t go away. You couldn’t be sure if it was worry (that you would puke all over the car or pass out), or concern about what the fans would think when you pulled up to the hotel. 

The whirring of the engine wasn’t loud enough to block out your racing thoughts, but any music was too much for you to handle. 

You were drowning. 

Every breath hurt, but you didn’t know if it was because of the physical pain or the anxiety gnawing at you. 

You didn’t like to upset people. You didn’t like to disappoint them. 

You were a people pleaser to a fault, and this wasn’t the first time you had self-destructed to meet everyone’s expectations. 

But at the end of the day, the person you wanted to please most. The person you wanted to not disappoint the most was Alessia. Was your Daddy. 

You knew you were failing, but you didn’t know how to stop.

The car came to a stop in front of the hotel far too quickly, and not for the first time, you were thankful that the dark tint kept you hidden from public view. 

“Ready, kid?” Steve asked, turning around in the driver's seat to look at you. 

You nodded once, reaching forward and grabbing the sunglasses facing the wrong way on his head, and pulled them over your own eyes. 

You took a deep breath before Clint opened your door, painting your signature smile across your features. 

You didn’t wave when you got out, too focused on keeping yourself upright, as Steve’sarm wrapped around you on one side and Natasha’s did the same on the other. 

You felt safe tucked between them, though they did nothing to shield you from shrill screams and cheers that met you as soon as your feet touched the ground. They amplified the pounding behind your eyes, and the way the crowd pressed around you made it even harder to breathe (not that you thought that was possible). 

You did try to flash the crowd smiles as Natasha and Steve guided you through, Clint protecting your back, and you were thankful your eyes were hidden, despite it being nighttime. 

You never wanted the fans to see the… fakeness. The lie.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when the hotel doors slid closed behind you, placing more of your weight on Steve as Natash called the elevator. 

“You’re burning up kid,” Steve murmured, shifting to get a better grip around your waist. 

You made a low sound, that turned into a full body caught that nearly had you doubling over. “Is that your way of calling me hot Stevie? What would Tony think?”

The words came out garbled, cracking with every syllable as you tried to talk through the coughs. 

Steve’s arm tightened around you to keep you upright. 

“I think he would say that you are sick,” Steve sighed at the mention of his husband, your publicist, taking more of your weight as another round of coughs wracked you. 

You pushed off of him as soon as you could breathe again, even if it felt like sucking air through a straw filled with needles, and swayed your way toward the elevator. 

It binged open as soon as you reached it, and you stumbled inside, gripping the metal bar on the back wall for support, and resting your forehead on the cool wall. 

You could feel the heat of your skin leaching into the surface, but it did little to quell the pounding in your ears or the feeling like everything was tipping on its head. 

Your fingers instinctively found the braided bracelet, running over the soft leather strands. 

However, this time, it didn’t ease the bubbling anxiety and fire in your chest. 

“We’re almost there, and then you can rest,” Natasha said softly, and you felt both her and Steve’s eyes on you as you leaned further into the wall. 

The movement of the elevator was starting to make you nauseous, but you didn’t think you could voice that even if you wanted to. Not with how raw your throat was. 

It took you a second to realize the elevator had stopped, and it wasn’t until Natasha gently touched your shoulder that you began to move again. 

You let Steve guide you out of the elevator and into the hallway. 

Natasha had the door to your suite open before you even got there, and Steve half-carried you to the bed, settling you on the fluffy white comforter. 

Your fingers tangled in the expensive sheets as you fought to keep yourself upright. 

“Do you want to take a shower?” Natasha asked you softly, kneeling in front of you and carefully undoing your sneakers. 

You shook your head slowly, smothering another cough. “Sweatshirt,”

The croaky word hurt as it left your lips, barely audible and surrounded by more lung-crunching coughs. 

But they understood, Steve, passing you a bright red sweatshirt from your bag. 

You brought it to your face and collapsed back onto the bed, breathing in the perfume that clung to the material. 

It burned as it filled your senses, but you could pretend that it soothed the edges of glass in your throat and lungs. You could pretend that it was her taking off your shoes and tucking you in. 

You could pretend that it was all ok and that she wasn’t going to be livid when she found out. Not that you were sick, but that you hadn’t told her immediately. 

You knew you would take whatever punishment she decided you deserved with no questions. She could be rather creative when she was annoyed with you. 

“Let’s get you settled properly,” Natasha said, shifting you on the bed so your head was on the pillows, as Steve moved the covers and tucked them around you. “Rest now, and we’ll deal with the rest in the morning,” 

You groaned, sending more flames down your airway, rolling over and pressing your face more firmly into the sweatshirt. 

You heard the distinctive sound of your phone being plugged in, and the click of the door. 

And then you were alone. 

More alone than you had been in a very long time. 

Even if it was all your own doing, you hadn’t been this disconnected since the beginning of Alessia’s college career, and your first tour with Taylor. The infamous break in your relationship. Even though neither of you had actually experimented with anyone else, and you had texted and called nonstop, you had been hesitant to push too far, to ask for too much. 

You blew out a long breath into her sweatshirt, ignoring the little needles that followed the air, eyes fixed on the phone on your bedside. 

It buzzed again as if it knew you were thinking about it. 

You reached your hand out, pulling it close so you could look at it, but it was still plugged in. 

The movement had the screen lighting up with a string of messages. The one at the top made your heart hurt.

Please don’t ignore me, my Little One. I’m worried.

It said, and you could almost hear the inflection in her tone. You could almost see her eyes softening, and feel her fingers brushing your hair behind your ear. 

You closed your eyes, pressing more deeply into the sweatshirt under your head. 

Your fantasy world was far nicer than the reality you were in, and the universe wouldn’t end if you stayed in it until morning. 

********

Your night was… hazy, filled with half-dreams that were increasingly difficult to distinguish from real life. As the morning light crept its way further and further across the ceiling, you leaned into the sweatshirt slowly losing its smell, one eye peeking out to track its progress. 

It felt like a timer. A countdown clock on the imagined feelings of soothing hands on your back and whispered reassurance that everything would be okay. 

Soon enough the door would open and you would have to be you again. You would have to pretend like each breath you took didn’t feel like a bear was mauling your lungs, and your brain wasn’t a freight train threatening to escape from your skull. 

You would have to deal with the incessant buzzing of your phone that had kept you on the edge of real sleep all night. 

You would have to face your girlfriend. Your daddy. 

You were not looking forward to it. Any of it. 

The only thing that you were semi-excited about was watching your girlfriend play, even through a screen. That had been your only saving grace back when she was in college before the two of you got back together, and you knew it would be your only saving grace now. 

You sighed, rolling over, the sweatshirt falling from its bunched-up place against your cheek, and reaching for the phone still on the corner of the bed next to you. 

It buzzed again as your fingers caught it, and brought it closer so you could see the screen. It was filled with notifications. 

Some were from the group thread you shared with your manager, assistant, and publicist. Some were emails from people you were collaborating with. 

But the majority were from Alessia. 

You couldn’t help but click on the thread. 

You knew it was a mistake immediately. 

Good morning little one. I’ll have some time if you want to FaceTime before the game. I miss you, and I’m worried. You don’t usually ignore me.

It was like an arrow straight through your heart. 

A direct hit to your will. 

You swallowed hard, ignoring how badly it burned, and typed out a message. 

I miss you too. Good luck today. You’re going to do amazing

You dropped your phone after you hit send, deciding that finding the starting 11 wasn’t important anymore, and stared up at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes, pulling the comforter more tightly around you despite the sweat breaking out across your chest. 

You thought it would help the hollow feeling slowly taking over your insides, or the dull throb that accompanied each breath. 

It did not. 

You let your eyes slide back closed, deciding that the light hadn’t transversed far enough across the ceiling for you to need to be awake yet. Not when the pull of sleep was so strong, and the comfort of your half dreams was too difficult to resist. 

“You know I don't like it when you hide from me,” Alessia’s voice said sternly, as though it was right next to your ear, and you felt fingertips graze your lips. 

You didn’t open your eyes. Even amongst the haze that was filling every crack in your brain, you knew she wasn't here. She couldn’t be here. Not when she was back in London about to play some team you couldn’t remember. 

“I know,” You rasped out.  

The fingers gently pulled at your bottom lip before they circled back towards your cheek, and a thumb brushed across your closed eyelid. 

“And you’re still doing it?” She asked, and you felt the air of each word on your ear. 

You shook your head, turning it slightly, hoping to feel her nose bump hers. “You need to focus on the important things,” 

You didn’t come into contact with her, though you knew you should have with the way you shifted. 

“And you are not important to me?” She asked her voice hardening in the way it only did when you were about to receive a punishment. 

An involuntary shiver ran down your spine, and your eyes opened automatically. 

You sucked in a painful breath, blinking blearily at the face above you.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Natasha said quietly, even as your eyes darted around, searching for your girlfriend. “It’s 1, so you need to wake up so we can make a decision about tonight,” 

“Less?” You asked, your voice barely a whisper when you saw that Natasha was the only other person in the room with you. 

Natasha frowned, brushing your hair away from your forehead. “She’s in London, remember? The game against Luxembourg starts soon,” 

Your eyebrows pulled tightly together. You hadn’t remembered that they were playing Luxembourg. 

“She’s starting?” 

“No,” Natasha shook her head. “It’s mostly the young ones starting since the over-under is plus 20 for England,”

Your nose scrunched, and you forced yourself to sit up. “She has to play,”

None of this would be worth it if she never touched the field. 

“I think Serina is using this as more of an identification camp,” Natasha countered, stepping in to help you sit up. “The girls need rest after doing both the Champions League and regular play these last couple of weeks,”

You grunted though it sounded more like a pained wheeze than a grunt. 

Alessia’s schedule had been nearly as insane as your own for the past few months. It was part of the reason you were so… reluctant to bother her with something as trivial as a tickle in your throat. 

“Maybe you should take a page out of her book,” Natasha added. 

Your nostrils flared immediately at the implication. 

Your job was so much less physical than Alessia’s. You didn’t do anything to deserve rest like she did. 

The pressure you both face to perform was inherently different.

She didn’t let down millions of people every time she rode the bench. She wouldn’t crush the dreams of thousands of people if she didn’t take the pitch. 

But still, you could already hear her argument ringing in your head. 

I expect you to care for the things that belong to me as deeply and completely as I do. That includes yourself. Your needs matter, and I will not allow you to disregard them.

“No.” You rasped, none of the bite you meant appearing in the word. 

“Yes,” Natasha countered, shifting the pillows behind you before you leaned back. “There is no way you can perform tonight,”

You huffed, and crossed your arms, glaring at the city beyond the large window to the right of the bed. “People paid-“

“To hear you sing. Not hack your way through a set,” Natasha cut you off. “They’ll be more disappointed if you give them a show that’s not your best. Reschedule the last 3, so they’re worth what they paid,”

Your glare only deepened, and your eyebrows pulled very tightly together as you processed what she was saying (taking a few extra minutes to cut through the thick fog in your brain). 

You knew she was playing on your sensibility. You thought ticket prices were disgusting, and had fought to lower them as much as you could. You had made your show longer in retaliation, so the fans got what they paid for. 

You wouldn’t give them a sub-par show. 

You didn’t look at her but nodded once. 

“I’ll have Tony write a statement. Do you want to approve it before it goes out?” She asked, her voice gentle. 

You shook your head, your lips pursing. 

“We’ll release it then, and I’ll call a doctor so we can get you some real medication,” The redhead continued, ignoring the deep frown pulling at your features. 

It wasn’t that you were trying to be difficult. You just knew what would happen the second the people staked outside of your hotel caught sight of a doctor. 

But now you felt like you didn’t have a choice, and not in the fun way.

“Fine,” You muttered, a hacking cough following it. 

Natasha patted your back until the coughing stopped, and you relaxed back against the pillows. “I’ll take care of everything. I’ll have food sent up, you just watch the game and try to get more sleep before the doctor gets here,”

You huffed but didn’t protest as she tucked the blanket tighter around your torso. 

“I know you’re unhappy with all of this, but it is what it is, and we need to look after your health too,” She sighed, turning and bustling around the room, flipping on the television to the game and grabbing a mug you hadn't noticed from the dresser by the door. “Drink that, and I’ll be back in a bit,”

You didn’t respond as she placed the mug on the table beside you, and disappeared through the hotel room door with a soft click. 

You wanted to groan. To yell. To throw the mug across the room, but you knew it wouldn’t help. 

The other part of you wanted your guitar, not that you were sure your fingers were strong enough right now to actually play.  

You closed your eyes, tilting your head back on the pillows. 

It wasn’t long before you felt fingers in your hair, though you hadn’t heard the door open again. 

You instantly knew who it was, though her perfume was suspiciously missing. 

“You look like you got hit by a bus,” She murmured, her breath brushing across your nose. 

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting her blue, except it was two shades darker than you remembered, the same shade as the old UNC jersey she was wearing. 

“I’m fine,” You croaked, the sound pulling a hacking cough from your lungs that burned as it left you. 

“Ah yes, because you sound just fine,” She huffed, her nails scratching lazily at your scalp. “You don’t need to hide from me,”

You blinked slowly, and her form shimmered slightly beside you. “‘M not. ‘M right here,”

“Rule one is honesty for a reason,” She countered, her hand pausing. “You’ve not abided by that.”

You swallowed around the glass in your throat at the confirmation of what you already knew, and your eyes closed again as the heavy weight of it settled on your mind. 

You had broken the most sacred rule and you were in trouble. It wouldn’t just be a punishment you would have to take. It would be regaining her trust that would take the longest time. 

It was a fragile thing, and you had shattered it. 

You forced your eyes open again, determined to say something- anything- that would make it better, except when you did, she was gone. 

You blinked heavily at the empty bed beside you. The space she had been seconds ago. 

You wanted to shake your head, but with the freight train pounding in your skull, you knew that was a terrible idea. 

“This is a very different starting eleven for England, but it’s what we expected. The only change of note is that Alessia Russo is unavailable for this game.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed at the television, flashing the starting lineup for the game. 

Natasha said Alessia wasn’t starting, but you expected her to at least be on the bench. 

You closed your eyes and let your head fall back. 

What was the point of suffering alone if Alessia wasn’t even going to play?

You weren’t sure anymore.

******

“I’ve got her,” 

You stirred at the familiar voice, and the feeling of gentle fingers running through your hair and the bed shifting next to you. The scent of lavender and honey wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, pulling you closer to consciousness. 

Your eyebrows pulled tightly together before your eyes flickered open, meeting the familiar blue of your girlfriend. 

“Hey there,” She said softly, her thumb smoothing out the crease between your eyebrows. “How are you feeling?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing but a low hacking cough came out. 

“Easy, little one,” Alessia shushed you softly. “Just relax. I’m here, and I’ll take care of you now, ok?”

It was painful how real she felt. Painful how much you wanted to believe she was here with you. 

“Trouble,” You mumbled, coughing violently afterward, unable to stop yourself from leaning into her hand. 

“I think we should make it your middle name since you seem to find it so often,” She murmured, running her hand again through your hair. “But no. You’re not in trouble. Not right now,”

You made a low, wheezing sound, shaking your head, despite the waves of nausea it sent to your stomach. “Real daddy disagrees,” 

She frowned. “Real daddy?”

You swallowed hard, forcing words past your stolen vocal cords. “Not here. In Luxembourg. Won’t fool me again,” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” She said, her nails dragging against your scalp in the way she knew you loved. “Natasha called me last night, and I got on the flight as soon as I could,”

It took a few extra seconds for her words to filter through the unpleasant haze in your brain. Even then, they didn’t make sense. 

Hell, her entire demeanor, including the softness in her features as she looked at you, didn’t make sense. 

You explicitly told Natasha not to call her, and you couldn’t process her going against that request. Not when Alessia had a game to play. 

“My brain is making you up,” You wheezed after another long second. 

She breathed out a half chuckle. “While your brain is brilliant, I wasn’t conjured by it,” 

You made a low, husky sound that could only be incredulity. 

Her thumb again smoothed the space between your eyebrows. “What will it take for you to believe you’re awake?”

You blinked heavily at her, your shoulders lifting and falling. 

She shook her head. “You’re too much,”

“No,” You mumbled, the crease between your eyebrows pushing against her finger. “‘M a good girl,”

“Yes. You are always my good girl, even when you’re being a stubborn pain in the ass,” She agreed fondly, leaning down to press a kiss to your too-warm forehead. “Sleep. I’ll be here where you wake up, and maybe you’ll actually believe you’re not dreaming,”

“Promise?” you asked. Sounding small, as exhaustion pulled at you. 

She hummed. “I promise,”

Her fingers kept their soft rhythm in your hair as your eyes fluttered closed, and you shifted to press your nose into her shoulder, breathing in her perfume with each rattling intake from your lungs. It surrounded you, soothing the burning in your chest, and soothing the sharp edges in your throat. 

For the first time since the lingering tickle started, you actually felt at peace. You felt calm enough to let yourself truly relax. 

It would suck when you woke up and Alessia was gone, but doing anything other than allowing your mind to linger in this delusion felt unbearable. 

Instead, you allowed yourself to sink into the overwhelming pull of exhaustion. 

And you swore you heard an “always,” before sleep pulled you under. 

Even if this alessia didn’t turn out to be real, you trusted her. And as angry as you wanted to be at Natasha and Steve for calling her, you knew she was exactly what you needed. 

She always would be, even if she was just made up in your mind. 

[stuffeddeer]

Idk if your like still taking asks since your last one was 2 whole weeks ago but i really just wanted to talk about 15!Dazai cause i miss my pookie and i reread your first kiss hc’s and ughhh being Dazai’s first ever crush, hes so smitten with you and doesn’t even understand why, maybe also forces Chuuya to be his unwilling wingman because he deadass uses cringey one liners on you and chuuya is sick and tired of it.

15!Dazai deserves to be a giddy infatuated teenager and kicking his legs like a schoolgirl when you give him your attention 🤧

Smitten 15!Dazai needing a wingman | Bungo Stray Dogs | Dazai x reader

nearly 8 months later i am here to complete this request!!! hope this is what you wanted (and was maybe worth the wait lol)

Chuuya doesn't really get the whole "Demon Prodigy" thing. Oh, Dazai is just soo smart and soo scary - what a joke. Chuuya has seen him spend ten minutes trying to figure out how to open a cereal box. Sure, the ginger didn't know either, but he figured it out quickly once the brunet gave up.

On the battlefield, Dazai can be quick-witted and ruthless, a foe worthy of his title. Yet right now, Chuuya watches with his arms crossed as the man beside him stumbles over his words while trying to talk to you about the weather of all topics.

It's sickening, almost - seeing the "genius" Dazai so blatantly ignore every signal you're sending. It's true, of course, that the brunet teen is exceptionally off-putting and non-socialized. The bandaged kid with unruly black hair and one emotionless eye (the other bandaged up and hidden away) is the type of weird befitting a title such as Demon Prodigy. While he is a mere 15 year old, his presence rouses unease wherever he goes.

Or so Chuuya was told. With him, the 15 year old is just that: a 15 year old. Dazai is bright but childish, boisterous and witty, ready to spar verbally until Chuuya has to walk away to calm himself down. The Dazai that Chuuya had come to know during their relatively recent partnership would never falter like this around someone his age - someone of equal standing. He isn't one to falter with those of higher standing, either.

Lackeys fear him, new recruits find him off putting and so on. But there are a few in the mafia - Chuuya and yourself - that are privy to see what he can really be like. Or, Chuuya, more exclusively. You... get an interesting version of him, to say the least.

“So that’s why it’s actually bad that it’s sunny out,” Dazai finishes, cheeks dusted an embarrassed red and hands wringing together. Is that… sweat? Dripping down his forehead? The man is always annoyingly cold, usually shoving a freezing hand onto Chuuya’s neck just to laugh while watching him recoil.

Jeez. Chuuya already knows how smitten Dazai is for you, but this is a new low he wasn’t expecting.

You politely smile, trying to act like his rambling made any lick of sense. “Well, I suppose I like flowers enough to concede. A little rain is good now and again.”

“We both like flowers!” Dazai points out. You idiot; everyone does.

Chuuya takes one hand out of his pockets to readjust his hat. “Dazai’s been tryin’ to get me to go to some flower garden on the other side of Yokohama,” he decides to lie. As if it wasn’t clear before, you pretending Dazai’s argument held any merit only proves that you like him back. Helping you is all he’s trying to do, because that stupid mackerel will never make a move on his own. “But I keep tellin’ him I’m not interested. Would be nice if you took my place.”

Eyes widening ever so slightly, you turn to Dazai with a timid expression. “I didn’t know we had one.”

“Wait, I— “

“It’s free admittance. Paid for by the government to clean up our city or somethin’ - Kouyou told us about it,” which is true, minus the part where Kouyou told Dazai as well.

The excited smile you give causes Dazai’s usually-controlled heart to leap into his throat. “That’s super cool! I totally wanna go, if you’re still up for it, Dazai.”

He doesn’t reply. The stupid, idiotic strategist that supposedly has been bolstering the Port Mafia’s defenses is left defenseless by a pretty smile. Seriously? This is what Chuuya has to put up with? He should just smack Dazai and take it all back. He’s never helping this lost cause again.

With one gloved hand, Chuuya slams it against Dazai’s head to force it into a nod. The slam is hard enough for Dazai to snap out of his stupor, but soft enough that you don’t notice how rough the ginger is being. “Say yes, idiot.”

And Dazai quickly follows through. He swats Chuuya’s hand away with an “I was gonna do that,” before clearing his throat. Looking back at you clogs it up once again and he gives an awkward smile back and a nod of his own this time. “Y-yep! I wanna go. With you. Well! Not like with with you, but like, with you. So, not like a date, just— I wanna go and you should come.”

Chuuya did his part. Can he leave yet? God, remind him to never help Dazai ever again. This was embarrassing for Chuuya and the short man is just a bystander. Though, the flush on Dazai’s face and the excited grin on yours helps to keep Chuuya’s annoyance at bay. At the very least, now the two of you can finally move on from this awkward crush stage and he won’t have to see Dazai metaphorically drown himself in every conversation with you.

And when the two of them got back a week later out of breath from running, Dazai’s hands covered in dirt and you holding an uprooted bouquet of fresh flowers, Chuuya realizes that maybe he chose the wrong location.

[ch0llies]

REVIVAL | CHRIS STURNIOLO

A story in which a messy breakup lands you in your best friend’s Boston apartment a year after high school, and you find yourself face-to-face again with Christopher Sturniolo—your first love. As your paths cross again, the bitterness of how you left him still lingers, fueling every hated glance. But with your best friend dating his brother, you know is there’s no escaping Chris—or the tension that refuses to die. Is this revival destined to reignite, or will it crumble under the weight of your unresolved past?

story warning: filthy smut, angst, swearing, underage drinking, underage drug use, abusive behavior, morally skewed choices, toxic relationships, and overall mature themes. if any of this upsets you... don't read!

word count: 7.7k

CHAPTER TWO:

A week passes in a blur of days spent shopping and late nights half-heartedly scrolling through streaming platforms. You and Ava have mostly been lying low, letting the dust settle after the chaotic party where you first ran into Chris again. Still, life trudges on—your breakup wounds scab over bit by bit, and Chris remains a frustrating fixture you occasionally see, thanks to Matt’s involvement with Ava.

Tonight, though, you’re supposed to forget about all that.

Ava bounces into your bedroom, brandishing a bottle of cheap vodka like it’s her prized possession. “Guess who scored a last-minute invite to that frat party?” she singsongs, tapping her foot in excitement. “You and me, babes. I heard it’s super fun—though it might be more about the free booze than anything.”

You glance up from your phone, arching an eyebrow. “Isn’t this the college we were thinking of applying to after our gap year?”

She grins, tossing you a crop top of the school’s logo. “Exactly. Consider it… research.”

Thirty minutes later after you prettied up, you’re in a cramped Uber, weaving through Boston streets toward the campus. The plan is simple: have fun, dance a little, maybe scope out the scene for next year. Even so, you can’t help the tiny flutter in your stomach. A new environment, new faces. It feels like a reset you didn’t realize you needed.

The frat house is exactly what you’d expect: loud music vibrating through the floorboards, red Solo cups strewn over every flat surface, sweaty clusters of students dancing as if finals don’t exist. Ava wastes no time finding the makeshift bar—a battered folding table stacked with punch bowls and half-empty liquor bottles.

“Cheers,” she declares, handing you a neon cup of something fruity and suspiciously strong.

One drink turns into two, and by the d of college jungle juicethird, the lights start to blur around the edges. You can’t remember the last time you let loose like this, your head pleasantly spinning as you sway with Ava to whatever pop remix is thundering through the speakers.

At some point, you both end up on a sticky leather couch, howling with laughter over absolutely nothing. An extremely tall, extremely confident frat boy attempts to flirt with Ava by demonstrating his “epic” ability to chug from a funnel—only to spill half of it on his shirt. You nearly fall off the couch laughing, tears streaming down your face.

Then Ava tugs you outside to the porch for some fresher air, the two of you leaning over the railing like you might topple right off it. Her hair is stuck to her forehead, and your phone is dangerously close to slipping from your back pocket.

“This is so fun,” Ava squeals, throwing her arms around you in a giggly hug. “I needed a night like this.”

A warm, liquor-fueled glow blooms in your chest. “Same,” you admit, hugging her back. “No drama, no messy ex situations, no—”

A shrill ringtone interrupts you, and Ava fumbles for her phone. She squints at the screen, then tosses it aside to the porch bench in favor of gulping more punch straight from your cup. “Ugh, telemarketer,” she mutters, ignoring it.

Unbeknownst to either of you, the phone somehow butt-dials Matt, whose name flashes on the screen before the call timer starts ticking.

You’re both oblivious to this as you keep giggling and shouting random observations about the party, the music, the questionable bathroom lines. Ava’s volume goes up a notch with every passing second.

“Dude, I swear—this is the best night!” Ava yells, dancing in place with no music outside. “I love you, girl—best friend forever, woo!”

Inside the phone pressed awkwardly beneath her leg, Matt’s eyes are probably widening in alarm at the yelling. He can only hear snippets of your conversation—loud shrieks, bursts of laughter, and occasional words like “dangerous,” “drunk,” or “someone fell over.”

Meanwhile, Matt is in the passenger seat of his car, scrolling through social media as Chris drives back from them dropping Nick at the airport. He was going to visit a film college in LA. It’s already late, and they’re stuck in some mild traffic near the outskirts of the campus you and ava were partying at.

Matt’s phone buzzes. He glances at the screen: sweetheart. Heart kicking up in concern, he answers.

“Ava?” he asks. But instead of a coherent response, he hears yelling, heavy bass, and what sounds suspiciously like you two shrieking.

“Hello? Ava?” Matt’s voice grows urgent as he picks out phrases like “Oh my God!” and “We’re so hammered!”

He pales. “Chris, something’s up. Ava’s in trouble, or, or I don’t know—they’re screaming and…”

Chris cuts in “Y/N is there too?” 

Matt just nods.

Chris frowns, gripping the steering wheel. “What do you mean, trouble?”

Matt toggles the screen to see Ava’s location. “They’re at some frat house at the college campus only a few miles from us right now. If they’re drunk and something went wrong…” He doesn’t finish, anxiety threading through his voice.

Chris curses under his breath and flips the turn signal, pulling a uturn. “Fuck. We’ll go check it out.”

Ten minutes later, you and Ava are back inside, rummaging for jackets you drunkenly tossed somewhere. The world tilts with every step, but you’re not worried—this all feels like good, harmless fun.

Then the front door bursts open, and Matt’s familiar voice booms through the chatter: “Ava? Y/N?”

Ava whips around, nearly tripping over someone’s foot. “Matt!” she cries happily, stumbling toward him. “Oh my God, you came to party too?”

He catches her, relief and frustration mingling on his face. “I thought you were in danger. You butt-dialed me, screaming your head off.”

“Huh?” Ava tilts her head, eyes unfocused. “I… butt-dialed?”

Behind Matt, Chriss hovers in the doorway, scanning the chaotic living room with furrowed brows. You lock eyes with Chris briefly, your buzz making everything feel a little surreal.

Chris looks halfway between annoyed and relieved. His gaze flicks over you—messy hair, glazed eyes. He shakes his head. “You two sure know how to get yourselves in trouble.”

Ava only giggles, patting Matt’s chest. “We’re not in trouble, you big worrywart! We were having fun.”

Matt sighs, then glances at Chris. “Let’s just get them out of here, okay?”

In a blur, you’re ushered out of the stuffy frat house and into Chris’s car. Ava clings to Matt in the back seat, slurring apologies and jokes in equal measure. 

You decide not to sit shotgun with Chris. That leaves you squished in the middle of the back seat, half-leaning against Ava, half avoiding Chris’s side glances in the rearview mirror. The closeness and the alcoholic haze mix into a swirl of heightened awareness.

“Next time you decide to party, maybe don’t dial Matt in the middle of it,” Chris mutters, catching your eye in the mirror again. “We thought you were being attacked or something.”

You bristle at his tone—he sounds equal parts concerned and reprimanding. “We’re fine,” you snap, words slightly slurred. “It was an accident.”

“Yeah, well,” he huffs, tightening his grip on the wheel, “you scared the crap out of him. And me.”

Matt’s arms are wrapped around Ava, who’s busy giggling into his shirt. “You guys have no idea how panicked I was,” he mutters, relief evident now that he sees you’re both physically okay.

As the car zips through the city streets, passing bright storefronts and bars, your eyelids grow heavier. The combined warmth of the car’s heater, Ava leaning on you, and the vodka in your veins weighs you down.

Finally, you pull up in front of your apartment building. The moment the engine shuts off, Matt twists around in his seat. “Nick’s gone, by the way,” he says, a touch abruptly. “Dropped him at the airport earlier to go visit some colleges. So, it’s just us tonight.”

You’re too buzzed to question the timing of that info, and Ava seems unfazed. She basically tumbles out of the car, laughing when her heel snags on the curb. You follow, pressing a palm to the cool exterior of the car for balance, while Chris and Matt exchange glances—equal parts concerned and amused.

Inside your apartment, Ava makes a beeline for the kitchen, rifling through the cabinets until she triumphantly produces a stack of plastic cups and the battered ping-pong balls you’ve both used for impromptu “drinking games.” She smirks at you, eyes bright with mischief.

“Let’s turn this night around,” she announces, leaning dramatically against the kitchen counter. “You guys up for some pong?”

Chris scoffs, folding his arms over his chest. “Pretty sure you two have had enough drinking for a lifetime,” he mutters, eyeing the way you’re still swaying on your feet.

You roll your eyes, tossing your jacket onto a nearby chair. “Relax. It’s not that late—and we’re not that drunk.” You catch yourself on the edge of the table and give Ava a pointed look. “Well, mostly. Plus you two can just crash here if Nick’s not home.”

Matt sighs but cracks a small grin. “I’ll play only to make sure you two don’t, I don’t know, pass out mid-throw.”

Ava’s face lights up, like she’s just hatched the best idea in the world. She leans in conspiratorially. “I say we raise the stakes: strip pong.”

You blink at her, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “Strip pong?”

“Hell no,” Chris interjects immediately, but there’s an amused tilt to his mouth that betrays he’s not totally opposed.

Matt runs a hand through his hair, eyeing the increasingly giddy look on Ava’s face. “What do you mean, ‘strip pong?’”

Ava bats her lashes with dramatic flair. “Every time your opponent sinks a shot, you either drink or remove a piece of clothing. Drink too much, you’ll probably lose anyway—so it’s a win-win.”

Chris snorts. “That is a terrible idea.”

“Which means it’s the best idea,” you counter, the alcohol loosening your tongue. A reckless thrill buzzes through your veins. “C’mon, don’t be a buzzkill.”

Ava claps her hands, beaming. “Right? Let’s do it!”

Before anyone can mount real objections, she’s already clearing space on the kitchen table, setting up two triangles of cups. The environment shifts from the earlier tension into something mischievously charged. There’s a giddy sense of inevitability—like you all know this is reckless, but you’re too caught in the moment to stop.

It starts off almost tame—Matt pairs with Chris against you and Ava, cups half-filled with cheap liquor you still have leftover from last weekend. The first couple of rounds go smoothly enough. You miss a shot, Ava misses a shot, the guys miss a shot. A few drinks go down.

Then Matt sinks one with surprising finesse, and Ava clutches her head. “Ugh, I’m still so drunk already.” She flicks a glance at you. “Should I strip or drink?”

“Your call.” You giggle, swaying into her shoulder.

Ava shrugs and peels off her crop top with zero hesitation, leaving her in a skimpy bra. Chris stiffens across the table, flicking his gaze away, while Matt tries really hard—and fails—to keep his eyes respectfully diverted. You can’t help but laugh, your cheeks flushing in the stuffy air.

Game on.

One shot after another, the pile of clothes on the floor grows. Your shoes. Ava’s shoes. Matt’s socks. Chris’s hoodie. Ava loses her jeans next, and you see Chris suck in a breath, determinedly not staring at her toned legs. You can’t decide if it’s hilarious or strangely hot, but the alcohol swirling in your bloodstream makes the whole thing feel surreal.

Your turn comes, and you land a perfect shot right in the center cup of Matt and Chris’s formation. “Ha!” you crow triumphantly, swaying a bit on your feet. “Chug or strip, boys.”

Matt groans, tossing back a shot instead. You see the grimace twist his lips as the cheap liquor burns down his throat.

Chris goes next. “Fine,” he grumbles, lifting the hem of his T-shirt and tugging it off in one fluid motion. Your gaze flicks over his chest. Something low in your stomach clenches, and you tear your eyes away before he catches you staring.

Another round passes in a blur of sloshing cups and fumbling giggles. Ava calls out your name, but you barely register it—too busy trying to line up your shot and not topple forward. You miss, and the ball bounces right into your own side of cups.

“You know what that means,” Chris teases, voice threaded with amusement. “Strip or drink.”

You weigh your options, biting your lip. “I’m basically out of clothes,” you mumble, glancing down at your half-zipped skirt and your bra. “And I’m not chugging more, or I’ll be on the floor.”

Biting the bullet, you slip out of your skirt, leaving you in panties and your bra. Ava cackles, hugging your side like you’ve just achieved some glorious victory. Chris just rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes, but you see the flush creeping up his cheeks. Matt tries to busy himself setting the next ping-pong ball in play.

Before you know it, the table is down to just a few cups on each side. Ava, also stripped to bra and panties, shoots you a giddy grin.

It’s the final round of the game. You’re both swaying on your feet, flushed from alcohol and adrenaline.

“Oh my God, we lost again,” Ava groans, pressing a hand to her forehead. “We’re out of clothes to lose, unless…”

Her eyes dart to you, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. You catch on immediately, your own cheeks already burning from the booze. “Right,” you say, heart thumping. “We could distract them.”

Ava shrugs with exaggerated nonchalance. “Strip or drink, right?” Without missing a beat, she reaches behind her back and unclasps her bra, letting it slide off her arms.

Your pulse quickens. Glancing at Chris trying not to stare—trying and failing. Matt however looked like his eyes were going to fall out of his head as they made direct contact with avas tits. With a reckless smile, you reach for your own bra clasp. “Oh, what the hell,” you mutter. One tug, and it falls away.

Matt chokes on air and Chris rubs the back of his neck, his gaze flicking anywhere but your bare skin—until he finally sneaks a glance he can’t quite hide. It’s obvious he’s caught between exasperation and attraction.

But you and Ava decide to up the ante. You trade a look that says, Let’s really throw them off. Giggling under your breath, you loop an arm around Ava’s waist, tugging her closer until your mouths meet in a slow, tipsy kiss.

Ava’s free hand comes up to your tit, and the warmth of her lips lights a spark of shock and amusement through your chest. The boldness of it, the gleeful madness—it’s enough to make your head spin, even without the alcohol. You hear a sharp intake of breath from the boys’ side of the table.

“Oh… fuck,” Matt manages, blinking rapidly.

Chris stands stock-still, ping-pong ball forgotten in his hand as it drops to the floor, eyes locked on the two of you as if he can’t decide whether to look away or lean closer.

Your kiss with Ava lingers just long enough to ensure the boys are thoroughly distracted. When you finally break apart, you shoot her a triumphant grin, adrenaline surging. She laughs, resting her forehead against yours.

“Guess it’s your turn,” Ava purrs, turning her attention to Matt and Chris. “Are you two gonna throw, or what?”

Matt’s throat bobs; Chris glances at him, and they both snap to attention, suddenly remembering the game. But the shot is rushed—Chris lobs the ball, and it bounces wildly off the table, nowhere near any cup.

You and Ava exchange a gleeful high five. “Distraction success,” you declare, still breathless.

“That’s so not fair,” Matt blurts, cheeks tinted pink. “We—uh—didn’t exactly expect that.”

Ava shrugs with mock innocence. “I don’t give a fuck.”

“Your turn to strip or drink,” you remind them, placing your hands on your exposed hips.

Matt and Chris exchange looks of defeat. With a resigned sigh, Matt takes off his pants, stepping out of them in just his boxers. Chris follows suit, hooking his thumbs under his waistband and tugging his own pants off.

You steal a glance—yep, they’re both standing there in boxers, and it’s pretty clear they’re more turned on than they’d like to admit. A flush crawls up Chris’s neck as he tries to hide the telltale outline of his arousal. Matt stares holes into Ava, as if he can’t wait to get his hands on her once the game is over.

Ava bites her lip, stifling laughter as she leans into you. “I’d say that’s game over,” she whispers conspiratorially, both of you grinning like you’ve just pulled off the biggest prank in history.

Matt finally grumbles, “Yeah, we’re done here.”

Matt’s eyes dart between Ava—topless, flushed, and giggling—and the mess of clothes and cups on the table. Something in him snaps, like he’s done waiting. In two strides, he closes the distance, hooks an arm around Ava’s waist, and hoists her off her feet with a growl of mock exasperation. She squeals, clinging to him as he marches toward the stairs.

“Matt—!” she protests through laughter, but she’s not really protesting at all.

Neither you nor Chris misses the way Matt’s fingertips dig into Ava’s side, or how Ava’s lips find Matt’s neck before they even reach the second step. Then they disappear upstairs, leaving you and Chris alone in the aftermath of the wildest game of strip pong you’ve ever played.

You stand there for a moment, heart still hammering. You’re topless, wearing nothing but your underwear, and Chris is in nothing but boxers. His chest rises and falls with each breath, tension radiating off him in waves. It’s strangely silent without Ava’s giggles and Matt’s banter—just the faint thump of the door closing above and the pulse of your own blood rushing in your ears.

Finally, Chris’s gaze lifts to yours, and there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “So…” he drawls, voice a touch raspy, “you just gonna kiss Ava like that, or… what?”

A tiny spark lights in your chest, fueled by the lingering buzz of alcohol and the reckless rush of the evening. Instead of answering, you cross the room in a few unsteady steps. There’s a daring glint in his eyes—like he half-expected, half-hoped you’d call his bluff.

Your hands find his shoulders. “Or what?” you echo softly, leaning in.

He doesn’t get the chance to respond. You press your lips to his with a sudden, heated urgency, adrenaline spiking at the feel of his bare skin against yours. His fingers curve around your waist, pulling you closer. The warmth of him—his scent, the faint taste of cheap liquor still on his tongue—sends a shiver racing down your spine.

Chris drops onto the couch first, eyes full of an urgency you haven’t felt in ages. You swing a leg over his lap, bracing your hands against his shoulders as your mouths collide in another feverish kiss. His hands roam over your waist, sliding up your sides as you melt into him, grinding against his bulge, pulse thrumming with reckless desire.

You moan softly when he tilts his head, lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck. Each warm press of his mouth sends shivers rippling down your spine. He grazes your collarbone next, taking his time, and then dips lower, brushing his lips over the swell of your breast. You gasp, fingers curling into his hair as the heat between you both intensifies.

His breath is warm against your skin when he murmurs your name, voice tinged with want and just a hint of disbelief. You answer by tugging him closer, letting him kiss his way back up to your neck, losing yourself in the dizzy rush of being half-naked and tangled in Chris’s arms after years.

Just as his hands slide up your back, mapping every curve of your body, a sudden, jarring crash rattles the ceiling. It’s immediately followed by a startled yelp—loud enough to slice clean through the haze of lust enveloping you both.

You tense, pulling back just enough to lock eyes with Chris. His chest heaves under your palms, and there’s a flicker of concern mixed with reluctance in his gaze—clearly, he’s torn between checking on the commotion and staying right here.

“Did you hear…?” you start, breath ragged.

He exhales sharply, forehead brushing yours. “Yeah. We should—”

Another noise, like something being knocked over, leaves no room for debate. Whatever’s happening upstairs, it can’t be ignored. You slip off Chris’s lap, both of you scrambling for balance while you catch your breath. The heady mixture of heat and urgency remains, thrumming in your veins, but you know you have to push it aside—at least for now.

With one last shared look of frustration and lingering want, you and Chris take off toward the stairs, bracing yourselves for whatever mess might be waiting up there—heartbeats still pounding from the kiss you just left behind.

You and Chris take the stairs two at a time. The second you shove Ava’s door open, the sight inside nearly stops you in your tracks:

Ava’s sprawled on the floor beside the bed, clutching her forehead and moaning in exaggerated agony. Matt is kneeling on the mattress, stark naked, dick hard and out, one hand covering himself while the other hovers in shock near his mouth. His eyes dart between you, Chris, and Ava, unsure whether to rush to her side or dive under the covers.

“Oh my God,” you exclaim, rushing over. “Ava, are you okay?”

She sucks in a shaky breath, wincing. “No, I’m not okay!” she yelps, tears of pain and laughter mingling in her eyes. “He went too hard with the backshots! My forehead slammed right into the headboard! And then I fell off the fucking bed!”

Chris stops in the doorway, takes in the scene with wide eyes, and then—without a word—he meets Matt’s gaze and smirks. Matt, sheepish and half-panicked, still can’t hide the flash of pride in his eyes. Chris crosses the room, offers him a quick fist-bump-turned-handshake, and murmurs, “That’s my boy.”

You stifle a disbelieving snort at their little moment of bro solidarity, then refocus on Ava, who’s groaning dramatically, clutching her temple. “Oh, Ava,” you sigh, gently brushing her hair aside to check her forehead. “We heard a bang—are you bleeding? Does it hurt really bad?”

Ava nods, tears in her eyes, though you can’t tell if she’s more embarrassed or in pain. “I swear, if I have to explain a concussion from Matt’s… enthusiasm, I’m gonna lose it.”

Matt, flushing scarlet, finally crawls off the bed. He grabs the nearest shirt to toss on, but then abandons it in favor of helping you lift Ava to a seated position. “I’m so sorry, babe,” he says earnestly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Yeah, well,” she mutters, pressing a hand to the side of her face, “now I’m pretty sure my head has its own heartbeat.”

Chris, arms folded across his bare chest, shakes his head—though there’s a faint grin curving his lips. “Let’s just get her some ice, some water… maybe a helmet next time.”

Ava huffs, half-laughing, half-sniffling. “Funny,” she groans, letting you help her stand. “So fucking funny, Chris.”

You guide Ava toward the hallway, Matt trailing right behind, still apologizing under his breath. Meanwhile, Chris lingers for a second, surveying the rumpled bed and smirking to himself like he’s savoring a secret joke.

He catches your eye before you all head downstairs, the ghost of a smile on his face—a silent reminder of the steamy moment you shared just before this chaos. 

The four of you make your way downstairs, with Ava leaning on you and Matt hovering close behind, still wracked with guilt over her throbbing forehead. Chris trails behind, looking more amused than alarmed, though concern flickers in his eyes each time Ava winces.

You guide Ava to the couch and gently lower her, then scurry off to grab an ice pack from the freezer. Chris follows, rummaging in a kitchen drawer until he emerges with a clean dish towel. He wraps it around the ice pack and hands it over to you. Together, you return to the living room and settle the makeshift cold compress against Ava’s swollen bump.

She hisses at first contact but eventually sighs in relief. “Okay,” she mumbles through still-watery eyes, “this is helping, I think.”

You rub her shoulder softly. “Better?”

Ava nods, blinking away the last of her tears. Slowly, that mischievous spark returns to her gaze. She glances from the ice pack to you and Chris—who are both still in your underwear—and lets out a dramatic groan. “Wait, I’m still naked. Now y’all need to ditch your underwear, too. I feel exposed.”

You snort, cheeks warming. Chris smirks, folding his arms over his chest. “I don’t think so,” he says, voice tinged with amusement.

When neither of you moves to strip further, Ava sputters a laugh then pauses, eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. “Wait, did I interrupt something earlier?”

For a moment, the silence in the living room is deafening. You and Chris exchange a look, neither of you wanting to address exactly how close you’d been to going all the way.

Chris clears his throat, shifting his stance uncomfortably as he adjusts himself in his boxers. Ava takes one look at that and squeals in horror and glee all at once. “Oh my God! I did interrupt you!”

“Relax,” Chris mutters, a faint flush coloring his cheeks. “It was just a… horny mistake.”

Something in his dismissive tone sets you off. A spark of anger flares in your chest, snapping you out of your tipsy haze. “A horny mistake?” you echo, voice sharp.

He lifts his hands, like he’s not sure what he did wrong. “I didn’t mean it like that—”

But you’re already on your feet, body buzzing with a mixture of embarrassment and irritation. Without another word, you storm toward the stairs, heat pooling beneath your skin. As you stomp up the stairs, Ava spins on Chris, her eyes blazing.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” she snaps, ignoring the throb in her forehead as she points an accusing finger his way. “Calling it a ‘horny mistake’? Seriously? You couldn’t be more of a dick if you tried.”

Chris rubs at the back of his neck, clearly taken aback by her sudden fury. “Ava, I didn’t mean—”

“Shut up,” she cuts him off with a venomous glare. “You do not get to stand there, practically half-naked, and act like she was just some afterthought.”

Matt steps in, hands raised in a soothing gesture. “Hey, hey—let’s calm down. It’s been a crazy night—”

“Oh my God, Matt, do not start,” Ava snarls, turning her wrath on him. “You nearly gave me a fucking concussion upstairs! And now you’re gonna defend him, too?”

Matt winces, guilt etched all over his face. “I’m not defending anyone, babe, I’m just—”

“Just what?” Ava scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Trying to ‘calm’ me down like I’m some hysterical child? Newsflash: I’m pissed for a reason!”

Chris opens his mouth, maybe to apologize, but Ava shuts him down before he can get a word out. “No. I don’t wanna hear it right now. You said something shitty, you hurt her feelings—so congratulations. You did something dumber than Matt ramming my forehead into the headboard, and that’s saying a lot.”

Matt make a face somewhere between embarrassment and frustration. “Ava, come on—”

“Don’t ‘come on’ me,” she snaps. “And don’t fucking follow me, either, because I need to check on my girl, and both of you need to learn how to stop screwing everything up for five minutes.”

With that, she whirls around, leaves the boys downstairs, and marches upstairs after you, ice pack pressed to her head, muttering a final, “Assholes,” under her breath before disappearing into your room to find you while Matt stares at her ass. 

Moments later, you hear a soft knock at the door. Then Ava slips in, still swaddling the ice pack against her head, sporting the same disheveled look from all the chaos.

“Hey, babe,” she murmurs, voice laced with concern. She closes the door gently and moves to sit beside you on the bed. “I totally chewed him out, by the way. Don’t know if he’s still alive downstairs.”

Despite yourself, you can’t help a small, reluctant laugh. You roll onto your side, making room for her under the covers. She settles in, cuddling up with you as if it’s second nature—because, really, it is.

You sigh, pressing a hand to your face. “I just… I don’t know why I’m so mad. It was fun, it was stupid, it got interrupted, and now—”

Ava hushes you gently, tucking her arm around your waist. “Hey, it was a lot. You’re allowed to be upset.”

You exhale, tension draining from your shoulders. Having Ava there, warm and comforting, soothes the swirling mess in your head. “Thanks,” you whisper, nuzzling against her just enough to feel supported.

She chuckles softly, pressing the cold pack to her own throbbing forehead. “No problem. Just keep me from getting a concussion, yeah?”

You both share a tired laugh. Eventually, the apartment grows quiet again. Somewhere below, Matt is likely still hovering worriedly, and Chris… well, who knows. But for now, Ava’s presence gives you a moment’s peace—wrapped in a blanket, side by side, nursing your bruised hearts and heads in equal measure as you fall asleep next to each other.

Morning light streams through your bedroom curtains, rousing you from a restless sleep. Your head throbs faintly, a not-so-subtle reminder of last night’s drunken chaos. Ava, sprawled beside you under a tangle of blankets, groans softly, pressing a hand to her bandaged forehead. Neither of you notices the quiet right away—until you pad into the living room in search of water and see that the boys are gone.

“What the hell?” Ava mutters, blinking blearily around your apartment. “No text, no note…” She checks her phone and scoffs. “Nada.”

You rub sleep from your eyes, mind still foggy. “Maybe Chris and Matt went home before their parents noticed they were gone all night?”

Ava’s jaw tightens. “Screw that. They could’ve woken us up or something—especially after what went down.” She tosses her phone aside. “Get dressed. We’re going over there.”

You’re too groggy to protest. Five minutes later, you’re stuffing yourself into the baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants Ava thrust into your arms while she drives—white-knuckled and furious—through the morning traffic toward the Sturniolo family home. Her eyes stay fixed on the road, jaw clenched like she’s ready for war.

The Sturniolo house stands in a quiet neighborhood, the driveway empty except for Matt’s car and Chris’s familiar ride. Their parents must be at work, leaving the place wide open. Ava parks haphazardly at the curb, kills the engine, and practically launches herself out of the driver’s seat.

“Ava, wait—” you call, scrambling to keep up as she beelines for the front door. She doesn’t bother to knock, just pushes it open and stomps inside, her slippers squeaking on the tiled entryway.

The living room comes into view: Matt is leaning against a side table, sipping coffee, while Chris is sprawled on the couch, eyes on his phone. Both look up in unison, equal parts startled and guilty, as Ava storms in.

“Well, good morning,” Chris says slowly, arching a brow. His gaze flicks over to you, lingering just a second longer, before swinging back to Ava. “Didn’t expect you here so soon.”

Ava plants her hands on her hips, ignoring the twinge in her forehead. “You two took off this morning without a single word—after everything that happened last night. Seriously? You couldn’t even leave a note?”

Matt sets his mug down with a sigh. “Ava—”

“Don’t you ‘Ava’ me,” she snaps. “Look at my face!” She lifts the cloth pressed to her injury. “I practically have a concussion from your dick and Y/N got humiliated because Chris decided to call it a ‘horny mistake.’ Yet you just sneak out and think it’s all good?”

Heat flushes your cheeks at the mention of Chris’s words. Meanwhile, Matt glances sheepishly at you, then Chris, clearly unsure how to diffuse this. “We weren’t exactly sneaking out,” Matt tries. “We just figured we’d let you both sleep it off. You were wasted—”

“Shut up,” Ava hisses, turning her glare on him. “You’re the one who practically slammed my head into the headboard, and now you’re defending him for being an ass to my best friend? Come on, Matt.”

Chris sets his phone aside and stands, hands slipping into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Okay, I get it,” he says tersely, meeting Ava’s anger head-on. “We messed up. We should’ve said something.”

Ava’s eyes blaze. “Damn right, you should have.” Then she whips around to face Matt again. “Or a text—something.”

Matt rubs the back of his neck. “We’re sorry, babe. Really. We know we screwed up.”

Ava scoffs, lifting her chin. “A little courtesy would be nice. I have a possible concussion and you guys just bounce? Unbelievable.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, remembering the tension, the moment you and Chris nearly shared. He glances at you again, something akin to regret flickering across his face. You swallow hard, hugging yourself. You’re not sure if you want to confront him or disappear.

Matt reaches for Ava’s arm, voice softer. “We didn’t mean to make things worse. Last night got so crazy… we figured space might help.”

Ava yanks her arm away, “I don’t need space. I need communication you fucking idiot!” She tilts her head, leveling a glare at Chris. “Especially from you. You have anything else to say about my best friend and your ‘horny mistake’?”

Chris exhales slowly, shoulders sagging. “I shouldn’t have called it that. It came out wrong.” He looks directly at you. “I’m sorry.”

Ava rubs at her eyes, taking a long, shaky breath. She suddenly looks more worn out than furious, and you realize the weight of her hangover might be as heavy as her anger. With a small groan, she presses a palm gently to her sore forehead.

“You know what,” she mutters, sagging into the couch, “maybe I’m just—” She sighs. “I’m just hungover, cranky, and my head still hurts. That’s all.”

Relief flickers across Matt’s face. He steps forward, resting a cautious hand on her shoulder. When she doesn’t shove him away, he leans in, kissing her head softly. “I’m sorry about… everything,” he murmurs. “Let me make it up to you. We’ll go grab breakfast—my treat. You, me, Chris, Y/N… we could all use some food right now.”

Ava looks around the quiet living room—Chris with his hands in his pockets, you standing off to the side and finally, she nods, a faint, tired smile pulling at her lips. “Yeah,” she relents. “I could eat.”

Matt exhales like he’s been holding his breath for hours. “Great,” he says, relieved. “Let’s go. There’s a Denny’s not too far from here.”

Chris glances your way, a silent question in his eyes—You good? You nod, trying to move past your lingering annoyance. Breakfast might be the first step toward smoothing things over… or at least not making them worse.

Fifteen minutes later, the four of you are crammed into a booth at Denny’s beneath too-bright fluorescent lights. There’s a collective slump in your posture, as though the whole table is nursing hangovers or leftover tension. But the aroma of coffee and frying bacon starts to lift the mood.

Ava flops an elbow on the table, reading the menu with one eye open. Matt, sitting beside her, rubs slow circles on her back, whispering apologies here and there. Across from them, you and Chris hold your menus like makeshift shields—unsure if you’re truly ready to talk yet, but at least the scents of hash browns and eggs ease some of the awkwardness.

“Ugh, I can’t decide,” you mutter, eyeing the pancake combos.

“Waffles,” Chris counters immediately, glancing up from his own menu.

You arch an eyebrow. “Waffles?”

He flips the laminated page toward you, jabbing a finger at a picture of crisp, golden-brown waffles drizzled in syrup. “They’re superior in every way. Texture, flavor pockets, structural integrity—waffles win.”

“Structural integrity?” you repeat, a disbelieving scoff escaping you. “I don’t care about ‘flavor pockets,’ Chris. Pancakes are fluffy and comforting.”

He snorts, setting his menu down like he’s ready to present a thesis. “Fluffy is just code for ‘soggy if you don’t eat them in five seconds.’ With waffles, you get these perfect little squares to hold your syrup. Pancakes are basically sog-biscuits.”

Your mouth drops open. “They are not sog-biscuits! You can’t beat a stack of warm, buttery pancakes.”

He leans forward, eyes narrowed in mock challenge. “Oh, I can, and I will: a stack of warm, buttery waffles, plus that satisfying crunch on the outside.”

You’re about to retort—something about pancakes being the foundation of every breakfast place in America—when Ava peeks up from her menu, looking a bit more alive. “If you two start a food fight over which carb is better, I’m going to need another ibuprofen. And Y/N is right. Its pancakes.” she warns, though there’s a ghost of a smile on her lips.

Matt slides her a small grin, then turns to you and Chris. “You know what’s better than waffles and pancakes?”

All three of you look at him skeptically, and he chuckles. “French toast.”

Ava rolls her eyes but pokes his side playfully. “You’re so extra.”

“Guilty as charged,” he admits, raising a hand for the waitress. “But if it makes you feel better, I’ll get the pancakes to show solidarity with Y/N’s taste buds.”

Chris feigns a horrified gasp. “Traitor.”

“Uh-huh,” Matt deadpans. “And Ava can get waffles so she’ll stop having to listen to you two bicker.”

Ava groans dramatically. “Why the fuck do I have to eat waffles,” she teases, resting her head on Matt’s shoulder. Despite the jab, there’s relief etched in her features—like the tension in her shoulders has finally lifted a bit.

You catch Chris’s eye across the table and, despite yourself, a small smile creeps up. The argument feels less about pancakes and waffles and more about exhaling the stress of the last twelve hours.

“Fine,” you concede, flipping your menu closed. “But only because I’m starving.”

Chris huffs out a soft laugh, doing the same with his menu. “Yeah. Me too.”

And for the first time since last night’s chaos, you and Ava and the boys breathe a little easier—sitting in a too-bright diner with questionable coffee, letting the warm promise of breakfast slowly piece things back together.

After Matt paid the bill and grabbed your leftovers, the four of you step out of Denny’s into the brisk midday air. Breakfast felt like a temporary truce—banter over waffles and pancakes masking the undercurrent of unresolved tension. But as you all pile into Matt’s car—him behind the wheel, Ava in the passenger seat, you and Chris in the back—there’s a sense the peace won’t last.

Matt starts the engine, carefully guiding the car into traffic. Ava scrolls through apple music for music, and for a few minutes, the only sounds are of the passing cars. You stare out the window, head still pounding from a mix of caffeine. Beside you, Chris sits with his arms crossed, gaze fixed on the seat in front of him, as if waiting for the right moment to speak.

Eventually, Matt hits a pothole so deep it rattles the whole car, and Chris nearly loses his grip on his takeout container. He mutters a curse and shoots a glare at the back of Matt’s head. “Could we not hit every crater in the road?” he growls.

“Sorry,” Matt says flatly, clearly not in the mood to argue. “Boston roads aren’t exactly a smooth ride.”

Ava twists in her seat, rolling her eyes at Chris. “You want to drive instead? Be my guest,” she challenges, though her voice is weary.

Chris exhales, as if already fed up. You can’t help but notice he keeps casting sidelong looks your way. Finally, he shifts toward you, opening his mouth like he’s been holding back words that can’t wait any longer.

“So,” he says, his tone deceptively casual, “you ever gonna explain what happened after senior year? Because last I remember, you were all set on college—then you vanished.”

A spike of tension hits your stomach. “Things changed,” you say curtly. “It’s none of your business, Chris.”

He lets out a short laugh. “Funny. You made it everyone’s business when you wouldn’t stop talking about your big future. Then out of nowhere, poof—you’re gone.”

Heat flushes your cheeks. “I didn’t vanish. I took a gap year. Not that it matters to you.”

Chris’s jaw tightens. “It matters because you ghosted me. One minute we’re talking, the next you’re off with someone else like I never existed.”

Ava glances over her shoulder, wanting to intervene, but Matt shakes his head slightly. He keeps his eyes on the road, tension etched across his features. You feel the interior of the car tighten as Chris’s accusation hangs in the air.

“Are we seriously doing this right now?” You laugh in disbelief.

He cocks his head to the side in complete seriousness. “I don’t know, are we?”

“Fuck you, Chris. You know that’s not why I stopped talking to you,” you snap, though the guilt of lying twists in your gut. “I didn’t ghost you because of some other guy, so drop it.”

“Right,” he spits back. “Because that’s totally how it looked when you got a boyfriend and never bothered to call again.”

“That’s not what happened,” you hiss. “Can we not do this right now?”

Chris ignores your plea, leaning closer, voice low and charged. “I think it’s really convenient how you had all these big plans—until you bailed on them, and me. Don’t act surprised, I'm still pissed.”

Anger flares in your chest. You clench your fingers against the seat. “Don’t rewrite history just because you’re mad. You think you were a saint? You barely acknowledged me half the time besides when you wanted your dick sucked. Don’t act like I was the only one who messed up.”

Chris’s eyes blaze. “You know that's not true. I was obsessed with you. And we were kids. We didn’t know how to handle—”

“Stop acting like that excuses everything!” you cut in, voice trembling with the force of your emotion. “You never asked what I wanted. You never said if you wanted more. Then you blame me when I moved on?”

He sucks in a breath, looking ready to throw another barb, when Matt’s voice finally cracks through the tension. “Hey!” he barks, sparing a quick glance in the rearview. “Cut it out. Both of you.”

Chris grits his teeth, but you can see he’s holding himself back. You’re vibrating with leftover fury, blood pounding in your ears. Ava twists again, her gaze darting between you and Chris. She looks torn between yelling at you both or letting Matt handle it.

Chris exhales, folding his arms. His voice is a bitter mutter. “Guess we’ll never know if you’d have stuck around if you hadn’t had a backup plan.”

Your anger surges anew. “Don’t you dare imply I was just waiting for something better to come along!”

Before Chris can retort, Matt hits the brakes harder than necessary at a yellow light, causing everyone to jolt forward. “That’s it!” he snaps, knuckles white on the steering wheel. “We can talk about this when we’re not moving at 40 miles an hour, okay? I’m not letting you two kill each other in Avas car.”

A taut silence falls, your chest heaving with unsaid words. Chris slumps back in his seat, staring out the window with a thunderous expression. You rub your temples, frustration and guilt churning in your stomach.

By the time Matt pulls up to the Sturniolo house, the tension in the car is suffocating. Chris throws open the back door and practically leaps out, not sparing you a second glance. Ava sighs and unbuckles, eyeing you and Chris warily. Matt parks, shoulders rigid, then steps out to follow his brother.

You remain in the back seat for a moment, heart still hammering. Ava glances at you, sympathy flickering across her features, but she doesn’t say a word. She simply gives a weary shake of her head, then trudges after Matt.

Finally, with a shuddering breath, you climb out. You catch a glimpse of Chris disappearing inside, posture tense. Your anger hasn’t cooled, but beneath it lies a pang of something else—regret, maybe. Of course, you’re both too stubborn to admit it.

Ava returns to the car and slides behind the wheel. She waits, eyes on you. “Ready to go?”

You nod numbly, slipping into the passenger seat. As she drives away, the echo of your own shouting plays on repeat in your mind, mingling with Chris’s accusations. It’s as if the old wounds have been ripped wide open, and neither of you knows how to stop the bleeding.

tag list: @mattsobvimyfav @sturnsvelocity @ilovejohnnieguilbertsblog @mattsturnii @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @watercolorskyy @strangecatpeach @katie1002

[liminarie]

SIM REQS 🦇

hii Id just love a male sim in your style! plz do what you want thanks.

How 'bout dis: a cwute lil' sim with blond hair dat goes past her shoulders, and big sparkly hazel eyes dat shimmer when she smiles｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡with a fat body.her style is super cutesy, mix of pastel and cozy vibes, wearin oversized sweaters and skirts with boots OwO

sim request: female, have a cottagecore aesthetic with long, wavy dark hair, soft makeup, and a porcelain-like complexion.😊 fits should include floral dresses, cozy cardigans, and lace-up boots..maaybe add freckles or glasses for extra charm???? gracias 🫂

hi first of all I want to wish you a happy new year that your path is blessed and that it brings many good things for you, I would like to ask you if it is possible that you can share with me the tray files of this sim I would appreciate it very much I really like the sims you create and the content you do

hi! your sims are AMAZING! when i saw you opened sim requests i got so excited! so, i wanna ask if you could make me as a sim, but obviously with creative freedom, because i love your style and everything you make! so i will send you some photos of me!

female, any race/ethnicity is fine. Id like her to be trashy mcbling with a tan. think snooki, jwoww, christiana aguilera, etc. Id like her to wear jeans, maybe animal print if possible? thanks in advanced

thank you very much for participating in this. you can download them here:

Patreon (FREE lol)

Hey! sorry if they weren't what you expected honestly I'm used to just one style lol.

The traits, names and everything else is all random!! They only have one outfit. If when you put the sim in the CAS a notification appears that something is missing, don't worry, these are the custom traits and default cc. This does not affect the sim.

If there is any error, please let me know.

[joelalorian]

Under False Pretenses - Chapter 1

Stepdad!Dave York x f!reader | wc: 1700 | masterlist

Summary: A challenging mission, whirlwind marriage, and unexpected yet captivating stepdaughter push Dave York to the brink as secrets, feelings, and loyalties collide.

Warnings: Overall rating will be Explicit, 18+ mdni. Stepdad trope. Unspecified age gap but I imagine a lil' baby one of about 5 to 8 years. This chapter is a wee lil mellow one and sets the scene, but future ones will include soft, yet sexy and intense Dave; several twists - basically, it will have it all: action, angst, deception, fluff, humor, a puppy(!), and SMUT! No use of y/n. Dave will give reader a nickname based on his perception of her.

AN: I got too excited and decided to post the first chapter. Posting schedule will be somewhere are weekly, give or take a few days. Hope you enjoy and let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list!

Chapter 1:

“Sure, honey. You can come stay for a while,” your mom assured you. She sounded excited even though it wasn’t a call you wanted to make, not at this point in your life, but what other options did you have? “You can see the house and meet your new stepdad!”

Dead air.

The soft glow of you bedside lamp cast long shadows on the room, making the clutter of half-packed boxes look like ominous towers. Your knuckles whitened as you gripped the phone tighter, trying to process her words.

“My new WHAT?” your voice rose toward the end in utter confusion. You didn’t even know your mom was dating anyone, let alone someone serious enough to fucking marry!

“Oh, honey, his name is Dave and you’re just gonna love him,” she replied with a lovesick simper.

You’d never heard her voice do that. She must be really into the guy.

Enough to marry him without even inviting you to the god damn wedding?

She’s still chatting away, explaining how they met – at work – and how it was such a whirlwind romance that they got carried away on a work trip to Vegas and decided to just tie the knot without telling anyone.

Okay. That, actually, didn’t surprise you. Your mom was super smart but could be a total a flake sometimes, leaving you to wonder who the adult was on more than one occasion while growing up. She had you really young and never quite matured.

“That’s great, Mom. I can’t wait to meet him,” you finally replied after twenty minutes of listening to her gush over this Dave guy. “But I’m not calling him Dad.”

She laughed. “Of course not, honey. He’s too young to really be your dad anyway.”

That piqued your interest.

“Oh, oh, oh, you robbin’ the cradle, mama?” you teased. “You’re really living your cougar era, huh?”

“Stop it, you,” she giggled in return. “So, when do you think you’ll get here?”

Conversation went back and forth a little longer as your mom gave you the new address – for fuck’s sake, they moved clear across the state from where you grew up, to a very swanky area at the shore, you noted – and you made a rough itinerary. In reality, you would have loved to just drop everything and get the fuck out of dodge right that minute, but logistics and all that.

“Ok, honey. Be careful and I’ll see you next week. Call if you need anything.” Before she ended the call, your mom added, “I’ll text you Dave’s number as well, so you have it in case of emergencies.

“Sounds good, mama. Love you.”

“Love you more, honey.”

You went back to packing up the remnants of your life, readying yourself for the cross-country journey ahead.

You did not have ‘moving back home at almost 30’ on your bingo card this year, but there you were, pulling into the half-moon driveway of a large colonial home in an upscale neighborhood, one much nicer than where your mom used to live. The house loomed under the late morning sun, its pristine white siding and black shutters stark against the cloudless blue sky. Perfectly trimmed hedges flanked the curved driveway, and somewhere nearby, the faint crash of waves carried on the salty breeze. This Dave guy had a lot of money, it appeared. Parking your little sedan to the far side in front of the 3-car garage, you turned the car off and lingered in the driver’s seat, fingers drumming nervously on the steering wheel.

Normally, you didn’t mind change, but… man, the past month threw some whammies at you. You lost a boyfriend, job, and your loyal goldfish in quick succession. Each loss hit worse than the last. And now, your safe space, the place you needed to return to so you could lick your wounds… also changed. Big time.

The soft tap of a manicured nail on the window startled you, head snapping to the side to see your mom standing in the driveway beaming at you. She bounced on her feet, anxiously waiting for you to get out of the car.

“Honey! It’s so good to see you!” You barely had time to fully stand up before she pulled you into a bone crushing hug. That was another thing about your mom – she was strong. She had lithe muscles packed into her small figure from being a total gym addict.

Too bad that addiction wasn’t hereditary. You hated the gym.

“Hi mama! Marriage looks good on you!” you praised her once you stepped back and took in her glowing, sun-kissed skin, vibrant blonde locks, and the large rock on her hand.

“You look good, too, honey. You losing weight?”

And of course, she honed right in on that. You weren’t even in front of her for five minutes, and she brought up your weight. Story of your life. Your body shape the exact opposite of your, mother’s, she hadn’t let up on nagging you about your weight since you were twelve years old. You were always a bit… thick in places.

“Uh, maybe, I dunno. Come on, show me your new digs.” You quickly changed the subject.

Your mom gives you the grand tour, proudly showing off all the lovely features of the house, focusing heavily on the ones the home you grew up in didn’t have like the huge kitchen, fireplace, pool, and enormous master suite, though she led you away before you could fully explore all that the suite offered. The two other bedrooms were already decorated for little girls, and you quirked a curious eyebrow at your mom.

“Didn’t I mention that Dave has two young daughters?”

No. No, she definitely did not mention that. You rolled your eyes, understanding now why your mom was so eager for you to come home. She wanted a built-in caretaker. You mentally counted down, knowing exactly what she was about to say in three, two, one…

“Actually, now that you’ll be living here, it would be great if you could look after the girls when we have to travel for work or want to go out, help with the school runs during the week.”

It wasn’t a question, you noted. Not that you expected her to ask first or even mention that being a nanny would be part of the deal. Nothing with your mom ever came without a cost. You learned that lesson long ago.

You loved your mom, you really did. Sometimes, she just didn’t make it easy to do so.

“Right. About that… where am I supposed to be staying if all the bedrooms are taken?”

She led you down the stairs to a door off the family room, where another stairway awaited you. “You’re locking me away in the basement?” you joked. “Please tell me it’s at least finished.”

“Just wait until you see it, honey,” your mom promised, and you reluctantly followed her down the steps.

When the lights flicked on, the sight took your breath away. It was like an entire apartment down there. It even had its own private entrance leading to the garage allowing you to come and go as you pleased. “Wow,” you breathed.

“Told ya.” She flashed you a twitchy wink. “You’ll have this whole space to yourself… well, except for that room over there.” She pointed to a closed door equipped with a sturdy lock.

“What’s in there?” you questioned, already curious about the reasoning for such a lock on the door.

“That’s Dave’s office. It’s off limits to everyone but him, so don’t go snooping. Got it?” She pointed a finger at you like you were an errant child, and you raised your hands in surrender.

“Heard you loud and clear, mama. I have no interest in whatever creepy ass skeletons Dave is keeping in his locked office.” Total lie, of course, but your mom didn’t need to know that.

“Good. Get settled in and help yourself to whatever you need. I must head to the office for a bit. Dave should be home at some point, he just had a meeting in town. I’ll pick up the girls from school on my way home if you want to take care of dinner.”

And there it was. You knew there’d be a bigger price to pay for this arrangement, more than occasionally taking care of your new stepsisters. Without a job or any other responsibilities, your mom was going to treat you like free labor. You saw that coming.

You followed your mom upstairs and through the front door as she headed to her car in the garage, and you went for yours. Might as well get unpacked, not like you brought much anyway. It was early still, and you could make a trip to the store for anything you needed before having to worry about dinner.

A few hours later, you stepped back to admire your new living space with a sense of pride. You did everything you could to make it your own, within reason.

With the basement suite basically being a blank slate, you chose a variety of decorative pillows, wall hangings, and chotchkes to give it your own stylistic flair. The furnishings unused and rather plain, you wanted to spice them up with splashes of color. You did everything short of paint the damn walls – and you would have done that too if given the option.

Grateful for a firm mattress with a plush pillowtop, you sprang for the softest satiny sheets you could find in a pale green hue and paired it with a patterned comforter with clean lines. A couple of coastal-themed lamps on the nightstands rounded out the small bedroom.

The bathroom was already decorated with a shower curtain and accessories in soft gray hues, and you wondered if that was Dave’s touch or your mother’s. Probably Dave. Your mom never veered toward subtle furnishings, much preferring patterns and styles that you found garish.

Glancing around at the neat space one last time, you headed upstairs to the kitchen to begin dinner preparations. You wanted to make something special for the first time meeting your stepdad and his daughters.

tbc

tag list: @imdrinkingpedro @lillaydee @ppascalrain @yorksgirl @missladym1981 @baronessvonglitter @slimybeth69

[bob-artist]

Into the Smoke comes back with the chapter 2 cover in TWO DAYS and I'm so excited!!!

I've been quiet on tumblr this past month for a couple reasons! First, I had gallbladder surgery in December, and since it was the only vacation I was going to get, I decided to go all out and be off social media during recovery. I think I needed it!

For those of you who didn't hear the story, it all started in November of 2023 when I tried to save money during inflation by replacing a lot of meat in my diet with tofu. Turns out that's a BAD IDEA if you have a not-yet-diagnosed soy allergy AND not-yet-diagnosed gallstones! Because when you eat something that makes your entire body swell up and your gallbladder is already full of junk, you get gallbladder attacks and gallbladder attacks and more gallbladder attacks, and then your gallbladder gets a ton of scar tissue and everything inside you gets inflamed and you stop being able to digest lots and lots of things. (Well, your mileage may vary, but that's what happened to me.)

Anyway, after $2K in diagnostic work and $7K in actual surgery costs, I'm very very sad and panicked to have had to spend that, but also VERY HAPPY because I went from being able to eat almost nothing to being able to eat *everything* I was eating before the Big Tofu Disaster.

Anyway, I kept meaning to post again on tumblr with an update, but dozens of new bot followers just kept pouring in every day and it was a big deterrent. I wish tumblr would do something about that. :( But in the meantime, I hope there are at least some real humans still here and waiting for ITS chapter 2! After working sick for over a year, I'll be working extremely hard to make up for lost time and get this next chapter out. So I hope y'all enjoy it!

Also, I've had my ask box closed because of the aforementioned bots, but I'm going to tentatively reopen it in case anyone has any actual human questions about me or Into the Smoke! (Cross your fingers that I don't have to close it again super soon...)

And again, we're back THIS WEDNESDAY!!! Keep an eye out!!

And if you want to give chapter 1 a reread, you can do that at intothesmokecomic.com!

[thelettergii]

Sugarplum Cafe FAQ

I held an AMA about my upcoming game Sugarplum Cafe on Instagram and figured these Q&A's would be helpful for you to know as well!

If you have questions of your own, my inbox here is open!

Q: What is Sugarplum Cafe? A: Sugarplum Cafe is a merge crafting game that I'm solo developing! In this game, you run a sweets cafe and make desserts for fashionable ladies inspired by sweets. I wanted to make a game with frilly pastel shoujo aesthetics, and yes, there will be tea parties!

Q: What platforms will Sugarplum Cafe be on? A: The goal is to publish on PC and mobile (Apple included), but PC will come first because it's easier to fix bugs on PC.

Q: When will this game be out? A: Not for a few years, it's still pretty early in development. But paid members on Patreon can play an early version of this game now with about three hours of content! Support starts at $2 USD/month.

Q: How good do I have to be at games to enjoy this game? A: Sugarplum Cafe is meant to be a super casual game, so you can be the worst gamer in the world and still play this haha. It's more about collecting pretty ladies than any sort of strategy or skill.

Q: How many characters will there be? A: At least 50 Ladies! I have ideas for about 70 Ladies, but whether I get to all of them depends on interest in the project. So 50 feels like a good benchmark.

Q: What are your inspirations for this game? A: For one, The Nutcracker Ballet of course! Aside from that... For the longest time I was obsessed with Cookie Run: Ovenbreak because they had so many clever character designs! I don't play as much anymore (the UI is too cluttered now and I don't love the new characters as much) but I want to recapture the spark I felt when I used to play. I also really love Sakizo's illustrations of Victorian/Rococo sweets-inspired ladies, and I wanted to capture her aesthetics while mixing in my own fashion sense so I'm not ripping her off entirely haha

Q: Will you still be drawing fashion? Are you moving to gamedev permanently? A: I don't know about a permanent pivot, but this game will be my main focus. TBH I wasn't very happy with just drawing stuff and I'm really excited to build my own world where my designs can live. I will still be designing fashion, but it will just be part of something bigger. My goal is to make the world of games a little more fashionable! I may still draw the occasional illustration though, so never say never!

Q: What game engine are you using? A: Sugarplum Cafe is made in Godot! It's a free open-source game engine and I highly recommend it for 2D games. I think the scripting would be easier to learn than something like Unity. There are a few quirks but the community is so active that it's easy to find answers to your questions. I am using Godot 3.5 - I believe the latest version is Godot 4, but I heard 3.5 was better for porting mobile games. Will let you know how true that is!

Q: Can I cosplay/draw fanart of characters from Sugarplum Cafe? A: YES PLEASE!! Please tag me if you share cosplay or fanart! And if you need to know details of certain characters' designs, please don't hesitate to ask.

[mgghoney]

pairing// matthew gray gubler and reader || wc// 801

summary// what happened to kissing the homies happy new year?

"I heard you kissed a fan for the new years kiss."

You look up at your phone when Matt doesn't respond, and you slide open your drawer when you notice he's thinking.

"I did. On the forehead."

You rummage through your desk, blinking quietly when you realize you can't find what you're looking for.

"I saw photos... of her, I mean. Not of the kiss." You hum. "Every now and then the fan in me kicks at my rationality."

"Did you want one?"

"Don't go asking me that." You slide your hand to the parts you can't see, frowning when it isn't there either. "I don't know how you manage to be simultaneously the sweetest celebrity I know yet lack so many typical boundaries."

"I don't think it's a lack."

"I know it isn't. The universe returns the kindness you show others tenfold." You finally look up at the call, and Matt's got a brow raised as you huff at what he's holding. "I left it with you?"

"On accident. I've been making full use of the camera." He hums. "I'll return it to you with a new roll of film as long as you develop it for me."

"Of course." You nod. "That makes a lot more sense, actually."

"Oh, and another thing. Don't go—"

"sending them to other people. I know."

"No, I was gonna say you can post most of them except one."

"Will you tell me which one?"

"You'll know."

"I'm bracing myself for unsolicited dick pics right now." You roll your eyes, finding another camera as you dig through your tote. "H...uh? Oh, you swapped cameras with me!? I didn't even notice."

"I bought it back when it was newly on sale. Mine's all beat up."

"That means it's well loved." You hum, fingers smoothing over the yellow of the camera, raising a brow at the screen as Matt locks eyes with you.

"I'm excited to see what you do with it."

You laugh, tugging the drawer back open as you toss out a handful of folders, tweezers in hand as you raise a brow at him. "Yeah?"

"Expect a bit of love on yours too."

"Like biting or photos wise?" You pause to stare at the camera. "A 2016 model is kind of rare."

"I found it in Japan while out."

"Ah." You hum. "I should make you get me one next time you're there."

"You won't come with me?"

"Studying abroad is gonna cost me an arm and a leg. I'm already barely grazing by with my aid right now. Well, if you even count that as aid. My fault for picking New York." You huff, finger smoothing down the color on the dents.

"I suppose." Matt taps at the screen to get your attention, and you look up from the sheets strewn around you. "When do you fly back?"

"Why? You won't even meet up with me at the airport since we're in different cities."

"So I know when to send you stuff."

"Don't you have more recording in LA?"

"Mm, you never know where the wind brings you."

"I hope the wind blows me to early retirement." You mumble. "Doing what I love for a living would be nice too. Maybe I should mail Anderson some fanmail and beg for an internship."

"You want a call?"

"It'd be unfair to do that." You tap your desk, glancing at the tweezers. "Well, not unfair. I'll see where the wind takes me too."

"Is it sunny?"

"Here? Always." You pull the shades and let the sun spill in, humming quietly to yourself as you laugh. "Is it sunny there?"

"You know it is." He picks up his phone to walk you over to the back door, stepping out to stand in the sun.

"I bet the film will turn out super nice." You hum. "Stay still. I want a photo."

"Still thinking about starting that fanpage for me?"

"You want me to? The twitter fanpages but for you? A "what's MGG up to today?" account?" You look at the photos on your phone, and you hum. "You already have an update account. I don't need to use our friendship to tell others."

"I respect their dedication." His lip quirks upwards, and you laugh.

"I do too."

"So? I'm sure you're not just calling to talk to me about my new years kiss."

"Oh, yeah. I had a couple of questions for the story."

"I'm more than willing to answer them. I respect the dedication."

"What are we all if not dedicated to the bit?"

"Is this where the wind is taking you?"

"Yeah." You turn on the camera to snap a photo of him, humming quietly as you beam at him. "What am I if not living to entertain?"

"Living to enjoy, perhaps."

"Always."

[sharkyisashark]

.ೃ࿐

Aight, two stories in one night :') Couldn't think of any ideas, so I went to chat gpt :') It actually cooked today, so I thought I'd make a timebomb story based off of it. <3

(chat gpt prompt) Thought it'd be super cute if it was based a few years after season 2's ending. So Jinx has been "dead" for a while. Ekko has his suspicions she was alive, but the letter sort of just proves it. The last piece of evidence. Anyway, enjoy!

Ekko was sat looking silently out of his stained glass window. Looking quietly out at the large tree, it's long branches creating soft shadows that draped through the room. In his hands was a letter, no name, no address... nothing. He at first thought it might've been from Vi, considering she usually visited him, often to catch up, or help Cait with a case... But now, he wasn't so sure. Vi's letters were never this... ominous. Ever since the war, things had been... good? Piltover had somewhat created peace with the Zaun now, and things were probably the most peaceful they'd been in years. And yet for Ekko, he just felt... lost. Like a part of him was missing. It drove him insane. He finally got what he wanted, hadn't he? A happy ending. He could relax, and be with the people he cared about. But, he had to realise what the problem really was eventually... He had to realise who this was really about. Jinx. The girl he cared so much about, the girl who had deserved another chance.. was gone. There wasn't a goodbye, there wasn't even one last glance. She had just... slipped from his fingers, vanished from his life, within an instant. He'd been sort of living in shock for the first few months, things had felt all.. weird, dreamy. He couldn't process it, she was gone..? She couldn't just.. die? Even when Vi had told him, the person he'd trust with his life... he still couldn't believe it. He wouldn't. So he didn't, wasting years of his life on some fantasy that she was still out there... somewhere. And he just needed to find her. But never the less, he grew out of that. Forcing himself to recognise how much time he was wasting. He gave up, there was no finding a dead person. He'd spent so long trying to go back to normal, to forget about her, to move on. And when he finally did. He finally felt okay... he finally felt like himself, like he could be released from whatever turmoil was stirring inside of him... This damn letter arrived at his door. He spent days putting it off, he knew it could never be... from her. But he just felt- scared? Excited? Terrified..? Eventually though, Ekko did what any rational person would do. He opened it. His fingers trembled around the paper, chewing on his lower lip as he tugged the card out of it's casing. Stunned as a colourful variety of confetti erupted from inside of the note... settling itself over his desk. There must've been some... event in Piltover, some invite... surely there was something- He felt himself pale slightly as his gaze landed over the page however, soon realising that there weren't many words spread across the paper, maybe a few "hello"s scribbled in blue pen, and rather large "Boom!"s written in red... But it was enough to make his head spin. Those familiar scribbled monkey faces, or quirky little stick figures, drawings of people he could recognise from miles away. It made his heart hurt, this had to be some cruel joke...? Some delusional prank. But he knew otherwise, he'd learnt to memorize the childish lettering, the bright colours... everything that made Jinx... Powder. The part of her that was still in there... the part of her he fell in love with. With an exhaled breath he hadn't realised he was holding, he read over the only coherent text; on the bottom of the page. 'see you in a blink?'

Words cannot explain how fun this was to write <3 I'm thinking I might turn this into a sequel? Tell me what you'd think of that! Anyways! Requests are always open annddd join my community? It's new and we need members, just for chatting and making arcane friends :) Community invite .ೃ࿐ - sharky 🦈

[beelearnsfinnish]

weekly recap: week 01 [30.12.24-05.01.25]

i decided to start doing weekly recaps as a way to keep myself accountable not only with language learning but with all my studying in general. So, peep my new rug and Pikku Myy cup, as well as the moomin calendar i got for christmas! let's see:

studying

Finnish

As I said in my last Finnish update, I hadn't been doing much this past weeks. I've restarted again, but I'm aware this two months are not gonna be the best, since I need to focus in all my tests happening in February. Still, I wanna try and find time for it everyday, even if its just couple minutes.

I'll add the tracker of what I did this week (only started counting the 1st tho) but yeah managed to get a session of active studying and one of writing besides my immersion. I'll continue my lessons next week so looking forward to that.

My degree

To be honest I don't normally have to spend much time with this. I only have three subjects this year, and since I'm studying online and have no classes I don't need to do much during the year. The only stressful times are when I have to turn in papers and exams. This being said, I do need to turn in papers next two weeks, and I have my midterms at the start of February, so I am indeed stressed :D

I started revising the content for one of the subject's paper, which is already something. I usually get decently good grades without much stress since its the second degree im doing in the topic and almost everything sounds familiar already, but last two papers with this teacher didn't go that well (imo bc of her way aka inexisting way of explaining the papers) so im kinda pissed off :D

I didn't need good grades in this degree since its kinda useless having already my previous one, but since there's the possibility of going in erasmus again i want good grades to hopefully get into the program again. Soo, this next weeks I gotta grind and start doing the papers as well as start working on the units.

Hygieniapassi test

New addition! Since my plan is to move to Finland hopefully this year (still don't know how or when but we're getting there) and getting a job of my area (media production) is impossible without experience anywhere, I'd need to get a regular no studies entry level job and I thought I could make things easier for myself and get it before the move. I'm going there late February, so thats my deadline!

Actually signed up today for the exam. I have been working on the material in the app for the past two weeks ish, I only have two courses left to copy into my notebook (I physically can't retain any info if I don't write it myself) so I'm hoping to finish them before my papers are due! I still have to work on a schedule so I have time for everything, but pretty happy so far.

life updates

work

Christmas rush is coming to an end, but we have an inventory coming soon, which means extra hours and extra stress. Not the most ideal thing with all the studying I have to do, but we'll survive i guess :'D

hobbies & social life

To be honest I don't have much time for hobbies these days, but that's something I wanna change. Went to see Nosferatu with a friend at the start of the week (loved it) and we have another 3 movies lined up for the next weeks (can you tell i love going to the cinema). Also planning couple meet ups with different friend groups, this doesn't happen often since couple of them we don't see eachother in months, but seems like everything's happening at the same time. Stressful, but happy to get to see them!! Also meeting with my bookclub, so gotta finish the book of the month at some point.

Also something I'm super excited about, booked my flights to Finland!! Already mentioned I was going in February but actually having the flights its a life changer when it comes to waiting. Can't wait to be back 😊

media update

📖: The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue - V. E. Schwab

🎬: Nosferatu - 4 ⭐️

🎧: Nonbeliever - Lucy Dacus

[autisticaradiamegido]

day 281

ill be honest w yall i dont remember most of hs2 or the epilogues and i will not be rereading to refresh my memory but i DID read today's upd8 specifically because i saw my guy and you know what

callin this one a win for the sollux enjoyers

[crushedsweets]

The things I will do to be a beta tester🙏

give me roughly 1 month and i may start asking again. however ill prob only ask for 18+ (not cuz the content is 18+ just cuz i rather work with an adult) LOLOL

[noblesixjm04]

I can't get this out of my head. It's just something that ive had rattling around. If this doesn't make much sense I'm sorry lol but.

Do you ever think about if the Spartan ii's ever met one of those siblings without realizing it?

Like. John meeting a young female marine. She's quick witted and wicked smart. There is almost nothing she will back down from. At least not until she gets a "win." She will never leave one of her teammates behind. She's also known among her friends for her dry sense of humor.

One day she runs into John whiles he's out of armor. She never realizes that he's the Master Chief as they stare at one another. Blue eyes look into blue. The roots of her hair are blonde. Contrasted against a dark brown. They share the same smattering of freckles. Dusted along their face and down to their arms. Petering out along the backs of their hands.

And when she smiles there's a gap in her front teeth. (One tooth is chipped from a hard won game of King of the Hill.) She jokes that they match.

Apparently her brother had to. Her parents told her about him. How he had passed a few years before she was born. Her mother told her about her and her brothers shared a constellation of freckles.

Maybe Kelly runs into a pair of twin engineers. One is a girl. The other a boy. The girl has her hair cropped short. It's faded green. The boy has long hair. Held back in a tight braid. It's blue.

They strike up a conversation with Kelly one day. Mostly out of boredom. At one point talking about how they had been on their schools track team. Twin Terrors they had been called. They were the fastest in the entirety of their schools career.

They are the only two out of the group of engineers and scientists that could match her humor.

Kelly never sees them again after that. But she thinks about them often enough. About how they all shared the same accented voice.

About the day they all raced.

She won. Of course. But something about it made her feel like she was missing something. She matched it to the same feeling to her younger years with the rest of the ii's on Reach. On some of the few days they had true fun.

Linda was sent to therapy. Well. Not really sent. It was... Suggested. That she go.

Linda did. This time. For the first time. The last time.

She met an older man. Her elder by about three or four years. With the same red hair, that has streaks of white at the temples, and piercing green eyes.

Those eyes that looked at her like she does down the snipers scope. Those eyes that seemed to know her own.

She could see them widen. Hear the hitch on his breath as they flicker to a photograph and then back to her.

He...

Maybe she had seen him in passing once. Despite him never having been on this ship before.

He has been the one to pull the trigger.

"I don't think I'm the right match for you." His voice rumbled in a familiar way.

When she left. Linda tried to stop thinking about the worn, frames photo on his desk. The one with a boy. About eight or nine. With a shock of bright red hair. He held an archery trophy in one hand. In his other. The hand of a little girl. Close to five. With that same shock of red hair and green eyes that seemed to see you even through the cameras lense.

Fred meets a medic after a nasty injury. The Odst's and Marines in his company joke that he has as getting the best medic around.

He was a young man. Kind and deeply empathetic.

Those same Marines also joked about how the two of them could be siblings in a different life. With how they shared the same sloped nose and sharp jaw. The same, soft manner of speaking.

"Seriously Lieutenant. Just give the Doc the same hair cut. Could fool me that's for sure."

The medic said that he did have a brother. One that he has never met. That he had passed away a few months before he had been born .

But he and his parents visited his grave every year on his brother's birthday. And that this was the first year that he wouldn't be able to.

"He's be turning thirty three today." The medic had just finished Fred's stitches.

"Oh." Fred spoke it before it could be stopped.

"Oh what?" The medic had asked.

"I turned thirty three today." It was one of the few things he remembered. Something he rarely thought about. Because something around it had made his heart hurt.

"Here then. Happy birthday." The medic handed Fred a chocolate granola bar.

[vaspider]

Please forgive my extremely messy and hasty wrap; I haven't regularly wrapped my hair in almost 20 years, since I stopped selling roses at Faire, BUT

We got a sample of a scarf that I think might be a good option for tichel wear. The big issue has been that a lot of the scarves we've been able to get over the last few years have been too slippery, too translucent, too itchy, or some combination of the above.

This is a poly weave, 27" × 73'', and it has enough grip to it and is soft enough that I could wear this and not get the sensory heebie jeebies.

We've been looking for options literally since we started NK in 2017, and I'm really hopeful about this. I was able to keep it on my head without it moving around just from twisting and tucking it, no pins or anything, and i bent over and shook my head around and so on. It felt pretty secure.

I'm going to try it again after it's washed and dried and see how it feels.

Oh - the print here isn't very well featured bc you can't see much of it in the wrap but it's the trans pride Braille print, which will drop April 15th. :)