#And five slides without speaker notes

[the-cooler-king]

a really good adhd metric for getting something done you really don't want to do: pick a show you like or want to watch. If you haven't watched it before start with two or three eps to get into it. If you're rewatching, just do one or two eps. Have a playlist ready with songs you like - I have a "100+ top punk rock songs" kind of playlist bc I like punk rock but may not be familiar with all the songs (knowing all the songs gets me into a different mindset where I just fantasize so I gotta be careful). After you watch an episode, go into the thing you're working on and play 4 songs from the playlist. I'm doing schoolwork, so I might just read the questions several times and think about them. After those 4 songs watch another episode of the show. After the episode is over go back to what you're working on and listen to 3 or 4 songs. After the fourth song, watch another ep. Episode ends, go back to what you're working on for 3 or 4 songs. By this point I'm READY to actually work on whatever it is and will go for 6 or so songs before switching back to another ep. If you gotta know. I'm watching cardcaptor sakura

[piastriprincess]

was your soul rediscovered (was your heart rearranged?) ⸻ lando norris x reader .

featuring  lando  norris ,  soulmate  au ,  friends  to  lovers word  count 2.6k author’s  note  thank  you  thank  you  THANK  YOU  for  all  the  love  on  my  oscar  fic ,  this  is  another  one  i’ve  been  workshopping  for  a  bit - lowkey inspired by @binisainz , i love the way she writes lando sm  .  i  promise  yall i  don’t  only  write  friends  to  lovers  !!  anyway  hope  you  all  like  it ,  inbox  is  open  for  requests  or  if  you  wanna  talk  to  me  !!  title  from  maine  by  noah  kahan  .

“Mate, what are you watching?” your best friend says as he steps out of his room. 

You were sprawled on his expensive couch, but you practically bolt up when you hear his voice. “Nothing,” you respond, voice shaky and high-pitched as you try to pause the video, but you’re no match for Lando’s reflexes, honed over years of pushing his body to the limit. He snatches the phone out of your hand — the little gremlin — and starts giggling almost immediately. “Soulmate Theory: Understanding the Red String of Fate?”

“Shut up,” you hiss, cheeks burning as you try to grab your phone from him. Lando’s anticipating that move, though, and he steps just out of your reach, grinning at you with that annoying smile he’s perfected over your years-long friendship. “Lan, give it back.”

You can hear the narrator’s voice, tinny through your phone speakers as the video keeps playing: “The two souls connected by the red thread are destined to be lovers, regardless of place, time, or circumstance. This magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break.” You can’t stand the stupid smile on Lando’s face for a second longer, so you jump on Lando’s back. His giggle drowns out the rest of the narration as you finally manage to wrestle the phone out of his hands, stabbing the pause button like you have a personal vendetta against it. 

“Not another word about it,” you warn him, smoothing your dress. He actually manages to keep his mouth shut for about five minutes.

“I can’t believe you buy into that stuff,” Lando scoffs, rolling his shoulders in that cocky way of his as you both exit his apartment building. He pulls open the passenger door, and you slide into his car as he walks around to the driver’s side. “It’s such rubbish.”

You sigh. “I can’t believe you don’t. I mean, look at all the people who found their soulmates. Look at Oscar and Lily! How can you hear all those stories and still believe there’s no such thing?”

“We can’t see it,” Lando shrugs as he hands you the aux cord without even looking. “The red string is supposed to show up if we fall in love with our soulmates, but who could prove it? I could say Tate McRae was my soulmate and no one would be able to tell I was wrong, even her. Unless she fell in love with me and didn’t see it.”

“Please,” you respond tartly, pausing before the punchline. “As if you could ever pull Tate McRae.” You know he’s about to respond, a sassy retort or a punch to the shoulder brewing in his mind, but before he can, you hit play on your ‘Make Lando Shut Up’ Spotify playlist. His eyes widen with delight as On the Floor by J.Lo starts to play, and before you know it you’re both singing along, the conversation effectively forgotten.

⸻

You’re sitting in a booth at Jimmyz, watching Charles Leclerc cross the dance floor with your chin propped in your hand. His tanned skin shines under the pulsing lights, those beautiful blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he speaks rapid-fire French to one of the other drivers. You’re not sure when you started noticing Charles the way you do now. Maybe it’s a stupid crush on one of Lando’s friends, a guy tangentially in your orbit who’s finally single. Or maybe, just maybe, he’s your —

“Just go talk to him, you muppet,” Lando says directly into your left ear, and you jump in surprise, whirling to face him. His hair is damp, a sheen of sweat on his muscular arms. 

“Jesus Christ, Lando. Stop sneaking up on me.”

“I’m just saying,” he continues, eyes bright and teasing as he leans closer to you. “Eye sex tends to work better when the other person is looking back at you.”

“Charles will realize he wants my eye sex one of these days,” you counter, sitting back in the booth. “This is eye foreplay.”

Lando grins, wiggling his eyebrows. “Maybe you should get some eye experience, to know what you’re doing when the time comes. Wanna have a staring contest?”

You snort, bumping your shoulder against his. “Ew. Freak.” You don’t look back at Charles. He’s not looking at you, anyway. “Think those girls might have a problem with that,” you note, eyes flicking to the gaggle of bleach-blondes Lando left behind at the edge of the booth.

He rolls his eyes. “Please. You know you’re the only one who’s coming home with me.” You allow him a small smile at that, and he grabs your arm, pulling you out of the booth to dance. 

⸻

“Oh my god,” you moan, teeth sinking into the first bite. “I think this pizza is my soulmate.” You’re at a tiny ristorante in Monza, executing your oldest pre-race tradition of taking Lando to Saturday night dinner (he insists that if you pay, it’s all even, despite the fact that he pays for your flights and hotel room and gives you a paddock pass). 

Lando’s scrolling through his phone absentmindedly, not looking at you. “That’d be a real win for the universe, wouldn’t it?” he replies dryly. 

You give him a pass. He’s still waiting for his food, and he gets fussy when he’s hungry. “I’m serious,” you continue lightly, waving a slice in his general direction. “Try some.” He doesn’t look up. “I should invite Charles here. Maybe we’ll be poly soulmates with this margherita. Do you think if we both ate some at the same time, we’d be able to see the red string going down our throats?”

Lando giggles, finally putting his phone away, and you feel a little swell of happiness in your stomach. “Oh my god, shut up, you muppet.” He reaches for the pizza, about to take the slice from your hand when he goes pale, letting it slip through his fingers. It falls face-down on his plate, untouched. 

“What the hell, Lan?” you grin, but all of a sudden he looks like he’s on another planet, eyes wide and fixed on your face. “You okay?” you ask, concerned, and place your hand on his wrist. The skin burns beneath your fingers.

His eyes meet yours for another second, and then he shakes his head like he’s clearing cobwebs from his brain. “Totally. Just… zoned out for a second, I think,” he says softly.

“Okay,” you say, unconvinced and ready to press him on it, but then the waiter comes back to your table with his pizza, and that strange, charged moment passes.

⸻

You’re sprawled on Lando’s couch under a big blanket, a little wine-drunk as Notting Hill plays on the TV screen in front of you. You’ve seen it a hundred times, since Lando picks it practically every single movie night, but you can’t stop your eyes from getting a little misty when Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts look at each other in the crowded press room, the red string wrapping around the mic stands and chairs from one pinky to the other. 

“See?” Lando tosses a piece of popcorn into the air, catching it in his mouth. “Hugh Grant was like, totally in love with his wife. She finds her soulmate and leaves him. And the whole time, Julia Roberts was there. His real soulmate, out in the universe, and he marries someone else.”

“That doesn’t lessen the value of the love,” you shrug, throwing a handful from your bowl at his head. He yelps, pieces hitting him in the face. “It just means the person who was made for him was somebody else. You can still be happy with someone who isn’t your soulmate.”

“God. Love’s complicated enough without soulmates messing it up,” he mutters under his breath, just loud enough for you to catch. “I hate soulmates.”

“How do you hate something you don’t believe in?” you ask automatically, expecting his usual anti-soulmate rant. But it doesn’t come, and when you look over at him, he’s avoiding your eyes. 

“Oh my god,” you say, somewhat delightedly. “You do believe in them. You believe in soulmates.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles, suddenly very interested in his popcorn bowl.

“I thought you thought they were ‘rubbish,’” you mimic his words from weeks ago, not even bothering to hide your smile anymore. “What happened?”

“They still are rubbish,” he protests. “How terrible is it that we know someone out there is made for us, but we don’t know if we found that person until we’re already in love? Look at Hugh Grant and the ex-wife. They had to know they were dooming their soulmates if they stayed together.”

You frown. “It’s just a movie, Lan. An admittedly great movie, but a movie. Plus, they found the right person in the end.” You motion to the TV, where Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts sit in the park. 

He sits up, eyes flickering over your face restlessly. “What if they hadn’t? If you love somebody who isn’t your soulmate, would you leave them to wait for the real thing? Or would you stay with the person you love anyway?”

“Me?” you ask, and he nods, his fingertips drumming against the arm of the couch. “I dunno. Who knows if I’ll ever find my soulmate, you know? I want to believe I will, but it’s a big world. I guess I’d stay with the person I love.”

He slouches back on the couch as the credits roll. “Yeah. Love’s hard enough without soulmates.”

⸻

“You’ll never believe what just happened,” you laugh. “Are you sitting down?”

“Hold on,” Lando’s voice spills through your phone speakers. He’s in Woking for testing this week, so you’re all alone in Monaco, and you hate to admit that just hearing his voice is making you smile. “One second.” You hear him close a door behind him, then the soft oof of him flopping facedown onto the couch. “Alright. I’m sat. Lay it on me.”

“Okay. So. I was on one of those park benches by the beach reading, right? And all of a sudden this little dog runs up to me.” You pause for dramatic effect. “It’s Charles’s dog. And he comes running up after him, all cute and sweaty, and thanked me for catching Leo. And we got to talking, and he asked me if I wanted to grab dinner with him tonight.” You can hear the smile in your voice, sure he’s about to tease you endlessly for it.  “What?” Lando says, sharply, and you have to hold the phone away from your ear a little.

“Jesus, Lan. Volume.” You’re only teasing, but for a moment there’s nothing but silence on the other end of the phone. 

“Well… that’s cool,” he says flatly. You frown. You don’t know what reaction you were expecting, but it’s not this.  

“Are you serious?” you say, picking at your cuticle. “I thought you’d be happier for me. You’ve been telling me to talk to him for, like, ever. And this was a pretty cute first encounter. Straight out of a rom-com. Maybe I’ll see the red string tonight. Maybe he’s my —”

“Charles Leclerc is not your soulmate,” Lando scoffs dismissively. 

You roll your eyes before you realize he can’t see you. “How would you even know?”

A pause. Suddenly the amorphous space between you feels charged like a live wire. 

“He just isn’t. No way.” Lando says firmly, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

“Whatever,” you say, but your enthusiasm is somewhat dimmed. “I guess we’ll see on the date. How’s testing going?”

He launches into some story about how Oscar accidentally nearly broke the rear wing by leaning too heavily on it, but you’re not listening, not really. His words, his certainty rubbed you the wrong way. How would Lando possibly know whether or not Charles was the right one for you?

He couldn’t, of course. No one could. You wish you could just ignore it, let it go, but Lando knows you better than almost anyone, and you trust him instinctually. 

Charles Leclerc is not your soulmate.

You hadn’t thought that he was, not seriously at least, but hearing Lando say it so straight-out made the butterflies in your stomach stop fluttering. An hour before you’re supposed to meet Charles at the restaurant, you text him to cancel. 

⸻

“I think it’s going to rain,” you muse, taking a sip of your iced coffee. You’d dragged Lando on an adventure to some cafe overlooking the ocean; your friend had told you it had a beautiful view and the best kouign amanns in the principality. She wasn’t wrong, and although the walk was longer than you’d expected, you’d been congratulating yourself on a Saturday well spent until the sky started growing darker. 

“It’s not going to rain,” Lando says from beside you, voice muffled as his mouth is half-full of one of the pastries. “It never rains in Monaco.”

It’s like the storm was waiting for dramatic effect; just then, the sky opens up, and before you know it the rain is soaking through your shirt.

“Shit,” you laugh, watching the shock evident on his face. “Never rains, huh?”

As you speak, there’s a crack of thunder behind you. You’re not a child, not scared of storms like you used to be, but Lando still grabs your hand as you take off running, searching for the nearest shelter from the driving rain. He pulls you down a side alley, your sneakers skidding on the wet stone as you stop beneath an awning. 

You lean against the wall, panting as you look up at him. His white tee is soaked through and his hair is plastered to his forehead, but he’s grinning at you, eyes bright, so breathtaking that you feel like the wind just got knocked out of your body. “Always an adventure,” he says cheerfully, and you realize he’s still holding your hand. You’re about to wriggle away, to wipe the water off your face, when something catches your eye. You look down at your hands and nearly stop breathing. There’s a glowing red thread, winding from your pinky to his. 

The red string of fate, you think to yourself. The two souls connected by the red thread are destined to be lovers, regardless of place, time, or circumstance. This magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break.

Oh. Oh, oh, oh. 

Lando was your soulmate. 

You were in love with your best friend.

“You okay?” Lando asks, and you realize you’ve been silent for far too long. You want to look at him, but you can’t seem to drag your eyes away from the thread. 

“Our hands look good together,” you say dreamily. You can’t keep the smile off your face. “I never realized until just now.”

“Yeah?” Lando says, his voice pitching up slightly. “What changed?”

You look up, finally, and meet his eyes, see the way his tongue darts out to lick the plush pink of his bottom lip. He’s nervous. Does he know? You’re not going to force it, if he doesn’t.

“A new accessory,” you say vaguely, shrugging your shoulders, but your cheeks are starting to hurt from beaming at him. 

“Red, by any chance?” he asks, and you know. 

“And joint custody,” you agree. 

His smile lights up his entire face. “Took you long enough.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” you smack his arm, hard, and he just shrugs. You’re understanding his change of heart on soulmates, now. He figured out that he had one. “When did you find out?”

“When you were shoveling that pizza, in Monza.”

You grin, eyes shining with tears. How could you not have guessed it? “Played it off well, there.”

“I’m super smooth,” he agrees, pulling you closer. Your hands land on his chest, like they’ve always been meant to be there. “I’m gonna kiss you now, yeah?” he murmurs, tilting your chin up with one finger.

You’re already leaning in, and when your lips brush against each other for the first time it feels like coming home. “Took you long enough.”

[euqsia]

Night Shift (mini-series)

PART ONE (2.1k)

pairing - bobby campbell x fem! reader

summary — you’ve worked at the skyview drive-in theatre every summer for 3 years, next thing you know, you’re training the new kid.

warnings - strong language, sexual themes, angst (if you squint) eventual smut if I’m feeling generous muahaha.

a/n — I freaking love Bobby dude. thought I’d write for him considering the lack of fics out there. Anyways I hope you enjoy this short series and my first (public) fic yay!!

Next chapter… chapter two

The New kid

Your elbow digs into the edge of the concession counter, chin tilted just enough to catch the greasy gleam of the popcorn machine. The kernels burst one by one behind the smudged glass, popping like little firecrackers — the only real excitement in this place.

A speaker hangs from the corner, playing pop hits from over a decade ago. You catch yourself humming along to Get Lucky, which is of course, an absolute classic.

DING DING DING.

You flinch.

Your head snaps toward the bell, eyes narrowing as a kid—maybe eleven—definitely annoying, slaps the silver button like it owes him money.

You drag out a sigh. “May I help you?”

“Gimme Twizzlers,” he huffs, as if stringing the words together physically pained him.

Your Chuck Taylors squeak against the soda-sticky floor as you shuffle over to the candy display. The lights buzz overhead, the kind of fluorescent hum that soaks into your bones if you stand under it too long.

You slide open the plastic door— place isn’t fancy enough for glass—and fish out the Twizzlers, stiff through the packaging. Shit’s probably a decade old you think to yourself.

“Five-fifty.”

The kid’s eyebrows furrow. “Wha—ripoff!” His jaw slack with disbelief.

You shrug, unbothered. “You can thank Reagan for that. Call that trickle-down.”

He blinks. “Well she’s a jerk.”

You don’t even look up. “No, the pres—”

“Hey!”

A voice cuts through the stale air like a buzzsaw. Greg, your dingy manager, is leaning halfway out the projection booth, hollering at you like always.

“The new kid’s here. Need you to show him the ropes.”

You straighten, slow. The words settle over your shoulders like a weight. The new kid.

You shoot the kid a glance. He’s already halfway through the Twizzlers, muttering something about capitalism under his breath. Fair enough.

Behind you, the door swishes— the sound smooth yet sudden. You turn toward it, and there he is.

Tall. Quiet. Hands in his pockets. Not quite in uniform—but hey, he’s new.

His eyes make you pause without knowing why.

The door creaks shut behind him, the following silence masked by the whir of the half working slushie machine. You stand still, one hand still resting against the display case, the other curled around empty air like it might hold onto something important if it tries hard enough.

He doesn’t look around right away, just lets his eyes trace the dusty corners of the lobby like he’s taking mental notes. Not in a hurry, not exactly slow either. Just… deliberate.

He’s standing just inside the door, shifting his weight like the floor might give out underneath him. Hands stuffed into the front pocket of his hoodie, sleeves pulled up to his elbows. His short blonde hair is neatly cut but clearly fussed with, like he’d been running his hands through it nervously on the way here.

His name tag’s clipped on crooked, someone must’ve shoved it into his hand at the door.

Bobby.

You can already tell he’s trying not to make eye contact.

He looks like the kind of guy who was probably a star athlete at some point. Or still is. Football, maybe. But he’s not confident about it — not like the loud ones. He’s… quiet. Restless. Like he’s used to people expecting something from him that he never quite figured out how to give.

You don’t mean to stare, but something about him just—sticks. In a low-flicker kind of way. Like background noise you start to miss when it’s gone.

He clears his throat. “Uh—hi. I’m—uh, Bobby. First day.”

You nod slowly, peeling yourself off the counter like you weren’t just watching him.

“Right. I assume you’ve already met Greg.” You try to keep your tone neutral. Friendly, but not too friendly. “Welcome to Skyview drive-in.” You wave your hands with faux enthusiasm.

That earns a crooked, nervous smile. “Cool.”

He looks around at the dim lobby like he’s unsure where to stand or what to do with his hands. Like he’s a little too big for the room, and a little too aware of it.

Your fingers twitch toward your apron. Right. You’re supposed to show him around. That’s your job. That’s what you do when a stranger walks in with soft eyes and a stare that feels heavier than it should.

“Alright,” you say, pushing off the counter. “Guess you’re stuck with me, then.”

Bobby glances around the empty lobby, the kid long gone, the popcorn still spinning in its fluorescent coffin. His lips twitch — almost a smile. “Could be worse, could’ve been…Greg.”

You toss him a spare apron from under the counter. “Well, come on Bobby. Let’s go teach you how to make popcorn that tastes like sadness.”

He catches it— just barely—and gives a quiet laugh. It’s small, but real.

You lead him behind the counter, the hum of ancient machines and the faint smell of burnt sugar thick in the air.

“Alright,” you say, tossing him a paper hat. “This is the register. This—” you kick the popcorn machine lightly, “—is temperamental. Kind of like Greg. Don’t touch either unless you want a breakdown.”

Bobby gives a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. His arms are too long for this space. Every time he moves, he nearly elbows a stack of napkins or knocks over a cup.

“Cool, cool…” he mutters. “Uh—so, do I, like… scoop it? Or push buttons?”

You squint at him. “Did you think it just popped itself into bags?”

He shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know, man. I just watch the movies.”

You smirk, and for a second, he seems proud of that. Like he made you laugh on purpose.

You show him how to hold the scoop just right, how to get the butter lever to work without drenching the bag, how to smile at customers without looking like you’re begging them to leave.

And he tries. He really does.

But by the third customer, he’s already botched an order — gave someone Milk Duds instead of Junior Mints and then apologized three times in a row, and let’s not get started on the slushie machine malfunction from earlier.

“I swear I’m not usually this bad,” he mutters, handing you a crumpled receipt.

“Relax,” you say, trying not to laugh. “You’re only mildly terrible. It’s charming.”

He looks up at you, startled by the compliment, or maybe just unused to being called anything at all.

Something passes between you then. Just a flicker. A still moment in the blur of fluorescent lights and greasy counters.

You look away first.

Later that night…

The lot’s almost empty. Just a few stragglers parked in the back row, headlights off, movie flickering dim on the screen in the distance. You sit on the curb out behind the building, legs stretched out, uniform apron balled up beside you.

Bobby drops down next to you with a sigh, arms resting on his knees. His shoulder brushes yours for a second, just barely—and he stiffens like he wasn’t expecting the contact.

He doesn’t pull away though.

You glance at him sideways, mouth tilting into a tired smile. “So. First night on the job. How you liking it so far?”

He lets out a breathy laugh, pushing a hand through his short blonde hair — it’s messed up in the same spots he kept running his fingers through all night.

“Honestly?” he says, squinting toward the screen. “I think I broke a record for most awkward employee alive.”

You nudge his knee gently with yours. “You weren’t that bad.”

“You think so?”

You shrug. “Considering it wasn’t your first and last day, I’d say so.”

He smiles — small, crooked, a little embarrassed. “Guess I owe you for not quitting on me halfway through.”

“Guess you do.”

There’s a pause, the kind that feels soft instead of empty. His eyes flick to you instead of the screen this time, like he’s watching something steadier. Something that doesn’t fade in the dark.

Then, without a word, he digs into his hoodie pocket. A quiet rattle of cardboard and foil. He pulls out a small box of candy — the kind you’re supposed to share during the movie but forget about until the credits roll.

He opens it and tilts it toward you in offering.

You glance down, quirking your cheek. “I’m okay thanks. Not a huge fan of peanuts.”

There’s a beat.

He stares at the box.

Then stares a little harder.

“…these have peanuts in them?”

You blink at him. “It says it right there on the box.”

He stares another second, then plants his palm across his face with a groan. “Oh my god, I’m such a dunce! I’m literally allergic.”

Your eyes go wide. “Wait—you didn’t eat any, did you?!”

“No! No—thank god, no. I was just… gonna offer you one first. You know…to be nice.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “You almost gave yourself fucking anaphylaxis to impress me?”

He groans again. “Kill me now.”

You grin, nudging his side gently with your elbow. “No it’s... kinda sweet. In a life-threatening, medically concerning sort of way.”

He looks at you through the fingers still covering his face, then slowly peeks through them, like he’s checking to see if you’re teasing or if you actually mean it.

And when you smile again, it’s softer this time, more real, and he doesn’t look away.

The candy box sits between you now, opened and forgotten. A small, ridiculous symbol of whatever just passed between you.

The sky’s dark enough that the stars have started bleeding through the black. The movie’s credits roll in the distance, white text sliding silently across a sea of blue light. It paints Bobby’s face in soft, fleeting flickers.

He exhales, nudging the gravel beneath his sneakers.

“You know,” he says after a while, voice low like it might spook the quiet, “I didn’t think I’d actually like this job.”

You glance at him. “And now?”

He shrugs, looking anywhere but at you. “Still smells like feet and fake butter, but… not the worst night I’ve ever had.”

A slow smile tugs at your mouth. “High praise.”

He bumps his shoulder into yours again. This time, it’s intentional. Gentle. A little braver than before.

The moment hangs between you, delicate and open. You don’t move away either.

Eventually, the two of you wander back inside, one last sweep before close. The space is hollow now, buzzing quietly like it’s exhaling too. You trail behind him, watching as he struggles to fit the broom back in the supply closet without knocking over every mop in existence.

“Need help?” you call.

“No, no, I got it,” he says — just before the dustpan clatters to the floor.

You stifle a laugh and walk over, crouching down to help him. Your hands reach out at the same time. His fingers brush yours — quick, but warm. And for a split second, neither of you moves.

You look up. He’s already looking at you.

The air shifts. Not loud or dramatic— just noticeable. A flutter beneath your ribs. He blinks, then quickly pulls his hand back, muttering something like “sorry,” though it’s barely audible.

You finish cleaning together in a kind of half-silence, half-smile rhythm. When the lights go out and the doors are locked, you both linger just a second too long outside the lobby.

“Walk you to your car?” he offers, voice soft.

You nod, bitting your cheek.

Outside, the gravel crunches beneath your feet as you walk toward your car. The moon’s up now, silver and quiet. Your breath fogs a little in the air. You’re not sure if it’s the cold or something else that makes you hyper-aware of the space between your arms.

“Hey,” he says when you reach your car. You turn.

He’s rubbing the back of his neck again, eyes on the ground. “I, uh… had a good time. Tonight. Even if I almost… y’know, died.”

You laugh softly. “Yeah me too. Minus the almost death part.”

He meets your eyes for a second — just a second — and then you see it, that flicker again. That quiet, nervous something that might grow if you let it. “Night, Bobby.” you say, pulling your keys out.

“Night,” he echoes. “Hey — don’t forget to live.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What?”

He cringes, his hand finding his neck once more. “That—that sounded cooler in my head.”

You shake your head, laughing as you open your door. He starts walking backwards, stuffing his hands in his pockets again. And just before he disappears around the corner, you hear him mutter,

“…God, I’m such a dork.”

You smile into the steering wheel for longer than you mean to, before setting the shift into drive.

a/n Tell me what you guys think!! let me know any suggestions you may have for future chapters or other fics you’d like to see ;)

[withwritersblock]

Espresso

~Espresso by Sabrina Carpenter~

Author's Note: Requested, first jack hughes fic :) Summary: Y/N gets a new perfume and Jack starts acting weird Warning: implied smut Word Count: 1,542 Jack Hughes x fm!reader

The pre-season was wrapping up in about five days and the boys wanted to go out and celebrate the new season. She lived in the apartment building above the bar they were all heading to so she was already running late. According to Jack, the entire bar was packed and that she was desperately needed. 

He called her for the fifth time in the last thirty minutes. She rolled her eyes as she answered the phone, putting it on speaker. She rested it onto her vanity as she walked away from the phone. 

“Baby! I’m so lonely, I need you to hurry,” he whined out into the phone. She smiled as her cheeks heated up. 

“Okay, I promise I’ll be down in like five minutes,” she explained. He let out a dramatic groan. 

“Okay, I got you a drink, hurry before it gets watered down,” he let out before hanging up the phone. She took in a sharp breath, fighting the smirk forming to her lips. 

She took a hold of the first perfume bottle on her vanity, without reading the label she sprayed it all over her body. Loving the smell, she was satisfied as she took a hold of her small purse and began walking out of her apartment. 

It only took her five minutes before she entered the crowded bar, for once the entire room was filled with familiar faces. The wives and girlfriends of the players all cheered excitedly as she entered. 

“Finally so Jack can shut up!” Kristen shouted, raising her glass. Y/N laughed nervously as she scanned the bar for Jack. He excitedly jumped off of his chair as he shoved passed his teammates towards her. His smile was so wide. He walked up to her, leaning towards her. Pressing his lips against hers for a few seconds before he pulled away.

He furrowed his eyebrows as he kept his gaze on her glossed lips, “Is that new?” he asked, taking in a deep breath. She stared towards him confused for a few seconds. “You smell so good,” he mumbled as he took a hold of her hand, his gaze still lingering on her lips. 

She took a hold of his chin, forcing his gaze to meet her eye. She fought the smirk on her lips, “I got a new perfume a few days ago,” she let out as she kissed him briefly before she walked past him. He quickly spun around and followed her towards the table that Erik, Kristen, and Luke were sitting at. She smiled towards them all as Jack walked up behind her, resting his hands on her hips. 

He kissed her cheek as he reached around her, sliding the glass towards her. She nodded as she brought the glass towards her lips. Jack kept his hand loosely around her waist as he moved to stand beside her, he pressed his lips together as he watched her sip her drink. 

“I needed this,” she mumbled as she rested her drink back on the table. She turned her head to the side to try and meet Jack’s gaze but he was still eyeing her lips. “Are you okay?” she asked him, nudging him in the arm. He shook his head while blinking rapidly.

“What?” he asked, shifting his gaze around to each person at the table. Luke was staring towards him with disgust.

“We’re going to get some drinks, Rusty, what do you want?” Erik asked as he and Kristen stood up from their chairs. Luke looked towards Erik, licking his lips nervously.

“A beer's fine,” he muttered while pressing his lips together.

Jack tightened his grip along her waist as he leaned towards her, “You look so good, baby,” he whispered into her ear, before he pressed his lips to her cheek. He scanned her features again. 

She smirked as she tilted her head back, “Alright, Romeo, go get some water,”

“I’ve had one drink,” he let out while laughing. Luke took in a sharp breath as he leaned back in his chair. Y/N shifted her gaze towards Luke. 

“It’s true,” Luke let out as he stood up from the chair, “I’m not sticking around to watch this,” he mumbled, shifting his finger between the pair. 

“Then what is going on with you?” she asked, laughing as she met Jack’s gaze. He shook his head as he bit his bottom lip. She rolled her eyes playfully as she tried turning her head away. He took a hold of her neck and pulled her gaze back towards him. He kissed her urgently. 

“Come on, let’s ditch and go upstairs,” he whispered against her lips. She pulled away as she shoved him backwards delicately. He leaned back. 

“I just got here, you wait,” she teased as she took a hold of her drink. She began to stand up and walk away from the table. 

The skin tight dress on her body, showed off every beautiful curve of her body. He was in awe as he watched her body sway as she walked away from him. He tilted his head back as he clenched his jaw. 

He was drawn towards more than normal, he stood up quickly. Taking a hold of his beer as he started following after her. 

She was leaning against the bar top talking to Curtis and Reanne excitedly. Jack appeared behind her, standing much closer than he normally would in a public setting, he rested his hands on her hips as he slowly began rubbing his thumb along the fabric.

He was trying to decide what her perfume smelled like, it was stronger than normal. It was sweet but floral. He couldn’t put his finger on it. “Hey,” he whispered as he glanced towards Curtis and Reannae. Y/N furrowed her eyebrows as she glanced towards Jack who was resting his head onto her shoulder. 

“Why are you being weird?” she whispered as she met Reanne’s gaze. He shrugged as he pressed his lips against her cheek.

“Just missed you,” he mumbled as he shifted his gaze towards Curtis. She nodded, furrowing her eyebrows. 

~

The night continued on with her wandering away from Jack and his clinginess and he would still end up appearing. He was starting to get more touchy as the night went on. His hands sliding up her thighs, in slow but urgent patterns. He even attempted a hickey on her neck at one point when they were alone at the back of the bar.

She scolded him but was realizing how hard it was becoming to ignore him. His eyes were different, his gaze felt warmer. He’s never been this desperate and this obvious. He was sitting beside her at one of the tables in the back of the bar, his hands were slowly gliding up and down the inside of her thigh, teasing her.

She bit her bottom lip as he watched her get antsy. She took a deep breath as she leaned towards him, whispering in his ear, “Let’s go,” she mumbled before she slipped off of her chair, adjusting her dress. 

“Yes!” he let out in a whisper but his body oozed excitement. She reached her hand behind her, he gladly took a hold of it as they maneuvered out of the bar together. He was fighting every urge to grab her but he avoided it. They stepped outside, the air icey cold compared to how the bar felt with all of the bodies. They turned the corner to walk up the steps towards her apartment. 

While in the staircase, Jack glanced behind him to check if anyone was around. They were alone as he took a hold of her frame, pulling her against his chest. She gasped as she stumbled back, “You’re so fucking hot,” he mumbled as he turned her head to the side, kissing her lips. 

She gasped as she returned the kiss with the same sense of urgency. “Come on,” he mumbled as he tightly wrapped his arms around her waist, guiding her up the steps towards her apartment. “I need you,” he whispered in her ear. 

She smiled as she bit her bottom lip. It was only a handful more steps before they reached her floor. She pulled away from his grip as she snuck towards the door, quickly unlocking it. 

He quickly jogged up behind her, tightly wrapped his arms around her waist as he began to kiss her neck, sucking on the skin. 

“Jack, at least get into the apartment,” she mumbled as she gasped. 

“God, you’re just-my god,” he moaned into her ear as she opened the apartment door. 

He guided her inside, his lips still all over the skin on her neck. Her dress no longer covering her frame, Jack pulled it up around her waist. She bit her bottom lip as she tilted her head back, giving him full access to whatever he wanted.

“You smell so good,” he whispered into her ear as she spun around facing him. He scanned her features before she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him urgently.

She pulled away from his lips, pressing her forehead against his, “I’ll wear this more often then,” she teased before she jumped into his arms. 

“You fucking better,”

[sevasey51]

Connor’s wife was in the middle of a endo flare mild enough for low key interventions. She was resting on the couch, Connor was finishing some pre op notes and other paperwork. All of a sudden the pain goes from manageable to unbearable. Connor gets her on the floor of the living room and she’s completely inconsolable. He calls Ava and Hannah immediately and they can hear her sobs over the phone and they know it’s not good. His wife won’t even let him get the ultrasound. They rush over and work to get her stabilized. The ultrasound shows clots stuck. Connor and Hannah work to get the clots out( pressure on her belly and some pushing), while Ava keeps tabs on her vitals, draws emergency labs and keeps her O2 stats as stable as they can while she’s inconsolable.

When the Floor Fell Out

Summary: A quiet day at home turns into a nightmare when Y/N’s mild endometriosis flare takes a sudden turn for the worse. One moment, she’s curled on the couch with heat packs and gentle meds; the next, she’s sobbing on the floor, unable to tolerate touch or speak through the pain. Connor calls Ava and Hannah immediately — her sobs are loud enough over the phone to make them drop everything. Together, the team does what they do best: stabilize, intervene, and hold her through the storm.

The condo was quiet. Soft piano music played in the background — something instrumental, calming. The late afternoon sun filtered through the blackout curtains, casting gentle golden shadows across the hardwood floors.

Y/N lay curled on the couch, nestled into the corner with a microwavable heat pack tucked at her lower abdomen. She wore a loose tank and sleep shorts, her body still, her breathing controlled.

It had been a rough morning — enough that she’d cancelled her teaching rounds — but not unexpected. Her endo flares were frequent, and while miserable, she knew how to manage the lower-level ones.

Connor sat cross-legged at the coffee table, surgical notes and pre-op forms spread in neat stacks. He glanced up every couple of minutes, checking for subtle changes: her pulse, her color, her breathing.

She’d only just whispered, “I think I might nap,” when it changed.

A single, sharp gasp. Then another.

Connor’s head snapped up. “Sweetheart?”

Y/N’s hand flew to her abdomen. Her body curled tighter, legs drawing in, her breath stuttering as her face contorted.

“Can’t—” she panted. “Can’t—Connor, I—oh my God—”

And then she screamed.

Connor dropped the tablet mid-sentence and lunged for her.

She was already sliding off the couch, trying to escape her own body, curling onto the floor in a fetal position.

Her skin was pale and clammy. The scream gave way to guttural sobbing — uncontrolled, raw, animalistic. The kind of sound that carved straight into Connor’s chest.

He crouched beside her immediately, trying to soothe, trying to assess. “Y/N, baby, what happened? Where? How bad?”

But she couldn’t answer. She was sobbing too hard, unable to breathe in without crying out. Her hands clawed at her abdomen, trying to press the pain down, as if something inside her had turned molten.

Connor reached for the ultrasound probe, his hands shaking — but the moment it touched her skin, she screamed again, pushing it away.

“No, no, no!” she sobbed, shaking her head violently. “Don’t—don’t touch me there—please—please, Connor—it HURTS—”

He dropped it. And picked up his phone.

Ava answered on the first ring.

“Connor?”

He barely breathed. “Ava—get here. Now. It escalated. She’s on the floor, she can’t breathe, she won’t let me touch her, won’t let me scan—she’s screaming, Ava—”

Y/N’s cries echoed through the speaker.

“Oh shit,” Ava muttered. “I’m five minutes away. Calling Hannah now. Start fluids if you can, pulse ox, but do not force anything she resists. We’ll bring a full emergency setup.”

Ava arrived first, breathless and furious at the heat outside. She barely greeted Connor before dropping to her knees beside Y/N, gently looping a pulse ox on her finger while murmuring reassurances.

Y/N was curled tightly, moaning, her cheeks soaked, legs spasming with every jolt of cramping agony. Ava didn’t flinch. She drew labs calmly, slipped in a pain relief line through Y/N’s port with practiced ease, and kept the oxygen gently flowing.

“She’s at 91% on room air. BP’s tanking. She’s in shock from the pain.”

Hannah rushed in two minutes later, eyes flicking immediately to the portable cart Connor had already pulled out, ready but untouched.

“She didn’t let you scan?” Hannah asked softly.

Connor shook his head. “She screamed. Full body reaction.”

“Then we do it together,” Hannah said simply.

She knelt at Y/N’s head while Connor repositioned by her belly, not touching — just waiting. Hannah placed her palm on Y/N’s shoulder and leaned close.

“Sweetheart, it’s Hannah. We’re here now. You’re safe. We have to check inside, okay? I’ll keep Connor’s hand steady. I’ll hold you the whole time. Just squeeze me, scream if you need to. We’ll be quick.”

Y/N, barely lucid, whimpered but nodded once. A tear slid into her hair.

Connor gently pressed the probe again — this time guided by Hannah’s voice and Ava’s steady updates.

“There,” Connor whispered. “There. Multiple thick clots. Some are pooled near the cul-de-sac. Not moving.”

“She’s cramping and they’re stuck,” Hannah muttered. “No wonder she’s screaming.”

“Pressure’s dropping again,” Ava called. “We need to move.”

Connor handed Hannah the warmed gel and pressure pads. She sat behind Y/N, letting her lean into her lap while Connor repositioned.

“We’re going to push, baby,” he whispered. “I’m going to help move the clots. It’s going to hurt, I’m so sorry, but I promise we’ll stop if it’s too much.”

Y/N was already shaking. “D-do it,” she gasped. “Do it—just—please—”

Connor pressed down gently, rhythmic but firm. Hannah helped reposition her hips and support the lower belly while Ava kept whispering vitals like a lifeline:

“Still 92%. Pressure 86/51. Keep going. You’re okay, sweet girl, just hold on—”

Y/N sobbed until her voice broke. The pain was blinding. But then—

—a shift.

—a snap of pressure.

—and a sudden warmth.

“There,” Connor exhaled. “One’s out.”

Another. Then another. Ava adjusted the pads and caught the clots in sterile gauze while Hannah wrapped her arms tighter around Y/N’s upper body.

“Almost done, sweetheart. You did it. Just breathe for me now.”

And slowly—like the crest of a storm—her body began to soften. Her cries quieted to broken hiccups. She was drenched in sweat, too weak to speak, but the worst had passed.

Connor kept his hand at her abdomen, applying gentle pressure while checking for rebound. Hannah loosened her grip but never let go. Ava hooked a second fluid line and started her cooling protocol.

She drifted in and out of consciousness, curled between all three of them on the soft living room rug. Someone — probably Ava — had grabbed every spare pillow and blanket in the apartment and built a makeshift nest around her.

Connor stayed beside her, stroking her hair. “You did so well. I’m so proud of you. I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

Hannah sat nearby with her chart, calling in her adjusted med orders. Ava typed into her iPad while silently keeping tabs on Y/N’s vitals.

And for a long time, no one moved.

The floor had fallen out from under them that afternoon. But together — through skill, love, and sheer force of will — they’d built it back beneath her feet.

[chimivx]

home;run -> fem!reader x mlb!mingyu, mlb!vernon, mlb!dk

College didn't work out, so you're stuck with the next best thing. Living with your superstar brother, traveling with his championship winning team, haunted by your past and heavily influenced by your present.

wc; {part four} 5.9k warnings; 18+, sexual content, alcohol consumption/abuse, bad influences around her, manipulation, her name gets taken advantage of in public media, if i missed anything please let me know!! notes; peese n lurv. <3

Cheers had an awful remix of a fairly popular song blasting from the speakers invisible in the room. Four walls, dark grey walls, confined you, Mingyu, his two teammates and their wives along with fifty other people within them.

Arriving here shortly after you found your seat at the dinner table again with tears brimming your eyes, you accepted Mingyu’s hand over your knee and begged him to get you out of the hotbox and into a car, into the bar, and he did. Waltzing inside with his hand around the back of your neck and his friends behind you, the bartenders cheered at your appearance and the first round was on the house.

Shot after shot, glass after glass, you danced with the five of them first, keeping up with the terrible beat the bar thought was good enough to play. The crowd on the dance floor and all within Cheers differed from the one in the restaurant, most bar crowds did. People were calmer, chiller, they greeted you and your group like you were old friends, not internet glorified household names. Drinks were bought for you, handed to you from strangers with gleaming smiles, handed to Mingyu and Hoshi and Minghao though they wouldn’t sip them but slide them into their girls hands, your hands. 

Mingyu kept a hand around your waist, pressing you to his front while your bodies moved to the music, getting lost in the occasional kiss that tasted sticky sweet after the rounds of pink starburst shots. Whispering in your ear, his warm breath tickling your skin, he talked you up, wound you up, persuaded your hips to move in a way that drew more attention than you were looking for. Not a thing bothered you, the room was wavey, people took pictures of you, with you, Daya ogled your boyfriend over her husbands shoulder, but then when they spun he shot you a wink while Mingyu’s face was buried in your neck.

That was weird.

Slinging an arm around Mingyu’s back you dug your fingers into his curls and lifted his head, a wicked grin on his glistening lips. Poking your tongue out between yours, you close the air between you and inhale all of him, every push of his lips, every lap of his tongue, every groan from his chest. Mingyu was your boyfriend, you were his girlfriend. Daya and Hoshi were married, they had a baby. You were used to people looking at you, people looking at Mingyu, but they were always strangers. Too many times today had Daya shamelessly mentioned your boyfriend or looked at him like he was her prey.

“Take me home,” you said to Mingyu after the slowest pull away from him, your lips parting with resistance. “Can we leave?”

He smirked, his forehead pressed to yours while your bodies rocked. “Little bit longer, baby. You want me already?” You nodded and he pushed out a laugh. “How bad?”

Enough to get him out of this place and away from Daya, to get you away from Hoshi. Did they even know the other was flirting with the two of you behind their backs?

“Bad,” you whispered against his lips and he laughed again. “Please, can we leave?”

His name was said behind you, either Hoshi or Minghao, you couldn’t make out who it was. Mingyu lifted his head, watched as one of his friends spoke without words, then smiled and nodded. Placing his hands to your hips he moved you off of him and gestured toward the bar.

“The girls are buyin’ shots, go with them,” he said. Stumbling backward, you lowered your brows. Mingyu pointed behind you, his smile giving you enough comfort to trust him. “I’ll be right back, go with the girls. I promise, then we’ll leave.”

“Okay,” you whispered, walking backward, watching him take Minghao by the neck of his shirt, all three of them laughing with one another as they weaved through the crowd to the darker side of the bar. Turning once they disappeared behind several heads and bodies, you pushed past people trying to say things to you and followed the glow of the lights from the bar, Halle and Daya leaning over the glass chatting away with the bartender with dark wavy hair touching his shoulders.

“Party girl!” Daya shouted over her shoulder as she glanced your way, her face lighting up but her eyes remaining the same. Dark, sharp, on watch. “C’mere, you want more of that pink shit?” Wedging yourself between the girls, both of them smelling like money, you nodded and sunk into Daya’s hold as she swung her arm around your shoulder. Acrylic coffin shaped fingernails dug into your bare shoulder. “Yeah, you like the pink shit, don’t you?” Looking up at her she had her nose inches from yours.

“Be right back,” the bartender said after Halle confirmed the order with him.

Daya and her almond shaped eyes, a color so deep yet swirling with a lighter shade that added that extra spark, gazed down at you, the woman a few inches taller than you especially in her heels. Her long, slender nose was positioned perfectly in the center of her bronzed face, striking features that complimented and contrasted perfectly with the softness of her wideset, fuller lips.

Oh shit, she was pretty.

“I do like the… the pink shit,” you muttered and she smiled, her teeth a bright white, insanely straight. “Do you like the pink shit?”

She narrowed her eyes and came closer to you. “Depends who’s asking.”

Nerves flooded your veins. “Okay,” you breathed, laughing it off, wiggling around in her hold to glance at Halle who rocked to the beat of the music. “Where’d they go?” Her and her warm eyes looked over to you, her gaze less intense than Daya’s. Halle was pretty too, it was clear why she and Minghao had been together for years. She wore the same unbothered energy her husband did. “The guys?” you asked after she questioned you with a look.

“Oh, someone they know is here,” she said quickly, waving her hand in the direction they walked off in as if to tell you to ignore it. “They were suffocating anyway, we have to be stuck here all month with them, we girls need to stick together.” The bartender came back and slid several shots full of sparkling pink in front of the three of you. “This rounds on me, ladies.”

With Daya’s arm still around you, you looked back at her. “Where’s your kids?” you asked, shifting your gaze between them both as they took one of the shots.

Daya licked her lips and smacked the glass down on the bar. “Who knows.”

“We have nannies,” Halle scoffed, shooting a glare at her friend. “They’re asleep at the hotel, in good hands.”

A smirk pricked your lips. “You have a baby and you don’t care about her?” The way Daya looked at you made you want to laugh aloud, but you kept it within you. Halle’s eyes shot open so wide she had to turn away for a few seconds.

“Yes I do,” Daya said, a little harshly. “Take your shots, princess, I know you can drink more than this.” Giving her a smile that made her hand tighten on your shoulder, you took each shot like it was nothing, three of them right in a row, faster than Halle or Daya. “There we go,” she snickered, waving the bartender down to your end. “More of whatever the fuck this was.”

Blurrier, louder, more exciting. With each round the atmosphere in the bar fueled the energy within you, it pulled you back onto the dance floor with the girls, the three of you holding hands dancing and singing along to the music you once hated but now adored. You invited other girls into your circle, dancing with them while they opened their phone cameras and snapped selfies and videos, talking to you like they knew you, because they did. Boys tried to talk to you too, and you entertained it, but never let get any further than dancing beside you. Your boy was here somewhere, with someone, doing who knows what. 

The second your brain remembered him you wanted nothing else. His hands, his lips, his body, his everything.

Whirling around in a circle, searching each corner, each group of people bobbing up and down in the lights, you found him by the hall to the bathrooms lounging in one of the booths with Hoshi and Minghao sitting on the seats in the other. Mingyu had a leg stretched over the cushion and his back pressed to the wall with his head knocked back. The three spoke close together, their heads nodding a bit, their eyes telling stories you weren’t sure you wanted to know about.

The three buttons undone on his shirt called to you. His hair pushed back from his forehead pulled you in. Wandering away from your group on the dance floor you followed the siren call that was simply his energy, his aura, his appearance. He clocked you halfway, a devilish smirk lighting up his lips as he watched you sway.

“Hey baby,” he said once your knees hit the booth cushion. Crawling over his leg and onto his lap, you straddled his waist and moved with him as he placed both feet to the floor and his back to the booth. Sliding your arms around his neck you pressed your chest to his and locked your lips together, not wasting any time and working them over his cheek, across his jaw, and down his neck. “See, she likes me now,” he said to Hoshi and Minghao, the three of them sharing a knowing laugh, one that didn’t bother you in the moment. Hands moving to your waist, Mingyu held you still over his lap, stopping you from grinding on top of him like you were beginning to. “Yeah, we’re out of here soon,” he said to his friends that left for their own wives amidst a conversation you couldn’t keep up with, too drunk on warm, smooth, golden skin to care.

“Mingyu,” you whispered, finding his lips.

“Isla,” he whispered back, big hands smoothing over your exposed thighs, mini skirt riding higher than it should be right now. “Having fun?” He caught your lips in a quick kiss.

“Yes,” you breathed within the shared air.

He half smirked, sliding his hands over the curve of your ass. “You like it here? Seems like you do.” 

“I do,” you nodded, “No one’s bothering me now.”

Mingyu curled his brow. “Us? Or, other people?”

“Other people,” you said without a second thought and kissed him. He let it go on for a minute or so, pulling away when your tongue drug along his teeth. 

“You don’t like other people talking to you?” he asked, tightening his grip on your hips that longed to move. The music, the intoxication, his body, you wanted something, you wanted him.

“Not while I’m trying to do this.” Wiggling your hips, or trying to, he laughed, then he released his hold and let you have your way with him. Grinding down on his length half hard in his pants, you sighed and caught him in a sloppy kiss. He took his hands to the back of your neck, pressing his thumbs into the sides creating some sort of pressure to make you groan. You weren’t sure how long you spent lost in him, enough to build up pressure within you.

“Let me ask you a question, baby,” he said and you whined.

“No, just kiss me.”

“No, no,” he snickered, yanking you backward, wrapping a hand around the bun in your hair. “Hang on.” Trying to lean forward, tongue lolling out from your lips, he smiled and shook his head. “Tonight at dinner,” he said, pausing, taking a second to study your face. “Maybe it’s my mind playing tricks on me, I’m nervous, even more now that you’re mine…”

Your heart beat steadily between your lungs. “Tell me. What happened?”

Mingyu pulled his lips between his teeth and blinked a few times. Releasing a breath through a laugh, he asked, “What’s the thing with Hansol?” Your stomach did a cartwheel, every shot in your system making itself known. “I just… I wanna make sure you’re okay, you were looking at him, he was looking at you…”

A gulp betrayed you, one Mingyu picked up on. “He was looking at me?”

Maintaining face, Mingyu analyzed yours. “Yeah, he was, he couldn’t stop.” You tried your best to withhold every emotion this made you feel. He was looking at you, too. When? When you weren’t looking at him? Which was when? You barely drank at dinner, you wouldn’t have missed it. “And then, it made me think of what happened at practice today, so…”

“I don’t want to talk about him,” you whispered. Attempting to lean forward, he held you back.

“So you do know him,” he said.

“I- Yeah,” you shrugged, “He went to Nasara at the same time as me.”

He was quiet, then his smile grew. “Of course he did.”

“Leave it alone,” you said, trying to kiss him again.

“No, c’mon,” he laughed, taking his other hand to your waist where it had been, holding you down. “Tell me, baby. What did my baseball player loving girlfriend do with him in college?”

Whining, wriggling in his grasp, you said, “I don’t want to talk about him.” Pausing, you played back his words and pouted. “And I am not a baseball player lover.”

“Oh, baby,” he smirked. “I beg to differ.” All of your defense fell. Dropping your hands into your lap you sat back on his thighs and slouched your shoulders. “You guys were friends?”

“Mingyu, stop,” you whispered without much fight left in you. Even a shake of your head, the pleading of your eyes wouldn’t shut him up. He stared back at you, his eyes taking in every microexpression.

“What,” he began, and his eyes narrowed, like your thoughts were plastered onto your forehead. “Did you guys sleep together or something?” Your throat tightened. Every limb on your body felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds.

“Gyu- We- Just, leave it alone.”

Weak.

His face lit up with something you’ve never seen before. “Ohhoho… Okay, sure.” Wrapping his arms around your back he moved off the cushion of the booth, relishing in how you clung to him for balance before he got you on your feet. His hands held onto you with a power that both excited you and frightened you. You’ve never experienced jealous Mingyu. “We’re out of here.”

It went by in a blur, him moving you from the bar to the hotel and up into his room where the clothes you wore hit the floor in seconds. In the dark his hands were on you, touching you, squeezing you, pleasuring you, making you feel so good, too good, and he still wore all his clothes. Face buried in your chest, lips wrapping around the delicate skin leaving purple marks in their wake while his fingers worked within you, drawing you to the edge too many times and he still wore all his clothes.

You didn’t have any extra breath to give him, to ask him to take them off, you couldn’t say anything but his name, which was what he wanted. His other hand clamped to your jaw, fingers pressing into your cheeks so tight your lips stayed parted for him to kiss, nip at, spit into. He worked you dumb, your world entirely too blurry, too fuzzy to tell him to slow down, but you didn’t want him to. 

It was Mingyu. All him. You couldn’t think about anything else.

Just the way he wanted you.

It wasn’t until his head was between your thighs that you could finally utter something other than Mingyu. “Inside, Gyu,” you whispered, fingers clawing at his curls so tight he was groaning against you. “Please, please, need you in me.”

Letting go of your thighs he stood with a smile and took his hands to his belt buckle after wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Smiling down at you, eyes heavy and full of lust, he asked, “Condom?”

Unable to move, you blinked up at him and tried to shake your head. “I don’ care.”

“Oh, my pretty girl,” he groaned, shoving his pants to the floor, kicking them away. Grabbing your ankles he pulled you closer and sunk into you, a delicious moan pouring from both of you. “Never let me hit it raw,” he groaned, taking his time with a few strokes. “Who’s fuckin’ you, baby?”

Clawing at the sheets, you writhed beneath him and choked out, “You, Mingyu, you are.” He pushed your knees backward and laid over top of you, pistoling his hips into yours.

“Say it again.”

Lips caressed your cheek, stirring you awake.

Deja vu.

The sun, the curtains, the bedding, the nakedness, the sore body, the hangover.

Except now Mingyu was crouched beside you dressed for training.

“Hi,” he whispered, his cheeks full of joy. Taking a breath, you couldn’t do anything but blink at him. “I got you a coffee already,” he said, resting his chin on the mattress. Taking a hand to your cheek he drug his thumb beneath your bottom lashes. “Come today. I want you in the stands.” A smile found his lips. “Our first season together, I wanna start it right.” He waited for you to answer but recognized he wasn’t going to get one. “Take care of yourself, okay? I’ll see you in a bit, I’ll have a car waiting for you.”

He left so fast you didn’t even hear the door close. You couldn’t put two senses together.

Another day, another hangover.

You felt like dogshit.

Taking your time to sit up, knowing this time you really felt like you could be sick, when you peeled the sheets back and caught a glimpse of your body you groaned and flopped back onto the pillows. He made a mess of you. Hickeys littered your chest, hopefully not your neck, and the insides of your thighs. You’re certain the tiny blue marks in a rounded line on your hips were from his fingers, he had you flipped every which way last night you supposed.

You barely remembered it.

But you remembered Vernon.

The way he looked at you, how he brushed you away, when you told you he loved you.

As in past tense.

It brought you a brand new physical pain you’ve never experienced, one lodged between your lungs, pulling on your heart. A hole punched there, a wound so big you weren’t sure what you were supposed to do about it. You could drink it away, have Mingyu fuck it away, but clearly it’d come right back when neither of those things were happening.

“Did you even read any of the messages I sent you at the end of last year?”

Every single one.

He was the first to message you, the first to call you, to try to get a hold of you while you cried in DK’s backseat. For days he sent little anecdotes of care, asking you if you were alright, hoping and wishing that you were safe, that you weren’t being too hard on yourself. He sent a long text the day after the dinner ITZ and ATZ shared, and he was angry. He found out you were with DK, that you left school, but he wasn’t angry with you. He was angry with Yeji, the president, for keeping your absence a weird secret from everyone, not telling anybody that you were leaving, that you withdrew from school completely.

The messages to follow were of shorter stature, and they came less frequently. Each one, between the lines, you could feel what he was feeling. Sometimes he’d call you, or try to, without it accompanying a message, hoping that maybe you’d pick up if he rang. He constantly wished you well with each text, encouraged you to do better, that he knew you would be okay, that DK would help, that you should do whatever he tells you and follow your big brother's advice.

The last one he ever sent, right around Christmas, a week before the first story of you and Mingyu erupted, he shared some words that would forever strangle you completely. Mentions of you meaning the world to him, or something, and him saying he hopes he’ll see you soon, that you’re his best friend and he has so much to tell you.

It haunts you, that message.

You should’ve answered it. That should’ve been the moment you called him.

But Mingyu had just bought you diamond earrings for Christmas. You opened them Christmas morning with both your families watching, the group of you lounging in the living room of the Kim’s mountain cabin surrounded by mile high trees, snow, and mugs of hot chocolate, the place fit to house several families at once.

You should’ve answered it.

“That’s all you got?!” you shouted, your voice echoing onto the field over Vernons head from where you sat behind home plate. Leaning against the barricade you watched him swing, just missing the ball. Dropping the bat to the dirt he flashed you a look over his shoulder, his smile teasing his lips, and started to unstrap his gloves. His coach gathered the things on the mound and began straightening up the field.

“I told you to heckle, not to be mean,” he breathed, making a face.

You pouted and he laughed. “Did I hurt your feelings, Nonie?”

“Ew,” he spat. “Don’t call me that. My little cousins call me that.” Lifting his hands over his head he stretched and groaned, leaning side to side. 

“Fine,” you sighed. His eyes shut, his brows flatlining above them. Leaving your seat you wandered through the stands and hopped into the dugout, taking yourself out onto the field to meet him where he stood. “Where’s it hurt?”

Vernon brought his arms to his side slowly, looking at you like he was trying to keep his discomfort hidden. “Everywhere,” he whispered, and you let out a laugh together. Reaching for his arms you unstrapped everything else he had on him, and he watched, quietly.

“Come on,” you said, shoving his gear into your arms. Dropping to the ground you picked up his bat and nodded your head. “Where do these go?” Massaging his own elbows he took in the sight of you carrying all of his things and took a deep breath.

“Uh,” he stammered, “Locker room. My bags are in there.”

“Okay, let’s go,” you said, and started for the dugout and the stairs that awaited you there.

“Hansol,” his coach called out, stopping you both. The man eyed you, then Vernon. “Good work today, I’ll see you here same time tomorrow.”

Vernon nodded once. “Same time tomorrow.” When he turned to you he furrowed his brows and held up a finger, stopping your thoughts that longed to come out of your mouth. “You leave him alone,” he said, passing by you.

“You need a break,” you said, following him down into the dugout and through the door into the locker room. Showers lined one wall, double stacked lockers lined the other. It was a smaller space, definitely smaller than the locker rooms at Lions Stadium in Iloa, but it was good enough for Vernon and his team.

He took to his locker and pulled it open, waving you to his side. “I don’t,” he said with a smile, taking some of his things from your arms. “I’m fine.” Gloves, gear, straps, buckles, it all went into his locker. The only thing left in your hands was his bat, a sleek black with a silver V etched into the top in a stunning font.

“You just told me everything hurts,” you said, stepping closer to him, leaning against the cool metal of the Nasara blue lockers. He copied you, thinning his lips, facing you. A few inches lived between the two of you. “You wanted me to break your hand-”

“It was a joke, Iya, I just-”

You closed the space, your middle touching his, the tips of your toes meeting. “I don’t find it very funny.” He dropped his gaze down, looking between you. “What are they working you like this for? Where’s your team? Why are you alone?”

Vernon nibbled his bottom lip and hit you with a subtle shrug before he met your eyes. “I dunno, I was… I was hoping it was, yanno, good things, but Coach has me doing the same stuff over and over. He won’t even tell me why we’re doing what we’re doing, I think I’m,” his voice trailed off as his eyebrows scrunched together, “Think I’m not doing as well as I thought I was.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, reaching for one of his hands, toying with the roughness of his fingers, his palm. He looked down at it and tried to smile. “He just told you you did great.”

“Yeah,” he scoffed. “To keep me coming back.” When he met your eyes, his gaze shattered your heart. “This is the part where guys start to give up. I’m a senior, well over the age a lot of guys in the MLB were when they were drafted and signed, if it doesn’t happen soon, I…”

“It will,” you whispered. Letting go of his hand you drug your fingers up his arm and gently dug your fingers into his muscle. His eyes fluttered shut with the quietest groan. The muscle was hard, full of knots, you could only imagine what the rest of him felt like. “Come here,” you whispered, moving him to the wide bench along the length of the lockers. “Sit down.” Placing him on the edge, you straddled the bench behind him, your thighs framing his hips. “You can keep talking to me, just let me do this.”

“Do wha- Oh my god,” he groaned the second your thumbs dug into his shoulders. A breathless laugh tumbled from your lips. “I don’t think I- Oh, god.” His head tipped backward. “Is this what they teach you in- in class?”

Popping your brows, working your fingers harder, deeper into the tissue, you said, “Kinda. On days when I can pay attention.” He groaned, lips shut, the sound emitting deep from his chest. Sucking in a deep breath, ignoring the way every groan made your heart feel, you took your hands down his knotty back and worked them there over his sleeveless shirt. “Did you know, these muscles back here, if you don’t take care of them, they could cost you your career?”

Vernon took a breath between grunts and shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “That’s your job, the therapist tells me what to- fuck, tells me what to work on- H’mygod.”

Leaning forward, pressing your chest to his back, you whispered in his ear and a shiver ran down his spine, one you could feel in the tips of your fingers. “That feel good?”

“Jesus,” he mumbled. “Don’t say that right now.”

You smiled. “Why not?”

“Because,” he pushed from his lips fast. “Just keep… Keep going.”

“But, does it-”

“Yes, Iya,” he hissed. “It feels good.”

You wished you were in front of him, in both places at once, you wanted to see his face, wanted to see what he looked like while he groaned and melted into your touch. Taking your hands all over his back, taking your time in places tighter than others, his exhausted self didn’t hold back, he told you what was good, what needed more, where he needed you, where he wanted you. Your heart pounded in your chest, you prayed he couldn’t feel it with how he leaned against you now, your fingers rubbing into his neck, toward his jaw. He rested his head on your shoulder, his eyes closed, his breath hitching in his chest with every sound that came out of him.

“Noisy boy,” you whispered, slowing your fingers that were starting to get achey. Keeping them on his shoulders, he blinked open his eyes and turned his head to look at you, his entire being relaxed, sleepy. Your thighs hugged his body, his waist, he fit perfectly between your legs.

“You’re good at that, I can’t help it,” he whispered. He must’ve realized how he was sitting, splayed back on you like you held onto his consciousness through your ministrations of his body, because he tried to sit up, his body moving slow, heavy. 

You kept him in place, holding him back, keeping him pressed to you. Giving you a look, his brows showing the slightest bit of pure curiosity, you took a breath and slid your hands down his chest keeping your eyes locked on his. Placing them right over his heart, you paused, and waited.

Then you felt it.

His heart beat in time with yours, racing faster than it should be for what you were just doing to him. Shifting, trying to move, Vernon hummed his disapproval of what you were feeling. The smallest smile graced your lips.

“No,” he whispered, smiling with you. “You started it, I felt yours first.”

Flickering your eyes to his parted lips, you held your breath and looked back at his hooded gaze. “Can I kiss you?” 

“Please,” he whispered.

Taking a hand to his curls, leaving the other over his heart, you dipped your chin down and altered the relationship you shared with him forever. His lips, soft, a little shy, met yours and he sucked in a breath, his heart beating quicker, heavier. A single breath between parted lips was like a switch flipped, in seconds his energy came back and he was pulling you off the bench and onto his lap, helping you straddle his waist comfortably on the wood beneath him.

With your hands on his jaw you kept his head tipped upward, not wanting to waste a second without his lips on yours. Your body melted into his with his arms around your back, his fingertips pressing you closer, holding you tight, yet ever so gently. The way you responded to one another, your bodies, your breath, it was unlike anything you’ve ever shared with anyone else. In just a few heated kisses a warmth filled your being, tangled with your veins, your heart, pooling in your center telling you that this was it.

It was Vernon. This was it, everything you’d ever need.

As much as it terrified you, you'd never felt more sure about anything, god, you felt like you could cry, like so much was pent up within you, so many things you’ve teased him with, teased each other with, but deep down knew was horrifically true.

Without thinking you rolled your hips against him and felt him smile into your kiss. Hands with a mind of their own, they scrambled for the hem of his shirt and yanked it over his head, two blushing smiles meeting in the middle all over again once it hit the floor. Kissing you, long and slow, his hands took their time dropping the hoodie from your shoulders, the grey cotton meeting his shirt where it was dropped. Lips ghosting each other, he brushed his nose over yours, shivering as your fingers danced down his bare chest and tugged at the strap of the shorts he wore that made it so painfully obvious what he wanted.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a whisper, his smile never seeming to leave his face.

Rolling your hips a bit, you smirked as a breath corrupted his lungs. “Finishing what you started,” you whispered, and kissed the tip of his nose. “Can I take these off?”

Vernon breathed through a laugh. “Yeah, you’ve seen it before.”

“Right,” you giggled and tugged at the elastic. “Can I taste it?”

His hips pushed up beneath you as another breath shot through him. “You, fu- Iya, hang on,” he rambled on as you giggled and worked him out of his shorts. “If you- If you do, I won’t be able to- fuck.” Straddling his waist again you wrapped a hand around the bottom of his length, smiling as you gave him a good squeeze.

Leaning into him you caught his lips in a kiss. “You grower,” you teased, and he tried to laugh with you. “Holy shit, V. Can I…”

Steadying his breath, or trying to, he narrowed his eyes. “Can you, what?” he asked, tilting his chin just to brush his lips over yours, not even to kiss you. “What do you want?”

“You.”

“You have me.”

Kissing him, a soft whine was muffled by his lips, his tongue slipping between your lips this time. Moving off of him, your lips the last thing to leave him, he watched you where he sat, chest rising with each breath he took. Fingers finding the zipper of your mini skirt, Vernon reached forward and shook his head, wrapping his arms around your waist, slotting you between his legs. Looking up at you, he took you out of your skirt, then pushed up the hem of your tank, pressing kisses to the skin above the thin stretch of lace waiting for him beneath the denim.

“That skirt makes me crazy by the way,” he whispered, both of you laughing. Pressing his nose to your skin, his fingers curled over the lace and pushed it down your thighs, his lips worshiping this unexplored part of your body. Big brown eyes gazed up at you and you couldn’t take anymore. With a smile you leapt on top of him, tangling your fingers in his hair, engulfing his lips with yours. Reaching between your bodies you wrapped a hand around him and parted from him to rise to your knees, but his hands latched onto your shoulders, both worry and disappointment in his eyes. “Iya, Iya, wait,” he whispered, mentally kicking himself. “Are we not gonna… Do you want me to… I don’t- I don’t have anything here, or on me.”

You admired his worry, you smiled at him, reassuring him with a kiss. “I’ve seen you make double plays,” you whispered and his eyes softened. “I trust your sense of timing.” Before he could say anything else, protest about your safety like you knew he would want to, like you’ve been doing to him for weeks, the hypocrite, you kissed him, and you sunk down on him, moaning into his mouth at the stretch and how his hands gripping onto your hips in a hurry, his fingers digging into your skin.

Neither of you moved, for several seconds, maybe minutes, you held onto one another, pressed chest to chest, sharing nothing but the laziest kisses and labored breaths. He was the first to move, flipping you over to your back, the wood cold against your skin making you gasp.

“No, come on,” you whispered, half a laugh coming out with it. “Let me take care of you.”

Vernon smiled, pressing his lips to your cheek and down your jaw. With the slowest push of his hips your jaw fell open and he caught your parted lips in a kiss. “You already did that,” he whispered, lowering himself on top of you, “My turn.”

home;run masterlist | talk to me | ao3

you do not have permission to copy or translate my works without my consent.

[bangrychannie]

Stray Kids Fic Recs

Hello! Recently I have become a stray kids fan and have fallen into a rabbit hole of fanfiction. Various pairings bc I don't care what the pair is just that it's stray kids related lmao. Added a line break bc there's a lot. Also feel free to rec me skz fics please bc I'm always reading

the book of us; electricity: (Seungjin | 10/10 | 84,966 | teen and up)

HJ @hyunfortunately 5h ;-; i was at the store and this song was playing over the speakers and i tried to remember some lyrics so i could search it up later but i can’t find it this is TRAGIC HJ @hyunfortunately 5h it was in korean and it’s kind of got rock-pop-balladish vibes and the first line of it was “neoneun neo neoneun na” if anyone knows it PLEASE tell me Seungmin doesn’t like to interact with other people on Twitter, but the questions seems almost aimed to him. He hits reply and types, “Try Hi Hello by Day6.” [Seungmin falls for Hyunjin from 2000 miles away. He expected that it would be inconvenient. He didn't expect quite how much Hyunjin would change his life.]

Genuinely one of the best fics I've ever read. It reads like a love letter to high school in the best way possible.

so this is what love is by dwaekinz: (Seungjin | 4/4 | 43,743 | teen and up)

seungmong_22 Hi, Hyunjin! My name is Seungmin. I'm Felix's friend, I hope he's mentioned me before…? Ha. We met online two years ago. I know it's unexpected But I kind of need your help hyuntothejin Me??? After 2 years of online friendship, Seungmin has finally found the time and saved up enough money to visit Felix for his birthday. In order for the surprise to work, he recruits the help of Felix's brother, Hyunjin, and together they spend the next three months forging a plan as well as a friendship of their own— or maybe something more.

So cute and fluffy no notes

reply hazy, try again by mrehk (BinChan | 1/1 | 14,951 | Explicit)

Changbin’s calculus tutor is Bang Chan. Smile wide, eyes shining, curly hair wild around his head. He’s got his backpack slung over one arm, those fuck ass chino shorts with a five inch inseam that make Changbin’s mouth water— and, goddamn, he’s wearing a fucking cropped t-shirt. Jisung and Seungmin are going to string Changbin up and have their way with public humiliation when they hear about this. (OR: solving for the derivative of l+o+v+e)

Funny and cute, I love idiots in love and that's what this is

Also mrehk is a fantastic writer so if you like this fic there's way more where that came from

i will protect you (gothic font) by mrehk (Minsung | 1/1 | 16,661 | Explicit)

Seungmin ignores him, smacking the folder onto the desk, flipping it open without looking, sliding it across the surface towards Minho. “It doesn’t matter. This was in the lease. You signed, right—” he taps the bottom corner, Minho’s initials perfectly legible. “Here.” “Excuse me?” Minho leans forward. “Paragraph nineteen subsection C,” Seungmin says, not even looking down as he recites the document word for word. “Lease is not voidable in the case of suspected paranormal activity.” He pounds his finger on the period. Minho laughs. A short, barked thing, completely disbelieving. “You’re kidding me.” “I’m really not,” Seungmin’s face pinches up into the sort of fake, squinted smile someone gives when they’re being an asshole. No remorse. (OR: Minho has ghosts, Jisung hunts ghosts)

Another funny one by mrehk my beloved

one day to fall in love (countless ones to love you) by whatifidbeenthatauthor (Minsung | 1/1 | 22,018 | Mature)

Minho stopped in his tracks. He turned to face Han Jisung. He looked unbothered, still going on about his way. “You didn’t say Hi,” Minho said, forcing the voice to come out of his throat. “You always say hi, hyung.” Jisung turned to look at him, a smile playing on his lips. He looked amused. Minho’s mind wasn’t keeping up. “Today’s different, I guess,” Jisung shrugged. “I went with a variation.” Minho would have found him insufferable, but he didn’t have the mental capacity to process the frustrating sensation that usually accompanied Jisung’s presence. Minho blurted out something that might have him sent to a madhouse. “No. I’ve lived today six times. You- you always say hi, hyung.” He felt crazy. More than usual. Jisung laughed. “What the fuck,” he said, and Minho knew he sounded insane, but could this kid please not be so arrogant? “Me, too. I thought I was the only one,” he continued, and he changed Minho’s life. *** Minho's life is boring, predictable, borderline uneventful. Until he gets stuck in a time loop. And, with him, his friends' friend, Han Jisung, a crazy dude who's only into skating. And whom Minho doesn't necessarily like.

I love time loop/time travel fics if anyone wants a list of specifically those lmk lmao

(never) have your fill of me by lolainslackss (Minsung | 3/3 | 36,028 | Explicit)

“How often can he possibly be having sex that it’s disturbing you this much?” Hyunjin asks, disbelieving. “He has sex, like, every day. And then again at night, sometimes.” Jisung makes a noise of distress. He drags his hands down his face before balling them into fists beneath his chin. “It’s just . . . so distracting, Hyunjin.” “Distracting,” Hyunjin repeats, giving Jisung a meaningful smirk. “Oh, I bet it is.” “Aw,” Jisung whines. “Why’d you have to say it like that?” “Like what?” “Like you think I wish I were the one he were fucking, instead.” “Because you do, don’t you, or are we pretending we both don’t know that?” Hyunjin’s gaze flits over to Minho before it swiftly cuts back to Jisung, all-knowing. “You’d let him do anything to you. Am I wrong?” - In which PhD student Han Jisung unleashes a succubus from a magical book, winds up living with him, and then forms a sex pact with him.

I also have a lot of demon fic recs so lmk

36 Questions That May Lead to Love by bluecalicocat (Minsung | 1/1 | 17,282 | Teen and Up)

generic username @realhanjisung yo my friend wants to be a therapist, can someone pls fake date me so he can practice counseling couples? i have 3 cats @leeknow deal

This fic is so funny

Searching for My Heart in Yours by lk321 (minsung | 5/5 | 36,995 | General)

When Jisung moves to Miroh, a town in the middle of nowhere, all he’s looking for is some peace and quiet. Instead, what he finds is a prickly witch for a neighbor by the name of Minho, who accidentally spills a potion on Jisung and forms a psychic bond between them, opening Jisung to whole new world of magic. As Minho tries to find a cure for their predicament, Jisung finds himself pulled into Minho's lively and magical life. It's not the peace and quiet Jisung was looking for, but as Jisung gets to know the witch through the emotions they're forced to share, Jisung realizes that the answers he’s searching for in life might just lie here in Miroh, in places he least expects.

Feels like a warm hug

the long game by floraii (HyunSung | 1/1 | 16,045 | Teen and Up)

“Anyway,” he continues, voice still sultry, “I’ve been seeing you in class, and I was just wondering—” he moves his hand to curl around a strand of his hair. “Could I get your number?” Han Jisung’s big brown eyes blink again. His gaze darts to his lips, then to his notebook, then up to his eyes. “To study?” “Yeah,” Hyunjin blurts without thinking. What the fuck? Study? What is happening? Why is he agreeing?

Hyunjin has a type. It’s not usually shy boys in his Intro to Statistics class with big round eyes and glasses, but Han Jisung is different.

This fic was so funny I was actually laughing out loud

I have plenty more where that came from! So there will be more recs soon

[vanfleeter]

My Love: Chapter 3

Characters: Jake Kiszka x Sara Warnings: 18+ || Language. Gore. Mentions of blood. Dead body. Stabbing. Angst. Threats. Betrayal. Smut. Allusions to sex. (let me know if I missed anything so I can add it.) A/N: Posting this early because I have a family reunion tomorrow and won't have time to do all the tags ;) ENJOY!

The morning soon comes and the dread of leaving her fills my body. Her own is draped over mine, her legs entangled with mine and her arm draped over my chest. Her chest expands with each breath she inhales. I absentmindedly trace the curve of her bare shoulder. Leaving her for who knows how long is going to be absolutely horrible. I’ve never gone more than two days without seeing her, and even then it was never a good feeling.

I would miss her entirely too much. And who would protect her while I’m away? Surely not my own brothers. Not when they have their own responsibilities.

Looking down at Sara once more, I gently kiss her forehead. She stirs slightly but moves to rest her head on my shoulder before her body relaxes again. Carefully I slide out from beneath, careful not to wake her. After redressing, I leave her a note on the pillow, informing her of my departure but that I will be home as soon as I can, and then I am leaving.

Chris had sent a car to pick me up, almost as if he’s assuming that I cannot drive myself to the airport. Though seeing his presence inside when the door is pulled open is quite the surprise. He gives me a smile and holds out a glass of whiskey.

“Surprised?” He says as I slide inside the car.

“I thought I would be meeting you in Boston?” I say as I swirl the amber liquid in the glass.

“I figured we could ride there together.. Discuss the murders of this newborn.”

I hum in acknowledgement and take a drink of the whiskey. “Soo.. Any updates on this newborn? Any witnesses?”

“Well,” He takes a drink from his own before continuing. “Any witnesses would no doubt have been murdered..” He shifts in the seat. “I had the body of the latest victim brought to somewhere private.”

“How did you get it from the coroner?”

Chris smirks. “The same way I always do..”

I roll my eyes and finish off my drink. “One of these days, your little trick won’t work.”

Chris shrugs his shoulders. “We’ll see about that.”

The rest of the ride was quiet, save for the soft blues music playing over the speakers. My mind drifted off to Sara. A couple hours into the trip, I received a text from her. A solemn one, wishing she could have seen me to say goodbye before I had left. I do agree that I wish I would have woken her up but I had kept her awake late the night before, tangled in the sheets of the guest bed. She needs her rest, unlike myself, for she is still a human. God, how am I to survive this trip for who-knows-how-long before I can get my hands back on her body?

I left strict instructions for Josh to keep his eye on Sara while I’m away. Though I know she is capable of handling herself, I still want some form of protection around her with this supposed newborn on the loose.

Why must I be roped in to solve this problem? Sometimes I curse myself for possessing so much knowledge on how they operate. There have been no dealings with newborns since.. Well, since myself and my brothers. And that was nearly five hundred years ago. So how did this newborn come about? Especially here? We know of all of the vampires within North America, all of whom are in their respective areas and living as normal as possible. None of which have been careless to kill another soul, nor turn someone.

Chris shoves my knee and nods his head towards the door. Looking over I find the driver holding the door open. Sliding out from the car, I step out onto the pavement and adjust the ring on my right ring finger. Chris leads me into the nearest alleyway and to a solid wood door. He knocks a few times in a certain pattern and soon the door is being opened. I follow him inside and the door is shut tightly behind us. Candles flicker to life along the walls, illuminating a long hallway and there he leads me down to a separate room guarded by two taller men. Men that I’ve never seen before.

They let us through the guarded doorway and we enter into what I presume is the makeshift autopsy room. The body of the latest victim is laid out on a table, a female, a sheet covering most of her body except for her neck. For obvious reasons.

“This is–” Chris starts before I stop.

“I do not wish to know,” I say, holding up my hand to silence him.

He nods his head and steps around the table. “I have forgotten that you do not like knowing who they are.. Too personal.”

It is too personal. Even though it is not my doing, I do not want to know who they are, for the guilt would be too much. Looking down at the woman again, all I can see is Sara. The guilt of leaving her alone fills me more than the secondhand guilt of this woman’s untimely death.

“The gashes on her neck indicate to me that this newborn has no self control.” I say as I bend down closer to examine the woman’s neck better. “He ripped out her jugular vein when he was done feeding.”

“You suspect it to be a male?”

“I’ve learned newborn males have less control than the females do. They feel less guilt, even less so if they have learned how to turn off their emotions. The females, before they learn of the switch, are more likely to be guilt ridden just from feeding on a human. Newborns also have yet to learn how to compel someone to relax and to not be scared.”

“Is that what you did with Sara?” Chris says, making my head snap upwards to glare at him. “What? No human in their right mind would fall in love with a vampire.. They only say they would because we are romanticized in movies and tv shows.”

“She fell in love before I had told her what I was.”

“What, not a who.” Chris hums as he circles the table again. “Interesting.”

I straighten back up and clear my throat. “I’m going to talk to the locals, see if they know of any newborns running around here.”

Turning away from the body, I leave the room and make my way back down the hall and out to the alley. My phone rings in my pocket and I pull it out to see Sara calling. Timing could not have been better.

“Hello love,” I say when I answer the call. “I was just thinking about you. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I just wanted to call.. I miss you already.”

I smile and turn on my heels to go back out to the street. “I miss you too.. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer for you to say goodbye this morning.. I fear that I wouldn’t have left if I did let you say goodbye.”

“And what makes you say that?”

I chuckle. “You may be human, but you have this way of making me do things against my will.”

“Oh really? I was not aware that I could.”

“Mmhmm..”

She giggles, the sweet melody filling my ears. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure.. I’m on my way to talk with some of the local vampires around here to see if they know of any newborns.”

“Ah well, I will let you go-”

“Wait!” I exclaim. “I want you to do something for me.”

“And what would that be?”

“Every night before we go to bed and every morning, I want you to call me.”

“Okay?”

“I.. I just want to know that you are safe.”

“Are you afraid this newborn might make his way inwards?”

“I don’t know.. But just please call me.”

“Okay, I will.” She says.

Chris steps up beside me and I glance over to him before going back to the phone call. “I have to go, I’ll talk to you tonight.” I say before hanging up.

“No ‘I love you’?” He questions as he sticks a cigarette in his mouth and lights one. He offers me the pack but I decline.

“I should get going. The sooner we find this newborn, the sooner I can get home.”

“Missing your human already?” He teases.

I roll my eyes and turn to face him. “I get it, alright? You don’t approve of our relationship, but last time I checked, it’s none of your concern. I do not care what you have to think about it.”

Chris’s demeanor changes and he pins me to the nearest brick wall with his hand gripping my throat tightly. “And the last time that I checked, I am the one who turned you and your brothers. So I would be careful how you speak to me.. I turned you, and I can easily get rid of you.” I claw at his hand, trying to free myself from his grasp. “I’m not just here to catch this newborn, Jacob.. Onyx sent me here to take care of that human.. I do not want to hurt her, because I know how much you love her, and it would pain me to see you go through the pain of losing someone again.. So, do not cross me again and we won’t have problems. Am I understood?” I nod my head and he drops me to the ground. “Good.. Now go talk to the locals and try to find out any information.”

Standing back to my feet, I straighten out my clothes. I wait until he gets into the car and it drives off before I start going down the street. There’s a clan of vampires that don’t live too far from here. They own a small boutique that’s open at all hours. They had to have seen something.

The bells chime above me as I push the door open. The air conditioner is blasted on high, already chilling me to bone. As if I wasn’t already cold to begin with.

“Jacob Kiszka..” I hear a male call as he steps out from behind the counter. “I have not seen you in a very long time.”

“Hey Anthony,” I say as we hug. “It’s been what–sixty years?”

Anthony chuckles. “Try eighty four. I’m wasting away like Rose from the Titanic.”

I playfully roll my eyes as we pull away. “At least you survived the Titanic.”

“So did she!”

“She’s fictional!” I laugh.

“Alright, alright.. What brings you up here anyways?”

“There’s a newborn on the loose.. Leaving bodies along the coast.”

Anthony hums and turns around to go back to the counter. “A newborn you say?”

“I guess so..”

“You guess so?” Anthony says. “You aren’t sure?”

I shrug my shoulders and lean on the counter. “This last victim is consistent with the patterns of a newborn..”

“You would know,” Anthony smirks. “Though I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“But…” I lean on my chin. “I feel like there’s something off about this.. Yes, newborns can be erratic and uncontrollable, but this seems messy.”

“Well they are newborns. They crave blood and that’s all they want, they don’t care about being clean.”

“I know, I know, but still.. This doesn’t feel like a newborn.”

“I can tell you that I haven’t seen a newborn running around here. Their scent is very distinguished for the first year. If there was a new one, we would’ve known already.”

“That’s it!” I say as I push off the counter. “Anthony, you’re a genius.”

“Well I did study at Oxford so..”

“I gotta go.”

“Don’t fucking disappear for another eighty-four years, got it?”

I chuckle and shove open the door. “I got it.” I say before stepping out of the boutique and back out to the street. Going back down the street and slipping down the alleyway, I knock on the door in the same pattern that Chris had done moments ago. The door is pulled open and I am allowed inside. Making my way down the same hallway, the candles lighting up as I go. Finding the room again, the guards stare at me before allowing me to pass. If I had just a few more inches added to my height, I wouldn’t feel so intimidated by them.

Closing the door behind me, I walk over to the table and pull the white sheet away from the woman’s face. Leaning in close to her neck, I take a long sniff. Her scent mixed with the dried blood has me clenching my jaw. A secondary scent lingers lightly.

Not a newborn.

It’s a familiar scent.

Taking another whiff, the realization dawns on me. My blood stills and a chill runs down my spine. This is definitely not a newborn. Rather someone experienced. Someone who knows exactly what they are doing but chooses to be reckless.

“I always knew you were the smart one..” Turning around, I am faced with Chris. A knowing look on his face.

“It was you..” I say as the pieces finally fit together in my mind. “You have been the one terrorizing the coast..”

“Twas I..” He sighs. “I’m surprised it took you this quick to figure it out.”

“Why are you doing this?” I say as I walk around the table, putting distance between us. “Why bring me into this? Were you trying to get caught on purpose?”

Chris chuckles. “It was indeed a ploy to get you involved and away from home..” The wicked gleam shines in his eyes. “Remember what I told you earlier.. I was sent here to take care of Sara.. I needed you to be distracted. Though I really was hoping that you would have taken slightly longer to figure it all out.”

“Chris, you said it yourself you didn’t want to see me go through this pain again. Why are you doing this?”

“Because Jacob, you have broken the rule.. You didn’t think you could hide this from the Onyx, did you? They know all and they see all.”

“No, you can’t let them do that!”

I start to lunge at him but he only grips my neck again. I feel something pierce through my chest and I look down to see the silver dagger that Josh threatened me with just last night. I look back up at Chris, betrayal evident in my eyes.

“How could you?”

“I’m sorry,” Were the last words to leave his mouth before I fell into darkness.

if i have missed you and you would like to added to the taglist for this, please do not hesitate to comment or message me!

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[atomicdaydream]

Blinding Lights

Fem!ReaderXLeo

Green, blue, red, orange, purple.  Those five vibrant colors. They all reminded you of them. The four terrapin brothers that left suddenly. Without a word. Without a note. Without a text. You had gone down to the lair, gifts in hand. Only to find that the lair was empty. Completely. Utterly. Empty. Raph’s weights were gone. Donnie’s lab was a hollowed out shell. Mikey’s arcade machines were mere shadows, echoes, burned into the wall and Leo’s beautiful tea set up no longer existed. 

You had literally just spoken with the leader in blue not even two hours ago. Everything sounded fine! The bags in your hands crashed to the floor, your mind reeling. Did you imagine them this entire time? You called out for them. Nothing. 

That was five years ago. 

Now, every Christmas since, your heart aches. Deeply. Christmas lights are like knives to your gut. You catch yourself staring a bit too long at them while out on walks, memories of your extended family flashing through your mind. The colors, each triggering certain things. Memories of Leo’s wise words, Donnie’s kind and caring nature, Mikey’s humor, and Raph’s brotherly charm. But mostly….they’re about Leo. What you two had. What was starting to bloom. Just before they left. Fading into the night. 

You had gone back to the lair every day. Hoping and praying that against all odds, they had decided to come back. Saving you a lifetime of pain and misery. You brought a few things from your apartment with you as you planned on staying a few days. Determined that they had their reasons. Because, surely, the pain, the awful, blooming white hot pain across your chest would just all be a bad moment in time. A blip on the grander scale. 

A couple days turned into weeks. You couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t think. You just sat there. On the couch. Your neon pink comforter tucked in tightly around you. Your eyes glued to your phone. Waiting. For anything. A call. A text. You didn’t want to move. Not even an inch. If you left, you’d miss them. Miss something. Anything. That may point to them coming back. Back to you. 

Finally, after a month of waiting, something broke. A small piece of your soul cracked, forcing you to act. You took a deep breath, a stray tear sliding down your left cheek, and stood. Your comforter fell to the floor, pushing the many boxes of takeout from the coffee table as it did. It was terribly clear. 

They. Weren’t. Coming. Back. 

You picked up the pieces, moving on with your life, a giant gaping hole in your heart. You didn’t know where they went or why, but you couldn’t allow yourself to hate them. You just hoped with all your might, that wherever they were, they were ok. And that somehow, some way, they might make it back to you one day. 

Several hours in, the day before Christmas Eve, you were typing away on your laptop. Determined to get some work finished before everyone left for the day. Your boss had been on you for working so hard, but you assured him that you were good. That you had it handled. That you in fact didn’t mind the workload. Truth be told, it kept you focused and anything that kept you from thinking about them was a godsend. 

Email after email, your fingers flew across the keyboard……

Blink. Blink. 

Your screen glitched. Blinking off and on. You blinked a few times yourself, staring at the screen, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. 

Blink. Blink. 

*Y/N? Can you hear me?* Donnie’s voice came through the speakers. 

You immediately shot up from your chair, your heart in your throat. It couldn’t be! “Donnie?” You brought your right hand up to your mouth, your eyes instantly watering. 

*Oh! Thank god! I’ve been trying to get through to you for a very long time!* He half whispered, half shouted. *Y/N? You need to wake up now. I think you’re ready.”

Wake up? What was he talking about? You stared, dumfounded, at the laptop. “Huh?” Suddenly your words no longer came from your mouth. Instead, they came from your mind. You could feel pin pricks running up and down your arms, then travel to your torso and down to your feet. “What’s happening to me?” 

*Her eyelids are….fluttering!” Raph’s voice suddenly boomed next to you. It was as though he was underwater, then came up for air.  You flinched, feeling oddly heavier than you had before. 

“Can you open your eyes, Y/N?” Donnie asked, his warm fingertips gently kneading your arm. 

With more effort than you ever thought possible, your eyelids fluttered open. With a quick intake of air, you took in the most beautiful sight in the world. There they were, standing around you. “Oh my god!” You breathed, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “I thought you guys left me.” You cried.

“Nuh uh, sweetheart. Ya left us.” Raph said, gently stroking your left arm. 

You turned your head, your gaze drifting to Donnie. “What happened? Where have I been for the last five years?”

Donnie frowned, his brow furrowing. “You’ve been in a coma. Five years ago, we got a call from April. You apparently slipped and fell on the way to the lair, hitting your head on the curb. Casey arrived on the scene and immediately called her.”

Your head swam, making your vision a little fuzzy. “Oh.” You groaned, the sudden memory of falling slamming into you. “I’m so sorry!” 

“Oh my gosh! Don’t be sorry!” Mikey finally spoke up. “We’re just glad you’re awake!”

You half grinned as your sleepy gaze slid to Leo. That’s when you noticed the tears in his eyes. “Leo?” Without a word he silently pushed past Donnie and gently cradled your face in his hands. 

“I should have done this a long time ago.” He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. His warmth spread through you, chasing away the ghosts of your nightmares. His brothers cheered, Raph hooting the loudest. As Leo pulled away from you, several tears slid down his mask and onto his cheek. “Merry Christmas, Y/N!” 

“Merry Christmas, Leo.” You smiled, reaching for him, your lips aching for another kiss. 

Dedicated to mother: Elsie Richards. I miss you more than words can say💔🫂❤️

Reblog's only please! Thanks!

@leosgirl82 @thelaundrybitch @miss-andromeda @scholastic-dragon @m1dnyt3-w0lf

[zimwy]

❛ want me to model these for you? ❜

subtle smut. | @eighthourbliss

they're newborn into this world.

this room is their hospital bed, their incubator, a mother's womb. the walls are tiled and high arched, like an auditorium that would carry their voices to God. there is a yellow light suspended above them, red nylon curtains seated at every corner of the room, as if they were centered on a theater stage. this isn't the first testing room they've been shepherded in together, but neither will ever know, not in these muted iterations.

james tilts his head up. the sensation of being watched--or worse, put on some sort of display--was pervasive and unpleasant. the sound of a microphone crackles softly from a speaker seemingly invisible. despite james' instinct to seek out it's source, he lands upon nothing. the voice is everywhere and nowhere, a man's, delicate and soft.

' please engage. ' the voice's command is sterile and weak, like it was supposed to be non-threatening. james distrusted it regardless. there are posters hung up on the walls, dates of professional showings, the promise of an invigorating tango. ' you have a show to put on. ' were they supposed to mimic the silhouettes portrayed on the laminations? to dance?

tentatively, he stands, offering gemma his hand. it is, perplexingly, cold, hard, and shiny. he cannot read her expression, but she takes it nonetheless, a subtle tremor pulsing through her calves as she stands. james notes her heels only then--perhaps the cause of her brief unsteadiness--bright red to match the shimmer of her sanguine dress. likewise, he's fitted in a ballroom jumpsuit, open necked to the bottom of his breast bone, his musculature displayed through the plunging gap.

his arms move into an instinctual disociar position, one hand lacing carefully with gemma's, the other seating at her side beneath her ribs. he feels the heat of her body beneath the thin cloth, the xylophone arches of bone.

one foot, then the other. the glide is seamless, movements starting slow and falling into place.

' what are we doing? ' he whispers, just for her.

' i don't know. '

james and gemma live forever in that room, dancing until they collapse, just to get up and dance again.

but when bucky emerges into their shared living quarters--their beds are tucked into opposite walls to discourage fraternization, doctor mauer had said, you know what that means, dont you, soldier?--gemma is sliding her feet into a pair of scarlet heels. they add a good three, four, five inches to her legs, even as she sits there, contemplating them.

she looks less at rest tonight than she usually did after a shower that scalded off the remnants of the day.

' where'd you get those? ' bucky questions, raising an eyebrow. as he seats himself, he thumbs the seam of his prosthetic, considering removing it for the night. it smothered him in his sleep, sometimes, and he'd wake gasping and choking. but he thought gemma might call him on his bluff if he slept without it, and still roused from a nightmare, so he stops. (he also thought she might crawl into the narrow twin, just behind him, threatening to fall right off, just to smooth comforting circles into his shoulder. she'd whisper that it was okay, and in those moments, it always was. he pretended not to know.)

' i'm not sure. ' she returns, feet slipping out of them a second time. she picks them up by the ankle, walks out into the center of their quarters, and smiles. ' want me to model these for you? ' bucky feels some pang deep in his chest. he doesn't know what it is, just that it hurts. ' only.. only if you want to, gem. ' the breath gutters out of him as he says it. the idea of her in a backless dress, hair pinned over her head, adorned in perfume and soft makeup and a shimmering necklace portrayed a dazzling mental image. gemma was stunning as she was, but to imagine her happy and radiant and free of this fucking place--the shoes would have to do for now.

' i do want to. ' the bed creaks as she stands, mantling one shoe at a time. ' think it clashes a little with your outfit, ' bucky jabs with a harmless smile, ' but you're still a knock out, y'know. ' after a moment of consideration, he gets to his feet, glad there weren't any erroneously left pairs of boots for him, too--his ankles ached like hell, and he wasn't sure why. ' hey--d'you know what lindyhop is? uh, i think lotta southern folk call it swing dancin'. ' bucky extends his natal hand in offering. ' i can teach you. it's not as fun without a jazz band, but i don't think we're gonna find one down here. '

[quranliveblog]

al baqarah ayat 201-286

themes:

"pride carries them off to sin" (206).

dedication of life (207).

disbelievers might also scorn belief because "The life of this world" appeals to them (212).

if evil outweighs benefit, a thing should be avoided (219).

marry only in allah (221).

don't use allah's name in vain (224).

allah knows your intentions (220, 225).

"Women have rights similar to those of men equitably, although men have a degree ˹of responsibility˺ above them" (228).

"the rich according to his means and the poor according to his. A reasonable compensation . . ." (236).

"Graciousness is closer to righteousness. And do not forget kindness among yourselves" (237).

five prayers (238).

the many wrongdoers vs the few good-doers (243, 246, 249, etc.).

correction: allah is not "We" and is not the speaker. his revelations are being delivered by another (252). this changes some things, because it might not be allah who does everything, but also the "We" (254).

light and darkness (257).

people should "not follow their charity with reminders of their generosity" (262, see 271, fn).

no interest (275-276). apparently interest is called riba and is haram, as are mortgages, so in muslim nations the ijara (lease to own) model is used with similar returns.

forgive your debtors (280).

"All good will be for its own benefit, and all evil will be to its own loss" (286). allah is merciful and just.

questions:

"Humanity had once been one community ˹of believers before they lost faith˺" (213). when?

". . . those who conspired to accept Islam then leave it soon after only to shake the faith of early Muslims" (217, fn4). another reason?

is all-knowing god who knows your intentions supposed to deter acts that would otherwise go undetected, like marrying another man just so you can return to your first husband (229 & fn1, 230; there are others, e.g. 231)?

i'm curious about ayah 253. why point this out? why did allah will what he did?

do ayat 245 and 261 encourage giving for the wrong reason? or do they just mitigate fear of poverty and discourage stinginess (268)?

when is charity followed by hurtful words or injury (262-263)?

what is the strong rain in ayah 264? what exactly is the soil?

what is ayah 266 all about?

what does it mean to be "engaged in the cause of Allah" (273)?

is ayah 285 really basically propaganda?

is the believer–disbeliever dichotomy so integral (286)?

notes:

"There are some ˹hypocrites˺ who impress you with their views regarding worldly affairs and openly call upon Allah to witness what is in their hearts, yet they are your worst adversaries" (204).

"Allah does not like mischief" (205). fav

"Are they waiting for Allah ˹Himself˺ to come to them in the shade of clouds, along with the angels? ˹If He did˺, then the matter would be settled ˹at once˺" (210). but, he doesn't.

ayah 214 bothers me.

"˹consensually˺" inserted in ayah 223.

"It is permissible to have intimate relations in any position" (223, fn2). W. potential foreplay mention?? (fn3).

wife has a "right to sexual satisfaction" and can seek divorce after four months without it (226, fn). counseling recommended.

don't be jealous (232).

you can slide in low key (235).

the children of israel kinda suck.

"According to Muslim belief, [ayah 255] is the greatest verse in the Quran" (fn2).

allah as "the firmest, unfailing hand-hold" (256) reminds of the bible's god as a "crag" and a "stronghold."

ayah 259 is crazy.

"You are not responsible for people’s guidance ˹O Prophet˺" (272) feels like a parallel to the bible, like to jonah.

"Verse 281 is believed by many scholars to be the last verse revealed of the Quran" (fn).

ayah 282 is crazy, but the fn is clarifying and interesting. still crazy.

[visual-sculptors]

Streamlining Your Company Profile Presentation: Top 5 Mistakes to Avoid

1.What are the 5 major errors in creating a presentation?

Creating a successful presentation demands meticulous attention to detail and a focus on avoiding common errors that can undermine its effectiveness. One of the critical aspects to consider is maintaining clear organization and structure throughout the presentation to ensure coherence and audience engagement. Without a well-defined structure, the audience may struggle to follow the flow of information, leading to confusion and disinterest. Additionally, overloading slides with excessive text and information can overwhelm viewers and detract from the main message.

 It is essential to strike a balance between providing relevant content and ensuring that it is presented in a concise and digestible manner.

Another crucial factor in presentation success is the visual design of the slides. Using poor design choices such as clashing colours or illegible fonts can detract from the content and disrupt the audience's focus. Aesthetically pleasing and cohesive visual elements enhance the overall presentation and support the delivery of key messages. Moreover, effective practice and rehearsal are imperative to deliver a polished and confident presentation.

 By neglecting to rehearse adequately, presenters risk delivering a lacklustre performance that fails to captivate the audience. It is also essential to consider the needs and interests of the audience to establish a connection and maintain their engagement throughout the presentation. By proactively addressing these errors and implementing best practices, presenters can elevate the impact and effectiveness of their presentations.

2. Do and don't in company presentation?

 In the realm of business presentations, adherence to a set of best practices is paramount to ensuring a successful and impactful delivery. Thorough preparation stands as the cornerstone of a compelling presentation, involving extensive research, meticulous organization of content, and rigorous practice to cultivate confidence and fluency in delivery.

Engaging the audience is another critical aspect, achieved through the maintenance of eye contact, strategic utilization of visual aids, and the promotion of interactive dialogue through questions and feedback. On the flip side, it is imperative to avoid overwhelming the audience with an inundation of information or technical jargon, which can obscure the core message and hinder effective communication.

Additionally, a reliance solely on slides or notes can convey a sense of detachment and unpreparedness, undermining the speaker's credibility and connection with the audience. By adhering to these dos and don'ts, a presenter can craft a polished and memorable company presentation that resonates with colleagues and clients, leaving a lasting impression of professionalism and expertise.

3. What are the 5 contents of presentation?

 When delivering a presentation, it is essential to consider the five key contents that should be included to ensure the effectiveness and impact of the message.

These contents include an introduction, where the purpose and objectives of the presentation are clearly stated, followed by the main body, where the key points and supporting evidence are presented in a logical and structured manner.

 The third content is the conclusion, where the main takeaways and recommendations are summarized. Visual aids, such as slides or handouts, should also be included to enhance understanding and engagement.

Finally, a question-and-answer session should be incorporated to allow for further clarification and interaction with the audience. By including these five contents in a presentation, the presenter can effectively convey their message and achieve their desired outcomes.

4.What are the 4 Profile of presentation?

The four profiles of presentation refer to the different styles or approaches that individuals may adopt when delivering a presentation.

 The first profile is the expert profile, where the presenter is seen as a subject matter expert and imparts knowledge to the audience.

The second profile is the entertainer profile, where the presenter engages the audience with humour, storytelling, or other entertaining elements.

The third profile is the motivator profile, where the presenter inspires and energizes the audience make changes.

The fourth profile is the facilitator profile, where the presenter guides a discussion or workshop in a collaborative and interactive manner.

 Each profile has its own strengths and can be effective in different contexts, depending on the goals of the presentation.

5.What are the 5 keys of presentation?

 Effective presentations require careful planning and execution to successfully convey your message to your audience. The five keys of presentation are preparation, organization, delivery, engagement, and practice.

Preparation involves researching your topic thoroughly and understanding your audience's needs and expectations.

Organization is crucial for structuring your presentation in a logical and coherent manner, ensuring that your key points are clearly communicated. Delivery encompasses your tone, body language, and visual aids, all of which contribute to your overall impact.

[progrocksandcoke]

Vic: "Phantom Limb"

Vic sat in the cockpit of their new GMS-Everest, having pried themself out of the sleeping harness behind the driver’s seat and waded their way through the empty energy drink cans on their way. The bootup sequence starts as normal. It was a different machine than they were used to, a different frame than the cluster of limbs made for EVA environments, but the systems breathed the same as warmth suffused the reactor housing. The comms crackle to life, and the voice of their CO comes through: “Remember, this will be simulated combat test. Once you give the ready sign, the test starts. Just-” “Center on the target, pull the trigger. I know.” Vic’s voice mumbles back, the audiosystem amplifying them for clarity. They’re focused on the visual feed through the headset as the motor systems come on line. “Okay. Count the teeth, count the fingers. No teeth on this body…” Their hands dance across the controls, bringing one hand up to view at a time. “Five fingers, four fingers, four fingers, five fingers. No toes. Arms are single jointed on the outside, manipulators have three elbows. One knee each, standard ankles.” They feel through their limbs, squeezing the knuckles and rotating the joints. Hundred-kilogram shoulders roll in their sockets, warmed by hot fission and circuitry. They adjust their weight, noting the manner in which theirbody shifts lazily side to side with each adjustment. ‘Vee’ brings their left hand in front of their camera array, marvelling at the sight of fresh-printed metal gleam under bright lights. It was an utterly basic Everest model, the baseline that any union sanctioned pilot started with, and it was unimaginably luxurious compared to the models they were used to operating. THey run a dexterity test on the left hand, signing “39486-60170” without error while the pilot hand dances over the control scheme for each number. They finish with “V.E.E”, and sigh with joy at the lack of delay between the controls and the system. Their left hand pulls the shotgun out from its holster-clasp, checks the rounds, readies it, and takes the appropriate posture. The motion drivers knew what posture Vee should take, where to hold the gun, how many rounds to put in and where. All they needed to do was glide through the motions and follow the lead. Its feet found the right position, shoulders pulled back perfectly, eyes centered ahead, while the rest of the array fed them information according to threat potential and importance in accordance with the system’s situational awareness process. No unnecessary information, lights, sounds, smells, just a steady stream of data from outside to center. “GMS-Everest, callsign “Vee”, ready to proceed. Sorry to keep you waiting!” The voice calls out, effortlessly chipper through the hullbound speakers.

The GMS Everest, codename “Vee” powers down, letting its shoulders go slack as the main reactor powers down, letting the backup power take over. Vic pulls the VR rig off of their head, untangling the wires from the messy cloud of black hair, and slides the rest of the equipment off of their flexsuit. They look down at their hands, frown at the trembling digits, and take a deep, shaking breath. The adrenaline drop was almost as bad as the persistent feedback their body gave them: THe feeling of their lungs struggling to provide enough oxygen to their bloodstream, the deafening percussion of their heart in their ears, the way their body felt…wrong. “Count fingers, count toes, count the teeth.” They repeat to themselves, and begin to count. Ten fingers, too long, across arms that shook like cheap aluminum scaffolding on a moving ship. Ten toes on legs not made to bear their thin frame under standard gravity. They shudder, and place their calloused finger in their mouth, closing their eyes and focusing on the feeling of slick ivory and wet meat around their digit. 26 teeth, just like normal. 

They try not to throw up the nutrient paste onto the floor, and flex their digits. The shaking hands squeeze into the palms, toes clench, then unclench. They slide their awareness, their self image, onto the trembling form sitting in a pile of empty cans in the cockpit. They rise to their legs, using the control panel for support. They take a deep breath, roll their shoulders back, and check the messages on comms. CO: “Get to mess hall, get food in your system.” Vic: “That an order?” CO: “Yes. 43 hours is well past the maximum. On the double.” Vic: “Roger.” Vic sighs, opens the cockpit, takes a step, and falls out into the hangar.

[roosterr]

white flag ✹ ch 2

note: thank you all again for the support on this series im seriously so grateful <3 not sure how to feel abt this part but pls enjoy anyway <3

pairing: ghost x gn!reader

wc: 3.0k

no use of y/n readers callsign is 'stingray'

summary: the gang goes out to the pub, and against your better judgement you decide to tag along. you end up having far too much to drink and ghost has no choice but to look after you.

warnings: ghost is less mean (but it's still ghost), the usual angst, hurt/comfort, arguing, some ambiguous drunken confessions, mentions of throwing up but i kinda skipped over it

ao3

【prev】 || 【next】

the relentless buzzing of your phone next to your head wakes you from your slumber. you groan, squinting at the screen to see soap's name on the caller id. you answer and lift the phone up to your ear, rubbing your eyes with the other hand as you pull yourself up to sit.

"hey! where are you?" soap's voice is almost deafening in your ear as soon as you pick up, you have to hold the phone away from you to save your hearing. "y'are still comin', right?" the faint noise of a crowd can be heard in the background, reminding you of what soap's question means.

you check the clock on your phone and wince at the time; it was almost nine, and you were supposed to meet them at the pub at eight.

"ugh," you clear your throat, your voice croaking from having just woken up, "yeah– yeah, i'm coming. just gimme, like, fifteen minutes."

"awright, l.t. said you was still asleep," soap chuckles, clearly amused by your sleep-addled state. you sit up and throw the blankets off your legs, swinging them over the side of the thin mattress and beginning the search for some clean clothes.

you hadn't gotten out of bed all day, opting to stay in your comfy pyjamas and barely leaving the living room except to briefly eat and use the bathroom. after the the disaster that was yesterday, you felt you deserved to have a lazy day for once.

"oh, so he already left without me? why am i not surprised?" you grumble, balancing your phone between your cheek and your shoulder as you pull on some trousers.

"he said he didn't wanna wake you!" soap is half laughing as he replies. you have to hold back your scoff as you put him on speaker and drop the phone onto the coffee table as you quickly put your shirt on.

"yeah, okay." your voice is dripping with sarcasm, and you can't help but roll your eyes, even though he can't see it, "i'll be there, hanging up now, buh-bye."

you just about hear his muffled 'bye!' before you press the red button and shove your phone into your pocket. 

you really didn't feel like being social right now, but maybe being around your friends and letting go is what you need right now. you could just ignore ghost – it's not like it'd be hard, you were fully expecting him to completely avoid you all night. knowing him, he'd probably make you walk home by yourself again.

the walk to the pub is uneventful, thankfully dry, and it takes you twenty minutes instead of fifteen. you feel a little bad for making them wait, but they've been there over an hour already, an extra five wouldn't hurt.

the noise of the crowd hits you as soon as you walk into the old building, and you hope it isn't noticeable the way you frown at the sight of how packed it was. you were feeling even less like socialising now that you were actually here, but it was too late to turn back now. your eyes scan the room, searching for your teammates in the sea of people. you spot a familiar mohawk fairly quickly, and begin pushing your way through the crowd to the booth he and gaz are occupying.

you glance towards the bar and price and ghost both there, too locked in conversation to notice your arrival. you'd have to find price later to say hello.

"sting, you made it!" soap's cheery voice brings you back to the present. he pats your shoulder as you slump into the seat next to him, and gaz slides your usual order across the table to you.

"ordered for you a minute ago." gaz smiles, leaning forward on his elbows, "figured you could use it."

"you're legend, gaz, honestly." you chuckle in response, taking a drawn out sip and relaxing in your seat. as much as you would rather still be in bed right now, you couldn't deny you needed it.

"you okay? you look a bit worse for wear." gaz asks, his gaze turning serious as he takes in your exhaustion.

did you? you hadn't actually looked at your reflection before you left the house, you simply hoped that you didn't look too dishevelled and didn't think twice about it. you suppose the bags under your eyes must be quite heavy after the nosedive your life seems to have taken lately.

"charming, thanks for that." you mutter, teasingly raising your brows at him as you take another sip of your drink.

"sorry, sorry," he and soap both laugh, before he regards you with a more concerned look, "but seriously, you doin' alright?"

"i'm fine, just tired, you know how it is." you dismiss his question with a wave of your hand, hoping he'll drop the subject and you can get started on forgetting about the events of this week. "sorry for being late, by the way."

"make it up to us with another round?" soap wiggles an eyebrow at you, tilting his empty glass at you and nudging your arm. 

"since you asked so nicely," you say with a lighthearted roll of your eyes. they both give you a triumphant 'thanks!' as you slide out of the booth and begin making your way through the crowds of people to the bar.

as you approach, you see ghost standing by himself at the bar, a black surgical mask cover the lower half of his face, and before you can stop yourself your legs are already leading you to the empty spot next to him. as usual he doesn't acknowledge you, but you can't find it in yourself to care through the buzz of the alcohol in your system.

you flag down the bartender and order the drinks for the three of you while adamantly trying to ignore the large presence next to you; you'd barely started on your first drink, but you were going to need more than that to get through this, especially if you and ghost were going to be dancing around each other all night.

the next couple of hours are filled with you downing drink after drink, steadily becoming less and less intelligible as the night progresses. at some point gaz excused himself to go chat with price at the bar, leaving just you and soap at the table. though you couldn't see ghost when you looked over, you had no doubt he was lurking in some shadowy corner somewhere, just watching.

"he's just so…" you wave your hands around, willing johnny to somehow understand your point as the words escape you, "...y'know?"

"do i know?" he laughs, obviously very amused by your drunken state.

"mean! he's rude and uncooperative, and it pisses me off." you groan, pressing your fingers into your temples. venting to someone about ghost was somewhat cathartic for you, even if that someone was his closest friend.

"aye, that's not how you really feel though, is it?" soap raises his brow, that insufferably teasing smirk on his lips as he gives you a light nudge.

"wha–" you gawk, freezing in the motion of downing your drink – you'd lost count of how many you'd had at this point. you narrow your eyes and glare at him, "garrick… he grassed didn't he?"

"you think i needed him to tell me?" soap laughs again, and you feel your cheeks heat up at the thought that you were really that obvious. "but seriously, you should talk to him."

"i should, right? i mean… we live together, it's not unreasonable to ask him to be civil."

"exactly!" he exclaims, making encouraging gestures at you with his hands. "maybe you two can get a bit more than civil," he grins mischievously and wiggles his eyebrows at you, earning an embarrassed groan from you.

"oh, shut up soap." you hiss, gulping down the rest of your drink in one go. "i'm not drunk enough for this…"

after that conversation, your concept of time truly left the building, along with any reservations you had about moderation. eventually you do find time to say hi to price, though you think he was probably laughing at how out of your mind you were rather than the hilarious joke you told him.

you're not sure what time it is when gaz, soap, and the captain track you down to say goodnight, leaving the pub with much more coherency than you when ghost drags you out with him.

the freezing temperature hits you as soon as you step over the threshold, but thankfully there's more than enough alcohol in you to keep you warm.

you started the night fully intending to give ghost the cold shoulder, but that was hours and however many drinks ago; now you were long past the fun part of being wasted and the depressive nature of it all was hitting you hard.

"i wish you– you didn't hate me…" you mutter, dragging your feet as you follow behind ghost. he's not walking as quickly as he did yesterday, but even in your inebriated state you can tell he's making sure to stay ahead of you.

"i don't." he replies dismissively, evoking an exasperated, albeit rather dramatic sigh from you. of course he was going to argue about it, owning up and apologising would be far too mature.

"y–" you hiccup, "yeah you do," frustration lacing your voice. you slow your pace until you completely stop walking, staring at the back of his head with narrowed eyes.

"i don't hate you, sting." he sighs, half turning his body to look at you. "come on, keep walkin'." he gestures with his head.

"ugh…" you groan, but comply and stumble forward catch up to him again "then why're you such a fuckin' prick all the time?" you glare at the side of his masked face now that you're walking next to him.

he says nothing, doesn't even look at you. if you didn't know any better, you would doubt he even heard your question.

"i don't hate you, y'know…" you mumble,  crossing your arms over your chest. "even though you're so– so horrible to me all the time." the urge to cry overwhelms you, your eyes falling to your boots as you shuffle along.

"i'm n–"

"you are!" you interrupt, throwing your arms out to the side and stopping in your tracks again. "every day you say shit to me, i don't– i don't get it! i don't know what to do…" you sniffle, dragging a hand over your face and taking a wobbly step backwards, away from ghost. "why can't you just be nice? like everyone else?"

the night air is cold, and so tense you can almost feel it. ghost's hands curl into tight fists by his sides as he stares you down. 

"i'm your lieutenant, sting, not your mate." he states it like a common fact as he reaches an arm out to you, stepping towards you. "you're drunk, come here."

you don't let him get close, however, and take another few steps backwards. "but you're friends with soap, and gaz, and even the captain!" your eyes well up with tears, and despite your best efforts to stop them, you feel the hot sting of them rolling down your cheeks. "what did i do wrong? why can't you like me too?"

again, he does nothing but stare at you. he blinks once, then twice, in what you might call shock – if you could see his face through the way the world spins around you.

"i like you!" you cry. "i always have, and you– you don't have to like me back, but please," you close your eyes in an attempt to alleviate your sudden dizziness, "just stop being such a dickhead to me! you make my life so difficult, and– and miserable!"

"sting…" ghost mutters, watching as you crouch down on the pavement with your head in your hands. he steps closer again, reaching a hand out to awkwardly pat your shoulder. "is that why you got yourself hammered tonight?"

"yes!" you whine through your tears, your head still swimming and causing you to sway slightly. "like you care!"

"listen," he begins, but you quickly cut him off by lurching forward onto your hands and knees on the harsh pavement.

"i'm gonna throw up–"

✹✹✹

"i'm sorry," you blubber, feeling rather pathetic where you're slumped next to the toilet, "please don't kick me out," tears still fall into your lap, but you gave up wiping them away a while ago.

"what?" ghost mutters from next to you. his calloused hands were keeping you upright from where he's crouched beside you on the bathroom tile. "why the fuck would i kick you out?"

"be– because i'm annoying, a– and you hate me…"

he sighs, "do you really think that lowly of me? how many times have i gotta say it before it gets through your thick skull?" he gently raps his knuckles against your forehead, "i. don't. hate you."

when you only sniffle in response, he sighs again before shifting to sit with his back against the bath next to you.

"well you could've fooled me…" you mutter, letting yourself lean against his side when the effort of keeping yourself up gets too much. you feel him flinch slightly and tense underneath you, but he doesn't move.

"i'm not good with…" he pinches the bridge of his nose, his head tilted downwards and his eyes squeezed shut. "i'm not kickin' you out, alright? no matter how much you piss me off." he pauses, and all you can do is watch him with your mouth slightly agape; this is the most he's ever said to you in one go since you met all those months ago. "and i shouldn't have run off last night. i just… i didn't realise you actually wanted to be friends… with me."

"bu…" your voice trails off, train of thought completely abandoned when he looks over and meets your gaze with his rich brown eyes.

"you're… you– i, er…" his eyes dart away from yours, finding a spot on the wall behind you to stare intently at. a sudden wave of exhaustion floods your senses, dropping your head onto his shoulder and allowing your eyes to fall closed, interrupting whatever thought he was trying to articulate. "fuckin' hell, alright… you're drunk, let's just get you to bed, eh?" his voice is just about audible as he manoeuvres your arm over his shoulders and lifts you to stand with practically no input from you.

he all but drags you out of the bathroom, and if you had any shred of coherency left within you you'd be mortified that he had to take care of you like this, but that's something for you to deal with in the morning.

you're pulled into the the living room where ghost drops you rather unceremoniously onto the sofa-bed, tugging the blankets from underneath you and settling them on top of your already half asleep form.

"night ghosty…" your sigh is muffled with your face buried into the pillow, but he pauses in the doorway when he hears it.

"goodnight, sting." he mumbles, before quietly shutting the door and letting you drift to sleep.

you wake up the next morning – or rather afternoon, since it was already one o'clock – with an absolutely splitting headache. it was expected, obviously, but it didn't stop you whining in pain as you sat up and clutched your head. how much did you end up drinking last night?

last night. right. it was all coming back to you now. you'd cried at ghost again, for the second night running, and even though he said he wasn't kicking you out, you would seriously prefer living on the streets to facing him right now.

you reluctantly emerge from the living room and squint at the bright daylight, groaning pitifully when your head pulses. maybe you should save yourself the trouble and just go back to sleep.

"so, you survived the night." ghost's voice calls from the kitchen, sounding incredibly unimpressed. you cringe at his words, naively hoping that he'd pretend the night before didn't happen like you so desperately wanted to.

"did i?" you grumble, walking through the doorway to find him sitting at the kitchen table, clad in his usual balaclava. you lean against the counter and massage your temples, "feel like i've been shot…"

"maybe you'll keep your head on straight next time. i don't want a repeat of that."

you purse your lips. "right…" you mutter, no energy left in you to come up with a retort.

"i had to drag you home, cryin' your eyes out." he gets up as he speaks, grabbing his cup and skirting around you to place it in the sink. he keeps his distance, but you see him watching you from the corner of your eye. "anyone would'a thought i was kidnappin' you."

"oh god…" you bury your face in your hands, your face heating up with the humiliation of the memory, "i'm sorry,"

"s'alright." he mumbles, still opting to gaze out of the window rather than meet your eyes. you blink in surprise at his short dismissal, but before you can formulate a response, he speaks again. "have a shower, sting. you stink."

you open your mouth to argue, but quickly forget about that idea. he was right, of course. without another word, you scurry out of the kitchen and lock yourself in the bathroom. you drag your hand over your face, willing the floor to just swallow you whole already.

you might as well have just died in your sleep, because you can't see ghost letting you live any of this down for as long as you live; though, as you stand there contemplating fleeing the country, you notice that he hadn't been nearly as pissed as you'd expected him to be this morning. you'd anticipated him grilling you about how careless you'd been and how irresponsible it was to drink that much, but the light teasing you'd endured just now felt more like the kind of banter you witnessed between him and soap, or gaz.

you can't help the giddy smile that overtakes you, your killer hangover nearly forgotten in favour of the thought of him finally letting you get close to him.

taglist: @sofasoap , @siilvan , @mockerycrow , @i-love-ghost , @projectdreamwalker , @achelois-is-here , @adamsloverboy , @thatchickwiththecamera , @chickensandwich69 , @batmanunicorns523 , @tiny-kasper , @dezibou , @pampeop , @cumbermovels , @goth-boi-atlas , @berryjuicyy , @guiltgoreglory , @postmodernrevolutionist , @ghostlythots , @untoldshortsofthefandoms , @isseisslvt , @prodyng , @neteyamsb1tch , @delilah-grimes , @sunflowerqueen1416 , @luvssemma , @ghostslittlegf , @imonmykneessir , @dimitriene , @kenz-ee , @eistro-phobia , @rzmarona , @alanalanalanalanalanna , @dommmymommy , @carolelacroix , @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore , @cathnoneofyourbusiness , @madsothree , @geisterfvhrer , @lazyninjaphilosopher , @aliilium , @koi-feish , @chaoticgoblindev

if your name is crossed out, i can't tag you for whatever reason, sorry!

[ladylooch]

hi :) do you write for Woody? if you do can you write something where the reader and woody are dating but she's feeling insecure because she looks nothing like the other WAGS/ex girlfriends?

Nothing Like Her- Miles Wood

Plz take a moment to pick your jaw off the floor at this GIF. Just.. *bites fist* Now proceed to read..

A/N: I’m really feeling dad/pregnancy stuff and angsty right now. So, I twisted this to work with our dear Miles Wood, who is so sexy and beautiful, that I would be pregnant all the time if I was his wife 😁

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Drinking, Pregnancy, Angst, Jealousy, Swearing

Your eyes sting and a dull throb has formed in your temples from the loud, techno music blasting through the speakers. The crowd in front of the VIP section jumps, hands high in the air as the beat drops. It’s one of those nights where everyone is tipsy and feel invincible as summer is beginning to fade to fall.

Well, not you. Because you have two little feet lodged into your ribs.

You palm your stomach over the feet, closing your eyes and hoping the baby shifts from your touch. Baby Wood slides away, settling on your bladder instead. Wonderful. 

“Jack.” You nudge the oldest Hughes with your hand. He’s standing next to you and turns, eyes glazed over and bloodshot from his multiple tequila shots.

“Mama Wood!” He grins.

“Can you help me up?”

“Yes!” He exclaims. “Anything for you.” You can’t help but chuckle at his eagerness. He really shouldn’t be so excited to help, but you’ll take the attention considering you haven’t seen your husband since shortly after you got here.

Miles is always a social butterfly at team events, fluttering between the different cliches and being a natural binder for the group. It’s nothing new, but you’re feeling a little lonely with everyone else buzzed and loose.

The bathroom is a bit of a hike. By the time you get there, you’re desperate for a stall. Unfortunately, there is a line. Fortunately, there are five nice women that let you go in front of them at seeing your very large baby bump. You scratch at the tight skin while slowly maneuvering back to the VIP section on front of the stage. You get back to the gated area without much jostling.

You stop dead in your tracks as you’re bringing your hand up to show the security your wristband. Miles is in conversation with a tall, thin, brunette who is leaning over the VIP railing chatting animatedly with him. Her legs are a million miles long, toned, and leading to an incredible ass that even you have to admire for a moment. Your eyebrows furrow as the security guard motions you forward.

“When are you due?” He asks you, noting your large stomach.

“Um, about three weeks.”

“Wow, you’re a trooper for being here. My wife and I just had our second.”

“Congratulations.” You smile as he reaches for his phone. Everyone wants to show pregnant women their kids and share their birth stories. You look beyond him for a moment where Miles tosses his head back to laugh hysterically at something the brunette says. Then brings his beer to his lips for another glug. Nico comes along to toss an arm over Miles’ shoulder so they are chatting to her together. You swallow an uncomfortable knot as the glow of the security guard’s phone glows in the darkness. “Wow! So beautiful!” You exclaim. “What is her name?”

“Zoe.”

“So sweet! That is one of the names on our list.”

“You’re having a girl?”

“Um, we aren’t sure. We wanted to be surprised. But I think that’s secretly what my husband wants.”

“Either way, it is an incredible blessing. Good luck and congratulations.”

“Thanks.” You smile politely then move further into the space, locking eyes on Miles again.

As you get closer, you recognize the woman he is talking to. It’s his ex-girlfriend, Megan. The one several of the WAGS are still good friends with even though her and Miles haven’t been together in three years. You stop your forward motion. Nico and Miles are both animatedly joking with each other. Megan leans back while gripping the fencing, screaming along to the music of a song you’re not familiar with. Miles leans forward, rapping with her lyric to lyric until the verse ends and they start cheering with the crowd. They both share a high-five.

Nico makes eye contact with you and nudges Miles, who leans closer to him as the captain yell into his ear. Miles turns to look over his left shoulder, eyes meeting yours. He can see the tears from where he is. He immediately turns, coming over to you while jiggling his broad shoulders to the beat of the next song.

“Hey baby-”

“Did you even notice I left?” You snap, nostrils flaring.

“Ah… Well, no because you didn’t tell me.” He reaches out for your hand. You harshly pull your fingers away, crossing your arms tightly over your engorged breasts. His eyes dip there, scanning the ample cleavage obviously.

“I want to go home.”

“Babe-“

“Now, Miles. Right fucking now.” Tears, fueled by hormones, race down your cheeks. He scratches at his head then nods, stepping forward. He tries to grab your face to wipe at the tracks, but you refuse to let him.

“Okay, let’s go.” He nudges you along, slapping his hands on the outside of his thighs in exasperation. He hands his unfinished beer to Timo Meier who cheers the air then chugs it down.

You don’t say goodbye to anyone. You leave the concert venue quickly, feet slapping against the concrete and the bottoms of your flip-flops. You wrestle with your VIP wristband, annoyed with the scratching of it against your skin as you enter the parking lot.

You’re doing a really great job of focusing your reaction into anger rather than sadness. Until you get into the car and buckle your seatbelt. Then the tears become body shaking sobs out of nowhere.

“You don’t love me anymore!” You wail into the interior of the Mercedes.

This is far from the first time you’ve had this kind of moment during your pregnancy. It happened when he thanked the McDonald’s drive thru worker when you were desperate for a late night Big Mac. It happened again when he tossed an innocent wave at the Devils social media manager after a game in April. He spent the rest of that day convincing you that no he was not in fact fucking her when he was on the road. Now, your hormones have you convinced that he is back with Megan. And he’s just waiting to divorce you until you give birth. Then he’ll take the baby and the three of them will be a family without you.

You spill all of this out to him through sobs while he tries desperately to pull you into his arms across the center console to comfort you. You can’t see it, but his eyes are widened in alarm and shock at the words coming from your mouth. This is DEFCON 1 of pregnancy hormones, for sure.

“Baby.” He groans, popping his door back open and rushing around the back of the car. He pulls the driver door open, reaching around your large belly to unlatch your seatbelt. He taps your thigh for you to turn. He kneels in the parking lot, knees getting scratched by gravel while gripping your hands tightly. He pulls you into a strong embrace. “None of those things are going to happen. You’re just having a little bit of a hormonal meltdown. That’s okay. I’m here with you.” He presses his face to your bump. He looks back up at you, lips still pressed to his baby. “This is everything to me. I don’t want anyone else. I want life with you and the four babies we are going to have.”

“Four?” You croak out. “You’ve always said two.”

“Yeah, but you look so fucking sexy pregnant that now I need more.” He kisses along your bump, then pulls away to cup your face in his large hands. His thumbs stroke against your wet skin, collecting your tears. You thread your fingers through his long hair, staring into his eyes. 

“I don’t look like her… at all. I hate fashion. I don’t have a killer ass. I can barely get out of bed without your help now. I’m probably going to be fat forever after this because I hate working out. I’m going to have droopy mom butt for the rest of my life.” You screw your eyes shut, bottom lip trembling as you tell him your deepest fear. “Why are you with me? You could have anyone else.” Your voice is small and sad.

“Because I can’t live the rest of my life knowing you’re out there in the world and not with me.” His gaze doesn’t waver from yours as he speaks. “I love you, sweets. And I need you. I never felt this way about anyone until I met you. Including her.” He gestures back to the concert where his ex-girlfriend still is, chatting up his single teammates, while he’s out here, getting rocks stuck in his skin to make you feel better.

Every doubt, insecurity, and negative thought disappears when he brings your face down to kiss him. He soaks you up through his mouth, tongue melting against yours. You can still hear the music from the concert. Some people are starting to leave. Your baby kicks against your ribs. 

And you fall in love with Miles Wood all over again.

[fruitcoops]

The dorlene love is amazing!! If you are every inclined to write more dorlene smut (or just more dorlene content in general) I would love it!

Dorlene wedding planning on Lion Pride, ft. their content cash cows loving friends <3 Full disclosure: this social media fic was entirely inspired by the Rock the Boat scene in Derry Girls, a show Finn O'Hara would adore. Character credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for brief mention of alcohol at weddings

Dorcas’ hair was pinned back with tiny pearl barrettes that matched the buttons on her white suit when the video began. “This is Dorcas Meadowes, and welcome to Lion Pride!” She spread her hands with a smile. “As you can see, wedding season has begun, and I for one simply cannot wait. Not only because several members of the Lions are celebrating their own upcoming nuptials, but more importantly, because I am getting married to our favorite camera darling, Marlene McKinnon.

“Lions, I want you to know one thing when you inevitably watch this: I am shamelessly mining you for wedding playlist ideas because my wife-to-be and I have been too busy filming your nonsense to put the required time or effort into it. You’re welcome.” She winked at the camera. “On to the show! Boys, what are your favorite wedding songs?”

#7: James Potter

James’ brow furrowed slightly. “Do you want my wedding playlist? ‘Cause I’ll send you my wedding playlist. Get Maz in here and we’ll do a walkthrough of each song, I can call Lily—"

#17: Finn O’Hara

“Uh, obviously it’s Rock the Boat,” Finn scoffed. A few beats of silence passed; his eyes widened. “Oh my god, do none of you know the magic of Rock the Boat?”

“Is it like…the Cupid Shuffle?” Dorcas asked.

“Is it—we’re going to pretend you didn’t just ask that. No, no, come here. Ringer!” Finn shouted over his shoulder. “Gimme the speaker for, like, ten minutes! C’mere, D, there’s a dance and everything.”

“I’m in a suit,” Dorcas laughed.

“It’s Rock the Boat,” Finn countered. “You can’t get married without Rock the Boat.”

#5: Olli Halla

Olli thought for a long moment. “Is this a good time to mention that I’ve only been to one wedding?”

#6: Remus Lupin

“Wedding songs? The Electric Slide, hands-down.” Remus gave them a look of mock-offense as he finished taping his stick. “It’s an unbeatable classic. It was the first thing I put on the wedding list.”

#55: Sergei Ivanov

“Oh, god,” Sergei muttered, scratching at his beard. “It’s been too long since I got married. Hey, Dumo, what did you play at your wedding?”

#43: Thomas Walker

“The Cupid fucking Shuffle, Big D,” Talker laughed, meeting Dorcas’ high-five with great enthusiasm. “Yes. That’s what I’m talking about. You can’t have a party without the Cupid Shuffle.”

“That’s what I was saying,” Dorcas agreed.

#86: Evgeni Kuznetsov

Kuny lit up in his stall, then reached over to smack Nado on the leg. “Cha-Cha Slide! Oh my god, favorite. Hey, hey, everybody clap your hands!”

#1: Leo Knut

Leo clicked his tongue thoughtfully. “I’m gonna go with…drunk uncles dancing to Wobble at 4:30 on a Wednesday.”

Dorcas bit back a laugh. “Are the drunk uncles necessary?”

“Oh, without a doubt. If you don’t have your own, storebought is fine. They’re five daquiris in and the life of the fuckin’ party.”

**Editor’s Note: All songs included in this video are central to the Meadowes-McKinnon wedding playlist. Additionally, Dorcas Meadowes looks fine as hell in her suit. Thank you, and goodnight.