#I don’t even mean ‘it’s all fiction’ I mean they were angry

[apollos-favorite-child]

ooc post abt some drama

So I’m pretty sure everyone has either interacted with @/demigod-jack-hearth or at least seen some of the posts that were made abt his Circe au. I’ve been trying to keep track of everyone’s thoughts on this (namely @unhinged-waterlilly and @if-chaos-was-a-boy who both have really helpful posts about it) and since I’m capable of producing coherent thoughts every once in a while, I thought I would share my thoughts on all of this.

So I should probably start with the AU, which really was the cause of a lot of this chaos. So first of all, making it in the first place was a very interesting choice. I’m not sure if Jack based it more off the odyssey or the epic musical, but either way it’s just a very weird decision. I understand people like to project on their character which makes sense, but Jack never mentioned being r@ped. (And I hope he never was) but it feels like if he was comfortable enough to make that part of an AU, he would’ve probably mentioned it one of the times he was trying to defend himself.

I understand that HE might’ve thought it was a fine change to make since he was comfortable with it, but I’ve seen a handful of people saying it made them uncomfortable. I’m aware it’s not his job to make sure everyone is happy, but the whole AU was really unnecessary knowing it could’ve made someone uncomfortable.

People even went to Jack saying they were v!ctims and they didn’t like his AU, and he basically told them to fuck off, without ANY condolences or apologies to the people for having to go through that. Those people shared their experiences and he just didn’t care.

And YES Odysseus is a fictional character, but his trauma is still basically being disrespected. I’ve seen a couple of people saying other are being dramatic since they are angry about him being invalidated, but it makes sense to me why they would be angry.

One anon (who was a sa victim of I remember right) came to Jack being rude, and SO many people have been rude to this anon, calling them either rude or dramatic, but honestly I think they were just really angry about what Jack had done (which is perfectly understandable) and they didn’t really think or bother to be polite when they sent that. They made a mistake too, but I don’t think jacks response was any better.

And once he realized that he was wrong (after having to be confronted by multiple people) he NEVER apologized. The words “I’m sorry” were not on a single one of his posts. He basically was just trying and failing to defend himself. This all could’ve been solved much quicker with a simple apology, but he’s more concerned with making sure everyone likes him and that he’s right so he doesn’t have to deal with any guilt.

And now he’s apparently disappeared and has been self harming and just struggling a lot. But you want to know what I find interesting? Jack never mentioned having a boyfriend, and now Fred has taken control of his account, responding to almost everyone and trying to defend Jack. I might be the only one, but I did NOT understand how to use tumblr at first, and it took me a while until I even learned how to reblog people and tag stuff. Even once I did learn how to tag people, I wasn’t tagging 20+ people on every post like Jack does. Another interesting thing is that the blog said something along the lines of “I didn’t mean to blah blah blah” and sounded like it was Jack defending himself, but then the message ended with -Freddy

If I was Fred, I would’ve made ONE post explaining why Jack disappeared, and not mentioning any of the sh or breakdowns. He could’ve made a post without mentioning all of that and disrespecting jacks privacy. Instead, he’s been responding to every person and mostly trying to defend Jack in every one of them. He also said he locked Jack out of his tumblr account, which you LITERALLY CANNOT DO unless he took away Jacks phone, which just seems really controlling, even if he did think it was best for Jack. So yes, this is me saying that I don’t think Fred is real. Especially since Jack is a ROLEPLAYER, and we are completely used to acting like different people.

Going back to the self-harm topic, I think that parts very weird as well. He’s made self harm jokes, and while I know perfectly well people can use humor as a coping mechanism, that’s just another really insensitive thing to do. It just doesn’t really make sense to me how you can make self harm jokes one week and then let your boyfriend tell a bunch of people on the internet you’ve been trying to hurt yourself.

Overall I think this spiraled into a lot more than it should’ve been, and this all wouldn’t have happened if he had just apologized, or just never have made that AU.

jacks tag list- @zariahthewitch @thegroovydaughterofhestia @if-chaos-was-a-boy @the-gods-strange-children @silena-daughterofaphrodite

@fabulousdaughterofhecate @weakest-son-of-sun @chaos-pers0nified @neoptolemus-achilles-son

@bast-the-best26 @goddess-of-bubblegum @gaygirldoodles @luck-is-crucial

@reyna4ever @vicious-daughter-of-zeus @feral-hermes-child @oopsies-i-did-a-thing @unfortunate-daughter-of-hestia

@that-girl-cupid @ariathemortal @love-lightning-forethought @emdabitchass

@kaiaalwayswins @champion-of-revenge @i-was-never-sane @clown-energy-skyrocketing @zoe-aura-of-d3ath

@itsyourboyezra @lunar-eklipso-r @pink-koi-lovejoy @that-daughter-of-athena

@sleepy-as-a-song @smileyalater @thedaughter-of-death @gellyhelio @daughter-ofthe-moontitan

@demeters-daughter-is-done @the-smart-and-the-dumb-one @trinket-snatcher @southerndaughterofeos

@creature-under-ur-bed @burnt-out-bitxhes

[area51-escapee]

I hope that in the future we no longer have to deal with people who don’t play video games trying to decide which games are too graphic or harmful and should be banned but then I look at people my age or younger and I’m like yeah we ain’t never getting out of this

[catherinnn]

This kinda inspired by one of your enemies to lovers stories where eddie says “you wouldn’t be able to handle me” but reader instead says “oh yeah i couldn’t handle the two-centimeter-pussy-defeater bc id because i would be too busy laughing my ass off at your angry half inch.”

Sorry i have been holding that one in for quite some time 😤

Beg for it

enemies to lovers - one bed trope - eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: SMUT +18, piv, oral ( f & m), choking, degradation, unprotected sex (don't do this, this is fiction), porn with plot, fluffy at the end.

a/n: thank you for requesting babe, hope you love it!

5.7k words

“Game night at my place, the whole group will be there” Steve announces after greeting you. You went to visit him and Robin since you were already near the place. Also, maybe you could find a movie to watch tonight.

“Ugh, really? They all said yes already?” you ask.

“If you’re expecting me to say that Munson hasn’t, then I have bad news” he confirms.

“Fuck”

“You’re not even trying to be friends at this point” he complains.

“It’s impossible with him being so mean all the time” you tried to defend yourself but Robin was quick to refute your statement.

“You sure are mean to him as well, don’t act so innocent”

“Well, he started it! I didn’t even know him and he started with the jokes and asshole comments” you weren’t lying.

You were new in town, and new at the summer job your dad had found for you. He wanted you to already have some experience at working so you could make a better curriculum later. There was were you met Nancy and instantly became good friends. So much so that she had introduced you to her friend group she has had for years already. Steve, Nance, Jonathan, Robin and Eddie. The former four had been sweethearts to you since you first met them, easily becoming good friends as well. The problem was with the latter. The night Nancy had introduced you to everyone, he started being a little distant and cold towards you. You tried not to feel offended since he could just be shy or introverted, but then he started throwing snide comments and sarcastic mocking your way. You were not going to sit there and take that, so you equally threw cutting remarks at him.

That’s how the current war with him started. And that’s why your friends keep insisting with this forced proximity, so we could all be a happy family.

But it was useless, you and Eddie do agree on that.

The game night arrived that Friday. You were at the Harrington household with several board games awaiting on the table. Battleship, Clue, Guess Who, Monopoly, Scrabble, you name it.

“We wanted to make different groups and play all of these, then see which team is the best” Robin explains. “Steve and me will be team one” she says as she writes that in the whiteboard. They really went all out, since we could all be pretty competitive.

“Group two!” Jonathan exclaims quickly grabbing Nancy’s hand.

“Wait… no, definitely not” You start complaining after realizing that would mean you’re stuck with Eddie.

 “No way! I’m not teaming up with her, she’ll make us lose at everything” he complains as well.

“I will? I think the actual loser here it’s you”

“Oh, am I now-?” The metal-head starts responding when Steve steps in, cutting him off.

“Okay! Stop yelling, we’re not even playing yet! The teams have been chosen, try and be faster next time”

“We’ll start with Guess Who” Robin announces.

As the game progressed, the bickering continued.

"Does your person have brown hair?" Eddie asks Nancy and Jonathan, who nod.

You reach over to flip down the characters with blond or red hair "See, this is why we should’ve picked someone with a hat, it's less obvious"

Eddie rolled his eyes "Oh, please. Like your guess was any better. We’re losing here!” Eddie complains.

"Only if you keep making terrible guesses" you shoot back.

"Does your person have a hat?" you ask the other team.

"No"

"Still think the hat was a good idea?" Eddie raised an eyebrow at you.

"It was strategic" you huff, flipping down the characters with hats.

After playing most of the board games you had, you were tied with the second group, Steve and Robin had already lost.

“Last but not least, to decide the winner of this evening, I present… battleship” Robin announces once more.

"You sure you can keep up with this game? It requires more than just a pretty face" Eddie asks you.

"Don’t worry, I have enough brains to make up for your lack of them" you respond.

“Quit it, start playing” Steve orders.

"Let's just get this over with" you roll your eyes.

They set up the Battleship boards, each team carefully arranging their ships. Eddie and you hunched over the board, whispering fiercely.

"Put the battleship here" he insist, pointing to the top left corner.

"No, it’s too obvious. Let’s hide it in the middle"

"Fine, but when they hit it right away don’t blame me" he groans.

As the game progressed, your bickering intensified.

"B6" Jonathan called out.

You glance at the board and softly nod your head "Hit"

Eddie leans closer, his voice a teasing whisper, "I told you the corner was better"

"Just focus"

When it was your turn, Eddie called out "G4"

Nancy checks their board, "Miss"

You smirk "Looks like your guess wasn’t so great either"

Eddie rolls his eyes "Just wait"

A few rounds later, it was your turn again.

"E5" Eddie calls out.

"Miss" Nancy announces.

"I told you they wouldn’t put it there" you huff.

"Like you’ve done any better"

"How about C3?" you roll your eyes.

"Fine, C3" Eddie sighs.

"Hit" Jonathan says between his teeth.

"See? I told you" you smirk.

"Don’t get cocky, princess"

The tension built as the game neared its end, each team with only one ship left.

"Last shot, let's go with G3" Eddie says

You nod.

"You sunk our battleship" Jonathan confirms after a long sigh.

“YES!”

“COME ONN” both you and Eddie shout in excitement and before even thinking about it you hug tightly.

Robin and Steve watch the scene with wide eyes and smirks on their faces.

And the second your bodies touch each other you realize what you’re actually doing. The hug only lasts few seconds before you both back away awkwardly.

“See? You actually do make a pretty good team” Robin comments.

“Only because I took the last shot” Eddie says.

“Oh please, if it were up to you we’d still be guessing corners” you reply.

"And if it were up to you, we'd be stuck in the middle forever”

Your friends roll their eyes as the bickering continued. And as you act indifferent, you try not think about how you had to stand on the tip of your toes to wrap your arms around his neck, or how soft his hair had felt touching your skin.

His frizzy and chaotic hair. But so curly and soft.

--

Couple of weeks after that night had passed, you hung out with the guys almost every weekend. You favorite nights were the ones Eddie was busy and couldn’t make it. Like tonight.

“Pass the salt, please” Nancy asks Robin. You all went out to have dinner together. Not all actually, Jonathan was too busy as well, him you did miss.

“It’s like we’re having a girl’s night!” you say excitedly and both girls laugh as well.

“No, you’re not about to count me in as a girl” He complains.

“Oh please, you have better hair than me!” Robin comments and he rolls his eyes.

“I’m just teasing, jeez! Someone has their panties in a twist!” you joke.

“Are you on your period or something?” Nancy joins in sarcastically.

“Alright, not even funny” Steve interrupts. “Let's focus. I think we should keep planning the trip, even though we’re not all here tonight”

“Don’t even mention it. I miss Jonathan so much, he’s been so busy lately. I think he really needs a break” Nancy complains and Robin agrees with her.

“I know, it’s really noticeable when Eddie’s not here either”

“Oh yeah, he’s the one I miss. His irritating voice and loud comments. His annoying essence it’s what’s missing here!” you joke but they don’t find it funny.

“We’ve been through this, you’re gonna have to learn to like each other”

“Sure sure, so… the trip?” you change the topic acting foolish.

“Yeah, I liked the hiking option. We always go to the lake every summer, we should change it up” Nancy votes. You’ve never went to any lake with them since this is the first year you’re joining them. But they had told some stories about this hidden lake they usually go to in summer.

“I think so too, plus we should do something different since we have a new integrant” Steve comments smiling at you. Robin and you also agree to go with that option.

The guys make sure of telling the rest everything you have agreed on that night. You’ve settled on where to go hiking and the cabin that would be waiting for you at night.

A few weeks later you're all set to go.

The trip to get there was...

Steve and Jonathan took turns driving. "You must be a really shitty driver if no one here trusts you behind the wheel" you notice and tell Eddie.

"I'm not a bad driver, princess. Maybe we could go for a drive sometime and you could judge for yourself! We'll call it a date" Eddie teases you the way he knows will shut you up, it always worked. As soon as he started flirting with you, it was like you got shy all of the sudden. Replying with some nonsense that would make Eddie laugh harder because he knew he had won.

"I'd rather get eaten by a shark" you respond ignoring the nervousness that ran through your body.

"Alright, we still have a few hours ahead of us, and I'm not gonna make them with you two bickering the whole way there. So calm down" Steve —or actually, mom Steve— told you off.

Once you got to the cabin, you parked the car, settled everything down, ate something and got ready for today's hiking exercise.

Eddie was never a big fan of sports, so he knew that after an hour or so of hiking —no matter how slow they were walking or how much water he was drinking— he would just start to stay a little behind. Not a lot, but definitely the last on the row.

Also, he started to get bored. Eddie was chatting with Jonathan, but he started to take pictures of every little plant or flower he saw, and the higher you got, the more pictures of the view he wanted to take.

So Eddie started to walk in silence, taking notice of other little things, like the fact that you and Steve look pretty close and pretty giggly with each other since you started hiking. But not only that, obviously, it's not like he's jealous or anything. For him to be jealous he would have to like you in the first place, and there was no way Eddie wants you.

You're the obvious person to like; everyone in Hawkins is already smitten with you. Every guy has a crush on you because you're undeniably beautiful. He knew from the first moment he saw you that you'd never go for a guy like him. So, to keep himself from showing any sign that he wanted you, he did the opposite —he started to hate you.

So he is definitely not jealous. He was only noticing that like he noticed the colourful rocks that he walked by, or the clouds in the sky, or the way those shorts hug your body so nicely.

But he keeps hearing your laughter every ten seconds. Was Steve really being that funny, or you were acting all giggly for him? Did you like Steve? It certainly seems like you do.

You, however, were having so much fun. In the middle of a funny story Steve was telling you about some guy who tried to flirt with Robin at work and the look on her face not knowing how to tell him she didn’t like him —or well, any men for that matter.

The forest path was rugged, but you welcomed the challenge at first, feeling the cool morning air on your skin. However, after a while, your legs began to protest, your breath came in shorter gasps. It was hard to keep up with Steve. Swimmer and football player Steve. So you had to slow down a little, now walking alongside Eddie.

“What’s the matter, princess? Can’t keep up?” he teases with a mocking tone.

“You literally got behind sooner than me” you answer, shaking your head. “If anyone’s slow here, it’s you”

“But it looks like we're both walking together now, so who's really winning?” Eddie chuckles, unfazed by your sharp reply as his eyes twinkle with amusement.

You decide to ignore him. How foolish of you to think that he would accept that silence.

“So what’s the deal between you and Steve? You looked pretty cozy back there. You’re not very subtle, you know”

“There’s no deal with Steve, we were just talking” you roll your eyes, irritation flaring up.

"Right, just talking" he says, his tone dripping with scepticism. "You’re so obvious, it's almost painful to watch"

“Why don’t you stop jumping to conclusions and mind your own business” 

“Ohh, is the princess mad at me now? I’m so scared!” he grins, clearly pleased with himself.

“You’re impossible” you say almost to yourself.

You kept walking for a few more hours, taking occasional breaks to catch your breath and sip some water. The trail seemed endless, but the beauty of the forest made it worth the effort.

As you trudged along, you noticed the sky darkening. Grey clouds, rolling in with alarming speed. The wind picked up, rustling the leaves more aggressively.

A man in uniform hurrying down the trail called you out. "Hey, you guys need to find shelter! A big storm is coming in fast. There's no way you'll make it back down in time"

Panic start to appear in all of your eyes.

“Wait? Seriously?” Nancy asks.

“Yes! There’s a motel that’s a few minutes away, to your left” the guy informs you. “I don’t know how much room they have left, cause I’ve been sending some people there already. But you should go now”

Finally after quickening your pace, you spot the outline of a motel nestled among the trees. You hurry towards it. As you approach, you see the motel was old but resistant.

You reach the door and push it open, stumbling inside just as the storm unleashed its full fury. Inside, it was dim and musty, but at least it was dry.

“Hello, uh, we need room for six, please” Nancy is the first one to get to the register and talk to the old woman who was reading a newspaper as if she hadn’t heard you coming in.

“$70 the night” she answers without even looking up at you.

“Uhh… okay, we’ll take it” Nancy says and as you all reach for you wallets, the woman gives you three keys.

“There’s only three rooms left, two with queen beds and one with two separate single beds” she speaks again, as slowly as she can apparently.

“SEPARATE BED” Robin shouts fast.

“ME TOO” Steve is quickly to join her on calling dibs for that room. Not wanting to share a bed.

“Wait! No!” you complain. “Why would you get it just cause you screamed?”

“We called dibs, sorry sweetie” Robin explains.

“But that’s not fair, we should have discussed it!” Eddie joins in.

“Too late” Steve says handing the money to the woman and taking the key of their room.

“Come on guys, maybe they have a couch” Jonathan tries to make you feel better as he also pays and picks a key to their room.

“Are you actually making us share a bed?!” you ask them offended.

“Maybe it’ll help you become friends!” Robin tells you.

After paying and grabbing that stupid key, you all go to your rooms. As you walk in you notice that, in fact, there is no couch.

“Fuck” Eddie complains once again. “I’ll take the floor, let’s just find some blankets that I can sleep on”

And you turn that room upside down trying to find some. But the only blanket in the room is the –only– one on the bed.

“There’s nothing here!” you sit on the bed admitting defeat. “We’re both gonna have to sleep on the bed. I’m gonna freeze without a blanket and you can’t sleep on the bare floor, you’d freeze too”

“If you wanted to sleep with me, you could’ve just said so” Eddie jokes.

“Not now, Munson! Really not in the mood!”

After each getting ready for bed, you start building a wall of pillows in the middle. Separating his part of the bed from yours.

“I bet you wouldn’t make Steve have a wall of pillows” he mumbles, but you’re able to hear him nonetheless.

“Did you not listen when I said not now?!”

“See, that’s the problem with you. You think you can just walk in here acting like you own the fucking place. Newsflash, princess, not everyone is going to fall at your feet following your little orders!” Eddie gets mad for real this time, but so are you.

“I’m so sorry for trying to make this less uncomfortable! Actually, if you want I’ll even cuddle you while we sleep!”

“Shut up” Eddie rolls his eyes.

“No really, we should even make out before sleeping while we’re at it! Maybe that’ll prove to you that I don’t fucking like Steve”

“Yeah, you wish” Eddie comments.

“Actually, I think you wish. Giving that you’re always trying to flirt with me when we argue and giving how jealous you seem to be about Steve” you notice.

“I’m not fucking jealous. And you’re the one suggesting to fucking make out!”

“See, I think you do want to. You’re just too much of a pussy to even admit it” you whisper close to his face.

“Oh my God, princess!” Eddie starts laughing arrogantly. “You wouldn’t even be able to handle me”

“Oh yeah, you’re right! I could not handle your two centimetres because I would be too busy laughing my ass off at your angry half inch” you respond at his face.

But he doesn’t say anything back. He just looks at you. His jaw clenching, eyes darkening, breath heaving.

Before you can react, he closes the distance in one swift, aggressive movement. Gripping your arms tightly, he kissed you fiercely and angrily, his lips bruising against yours, as if trying to channel all the pent-up emotions into that kiss.

To say that you're shocked would be an understatement. But you did kiss him back. How could you not? With all the ardor and sentiment that he was putting into that kiss?

That fucking kiss.

After he felt your lips moving along with his in a dance, he let all the anger go. The kiss became passionate and intense instead of angry. Like you were finally letting go. Stopped overthinking and finally giving in.

You didn't need to talk. You didn't want to. Instead, you put one hand on his haw and the other on his hair, feeling it in between your fingers, bringing him even closer.

He sighs, holding a grunt as he feels you play with his hair. His hands move lower to your hips, feeling the upper part of your body in the process.

A fight for dominance is held up between you two. He bites your lip harshly, and you let out a little gasp that allows him to win. He's playing dirty. You're not surprised.

He starts to push you down slowly, so you're lying on the bed with him on top of you.

Your hands travel lower as well as you feel his back. You wonder if he has any tattoos there as well.

He dares to leave your lips alone as he lowers his kisses to your jaw and then your neck. He kisses and bites and licks all over your neck. You can bet that he is leaving marks as purple as a grape.

It turns you both on even more.

Eddie feels like he's flying. He's even touching the clouds. Marking you all up is only an image that haunts him in his fantasies. Like when he can't sleep, or is in the shower, or after fighting with you all evening and you're looking so beautiful and you're being such a brat. That's when he imagines leaving you all bruised out. But he's actually doing it right now, and he's going feral.

You start to feel like you're too dressed. His hands go under your shirt, and he starts to pull it up. You pull your arms up as well so he can take it off. His kisses keep traveling lower on your body. Your chest, your shoulders, the top of your breasts. He stops there. Making out with one of your nipples over the lace of your bra while pinching the other. You start moaning, your hips move searching friction on your core, and he lowers his hips so you can start dry humping him.

You feel his smirk against your sensitive skin as well as his hard on against your centre. Mocking your desperation. You're not surprised.

He moves up, meeting face to face once again. "So desperate for me, aren't you princess?" he whispers so closely to you face you can feel his lips moving and his evil smile too.

He watches you breath hard and your legs trying to close searching for that friction in between once more.

"Ask me nicely and I'll take care of you" he proposes and you roll your eyes.

You can't. You won't.

"Beg for it, princess" he tries again. "Let me hear you"

You shake your head. You're playing difficult, but Eddie likes a challenge.

"No? You're not gonna beg for me? Alright princess, you know what I'm gonna do?" he pauses to think. "I'm gonna make you cum so fast on my tongue you'll be embarrassed, and then you'll know how much of a desperate slut you can be for me"

You want to laugh and tell him off, but you are so intrigued by his confidence at the same time. You settle for a defiant look thrown at him, he catches it and smirks again. Something tells you you'll be seeing that smirk quite a lot tonight.

He unhooks your bra and throws it somewhere in the room, he squeezes your tits and caresses your nipples making a mental note to keep playing with them later. His hands travel down to your pants which are the next item being thrown away inside the room.

He takes a second to admire the view of you only on those white panties and he feels his cock jump. He proceeds to take your underwear off too, but this item is put inside his back pocket.

He puts your legs over his shoulders and lowers to be closer to your pussy. He bites his lip admiring how fucking pretty and perfect it looks. He wastes no more time and dives in.

He licks it and kisses it and sucks on it drunk on your taste. He fucking makes out with your clit and has you meowing and arching back like a damn cat.

His hands grab your thighs so hard he's probably leaving marks there too. He sighs and hums and laughs against your pussy hearing your pretty moans.

He looks up at you as you look down at him and you both feel like you could just cum at the sight alone. Your cheeks blushed, eyes watery, hair a mess, lips swollen and little moans are still coming out of them. He looks up at you while still sucking on your clit so fucking good. His eyes are covered by his bangs so you reach to move them to the side. His puppy eyes look straight at you, his hair is also a mess, and his hands are gripping you with so much force his skin as well as yours becomes whiter. And his rings feel cold and addictive against you.

You try to fight your orgasm but looking at him makes it impossible. It hits all throughout your body so good that you cry out his name as you pull on his hair.

As you catch your breath, he sits up and washes all your wetness off his face with the back of his hand, all that with a big smirk on so proud of himself.

"Still doubting me?"

You grunt, annoyed, and bring him closer. You pull his shirt over his head and take a second to admire his bare chest and arms covered in tattoos. You unbutton and unzip his pants. He's just watching you act so desperate for him to undress, enjoying every second of it like the cocky motherfucker he can be.

"Need help?" he whispers on your ear, and you nod with a pout. He stands up and takes his pants of slowly.

"These too?" he asks, signalling his boxers. You nod as you feel even hotter paying attention to the big tent he has on them.

He puts them down too, standing up proudly as you look at his big cock. "Half inch you said?" he teases you, and you look up at him as if telling him to shut the fuck up.

You sit up facing his dick. You grab it gently as you keep looking at it. How is it so... pretty? How the fuck does Eddie manages to be pretty everywhere. Even what you thought could not be pretty. He manages to make it look beautiful.

A mischievous thought crosses your mind. And you start leaving some kisses on the tip. Even a lick here and there.

He gasps unexpectedly. You put the tip in your mouth, moving your tongue around it. He lets out a little moan. You look up at him, he's already looking at you. And you proceed to slowly put all of it in your mouth while maintaining eye contact. His tip touches your throat, and you have to fight a gag. You still have a full fist grabbing the rest that didn't fit your mouth. He moans again at your little show. You close your eyes and start moving your head up and down. Eddie moans louder this time, and hands stop your movements.

"As much as I enjoy this, princess, and I really fucking am" he lets you know. "I want to cum once I'm inside of your perfect little pussy, can I?"

You take him out of your mouth with a 'pop' at the end and look at him defiantly once again. "Beg for it" you challenge him feeling proud of yourself.

He laughs. "Are you seriously telling me to beg for it while you're still practically on your knees for me?"

You won't let him win this one, so you lay back again resting on your elbows. "Beg for it"

He takes a big breath in ogling over all of your body on display for him and only him. He'll let you win this one because his dick is throbbing at the sight before him.

His hands travel up your legs and your hips to your waist. "Please, princess" he says once his face is closer to yours.

"Please, let me fuck you so good" he starts humping his dick against your pussy which makes you both gasp.

"Please, please, please" he kisses your cheek to sugar-coat you.

"Eddieee" you move your pelvis up and down against him. "Do it, put it in"

And he wastes no time to do so. Pushing his tip inside and you both gasp. He bites his lip and thrusts to enter you completely.

"Oh, fuck" your head is thrown back and you lay back down. He feels so big and so fucking good in you.

"Mhh, fuck princess" he lowers his body to be chest to chest with you. "You feel so good baby, so tight around me"

You have to bite your tongue to stop you from moaning his name, you can't keep inflating his ego.

"Don't get all quiet now. You're always talking and the one time I wanna hear you..." he teases you.

"Earn it" you manage to get out. It's ironic how your lips are almost bleeding from how hard you're biting on them to stop you from moaning as hard as you want to, but you still tell him to fuck you better.

Eddie knows what you're doing, but he likes playing with you too. So he accepts the challenge.

He gets up on his knees against the bed and takes your legs to pull you closer to him. You instantly wrap them around his hips. He wraps a hand around your throat and he looks like he's about to say something, but instead, he enters you again. A moan escapes from your mouth instantly, and you see his big smirk back.

He starts a hard and fast pace with his thrusts as you hear his sighs against your ear. You can't help the whines and moans that escape you now. Your hands go to his back scratching him, and pulling at his hair, but it only makes him moan harder.

He lowers his head to your breasts once again and keeps kissing them as he fucks you. You arch back again, because you can feel him everywhere. And he feels so so good.

He feels you clench around his dick and he thinks he could just cum right now. So he starts playing with your clit with his fingers.

"Eddiee... 'm so closee" you whine pulling him somehow even closer.

"Yeah? You are?" you nod desperately. "Beg for it" he whispers and smirks right after saying it.

You roll your eyes but it doesn't take much to convince you this time.

"Please, Eddie," he was about to tell you that you can do better, but beat him to it. "Please baby, you feel so good inside of me, so big. Eddie, please"

Eddie has to stop himself from cuming -which he almost does. "Cum for me, baby"

And you do. Your orgasm hits even harder than the first one. You gasp and whine without even thinking about it.

Few seconds after that, Eddie can't take it anymore. He feels you clench even harder while you cum and it becomes too much. So he lets go too while moaning your name against your skin.

You take a few seconds to catch your breaths when you feel Eddie pull out —and after admiring how his cum drips out of your pussy— he gets up, puts on his boxers and goes to the bathroom, only to come back with a wet towel to clean you up. To say he surprised you again was an understatement. Who would have thought he would be so careful?

After you go to the bathroom as well —with wobbly legs Eddie smirks about— and change into some comfy clothes, you both lay down. No wall pillow this time. And are quick to fall asleep after all the exercise you did today.

The next morning wasn’t so sweet. Loud knocking on your bedroom’s door accompanied a loud Robin telling you to get up already.  

Waking up all curled up with him was bound to happen. But if someone would have told you yesterday morning that today you would be waking up with Eddie Munson spooning you, you would have laughed at their face.

But here you are, and to be honest, it had been a while since you slept so peacefully.

You feel him groaning against the skin of your shoulder, holding you tighter.

You slowly opened your eyes to accustom to the light.

“Did you end up killing each other last night?! Answer me!” Robin shouts again from the other side of the door.

“Certainly feels like it” Eddie murmurs and laughs at his own joke.

“We’re awake! Calm down!” you let her know.

“We have to leave so then we can breakfast, so hurry up!” she lets you know.

You get up and start tiding up. Eddie is slower, he sits on the bed barely opening one eye to look at you and smiles. “Good morning, princess”

You look at him and a little smirk escapes from your lips. “Hey” you greet him shyly.

You both start changing to get down and tidy everything down. After you both brush your teeth, you go to pick up your backpack but he stops you to pull you in close to him.

“Good morning” he says again with his face close to yours while he pulls a strand of your hair behind your ear. Then he proceeds to kiss you, sweetly this time. Which warms your heart. You kiss him back playing with his hair once again.

“Hi, Munson” you say sweetly against his lips.

“You look beautiful in the morning” he admits but before you can even react, the knocking on your door is back.

“Okay! Okay! We’re coming!” Eddie stops them. “Jesus”

After getting down, you were waiting for them to explain where you would be having breakfast but as soon as they see you they start looking at you funny.

“What?” Eddie asks being as confused as you but they all start laughing.

“What is going on?” you ask again.

“Are we just gonna pretend like nothing happened?” Jonathan asks now.

“Yeah, were you gonna act like you still hate each other today?” Steve teases.

And you understand all the laughter. You and Eddie look at each other surprised and apparently this is also very funny because they start laughing again.

“Oh fuuuck” Jonathan starts mocking the way Eddie sounded last night also acting like moaning your name.

“Oh Eddie, so close!” Steve joins him acting like you.

Your face is as red as a tomato right now and you feel like you could just die, it would be better than taking whatever this is. You hide your face in Eddie’s shoulder after he just rolls his eyes fighting another smirk.

He laughs at you, put stills hugs you.

“You wanted us to like each other…” He defends you two.

“Yeah, apparently you took that very literal” Robin teases after catching her breath.

[anniflamma]

So I’ve received a couple of anonymous messages telling me that they were really disappointed in me for liking Elian's Antinous fanart. Instead of answering them individually, I’m just going to make an angry rant post instead. Most of if probably won't make sense anyway.

This post have talk about SA, and homophobia. Be aware. I don’t ship genuinely Telemachus and Antinous, if that’s what you’re wondering. I didn’t even consider the possibility that ship could even exist. At the end of the day, I don't care about that ship.

And do you want me to explain that I know SA is bad? Or that I’m aware Telemachus/Antinous is a toxic ship? Do you think I’m dumb and don’t know that? You don't have to explain to me either, I know that SA is bad, I have experienced it, you don't have to explain to me, trust me I know.

I like Elian's art because it’s really beautiful. Her work is a huge inspiration and encouragement for me when making animatics. But do I REALLY have to spell out, word for word, that I know Antinous is an antagonist and tries to do bad things? Does it mean every time someone draws Antinous and I like it, I have to explain that I like the drawing because it’s well done, not because I support Antinous’ intent toward Penelope and wants to kill Telemachus?

I mean, I’ve seen tons of thirsty comments like, "I hate how Zeus treats women, but your design is really hot" or "Even if Poseidon SA Demeter, this Poseidon I'd go down on all fours for!"

I have seen some stuff….

I guess I could just imitate something like that????

But I know it’s a joke and I know its a fantasy that someone is expressing. Its not real, its fictional. I know all those thirsty ppl who simp over Poseidon, Zeus, or even Antinous aren’t supporting hatred and violence toward women. And yes, I am expecting that you should already know this too. Because if we gonna assume the worst of ppl… Then everyone who likes Greek myth/Epic the musical are pro SA. "Do you like Crice from Epic the musical? That means that you support her actions, you support SA!" "Oh you like Odysseus?! He killed a baby and all of his female slaves cuz they got SA by the suitors! You support infanticide, slavery and SA!" Do you hear how dumb that sounds? To be honest, I wouldn’t be that surprised if there are some who think like this. I mean, this discussion wouldn’t even be a thing, right.

And if you don’t know, I literally make thirst art of Poseidon (and that includes Zeus and Hermes), and you don’t see it as a bad thing??? It’s Poseidon… Do you know what he has done to women in the myths?!

Im going to ramble here and I will bring up stories from greek myth that have SA in it. So be aware.

One example is the story of Caeneus. When Caeneus was a woman, his parents left him to take care of the house while they were out running errands. Poseidon took that as an opportunity to break into the house and sexually assault him. This is probably the only myth where Poseidon actually feels bad after what he did, so he grants Caeneus a wish. Aww, how sweet~~~ /sarcasm.

Do I need to give an example of Zeus? We all know what Zeus does. But hey, I’ve made Poseidon/Hermes ship art. And guess what? There’s a story where Hermes breaks a woman’s leg so she can’t run away from him, and then he sexually assaults her. Isn’t that cute~~! /sarcasm

Heck, I can even go on with my biblical ships. David/Jonathan—David, a serial assaulter and murderer, and Jonathan, a mass murderer. But do I support their actions? No, I do not support mass murder, and its really dumb that I have to spell it out for you.

Daniel/Darius is even questionable too! It's literally a king and his servant, and that power imbalance is so big I don’t know what to tell you! Do I have to spell it out that I know that, in real life, king/servant relationships aren’t cute at all?!

All of these characters that I’ve listed have done or represent horrible things. And I have to tell you that I don't support their actions?! Really? You really can't think outside the box?

But do you see what I’m trying to tell you? We can simp over other ancient mythological figures but Antinous is the red line that we can never cross??? It’s hypocritical and immature, that’s what it is.

Right now, ppl loves the Ody seduces Zeus art I made. And that "ship" is well really questionable too! But nobody have called me a witch and tries to burn me at the stake yet. 😐

And the thing is, I can separate these fictional characters from the real world. I can also separate the fictional material from other fictional interpretations. Exemple, I like The Song of Achilles, in it, they are the same age, but I am also aware that in the Iliad, Achilles is 16 and Patroclus is 26. But do I automatically assume that Madeline Miller likes teens? No! Do I assume that everyone who likes The Song Of Achilles like that shit? No!

But we still can have a disscussion about it without making it into a witch trial.

As long as we can separate different fictional materials, then everything is fine. It only becomes a problem if a person can’t separate them. Then we have a problem. I can acknowledge that my depiction of King David from the bible is not the same as from the original story and that he is horrible person towards women. If I couldn't acknowledge that, then its bad! The same goes for Antinous if someone makes an AU or headcanon about him. If someone want so make AUs about Antinous, my first thoughts isnt "Oh they like to SA ppl!". At the end of the day, this is just a group from tiktok who didn’t like a toxic ship and decided to bully an artist while acting like they have superior morals.

And I get this type of shit from christians when I make my queer bible interpitations, both from those that don't like the queer stuff but also those that points out that David and Jonathan were horrible ppl.

So I rarely answer comments like this because they usually end up spewing beliefs filled with homophobia and Islamophobia. Heck rasism sometimes, apparently, Christians don’t know that the Bible takes place in the Middle East, and they are angry at me for drawing them looking like Arabs! I just delete their comments before they gets there. Making queer biblical animatics on TikTok that go viral on the Christian side is not fun at all guys....

And hate to say it but tiktok Epic fans sound really similar. You are acting like you’re on a pedestal, holier than thou. Its just a different font.

+ I haven’t forgotten all those homophobic comments I got on my David/Jonathan animatic that I posted right after my Ruthlessness animatic. Epic fans were saying they didn’t want “that gay shit” and wanted to see more Epic stuff. Hate to break it to you all, but the Epic fandom isn’t that innocent.

[ilyhaitanii]

truth vs. fiction — sylus (l&ds)

sfw. mentions of biting and suggestive content, slight angst at the end, v much my own headcanons of sylus bcos im delusional, reader is unaware of his occupation

“are you alright?” sylus’s voice has a slight rasp to it as he leans his head down to brush his lips against yours. skin flushed with his and with your bodies connected, you can feel sylus’s heart beating rapidly. you barely muttering out a weak affirming noise before sylus lays you down on the mattress.

your skin melts into the soft black silks of his bedroom, exhaustion dragging you down into the pits of slumber. sylus’s voice brings you back,

“don’t fall asleep just yet,” he says, thumbs brushing against the indent in your shoulder. there’s a soft throbbing sensation in your shoulder from his teeth marking you. as you peel your eyes open, you notice the slight furrow in his brows for a split second, but then it’s gone. “it won’t hurt tomorrow,” sylus’s voice quivers. were you anyone else you wouldn’t have noticed it, but being sylus’s lover you’re able to decipher his emotions far too easily.

your manage to wrap your arms around his shoulders, dragging him down into the bed with you. uncharacteristically gentle, sylus makes sure to press a kiss to your wound and any marks messily darted around your neck.

it’s moments like these you wonder if sylus is truly the man he appears to be. when basking in his bed, warm bodies pressing together, you wonder if he truly is as harsh and mean as some of the helpers around your penthouse state. is really that mean?

the man who kneels down to tie your shoes or places your foot on his pants to buckle your heels. the very same man who makes it a habit to cook fresh pasta once a week. sylus, the man who without a doubt has protected you from any— and all— harm. is that truly the nature of a cruel man? is it all fake? does his love for you only go as far as appearances or does he truly-

“what are you so distracted by?” there’s a sharp tone in his voice, possibly annoyance. (it’s not, being far too cooped up in your head does this to you. “if i was angry at you, you would know, darling” sylus would reiterate this phrase to you every time you came to him, trembling and sobbing with anxiety.)

you turn over to look at him, brushing soft silver locks away from his face. his darker eyebrows and soft stubbles rub against the tips of your fingers and the palms of your hands. you shake your head, tongue feeling far too heavy to speak.

sylus collects you into his arms, cheek pressed against his beating heart. perhaps you should save these thoughts for another day. sylus leans his head down, thumb and pointer finger tilting your chin up.

“look at me,” sylus commands, and you oblige. your lashes flutter at the sight of him and your cheeks flush. he smiles every so slightly before leaning down to press a soft kiss on your lips. there’s a slight syrupy taste on his tongue that you think comes from you.

perhaps you should abandon those thoughts entirely. allow them to fade into the background of your mind as you distract yourself into the scent and feel of your lover’s skin against your own. perhaps another day you will think about this and investigate further. perhaps you will found out the dark truth of who sylus truly is.

but until then, you think about his hands kneading the yellow-hued pasta dough, his fingers brushing against your ankles, his chest pressed against your shoulders as he shields you from the harmful words of others, his lips against yours as he mumbles sweet words into your skin.

perhaps there’s no reason to even leave your little bubble of paradise. but, as the saying goes: nothing lasts forever.

© ilyhaitanii - do not repost, translate, plagiarize

[sunboki]

⎯ SUMMER SOLACE. a StrayKids fiction

Stray Kids x implied! fem. reader (no poly)

TROPE. friends to lovers (not really lovers, more just strangers to friends), summerschool! au, reader is in student council as class prez

WORD COUNT. 12.6k words

PLAYLIST.

WARNINGS. cursing, very troubled childhoods, han lacks parental figures, minho’s mother passed, bullies, evidence of physical violence, mentions of depression & anxiety, just overall very angsty themes, healing, sadness, comfort comfort comfort — ALL OF THE ISSUES/TROUBLES OF CHARACTERS ARE 100% FICTION

AUG'S NOTES. i hope whatever you’re going through works out in the end, and that reading this very indulgent fic can help heal a part of you and get you through summertime sadness — inspiration for the fic came from this!

SYNOPSIS. It was never your intention to be the one in charge of a summer school class—a troubled summer school class, but here you were. Eight boys in this classroom, all with their individual stories and silenced opinions. And somehow, you can’t find it in yourself to give up on them.

or alternatively :

Eight kids, one purpose. Get them to be okay with one another — with themselves — by the end of the summer.

Eight kids, one purpose.

Get them to be okay with one another.

Although, you didn’t realize that yet. That your Class President position would throw you right into such a mess (or what you referred to it as the first time you got word).

We all have the things we hate. The things we say we “heavily dislike”. But in reality, we hate it. It incessantly grates our nerves, has our patience forming into a ticking pipe bomb, enough that sometimes, we explode. Say things we don’t mean, get angry, get mad. 

The thing that sets these boys apart, according to the acknowledgements paper you were given, is that they don’t even try to be sweet, they don’t ask for forgiveness. Not towards one another, and most certainly not towards anything else. 

Your job is just as you said. Get them to be okay with one another. 

Catch? There’s a time limit. 

Twelve weeks of summer school. 

Twelve weeks for eight boys to, no, not be nice to each other, not be best friends (not even friends), but just to be okay with being in the same room, be within six feet of each other without tearing someone’s throat — or their own — out.

Is it simple? Absolutely not. 

You want to try though, because up till now, everyone has given up on these boys. People that the school district have deemed always successful have pushed them aside, called them impossible. 

You won’t be the next to give up. 

Twenty chairs in the classroom, yet not two sit next to each other, spaced out by at least three chairs per person. 

Your roster sits upon your desk, listing their names by alphabetical order. 

(Sitting on the furthest end of the classroom) Bahng, Christopher - nickname: Chan

He’s a football player (god knows how), who, despite hardly showing up to practices and arriving to random games—is always responsible for their wins. In some way you’re sure that’s the only reason he hasn’t been kicked off. 

Christopher’s an interesting case. 

He’s got amazing grades and passes school without fail, but no one has any clue about his home situation or whether he even has a home or not. You’re told he’s extremely distant and closed off, sort of void to life. He was sent due to excessive absences.

2. (Planted dead front of the class) Han, Jisung 

His record states he’s been sent to the counselor eleven times in the first two weeks of school for disruptions and inappropriate behavior. Jisung has an older brother who’s valedictorian, but they never speak to one another and don’t seem to have the best relationship. He’s said to be obnoxiously straight-forward and senseless, you wonder if it’s true.

3. (Nearest to the window on your right) Hwang, Hyunjin

Despite his popular facade, Hyunjin is regarded as the “troublesome face-card” by many deans and counselors alike. Students adore his looks, but he couldn’t butt heads more with Jisung, and they’re often sent out together. Hyunjin is believed to have a worrisome superiority complex according to the last counselor he’s been seen by.  

4. (Opposite of Hyunjin across the classroom) Kim, Seungmin

Not much has been recorded as far as Seungmin goes. He’s apparently a huge instigator in lots of illegal activity surrounding campus, but no one’s certain. His last counselor claimed he stayed silent throughout his consultation and answered suspiciously vague for almost every question. 

5. (A few seats behind Jisung) Lee, Felix

Both him and Christopher have been reported for vandalizing parts of the school in odd, incomprehensible words like “Miroh” and “Maze of Memories”. Some gossip that they’re secretly a part of an underground gang. But upon first glance, Felix looks harmle—

A hand raising grabs your attention. It’s Jisung, wearing a grin when you nod for him to speak. 

“How much for a tit-pic, Teach?”

Everyone is silent, and you hear Hyunjin stifle a snicker in the distance. 

So this is what they meant by inappropriate behavior.

The corner of your lips twitch slightly, but you successfully maintain an unnerved expression, instead, smiling back at him. 

“Let’s not ask questions like that, alright?”

Jisung amusedly huffs, still eyeing you incredulously. Although, he doesn’t say any more, and you continue down the roster’s descriptions.

Lee Minho whose info is conspicuously sparse , Seo Changbin who lashes out randomly without clear conscience (some claim he’s bipolar, you think different), and Yang Jeongin remain, bio’s dotted in unspecified theft attempts, assumed messy family situations and brief mentions of mental illness that seems to a follow a similar pattern to the rest. 

Stacking the papers upon your desk, you card eight sheets of notebook paper from the drawer, walking through rows of desks to pass each boy a slip. 

All eyes are on you now, and your breathing feels excessively loud in the stifling quietness. 

Lightly clapping your hands together in hopes of stirring some sort of sound in this stale air, you speak as fluidly and audibly as your voice will let you. 

“Today’s assignment is simple. I want you to write everything about yourself.”

Confused brows lift, primarily from Minho.

“Whether it’s what you like to do, what you don’t like to do, your favorite things, your favorite places, books, movies.”

Another hand raises. Changbin, you remember his name.

“Yes?”

“We’re not in fifth fuckin’ grade.” He growls, words booming. That was another complaint: Changbin’s explosively unprovoked opinions. 

Biting back the urge to snap back, you place both hands on the podium at the front of the class, essentially grounding yourself. 

“Yes, well this is—“ 

Somebody grumbles an incoherent sentence, and Changbin is immediately on his feet, chair squealing, eyes wild with fury. 

Second complaint: his flaming temper. 

Grabbing a fistful of Chan’s shirt (presumably the one who muttered), he sizes up the taller boy, spitting wild curses.

Inhaling deeply, you approach them, withholding the instinct to wince at Changbin’s yelling. 

“Changbin, please go back to your seat,” You usher, watching them never take their eyes off one another. Chan is eerily unmoved, though effortlessly intimidating nevertheless. 

The former spins around, shoving the other boy off to the side and resorting to sizing you up now, chin lifted, gaze belittling. 

One press and you’ll have assistance come in and help. You remind yourself, referring to the small red button residing in your pocket that sends a direct call to the other counselors. 

What good will that do? Your first step is getting them to be okay with you, not to mention each other.

No. You can do this, you’ll be fine. 

“Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?” He spits, glaring as you back up the more he steps forward. That is till you stop and cause him to stop as well, leaving only a few centimeters separating your faces. 

“Because,” You ease, shoving a finger into the center of his chest sternly. “I’m your teacher now, and you’re stuck with me. So deal with it.” 

Tilting your head, you meet his eyes, hooded behind a veil of black hair. 

“I’m sure a fifth grader could understand that, right?”

And with that, you point to his seat and spin on your heel, taking a seat and watching the boys, one by one, lower their heads and begin writing. Well, excluding Changbin, who’s hands stick by his sides, staring at you. 

He chews his lip then turns around, shuffling back to his desk. 

By the time the dismissal bell echoes, you would like to say you see light in the distance, but the endless tunnel ahead tells you you’re far from even beginning.

Glasses propped on the bridge of your nose, you sort through the papers, carefully observing each one.

It’s a Friday evening, meaning you’re given a meager two days to inhale as much information as possible for the approaching week. 

There’s a variety of answers on the papers, from some stating only a song they like or others more of a list-type structure. Felix apparently bakes in his free time and has two sisters while Jeongin plays piano. Although, a certain paper in particular stands out to you. 

Han’s.

Only his name is written, nothing else. You’re not sure if it’s a matter of his laziness or carelessness toward the assignment, but clear as day, dead center of his paper, is simply his name. 

You at least anticipated some kind of response, like an offensive joke or something, but no. Just: Han Jisung.

Interesting.

A sudden buzzing redirects your attention. It’s from Chaeryoung, cheerily asking about how the first day went along with spilling details about her own day as well. 

So far, things are going well. So far. 

Not permanent. Just like how you haven’t permanently tamed the beast named Changbin. 

And, although you hate such a mindset, realistically, it’s only a matter of time until something goes wrong. 

“Chae,” You echo, the faint rustling of your papers sounding on your side of the line. She hums.

“What do you think about this one.”

A grunt of acknowledgement is heard.

You sidle to another sheet; Han’s will have to wait for another occasion.

“Hwang Hyunjin. Said to be trouble-some, argues a lot, apparent superiority complex.”

Although your senior, Chaeryoung has always been a helping hand—a soul to rely on through the rocky periods, your rocky periods.  

“Hmm..” She considers, seeming to weigh the matter for a moment. “Have you seen his grades?”

Odd question.

“Straight A student according to his records.”

Impressive. Each quarter, top-scores. 

Well, it makes sense for the superiority portion in the case he uses his grades to hang over others heads, but the rest is strange, making it unusual for him to behave so brashly.

Or, maybe it wasn’t unusual, but overlooked.

As if reading your mind, she utters the same words you’d planned to.

“Anxiety?”

Said in unison, you both burst into laughter. Her blindingly bright laugh sends warmth throughout your stomach, easing the droning headache building between your temples. 

Hours you’ve spent glaring at the same papers, determined to locate something, anything as a way to help them. A problem to find a solution.

Yet, each case was different—personal to each boy in a sense you couldn’t assign an overall solution.

Instead, you pinpointed one case at a time. 

Starting with Hwang Hyunjin.

However, his wasn’t an easy fix. As a high school student, it was virtually impossible to “fix” anxiety (if that was even the issue at hand at all).

Everyone had it in their system. Upcoming tests, pressure. 

It was also impossible to really “fix” anybody generally, meaning, more or less, you had to find a way to help them want to help themselves.

With Hwang Hyunjin though, his, stated in the page’s description saying: Cares little to nothing about grades, wasn’t a testing anxiety of a sort, but maybe a tad bit deeper, barely visible without a sharper, clearer lense. 

“Send me a pic of the sheet, can you?” She begins, startling the hypothesizing from your mind. 

Again, an odd question, but you oblige, swiping off the calling tab to snap a quick picture. 

A long silence situates itself between you, presumably Chaeryoung investigating his information.

Strangely, you feel like a detective. Climbing skyscrapers to find a solution to a problem nobody addressed until it became horridly powerful—possessing, now fallen in your hands to solve. 

You refused to let their problems ruin them. And although becoming a illegitimate teacher wasn’t the plan for your senior year, you doubt you could back away at this point, not when you had already unearthed the treasure chest.

Last step was finding the key.

Well, detectives are equipped with a magnifying glass for a reason, right?

…

“… His drawings are pretty good?”

Then do you notice the doodles in the far corner of his introductory paper, a flower, a few butterflies, and a dog.. of a sort. Chihuahua-looking. 

“C’mon Chaeryoung, take this seriously,” Lightly scolding, you sigh, wetting your lips whilst flipping to the back of the page. 

It’s a quick script of things he enjoys, accounts from students he knows or that know him, overall containing an overview of his person. 

Hyunjin gets in lots of arguments with Han Jisung. 

You know that much. 

Your finger slips down the page, scouring each sentence.

XXXX: Hyunjin likes drawing. I’ve seen him drawing at his desk before. 

Baseless information, the doodles prove that—

Hold on. 

“Chae, when you’re anxious, do you have a reliever? Like doing something, listening to something?”

She chuckles, clattering of dishes in the background causing you to cringe slightly.

“Dancing, you know this. I’m not going to Hanlim Art School for nothing.” Teasingly voiced, you frown, deciding not to egg on her sarcasm.

“Then do you think, where it says he gets in arguments a lot, he’s projecting that anxiety when arguing because he doesn’t have a reliever?”

She clicks her tongue.

“Could be. But we don’t really know Hyunjin, yeah? It could be something deeper Y/nnie. You can’t look surface level when it comes to these guys.”

You sigh, rolling back your shoulders.

“You’re right, but I’m still gonna try it. I need to get through to him that I want to help him somehow, so I might as well exhaust all my options.”

You can’t look surface level when it comes to these guys. A phrase truthful to its fullest extent. 

“…Try what?”

Ah, you forgot to mention that part.

“Drawing. I’m gonna try convincing him to give it a chance.”

The stunned silence tells you she’s likely thinking you’re crazy, her only response a breath of disbelief.

You smile.

“I’m insane, I know.”

“No wonder we’re best friends.”

Staring daggers at the papers in front of you, you prop your feet on the desk, sorting through option after option on what you plan next for class.

In the midst of learning more about each boy’s papers though, you overhear something, a few key words.

Friday. Fair.

Aha. 

The school’s annual summer fair, held as a congratulatory sort of event to celebrate moving onto a new year of school.

It’s decided. Friday, you’re taking them to the fair.

Mentally thanking whoever had brought it up outside the classroom, you’re quick in crumpling the additional papers, watching as one by one, the boys enter.

Hey, at least none of them are late.

…Not like they had a choice in that anyway.

And, through a rather painfully awkward second time teaching, the ice seems to be breaking little by little.

Any progress is good progress, you’ve deemed.

“Alright, before you’re dismissed, I wanna let you know we’re going to the fair Friday. Be there.” You hum, tapping the podium.

You swear there hasn’t been a more stifling pause in your life.

Though you’d been anticipating something adverse, this is a downright oddity.

“Uh.. what?” Han speaks up as you near the door. Morbidly quiet.

“All of you, meet me at the grounds at 7pm.”

Added into the deplorable silence, you glance over your shoulder whilst stepping into the hallway, face donning a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. “Okay, class dismissed.”

Beginning out the sliding door, the eruption of voices behind you cascade into a multitude of conversation, your clarification they had in fact heard and you weren’t discussing plans with a brick wall.

All you can do is hope they show up.

Class continues through the week, trying to get them to grow more comfortable with the atmosphere—their classmates, more specifically.

Of course, you earn your fair share of close calls and near incidents in those four days leading to Friday, but seeing the whole group turn up that fateful evening seems to make the ordeal worthwhile.

Quick to move your separate ways, you’re hasty in tagging along with Hyunjin, the boy unusually quiet as you fall into step to his right.

“So.. you draw?” You start, scorning the nervousness evident in your tone.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t interject, nor bite back something as his infograph had led you to believe.

“Yeah,” He sharply replies, eyes trained ahead, taking swift, motivated steps through heavily trodden grass.

It confuses you, in all honesty. Everything about this so-called ‘superiority complex’. From these few days you’ve seen him or interacted (though fleeting), not once has the man exhibited any form of arrogance nor shed of his assumed traits.

He’s shy, actually. Maybe you’re simply gracing surface level like Chaeryoung advised, but certain aspects could be seen in the black of night.

“Y’know, you’re pretty good.”

Despite his lack of response, you can feel his eyes dance to your face for a split second. 

“‘Think you should try it. You’ve got potential, just saying,” You shrug, merely talking without reason nor inhibition.

“You think?”

It’s his voice breaking through your barrier of unrequited cordiality that stirs the air. A final, conversational pair of words after watching him play countless fairground games in quietness.

“I do,” You hum, nodding avidly while watching Hyunjin’s eyes flicker down to the ground below before back to yours, holding eye-contact.

In those moments, you decipher two things.

Hyunjin rivals the prettiest of paintings, and whatever earlier assumptions had been stuck to his tanned skin couldn’t be more wrong. 

“Yo! If you’re just gonna stand there, move it!”

Changbin’s interjection successfully scares the living soul out of you and simultaneously wrecks your intense staring session.

Nevertheless, it’s hard even for you to explain how you ended up competing against the boisterous boy in ball toss, only that you find yourself wanting to tattoo the sight of Hyunjin laughing and Changbin shouting with defeat beneath your eyelids forever.

Granted a gift upon winning, you snag a snorlax plush amongst the scattered options hanging at the top of the booth, presenting it to the him with a smile.

“Huh?” Changbin grunts, head tilted, gazing at you as if you’ve spawned two heads.

“Take it, ‘s for you,” You urge, surveying the boy’s tentative touch against the plush’s soft fur with evident glee.

Still pouty, yes, but you take the sight of the stuffie held in his arms while the three of you walk back as a victory. 

After a quick stop by a corn dog stand, you lean against the food truck’s side, wordless as Changbin and Hyunjin head off their own ways — the only trace of familiarity near you being someone clearing their throat.

Off to the side stands Chan, quietly sparing you not-so-sneaky glances, his hands stuffed in his black jogger’s pockets. 

You cock your brows, head tipped as if silently asking: “What?”

“Waiting for you,” Is his reply, and it catches you off guard at the consideration in those syllables. 

Not that you envisioned Chan as someone cold, but you certainly weren’t expecting him to wait for you while you ate.

Granting the boy a tiny smile of gratitude, you find yourself unconsciously gravitating his way, stuck in an orbital pattern of continuous voyage, indifferent to moving away.

“Chris is an interesting name,” You offer, aimlessly walking past endless booths, people.

“From Australia,” He speaks. Short and straight to the point, yet lacking any hostility. 

“Yeah? Why’d you move?” 

Ushering him on carefully, you manage to tiptoe a bit into foreign territory, navigating rows of traps and ambushes ahead.

“There’s nothing for me back there apart from my family.” His shoes, caked in mud, shuffle to a halt, gaze trained upward toward the constantly reeling Ferris Wheel.

Almost instantly, you can sense a shift in demeanor. It nearly makes your hair stand up on end, specifically upon seeing the hint of vulnerability shed across his face.

Maybe you’re seeing things.

“I’m just.. here. Like I work so hard for a something I’ll never have.”

His nose scrunches, beautifully glossy brown irises reflecting the blinking lights. Red, blue, green, yellow, all encompassed in those eyes.

No, this is all real.

The sight steels you a bit.

After a moment, you nudge his shoulder, his head finally turning to look at you. 

“I don’t think I’m really the greatest to talk to when it comes to this but, Chan, you have to live without a purpose.”

You inhale deeply.

“Because if you keep trying to find a reason for everything-“

The shouting of an oh-so skillful interruption known as Changbin calling your name in the distance temporarily cuts you off.

“You’ll never be satisfied with a reality that won’t change unless you do, with this life.” 

For Chan, no place like home only applied when he had a place to call home. As for now, he was a wanderer. 

That, or inches from deluding himself into a comfortable, insufficient reality instead.

Making believe until something becomes real.

“Do you think it’ll be okay?”

His words catch you off guard, and you sort of stare for a moment, holding his gaze as if looking away means your demise.

For a second, you wonder if every boy’s eyes are this captivating.

Hyunjin, now Chan.

“I do,” You whisper, voice hardly audible amidst the bustling fairground.

His lips quirking into a smile serve as your indication he heard, and he reaches a hand up to gently sweep a strand of hair from your face behind your ear.

Again, unexpected, not disliked.

“Live on, yeah?” Chan hums, lifting his pinky for you to take with a mirrored grin, emotion buried within his dark chocolate pools for eyes you fear to unearth.

Maybe that’s something irrevocably agreed upon.

Live on.

It seems so, even when you regroup with an avidly boastful Changbin barking over who won at a rifle booth against him and Han. Agreed in the pinkies still intertwined behind your backs, in the shared smiles he gives you here and there as the night continues.

“Say, what is it with the both of you?”

Sidled between Han and Hyunjin on the walk back to campus, you find the question slipping from your lips before thinking.

Hyunjin grunts, and Han shrugs.

Children, you swear.

“Constantly biting at each other’s throats, yeah?” You huff, arms crossing.

Glancing over at Hyunjin after neither boy decides to respond, you raise a brow.

“As your teacher, I’m gonna assign something,” You begin, glaring at the tiny scoff Han resounds when you try using an authoritative tone.

“Next time you see each other, try to be nice.”

Another silence.

“I’m dead serious.”

“Y/N-“ Han starts, quickly silenced by your lifted hand.

“No buts. Do it, got it?” Firmly commanding, you leave no room for argument, the two responding as if it were the worst of punishments, wallowing in self pity.

Despite an onslaught of beginnings and continuations to newly opened books, you think the chapter where Hyunjin and Han sulk all the way back to campus takes the cake.

For now it does.

“I want someone to play me,” Han says, bringing the popsicle up to his lips. 

The sun beats onto their skin, warm rays causing a scrunch to appear between his brows.

In an attempt at following your “get-along” suggestion, the two found themselves coincidentally running into each other at the nearby Supermarket after school, sparing cautious glances back and forth till someone broke the silence.

Like fate, drawn together in the ugliest of ways.

Han went first, a hesitant “hey” somehow leading to the two hunkering down on bamboo flooring with a conversation in tow. 

It’s a start.

“Play you?” Hyunjin parrots, confused.

“Yeah,” He responds, fiddling with the name tag attached to his uniform. “They say nobody knows you better than yourself, but I dunno.. I feel like I don’t know anything about me. I’m an alien to myself.” 

Jisung bunches up the wrapper, the crinkling sound rivaling screeching cicadas clinging to the trees overhead.

“I bet if I had an actor play me, I’d make a lot more sense.”

Somehow, out of all the things Han Jisung has said to him, this is the one thing Hyunjin can fully understand. 

Understand that, despite living with yourself all your life, you’re still a novice even in your own body, in need of someone to tell you about yourself, an opposing point of view to help round out the sharp corners.

That’s it. The word to describe it, how Hyunjin found himself bound to art.

Your words replay in his mind on loop.

“Think you should try it. You’ve got potential.”

Understanding.

Art, in its most frustrating, brutally painful form, allows Hyunjin to understand. Himself, his wishes, life, despair. It’s his actor. An ideal perspective responsible for clearing his conscious, a contact lense to the eyes he hadn’t realized were blurry, half-open.

“What did you write on that paper about yourself?” Hyunjin ventured, beaming sunlight cast upon long fingers that peer from the balcony’s shade, highlighting cool toned veins in an almost transparent ray.

Coins cash into the vending machine, the dull cry of birds soaring to the sky in a flurry of wings echoing in his eardrums.

“The one Y/N handed out?”

Hyunjin hums.

“My name.”

The latter’s lips quirk into a clumsy smile. 

Han Jisung, that’s all he wrote. How original of him.

Hyunjin watches an ant crawl atop a leaf, simultaneously swiping a droplet of water from the popsicle’s wrapper with his thumb. 

He tests his words.

“I want,”

A pause. 

“To add art now. To the paper, as my friend.”

Jisung purses his lips curiously, brows lifted.

However, he doesn’t pester.

“Art is your friend?”

Meeting the other boys gaze, Hyunjin finds himself, for the first time when looking at Han Jisung, smiling.

“Yeah, it is.”

. . .

“Heh. What a weirdo— YAH!”

Next Wednesday’s evening consists of a plethora of instances, some more notable to mention than others.

One, getting slammed to a wall by Changbin, and two, getting screamed at right after.

Though you weren’t aware of that yet, not when you looked up from your phone after school to see the boy storming toward you, and certainly not when you smiled, an action seeming to have provoked his hand to your collar, cornered against a wall without so much as a greeting.

“Changbin..?” You manage, slightly breathless at the impact, brows furrowed.

And instantly, listening to the words he spews, it feels as if all the progress you’d made at class—nevertheless the fair—dissolved into nothing.

Back to square one.

“Who do you think you are?” He spits, looking you up and down with a wrinkled nose. “What? You think you own the world ‘cause you’re doing something good? Helping ‘troubled’ kids?” 

Before you can interject, his grip tightens on your shirt, shaking you angrily before stopping again, darks eyes burning with nothing but rage.

“We aren’t your confidence boost, Teach, so get out of your stupid headspace. We don’t need your help and never asked for it in the first place, so get lost.”

Changbin dips dangerously close to your face, venom dripping in his tone.

“Got it?”

Using as much force as you can muster, you ram your palm against his chest, effectively pushing him off of you before slamming against his shoulder and walking away.

Halfway down the street do you stop, not daring to look back at him.

“I don’t know what makes you think I’m doing this for a confidence boost, and I’m not going to try understanding. But that gives you no right to pick me apart like you know me!” You shout, continuing to head as far as you can from him, glaring ahead.

It’s fair he got that idea. Some random student infiltrating your summer all for the sake of what? Their future? Yours? What was this for anyway? Your position as Class President using this “summer school” to make you feel better about yourself, add more to a resume? 

Plopping down at a bus stop a mile or so later, you pull your legs to your chest, rehearsing just what drove you into the mess anyway. 

You want to help them. That’s it. 

Repeating the phrase like a sacred oath, it isn’t until the burning sun’s waning scorch that you’re reminded of evening’s approach, begrudgingly lifting yourself off the now-sweaty seat.

Unbeknownst to you, Chan stood as a witness, watching either of you quarrel prior to parting, you disappearing elsewhere while Changbin remained in place, burning holes into the ground with a furious glower.

Hurriedly assessing what his first move should be (or if he should even move at all), he decides upon following you when the dark-haired boy stalks off.

“Y/n!” 

The oddly familiar voice graces your senses when you look up, pausing just outside the bus stop, earbuds dangling from your pocket. 

It’s Chan, still wearing his school uniform. 

“Oh, hey Chan.” Slapping a hopefully convincing smile on, you allow him to occupy the space to your left as you head home, entertaining his occasional questions, sentences.

You’re glad it’s Chan though. 

“Um, Chan?” You pique upon reaching your door, looking back at him, question inches from slipping off your tongue.

Has anything happened with Changbin lately?

“Yes?”

No, you can’t. 

“Never mind, um, bye!” Brushing off the thought, you give him another tight smile, waving the boy off and slipping into your home with a loud sigh.

Outside, Chan tugs his lip between his teeth, watching you debate on your words. He knows what you wanted to ask, what so obviously sat heavy on your shoulders the entire way home. 

Perhaps it’s his perception that’s gotten him this far. 

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he decides the next course of action would be locating the other half of this division. 

Unfortunately for him, Chan has no idea where he could be. The likelihood he’s home is minuscule if his hunch is right, and so, the man wracks his head for any clues.

Abruptly, a past conversation hits him.

“Have you been there? The old train station below the tunnel?”

Chan, lips pursed as he tries recalling, shakes his head.

“I like that place, ‘helps me think.”

That’s it.

Racing off despite the darkness creeping across star-splattered sky, his legs carry him as fast as possible. 

Dipping below the bridge, his skin prickles at the cold air. Minimal lighting apart from a few white beams paves a clear path to his desired individual, planted in the dead center of the platform.

“Binnie,” Chan calls. 

Only he can get away with calling Changbin “Binnie”, a nickname grown into second nature as the two grew more accustomed these past two weeks.

The boy doesn’t budge, doesn’t reply. He stands there, chin down, hands firmly bunching his pants in a tight hold.

Yet, when he looks up after a lengthy pause, Chan watches his lip quiver, watches his shoulders shake senselessly as he gradually reaches his outstretched arms.

“I.. I keep hurting so many people and.. and…it’s so lonely, why is it so lonely?” 

Without an utterance, he pushes Changbin’s head against his shoulder. 

And they hug. They hug for a long, long time. Basking there, healing there. 

Changbin cries. 

There’s a lot to cry about, a lot of things he’s needed to cry about, things he couldn’t cry about before. But he does. Tonight, in this empty train station, Changbin cries in Chan’s arms, his friends arms.

Changbin’s first friend—who smoothes messy curls down in delicate strokes, holding him dearly close. 

Chan isn’t oblivious, because in those particularly tender moments, one in specific taking place right after the fair, Changbin speaks words Chan had never heard before. 

Problems. They told each other it all. Their secrets, struggles. 

Changbin’s issues with his parents, Chan’s with his home-situation, his internal displacement.

“I know things are hard right now, but we’re going to get someplace better together, okay? We’re brothers.” Chan whispers, and his friend sniffles, nodding wordlessly.

Brothers. 

Changbin is his brother now, and no blood needs to prove that. Because in times you don’t have that family, that connection, you make it yourself.

Seungmin: Y/n, can you meet me at Gokseong Hill?

You groan picking up your phone, granted a mere thirty minutes of peace after your painful run-in with Changbin and an equally painful attempt at a conversation with Chan before your phone lights up.

Y/n: Do you plan to murder me or something?

Seungmin: I’m not as creative as Jisung, so no

You crack a smile.

Y/n: I’ll be there

Fastening a jacket over your shoulders, you lock the door behind yourself, stuffing jingling keys into your pocket.

Hey, a bit of fresh air sounds tempting.

At the peak of the hill he sits, and it’s not until you follow his upward stare that you take in the stars overhead. 

The slight altitude paves way to a more than incredible view. Countless galaxies right above your head, twinkling so brightly in the sky. Far from streetlights, from civilization. 

Your staggered breathing hiking up here proves worthwhile now.

Wordlessly plopping down beside him, you lay back, admiring.

“Do you ever wanna scream?” Seungmin reaches his hand to the sky, allowing the dark blue and black hues to waltz in his grasp.

The twinkling wonder dappled above prohibit a full view of his facial expressions, but you have an idea of how wistfully he gazes into that atmospheric abyss. Aching.

You humorlessly chuckle.

Do I ever.

“When I first met Changbin, I wanted to scream every twenty seconds.”

Seungmin laughs. Pretty.

“Guys like that do that to you.”

He curls his fingers into a fist, arm remaining outstretched. 

“Do it.”

“Hm?”

“Scream.”

He looks at you like you’re insane for a moment, then pauses, fingernails digging into the earthy soul beneath you before he screams.

Screams, louder and louder, so loud you’re surprised his lungs haven’t given up yet, surprised you haven’t laughed at how comical the entire thing is. His body practically lifts off the ground, eyes screwed shut.

Then he stops, catching his breath. 

No comments nor laughter. Quiet. 

Reaching out, you give his hand, dirty fingernails and all, an assuring squeeze.

I don’t know, but I care.

A silent utterance.

“Better?”

He nods. 

You’re next, and this time, you’re first to laugh.

As the two week mark of class is pinned, you want to give yourself a pat on the back for managing - no less surviving till now.

So, it really makes you wonder how you ended up in such a predicament.

Han Jisung, someone you never anticipated to be beside you on your Saturday, resides in the drivers seat of your parent’s car, hands sweating up nothing short of an ocean without even starting the vehicle.

Well, you are aware of how this all began, but then again, your pride wants to be salvaged, if barely.

A bit of pleading on Han’s side about his parents nagging him and a pinch of your groggy mumbling at 9am to end up here, to be exact.

“Look… About what I said the first day.. I’m really sorry about that. I shouldn’t have asked that, it was rude and- ow!”

A hard flick delivered to the boy’s forehead has his face wrinkling up, an offended expression worn on chubby cheeks.

“Yes, it was rude, and I’ll ostracize you if you ever do it again. But I forgive you, you’re welcome,” You state, arms crossed.

Han’s sheepish nod seems to be the best reply you’ll get. 

“Alright, now, shift the gear to drive.”

“…That’s ‘D’, right…?”

“You’re kidding.”

No, he wasn’t kidding, and a lesson that could’ve been an hour long turns into two and a half hours in no time.

Finally, by some miracle, you end up on the road, holding on the seat like a vice, the boy mirroring your panic with nervous jittering and random comments.

“Oh wait! Isn’t the Film Festival coming up-“

“FOCUS ON THE ROAD!”

Ah, he has the attention span of a squirrel, that too.

And if you aren’t doused in gray hairs after that you’d be surprised, Han looking just as frazzled, exiting the car with wobbly legs and wide, frazzled eyes. 

From then on out, you decide teaching the boy how to drive would have to wait.

With July days away (a miracle, you’d like to say), you bury your nose into new assignments and exercises for the class, desperately gripping onto the bits and pieces of progress you’re making.

It’s meager, and certainly not sturdy, but you’ll take what you can get. 

..Even if those hard silences are crippling.

A knock ushers you away from the barstool you perch on, cautiously peering from your front door’s tiny peephole. 

Felix.

Upon opening in the door, you first notice his raw cheeks, eyes puffy and red.

He’d been crying, unmistakably.

You don’t move away when he walks forward and presses his face against your shoulder.

“Can I stay here? I don’t want to go home tonight.” The boy whispers, and you reach a tentative hand to pat his head. 

“Of course.”

Clambering the teary boy inside, you spend a decent ten minutes helping him catch his breath and calm down a bit, not wanting to stress the poor thing out with questions.

Standing in your foyer, it’s his shaky voice piercing the air responsible for your head snapping up.

“Do you.. have brownie mix?” 

.

.

.

“He was always the fearless kid,” Felix mutters, occupying himself with folding the batter in a bowl. 

Interestingly enough, Felix is a stress baker, something of which you hadn’t realized until getting schooled on the correct ingredients to use for brownies.

The topic is Minho. Or, what Felix knew of him.

“I could never read him. I still can’t. I remember he saved this cat once and it bit him. I cried the whole way to the doctor’s office and he was the one who calmed me down instead.” 

All you can do is laugh in reply, the blond sheepishly grinning.

Licking off some brownie mix, he hands you the other whisk where you lean against the counter. 

Leaning forward to smear some of the sugary goodness on his cheek with a giggle, you adore the way his eyes light up, causing his freckles to almost glow.

If past-lives were real, you think Felix would’ve been a fairy.

“You knew Minho when you were younger?”

Felix nods.

“We met in seventh grade. Our mom’s were friends through work. Although, I don’t think he liked me very much.”

He shakes the bubbles from the cooking sheet, ensuring the edges of the pan were even. You slip past him to pre-heat the oven. 

There’s a soft chuckle on his end, and it’s not until you turn around do you see the pikachu mitten he’s quite literally critiquing with his eyeballs.

Such expressive eyes, though they’re different than Minho and Seungmin. 

While Minho has something like the atlantic ocean hidden deep behind those pupils, Seungmin is more of an open field.

Though Felix, he has stars.

So many stars, in fact, that they couldn’t possibly all fit, spreading to his face instead. Down his arms, his chest. Till all of a sudden the entire galaxy found its home in the boy standing in front of you.

“Hey, no judging,” You grin, scrutinizing his innocent shrug. 

Snatching your precious oven-mit from his fingertips to load the pan in yourself, a gasp stirs when a pair of arms winds around your middle, his chin resting upon your shoulder as you close the door and set your timer.

“Thank you.”

“Hm? What for?” Stopping your movements, you allow the boy to snuggle closer.

“For reminding me of myself. I seem to get lost in other people sometimes and forget I’m here too.” At the last part of his sentence he laughs, rocking back and forth on his heels and causing you to rock with him. 

Ten minutes or so you rock. Easy, comfortable. 

Felix gives nice hugs. His clothes are sprinkled with a strange mixture of both brownies and chocolate chip remnants he’d snuck in without your knowledge.

Comfortable.

He’s a kid who never really got the chance to grow up. The one who was constantly told he’s so mature for his age, a phrase that eventually melded so far into his brain it became second nature, gum stuck to his shoe. 

Because the kid that was so mature for his age was never asked if he needed help or if he was okay, everyone simply assumed. Even when the world came crashing down, Felix was fine. Just fine. 

Until he wasn’t, and suddenly, Felix came crashing down with the world.

“..Do you like face-masks?”

You may not be able to fix his crumbling world, but you could give him some good memories to remember it by.

Which is how you found yourself roped in your bathroom, carefully applying the charcoal face mask onto his perfect skin, unblemished and definitely not deserving of the treatment. But, like you said, memories. 

You should be off to bed, already prepping for the next morning, school. June 17th, officially seventeen days into summer school. Yet here you are, greedily shoving down brownies with a new companion, Lee Felix, on the couch while looking like utter idiots in face masks. 

After seven episodes of Gilmore Girls does he wearily rise up, beckoning you with him to wash off your skincare madness only to make an equally weary trip straight back to the living room.

“Do you think Minho likes me?” Your baking partner whispers, his head resting upon your lap. Those unfairly long lashes begin to dust closed, the subtle flash of light emitted from your scented candle sending a golden gleam across the room.  

“Mm.. I’m sure he does. I’m sure he likes you very much,” You assure, not needing a response from his fallen-asleep form, not expecting one anyway. 

What occurred in the first place nor why he asked such questions wasn’t your business, but somewhere, a part of a you wanted to know. The cause of his pain, of all of their pain. 

Hardest part of your evening was definitely attempting to slip him off your lap, luckily a success after four or five minutes. 

Carefully propping a pillow behind his head and layering a blanket across his jacket-clad body, you sneakily turn off the TV, bidding the exhausted boy a hushed “good night” and placing a gentle peck to his forehead before turning off the porch light.

Laying in bed whilst your eyes resist closing, you find yourself hoping he’ll sleep well, hope this night is something he can look back on with a smile on his face.

Felix deserves that.

That morning, upon forgetting your alarm, either of you are scrambling from bed or, in Felix’s case, flopping from your couch with a loud thud!

“Minho lives pretty close,” Felix winds the straps of his backpack over his shoulders, glancing from side to side while observing the area. You follow suit, both clambering to rush out the door, jogging down the street hurriedly.

Seems the Minho kick is still here then, huh.

“But he might not be at school off and on because of his Grandma.”

The awaiting tip of your head calls for an explanation, and a light bulb seemed to bloom above him — obviously having realized something.

Either of you pause at a crosswalk.

“Didn’t I tell you?”

You shake your head, brows pinched. 

Felix pokes his tongue into his cheek.

“Well, Minho’s mom died a bit back. He takes care of his Grandma now. After she passed he got really distant and we…” His tone dissolves, and you don’t interrupt, allowing the boy to speak his mind. “Haven’t talked since.”

Apparently, there’s a corner to this billion-piece jigsaw.

One, horrifically fateful paper lay taped down onto one desk far too many boys are trying to look at.

Levanter High Film Festival. Participants will make a 25 minute short film with cinematography and soundtrack themes made entirely by themselves.

“..And you want us to do this?” Jeongin mutters, skeptically scratching the bottom of his chin. 

“Yep! We are!” You proudly announce, given quite a few confused glances in return.  

As Jisung had taken the time to so kindly mention while nearly crashing the car, July, the month in which you’ve somehow made it to with this group, means the arrival of creative festivals — or, the school boards way of enhancing student participation.

“Uh.. I’ve gotta DAW at home..?” Chan speaks up, brows furrowed thoughtfully.

“…A dawg?” Han snorts, Felix smacking his back in an attempt to quell his own laughter.

“A music birth giving machine,” Changbin offers.

“Ew, weird way to put it.”

“Shut it, Jisung.”

“Alright. Now, we’re gonna break off into departments, okay? We need director, maybe script writers? An idea of where we’re gonna film, song producers, and someone with a camera.” Murmuring with your lip tugging between your teeth, you tap your foot, the group cumulating into frenzied discourse, seemingly arranging themselves. 

And, almost as fast as you blink, you’re pleasantly surprised to find no blood had been shed over positions.

Accordingly — with obvious inclusion in every position at some point — Chan, Changbin, and Han are working music, Seungmin is working on the script, Jeongin and Hyunjin are doubling as directors and camera-providing members, and Felix and Minho have been elected as the main characters. 

You can’t help but find it rather interesting considering your prior knowledge of the situation. Their situation.

Felix’s longing, Minho’s loss.

The imperfect, perfect pair.

“What’s the name gonna be?” Jeongin piques, the eight of you squinting at his frame leant against the windowsill.

The boy hesitates. 

“Like, our label?”

Equally confused stares. 

In honorary mention of the esteemed ‘Film Festival’ introduced this summer, you decided, along with Han’s incredibly distracting tendencies, that you guys would be participating.

Then again, everyone is still getting used to being within six feet of each other, so being stuck in the old photography club room on a school night remains effortlessly uncomfortable.

And with the slow eye contact each of you exchange, a gradual cacophony of “Ohhh”’s. 

“How about Boy’s Generation!” Jisung jumps in, earning a smack across the head from Hyunjin followed by loud whining whilst burying his head in Minho’s chest (of whom looks unbearably awkward) who tries to console.

Emphasis on the “tries” part.

“Maybe.. Lost Men?” Changbin suggests, quiet hums of agreement sounding from the remainder. 

You choke back a laugh, which, doesn’t turn out to be as choked as you’d prefer by the glare you get in response.

“Lost Men? Are we sailors?” Stammering down your giggles the best you could manage, Seungmin clears his throat, attention quickly directing his way.

Seungmin has a habit, if that’s what you want to call it. He’s never outspoken, no, but he speaks, a lot. Minho is the same in that sense. Whether quiet mumbling or the illustrious expressions he makes, you’re confident the both of them could maintain a perfectly understandable conversation using just their eyes. 

Sort of scary. 

“Stray Kids?”

Five seconds later and Felix grumbles, interrupting everyone’s inner contemplation.

“Kind of fitting if you think about it.”

Minho grunts, voicing a question that extinguished the conversation beforehand. 

“Well what happens when we aren’t astray anymore?”

And, although the foreboding tension sat heavy in the air, it was easy to tell he held no weight to his words.

Because regardless of what kind of conclusion they reached at some point, it was irrevocably known they’d always be stray. Searching, looking for something they weren’t sure existed.

No reply came. No one complained. 

Chan typed up the label in the lower left corner of the doc, the laptop he’d taken from his bag propped on his lap.

You gave Minho a half-smile he sheepishly returned.

The more you thought about it, the more it matched. Not only searching, but paving. One way or another, the assumed nobodies were growing, developing into something unforgettable, if only to a few people. 

You had no doubt more would remember their names in the future, but as for now, you stay as Chan, Minho, Changbin, Han, Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin, and Y/n, lodged in the school’s vacant club room, arranging ideas for the Film Festival. 

Stray Kids. 

You liked it. 

The quiet rolling of his bike gears sits between you, familiarly nostalgic chirping of crickets heightening the darker the sky becomes, dusk plowing a runway through orange clouds.

Headed back from school, you happened to run into Minho, jogging to catch up with him in the midst of his departure.

“I like my life.”

Mid-chew on a sour gummy worm, you cease your gluttonous rampage in order to catch Minho’s hushed breath.

“Being alive is nice.”

And when he says that, he turns his head toward you, expression piquing a “don’t you think so?” type of question you struggle to answer.

Zoning in on the repetitive motion of his wheel, you wrack your brain. 

“Yeah? It’s hard, but I would say it’s worth it.”

His brows raise, a barely visible, lopsided smile winding itself around his lips — chapped but still such a captivating pink hue.

All he has to do is hum, doing that habitual blinking thing he always does to know he agrees.

Minho is the small things, you configure.

He’s fixing the bulletin when a paper fell off and picking up Changbin’s Snorlax plushie when he almost forgets it. He’s reminding you to text him when you get home “just because”. He’s the little things nobodies notices, little things that show he cares. 

Lee Minho is the small things, but he’s also so much too — so many stories, people, places. He’s heartbroken but he tries, pained but still swimming in a whirlpool of an ocean that flushes him from its tides.

Perhaps somebody could be his buoy, somebody who’d keep him afloat.

You have a hunch as to who that person might be.

Bike squealing to a stop, you clamber to catch pace, backing up a bit to notice what Minho points at. 

A field.

“This would be a good place to film if it weren’t off limits.” He observes, either of you acknowledging the “No Trespassing” sign latched loosely onto a chain link fence. 

Biting your lip, a small smirk finds itself upon your face. 

“It’s not off limits if we can get in, right?” 

Minho gives you an uncertain stare, quickly tampering into downright exasperation.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a good influence?”

You laugh at this, laying your bike down to hitch each hand into diamond-shaped openings and climb, sending your suspicious audience an expectant look.

“I’m meant to be a good learning experience, think of this as part of a the process. Now c’mon, climb. Let’s see what we’re working with.”

Half-heartedly, you’re joined in your risky pursuit, scaling up to the top before thumping down on the other side. 

Minho, on the other hand, is a tad bit more skeptical, remaining at the fence’s peak, glaring down nervously.

Although, with lots of patience and encouragement, the anxious boy takes a leap of faith onto uncut grasses and stalking weeds. 

Halfway into your adventure do clouds begin festering, setting the atmosphere in a gray haze the longer you brainstorm filming spots, whether that’s pointing out certain locations or deciding on specific scene placement.

“We could have Felix here, then I run in and find him?” 

“Okay— what if we make it like a huge confrontation. You run in, confront him-“

Jutting of metal against another surface redirects your mid-sentence focus, gaze averting toward the sound. 

Shit. Security.

“Hey you! What do you think you’re doing!?” 

Momentary silence and either of you go bolting as fast as your legs will go.

“Quick!” You shriek, the sky dotted in strikes of lightning, alighting into a sudden electrified cauldron of clouds and rain.

Minho is right on your heels, jackets strung over your heads in a feeble attempt to divert some watery droplets from their rapid descent.

Not only the useless fear of getting soaked, but the lingering outline of an approaching flashlight in the distance and the thumping of footsteps from behind urge you onward, scaling the looming fence using slippery fingers and wild adrenaline.

Except, just as you edge over the top of the fence does your shirt get caught in the twisted wire, effectively preventing your movement (much to your panic) while Minho shouts below. 

Luckily, in the nick of time do you manage to free yourself, having to lurch forward and simultaneously earn a stinging cut before racing to your bikes and speeding off.

Learning experience was certainly a word for it. 

“So..” You start, lingering by Chan’s doorway. 

According to a fretful, rain drenched Minho speaking to your equally drenched self, his place was the closest.

“What’s our excuse?” You mumble, Minho scoffing before shrugging off his jacket to hand to you, earning a curious tip of your head.

Wordlessly does he point to your now dampened white shirt, and you can’t help but smile at the realization.

Hm. What a gentleman.

Easing the fabric over your soaked shirt, you just finish buttoning to the bottom when Chan opens the door, cocking a brow.

“Who knew it actually rained cats and dogs?”

“You’re not funny.”

Stepping inside, you’re greeted with the chilling temperature, skin erupting into goosebumps as either of you awkwardly stand in the doorway, Chan disappearing into the other room only to return with two t-shirts.

“Bathrooms are on either side of the hall, you’ll find them,” He hums, and you give him a grateful smile before padding off to change, the sound of your squeaking steps making you cringe.

Chan’s old swim-team tee hangs loosely from your body upon stepping out, plopping down onto his couch with an exaggerated groan.

Behind you, Minho sits on an unoccupied chair, taking sips of water here and there.

“So…” The eldest of the group steps in the room, hesitant. “Care to tell me how-“

“No.” Minho bluntly speaks, and you cock a bemused brow at his forwardness.

“Got it,” Chan nods quickly, eyes zeroing in on you for a moment, honing a stare you can’t discern.

“Y/N?” He quietly asks where you lift from your spot.

“Wanna come with me for a minute?” He hums, and you curiously follow him into the kitchen, plopping on the counter he motions for you to sit on.

“Lift up your shirt,” He softly instructs, and you do a double take to make sure you heard him right. 

“Huh?”

Nonplussed, he repeats himself, appearing completely unaffected despite such a request.

So slowly, nervously, you lift your shirt as he nonchalantly maneuvers antiseptic from a medical container, your brain registering the predicament as he dabs right below your chest, bottom lip held in his teeth while he works.

Your scratch from earlier on the fence.

Leave it to him to be the ever perceptive one.

Chan doesn’t budge, shy away, nor show any reaction to the newfound vulnerability. Your heart warms a bit at the sight. 

He cares, and you’ve known that, but it’s just, it’s sweet. Really, truly sweet.

Immediately upon applying the antiseptic, you wince, your grip (which you noticed) on his arm tightening while he calmly hushed you, carefully placing a bandaid on top of the wound. 

“If you don’t dress it properly you could get an infection.” Chan explains. “Tell me next time, okay?” 

You nod as he rearranged his materials below the cabinet and ensured you’ve hopped off the countertop.

“Lix told me you used to be a restaurant’s chef in Hongdae, eh?”

At this, he looked up in surprise, chuckling lowly, lips situating themselves into a sheepish straight line.

“Lix?” He echoes, and you tilt your head, evidently confused as to what he’s asking.

“Mm nothin’, just not many people can call him Lix,” He explains, padding into the living room.

“Really? Am I just the lucky one?” Snickering to yourself, the man nudges your side with his own squeaky laugh as you enter into the living room.

“That’s.. a word for it.”

It’s hard to recall when the gears really began turning. Breaking from rusty shackles to rotate seamlessly.

Chan opening up and giving you a glimpse of the heartthrob of a personality beneath his once cold facade. Han and Hyunjin able to have a normal conversation, talking to Jeongin more and more about anything and everything.

Maybe it’s the familiarity, the routine that naturally mends. Like a new fridge you hadn’t realized you were so accustomed to until gone, until you look back at what was.

A part of you wants to give yourself a pat on the back as if you were the person responsible for this summer school’s progress. Though, you’re sure just about four hundred other things also left an imprint. 

Late nights spent in the old club room. Arranging meetups for filming spots. Headaches from the sound of a power drill where props are put together. Endless repeats of the same scene everyone keeps messing up.

And all of a sudden, it hurts. Because this is one of those moments. Fleeting. Fleeting in the sense that—as you watch Chan and Seungmin burst out laughing when Changbin fails a prop test—never again in this entire world will there ever be another night like this. 

Felix won’t accidentally spill his drink. Minho won’t throw a childish fit after he gets his twenty-fifth take wrong. 

There won’t ever be another summer like this. A summer in your senior year of high school you really don’t want to forget right now, not if it costs it all to stay engrained in your mind.

“Alright. So..” Chan begins, the nine of you clambering to get a glance of his screen as he finishes the final touches.

“We’re finally done!”

It takes a whopping three weeks to finish filming and editing, the clamorous chorus of relief sounding in unison as your group’s unofficial (though wordlessly voted) leader, Chan, taps the save button one last time.

Your film covers the tale of two. Fated, yet, unable to ever meet. A constant tug of war of souls infinitely bound.

One steps north, the other makes five steps south. Pulled together like magnets even when worlds apart in all aspects, even when it seems they’re only given more reasons to avoid each other.

..Yes, you certainly thought of what Felix told you that bit ago.

No, you have been thinking about it.

When they filmed; those certain scenes where you’d watch them make eye contact. Oh to listen to the thoughts behind those eyes.

So leaden with emotion. 

Longing.

A longing for what was, for what could’ve been.

To watch two people like that makes your ears ring. So much said in the hurried lines, the occasional eye-contact. 

Listen, listen. You’ll miss it if you blink.

How gut-wrenching to be a witness to such tragedy you never were involved in. Perhaps that’s human empathy.

You inhale and exhale, but don’t count for how long. Watching the film on the that old projector sheet makes you wish you narrowed things down to the tee, scribbled them down in a notebook to recall for eternity.

Too fast, too fast. You’ll miss it if you breathe.

No, stay forever. 

If only. 

And perhaps that’s the best part.

Stray Kids places fourth place in the festival, and to be honest, you might as well have taken home first.

It sure felt like it.

Smiles and laughter. Congratulations and many thank you’s amidst a densely packed theatre room. 

Though, something is missing. No, someone is missing. Because in the midst of a celebration intended for everyone, it suddenly comes to your attention a presence has gone awry.

Meeting Chan’s eyes, it appears he just realized as well.

Han.

.

.

.

“Jisung where the hell were yo—“ 

Having stormed through the oddly unlocked door like a madman, Chan stops, noticing how positively bruised the boy is, sharp cut veering across his nose, lip busted and bloody.

Hurriedly forcing his face between either of Chan’s hands, Han winces. 

“Tell me everything.” The older of the two demands, eyes racing. 

Quick to pull away, his mouth pulls taut. It’s quiet before Han kicks the cabinet, voice watery, breaking. 

“Fuck!” He clutches his head, biting back the prospect of crying. 

Dropping down to bury his head in his knees, he stifles a shaky exhale.

“..These guys from Class 3-B broke my bike, that’s why I couldn’t go.” 

Ah.

There’s a stillness.

Then, quietly, Chan shuffles down beside Jisung, mirroring the way his knees sit close to his chest, back flush against the wooden cabinets below the sink.

“I just.. wish I was stronger,” Jisung hardly manages, words barely audible through a trembling bottom lip.

Sparing moments of silence, Chan’s jaw tightens, attention directed onto the tile floor.

“I’m quitting the football team.”

Jisung’s head snaps to the adjacent boy. 

“But why? Football’s your forte. Plus, you kick ass every time your name gets called out onto the field.”

Chan ruffles the boys hair, giving him a tight smile.

“I have.. other priorities right now.” His voice shrinks, hand resting atop Jisung’s head, staring into those bottomless brown eyes. 

He’s grateful no other questions were asked.

“Say,” He begins, his counterpart experimentally prodding his swollen eye, cringing back with a hiss. 

“I can help you get stronger.”

Slowly, the younger’s head turns, brows raised as if asking: “really?”, to which Chan nods, a faint grin tugging at his lips. 

‘Reach for me’, and Chan reaches. 

Jisung oftentimes thought the boy foolish to trust so blindly, to pour so much into someone who could easily let you down.

Yet, seeing the fist his friend held out, he returns the fist bump with a feeble grin, head slumping onto the older boy’s shoulder.

This time, an exception has been made.

There were many weird circumstances in Minho’s life, but he certainly hadn’t anticipated this one.

“..What are you doing?” Minho inquires flatly, slowing his bike down whilst Han, dripping in sweat, jogs past, avidly motivated for a reason the bystander can’t quite understand on a Tuesday morning.

He planned to bike into town and buy extra soil for his grandmother’s garden, now finding himself unable to ignore this strange appearance.

“Conditioning! New year new me!”

Minho sends the boy a mildly disgusted, mildly annoyed expression in reply.

“It’s June.” 

“Leave me be.”

His sarcastic brow returned with Han’s entertained giggle, the older boy finding it irritably hard to resist an approaching smile, pedaling to catch up to him.

How burdensome, Minho thinks.

“Is this about the Film Festival?” 

Gliding past, Han’s eyes widen into saucers.

“Please don’t tell me Y/n’s mad I couldn’t show up, I’m scared she’ll beat me up or something on Monday.”

He grins at the sheepish plea.

“She’s not, trust me.”

“And why should I trust you?”

Minho shrugs. “Why not?”

“Fair,” Han deflates, stopping to catch his breath, balancing his hands on his knees. 

The other boy, observing his exhaustion as he pushes on his brakes, grants him a side-eye, patting the back of his bike.

“Want a ride?”

Han, looking up with sweat wrecking his hair to stick up in wild directions, gradually nods, uttering a quiet “Feels like I’m cheating” as he climbs behind Minho, legs dangling off the side. 

The ride is peaceful, rice fields flourishing, fields dappled with flowers of all sorts of hues on the way to town, breeze cooling down Han’s heated face, whipping his linen shirt in each gust.

Neither talk, simply enjoying the weather, the smells, the sounds.   

Though, the enjoyment is quelled as soon as it began, Minho lugging a bag of soil atop where the younger boy had sat on the back of his bike—said boy lingering outside the gardening shop.

Door bells clanging overhead when he exits, Han gives him a questioning look as he works on tying the soil down.

“..Where am I gonna sit?” He questions aloud, and the devilish boy can’t help but wear an evil smile.

“You’re not,” He says matter-of-a-fact, swinging a leg over the seat, watching despair cross his friend’s face. 

“New year new you, right? Good luck!”

Quickly racing off on his bike, Minho laughs at Han’s shouting while he disappears in the distance, knowing full well the silent-treatment he’ll receive later at school.

Oh the throes (and woes) of summer.

Meanwhile, you’re helping Chan hang laundry in his backyard, having reviewed more of an album him, Han, and Changbin have been working on after the festival. 

The longer you listen, the more you find Chan has a knack for curating incredible music, enough that you find yourself leaning infinitely close to the old monitor of his, craning into each note the speaker procures.

“So I was thinking,” Chan clicks his tongue, hanging a t-shirt to the close pins. “What if we had a unit name? Han, Binnie and I?”

Processing his question in your mind, you purse your lips, wiping beading moisture from your forehead.

“What’d you have in mind?” You pique, giving the boy a sidelong glance, mischief evident on your face. 

Mirroring your grin, he steps down from the stool, giving you a hand as you step from yours.

“3RACHA? Cause like.. we’re three and we’re hot like Sriracha?”

Instantly, you both burst out into giggles, smacking his shoulder at the sly phrasing. 

“No no I’m kidding—“

“I like it!” You loudly interject, bringing the water bottle up to your lips.

Chan’s eyes bulge out of his skull, tilt in his head, a hint of surprise etched on sun kissed skin.

“Really?”

“Yeah! I like it! 3RACHA fits,” Elaborating with exaggerated hand gestures, the spectator has to bite back his smile, dimples nudging at his cheeks.

“I’ll let them know,” He raises his brows, giving you a small high five before officially collapsing on the grass, you following suit.

By the time your eyes open again, you can’t even recall what happened in the first place, trying to figure out why the sky is already pitch black, not to mention why you’re still lying in the grass. 

Leave it to falling asleep to waste your day away.

Leaning over where you stretch your arms, Chan grins, extending a hand to help you up that you gratefully accept—granted an explanation as to how you ultimately fell asleep while he was mid conversation.

Waving him off upon noticing nighttime’s introduction, you begin back past school, crossing by the playing fields in the process.

And of course, lo and behold, Minho sits on the bleachers, watching an ongoing football practice while glancing down at his lap here and there, apparently writing something.

Seems today you’re running into everyone, huh?

Perks (and curses) of a small town.

Curiosity driving your feet toward him, you carefully jump up the steps, sitting beside him without word.

He obviously senses your presence but fails to speak up, simply letting you peek over his shoulder at his notes (to which you learned were for a class), occasionally striking conversation only to engulf in comfortable quietness once more.

“Hey Minho?” You inhale slowly, heel tapping again the metal bleacher plank below.

He grunts in acknowledgment. 

“Do you think I’m doing a good job?” 

The football coaches whistle blows alarmingly loud, causing either of you to involuntarily flinch. 

Minho, lifting his head from his notebook, studies your face for a moment, from the way your nose perches to your parted lips, he analyzes.

Returning to your eyes, he blinks.

“I do. I mean, we all like you whether we admit it or not.”

The statement causes a smile to stretch your cheeks, turning to face him. 

“Why?”

“Hm.. You actually treated us like human..? It’s like,” He scoffs, one brow twitching upward the longer he thinks. It’s the first time you noticed the small freckle seated atop his right nostril. 

Charming.

“Everybody else seemed to think we were animals.” 

Hearing him say that, it’s almost.. cruel. To think these boys simply needed a friend, a person to count on for a bit. 

But they didn’t. They were deprived.

Yet, in a twisted way, it worked out. Because it led them to you.

“Well you’re doing it right.. I think.”

You shift your weight back onto your hands, humid air finally cooling into an even breeze.

“Thanks Min.”

“Mhm.”

You’ve grown accustomed to accepting good things never last. It’s one of the many things keeping your grip tight on anything you get ahold of.

Though, it strikes you nearly dizzy how quickly something so good turned sour. 

As in, what was once near-conversation between Minho and Felix has now diminished into distanced glares and horrifically heavy silence like before.

Asking the more openly emotional of the two leads to nothing. No explanation, no reasoning. Just a shrug when you ask: “Hey, what’s up with you and Minho?”

More than ever with this group had you learned assumptions lead nowhere. But when assumptions are the sole thing to be made, you feel quite like you’re chasing your own tail in this predicament.

“Minho, you have to come to school. I’m responsible for your attendance.” 

Amongst the week and a half the boy had been absent, you don’t plan to waste the opportunity for confrontation.

No, it isn’t your usual approach, but any softer and he’ll slip right through your fingertips like warmed butter.

Back facing you where he’d been routinely walking his bike behind his house, you stand firm, eyes trained to the cowlick embedded in his hair.

He doesn’t move, nor budge a single centimeter—voice cut and concise upon speaking.

“I’ve been busy.” 

“You’ve been avoiding Felix.”

You can hear him inhale sharply, not daring to turn around.

“I know it isn’t my business, but there was this.. time Felix and I spoke. You two had a falling out again.. right?”

Prodding deeper into the wound, you can feel your heart constricting tighter and tighter in your chest.

“You’re right.” He whispers, tone low enough you crane to hear. “It isn’t your business.”

It’s your turn to suck in a quick breath.

“And.. it isn’t your place pretending like you know what my life is like. I… I’ll come back to school just-“

Ah. That hiccup. The shudder of his shoulders, the ache in his vocal cords.

“Let me deal with this by myself, alright?”

Who are you to disagree? Spoken seconds earlier, it isn’t your business nor your place shoving your nose into his life. 

Synonymously, you don’t blame him. Blame his irritation, his evasiveness.

Whatever this is with Felix runs deeper. It takes but a single glance to dictate that conclusion. Minho’s loss, his hurt. Bottled up feelings bubbling over in their soda can.

When so much of you is battered, you hide, hide in fear that everything will be ripped from your fingertips — that horrid feeling of helplessness; forging grief continuing to wrack you numb.

Minho distanced himself to protect himself, but most importantly to protect them. To protect his friends, to protect Felix.

And yet, he forgot to install a safety net around his own perimeter.

Jittering hands frantically reaching for his bike’s handlebars, and you spectate wordlessly as abundant tears streak down his cheeks the moment a glimpse of his face is seen, fingernails furiously digging into the aged rubber.

“Minho.”

The boy shakes his head, sniffling senselessly before you step forward and grab his collar, lightly yanking him up, redirecting once castaway focus staring down to the cracked pavement below.

“Minho.”

Just then you notice his watery eyes and the heartbreaking, trembling frown adorning his features. Stifling tears.

Thumb carefully tracing his waterline to rid of those beading tears, he leans into your hand, face breaking a bit.

“Just.. please don’t deal with this alone, okay?”

Looking into someone’s eyes had never made you feel like you were dying until now. How can a soul carry such heavy heartache? Grieve so tirelessly even the eyes form as a window?

So broken, so beautiful.

We’re all the same, are we not?

.

.

.

Ten minutes later, seated upon the playing field’s bleachers familiar to the last time you encountered Minho, a comfortable silence answers any of the unspoken questions lingering in afternoon skies.

The boy beside you, puffy eyes and swollen skin, quietly delights in an ice cream bar, your own held between your lips in contemplation before utilizing your thumb and index to speak for a moment.

“I mean, I may dance around in my room to music, but that doesn’t mean I don’t cry in the shower at night. I’m still human, y’know?” 

Curious feline eyes hang onto your words, enough of a beckon to go on.

“My days can be bright, my nights could be dark, there’s no limit to how you’re supposed to feel.”

Leaning forward, you tap his chest with your unoccupied hand.

“And there’s no need to try and reject something you want to feel. Otherwise, you suffocate.”

He tilts his head.

“It’s like.. hmm… if I hated the way I breathed—“

“You hate the way you breathe?” Minho interrupted, giving you an “are you stupid?” look you quickly shake your head at.

“No no, it’s an example,” You defend with a feigned scowl. “So if I hated the way I breathed, I can’t just hold my breath for too long or a pass out, right? You can’t let yourself get to a blackout point for the sake of others.”

The boy across from you sucks on the skin of his cheek, observing your extended pinkie before taking it in his own.

“Promise me you won’t get to that blackout point.” 

Another promise.

Chan, now Minho.

Expression knit thoughtfully, Minho gradually nods, pressing your thumbs together before cracking an amused grin.

“Y’know, that was well-said.”

You chuckle, smacking his shoulder playfully. “I know right? I’m proud of that one.”

Of course he rolls his eyes in return, but you can see the remnant of a smile in the lifted corners of his mouth, the soft, flushed skin of his under eyes crinkling when he grins.

Ah. He’s beautiful, isn’t he?

On July 31th, your summer school class officially makes a close, and you and eight other boys graduate. 

A miracle, maybe a fluke or some sort you made it out in one piece. A task proved possible after all—intentionally or unintentionally.

In the end, perhaps there wasn’t reason to stare at each sheet and pinpoint flaws.

No, Chris isn’t void of life. Hyunjin doesn’t have a superiority complex, and Jisung certainly isn’t senseless. Seungmin gets nervous ordering coffee and hasn’t participated in illegal activities a day in his life. Felix isn’t in an underground gang, and no one has stolen before. 

There’s too many sides to a cube, so most stick to 2D squares. The complexity is shrunk so it’s easier to digest. 

In the end, perhaps you forget it’s all so wondrous in a way, so intricate and raw. 3D. 

Right before you graduated, Hyunjin gave you a painting he made. ‘A thank you for motivating me to add art as my friend’ he had told you. 

Changbin still sleeps with his Snorlax plushie, and 3RACHA released their first album just yesterday. 

Han finally got his license, Seungmin and Jeongin attend Sejong University as freshman, and Felix sells baked goods on Sundays while interning at a local bakery.

Minho volunteers at an animal shelter on the far side of town, he also took up dancing again.

He and Felix began talking again too. 

In the end, perhaps it wasn’t a matter of you helping them, but for the all of you to understand that, in the grand scheme of things, you live on, just as you and Chan had promised.

There is no choice, no point, no break to the cycle. 

It hurts, it burns, it breaks. You glue yourself together, even when the pieces shatter over and over. Shards draw blood, but a glued glass can still be useful, can still be worthy. 

Bruised and battered, scraped and scorned, a connection lies within Stray Kids that sinks deeper than the anchor you planted in a sea of possibilty, a sea of what you thought was something one-sided, a sea you once believed you’d swim alone.

Maybe it’s discovery after discovery that keeps you close, or maybe it’s something deeper.

Nonetheless, your summer—a summer of hellish heartbreak and love reaping all bounds of repercussion—was one to remember.  

A summer solace, for what it’s worth. 

FIC TAGLIST. @kayleefriedchicken, @chaotic-world-of-the-j, @minhosbitterriver, @reignessance, @thatonexcgirl, @panbish-1209, @jeonginplsholdmyhand, @neviestayy, @stayinlimbo, @tenmii, @sunoosmainchick, @hannamoon143, @juliettacandy, @c0smicstxrs

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[munivrse]

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ Too close

closeted bada, bf-to-ex howl, secret gf y/n.

c/w: angst. angry howl, homophobia, minor and very, very minor physical harm done to bada. closeted bada, out and proud reader. its alooooot of angst. some comfort at the end though so don't worry!

a/n: the characters depicted are not related nor based off of their personalities in real life. this is purely fiction. also shout out to @wrosie-writes. they wanted to see anti howl fic. they ask, they shall receive. enjoy!

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"are you okay?"

bada hears howl, but she's more concerned with the contents on her phone than she is with him.

"i'm fine." bada tries to make it sound as believable as possible.

“i don’t get you.” howl glares at her, eyes boring into the back of her head.

“...what are you talking about?”

“you and y/n. you’re just really close with her. you confide in her, you trust her. it kind of pisses me off if i’m being honest.”

bada moves her focus from the tv to howl who stands behind the couch she sits on. she looks at him incredulously. why is he bringing this up now?

“what prompted this?”

“you. i know you’re texting her right now.”

bada challenges him, “and if i am?”

howl rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. he was so fucking fed up with you. every chance you got, you were with howl and bada. howl felt like you were intruding all the time, meanwhile, bada told you to not be a stranger. he was angry.

“i want you to stop talking to her.”

bada fully turns around and blinks up at him, “what?”

howl’s eyes narrow, “you heard me. stop talking to her.”

bada shakes her head, “i shouldn’t have to choose. don’t make me choose.”

howl stands firm and bada almost caves. a part of her loves howl. another part of her loves you, deeply.

bada stands up and tries to walk around him. what the fuck was she supposed to do? why was he putting her in this impossible position?

“lets go to bed and talk about this in the morning. please.”

bada continues walking towards their shared bedroom but howl stops her. he grabs hold of her wrist and pulls, “don’t walk away from me. you’re avoiding this.”

she wrenches her hand out of his grip and rubs at her wrist. he’d never done that before and it hurt. it hurt.

“i just don’t want to talk about it right now.”

howl frowns and tries to grab at her again but bada dodges his advancement toward her. she shifts to the other side of the island in their kitchen.

“i dont like this.”

she felt scared. small.

howl raises his voice, “you know what i don’t like? watching my girlfriend be mentally intimate with another person. you’re not even fucking her, you just care too much about her. you pour yourself into her instead of me. god, bada, we havent had sex in weeks! you barely let me hold your hand. Is it y/n? is she forcing you to do something you don’t want to do?”

bada’s jaw drops momentarily. but her shock is replaced with anger and frustration. distress and confusion. “what did you mean by that last part?” she leans forward and places her hands on the surface in front of her.

“you heard me. i know y/n likes women. is she coming on to you? you know i don’t like that and i can make her stop if you want me to. just say the words.”

bada shakes her head, confusion still drawn on her face, “you can make her stop? how? and what do you think it is that she could possibly be doing? what’s so wrong with her liking women?”

howl puts his head in his hands. he couldn’t believe how dense bada was acting. it’s like she didnt understand that-

“i don’t like that about her. you know that doesn’t sit right with me. i can take care of it. of her.”

fear pools in the bottom of bada’s stomach. she gets nauseous and thinks carefully about her next words as they mean alot for your own personal safety. she did not want to compromise that. she… she did not want to compromise herself either. she tries to act passive and pulls out her phone. she sends you a quick “sos” and sets her phone on the counter.

“you don’t need to take care of anything. stop worrying about it. about me. about her. everything is fine. i’m tired baby, can we please just let this go for the night?”

she glances down as she sees the texts coming in from you.

are you okay?

please answer me.

are you at howls?

its late, i need to know if you’re safe

i see your location, i’m on the way

*y/n has shared their location with you*

i’ll be there in 10 minutes. if it’s howl messing with you again, i swear to god i’ll take that fucker out tonight.

howl rounds the corner of the island and takes steady strides to bada and she stumbles back, praying that you show up sooner rather than later.

“you don’t see how she’s fucking with your head? she doesn’t love you like i do, bada.” howl reaches a hand up to bada’s face.

bada shakes in fear, its creeping up her spine and she can feel his breath on her face. he’s too close.

he’s too brave.

bada takes his hand in hers and places it back down by his side,

“you don’t love me howl. I’m something for you to show off like a trophy to your friends. I have no real meaning to you. you dress me up and make me out to be whoever you want me to be, but i’m not her. I’m not the girl you want me to be so desperately.”

bada straightens up for the first time in a couple months and she laughs as she realizes - her and howl stand at the same height. it makes her chuckle in his face. she advances towards him instead and now, the tables turn. howl looks almost… disturbed? shocked? he’d never seen bada be so… firm. so confident.

“y/n lets me be myself. fully. she accepts every part of me without question. her love is unconditional with no limit. no ceiling. there are no dealbreakers- she just loves me. howl i cant even wear sweatshirts around you without you saying i’m not being feminine enough. i’m not pretty enough. but y/n? it doesn’t matter what the fuck i have on because its me. and she loves me regardless.”

bada’s phone dings again and as she looks down at it, its you.

i’m parked, i’m in the elevator going to your floor now

bada walks around howl to their bedroom, he follows.

“where do you think you’re going?” howl crosses his arms.

bada grabs her emergency bag, only needing a couple items since you already had half of her wardrobe at your apartment. “i’m going out. i’m not sure when i’ll be back.”

she exits the bedroom and makes her way to the door,

“and let me just tell you this, howl. If it came between you and y/n, i will always choose y/n. without question.”

and as if on cue, the doorbell rings. bada swings the door open to reveal you in a pair of sweatpants and one of her sweatshirts draped on your body. bada tries her best to shield howl from your sight and exit as swiftly as she possibly can given the situation, but howl grabs her arm and yanks. you hear bada hiss, and as soon as you lay eyes on howl, you feel rage encompass your entire being. you step into the door and remove his hand from her arm, pulling bada from out of the door frame and behind you.

“how dare you lay your fucking hands on her? are you kidding me?” you take a step forward but bada pulls you back and intertwines her hand with your own, “let’s go y/n. please”

howl’s body is slumped, insecurity swallowing him whole. you can't help but laugh at him. he was such a fucking idiot. you turn around and scan bada for any harm, luckily, she seems fine other than being a little shaken up. you lean up to give her a kiss on her cheek and take one last look at howl. pathetic. you both turn to walk away and howl hopes bada turns around to look at him, show any waver of uncertainty. but she never looks back, she just moves forward. with you.

──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

your fingers twirl through bada’s hair. she’d changed into comfy clothes once you guys got home and now she’s sprawled out on top of you, head laying on your chest.

“you okay?” your hand pushes the hair out of her face. you feel her nod. she shifts so that her head is resting upright.

“i am now.” she grins up to you, pressing her lips against your own. she really meant it this time.

[staarri]

𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨 — 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡.

c.  scaramouche

character(s) are friends with reader, gn!reader, angsty-ish, scaramouche is still in the fatui, this is a work of fiction

      fluff     ,    love letter     .      word count : roughly 0.9k

t. @aventurne @tragedy-of-commons @yvnaology @nyoomiin

Scaramouche is not an easy man to love. He’s busy, constantly busy, awake even during the most ungodly hours of the night and constantly rubbing at his eyes from his exhaustion. It’s no surprise the Fatui are overworking him again. What’s funny is that he’s sitting at his desk, a pile of papers on the right side–all reports from his underlings–were unnoticed; all of it, even the chirping of the birds as the sun rose and showed the start of a new day, Scaramouche was stuck on a piece of paper in front of him with the words that reads, To my dearest.

There's no way he can capture your beauty on a cheap piece of parchment . He should’ve bought something expensive instead, like a new set of clothes he thinks you’ll like. But lately you’ve just seemed so distant. He needs to reach you somehow. You’ve been driven away by the lies his mouth spills and now, he’s suffering with the consequences, and not once will he ever say it to you, but he needs you to stick with him while he tries to better himself.

So here he is: a fountain pen in hand, wasting his time with something so.. childish. Who writes letters anyway, isn't it something you did as a child towards someone you liked? 

Call him a child then. Call him old-fashioned, traditional, and in love. Call him whatever you like, because in the end he’s yours, and he’s always been. 

He’s let his thoughts linger for too long and suddenly it's 7 am. His eyebags have never been worse and his mind is tired, not from his job, but from this stupid letter he’s made no progress on. To my dearest should be good enough, right? I mean, you were easy to please. He was sure that it would be more than enough for you. 

How tiring. He says, mindlessly scribbling on the paper, jet-black ink scattered all throughout and splattering around the words. Was he angry? Not at all. Frustrated, yes, but for a good reason–to think he did this just because you two were friends was infuriating. Shouldn’t you two be something more?

You were pretty, far too pretty for him to describe. Scaramouche thought his vocabulary was wide enough, but this letter alone has him searching for the words he once knew. Your eyes, leaving him feeling small in a never ending forest and your smile–god, your smile was intoxicating. It would give light to the things he’s been hiding from you this entire time. Your laugh–your voice, sweet and soft, loud and oh-so clear. How you’d bring it down to a whisper when you feel embarrassed about admitting something, how your nose scrunches up when you laugh or when your smile lines just seem so fitting for someone like you.

What was so special about you? 

You were like the sunset on the beaches, glowing. Absolutely stunning, ethereal, lighting everything in a bright orange, his eyes becoming a mix of brown and a dark blue. He’s different around you, he's a completely different person. From the color of his eyes to the racing of his heart, to the feeling that he wasn’t getting enough air whenever you hold his hand–but you’d do it in a friendly way. You don't squeeze his hand too tight, you let go when necessary and don’t leave any kind of touch lingering for far too long.

Scaramouche is not an easy man to love. He’s bad with words and he can’t tell you the things you want to hear;he can’t provide you with the touch you crave, he can’t make up his mind. One moment he’s thinking about just giving you a whole bag of mora for you to use for your next trip, the other he’s thinking about finishing this damn letter that has plagued his mind ever since you first whispered the fact you appreciate him.

There’s no way he can treat you right. There’s absolutely no way he will be perfect, that he’ll be the partner that’ll leave such a mark on you. But god, ask for the world and he will give it to you. Name one thing and when you wake up it's right at your nightstand. Choose the ring and its design, he’ll get a matching one that you yourself decided on as well. Just say the word because he is a child in love.

So here he is, an envelope in hand. Going to the nearest flower shop to buy something that will still wilt under the sun after a few days. He will not love, and can’t love the same way as you, but he will learn how to. 

Call him stupid;call him an idiot for falling for someone he knows is way too out of his league. But that’s all he is, and it's far too late to change that. He might lose you at some point, and that's really what scares him the most. 

Suddenly he’s standing at your doorstep, ringing the doorbell and you’d be confused who in the world decided to bring you a sunflower and a piece of envelope in the middle of the day–you don't recall ordering anything. 

He didn’t even get to sign it.  Maybe next time he can get it right… for his dearest.

characters belong to their respective companies. everything is written by staarri - do not steal, reupload, translate, modify or feed my work to ai.

[formulauno98]

Yacht Girl Summer - Chapter Eight / Wednesday/Thursday - George Russell x Reader, Toto Wolff x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Angst!!! This one is mildly spicy, 18+ only. This is going to be a slow burn and if you're uncomfortable with the idea of two-timing don't read this.

Author’s Notes: Disclaimer, purely fiction. No use of Y/N and minimal descriptions because I want everyone/anyone to be able to enjoy this.

WEDNESDAY EVENING CONTINUED

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” said George, his tone angrier than you’d ever heard as he strode towards you, “I fucking knew something was going on. The way you kept looking at each other.”

Having taken several steps back from Toto you were speechless. This was your nightmare come to life. “George…” you started, slowly edging towards him despite feeling the anger pulsating off of him, his face growing redder by the second.

“Don’t even,” he said, breathing heavily, putting a hand out as if to say he didn’t want you coming any nearer.

“George…” started Toto, “George… please let us explain.”

“Toto. No offence but this is between my girlfriend and I. I know you are my boss but please can you leave us?” said George, his tone cool.

Toto hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting between you and George. Finally, he nodded and stepped back. "I'll give you two some space," he said, glancing at you with an expression that was hard to read, part regret, part concern. He left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

George turned to face you, his eyes blazing, "What the fuck?" he demanded, his voice breaking as he added, "I trusted you. I love you."

Tears welled up in your eyes. "George, I'm so sorry, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. It was a mistake, a horrible mistake."

"A mistake?" he repeated, his voice rising. "How am I supposed to believe that you kissed him by mistake? That looked pretty cosy to me.” he gestured wildly,  “And what do you mean any of this? How long has this been going on?"

Deciding to come semi-clean, you explained, “When we went to the club in Porto Cervo, we kissed. We were outside and it just sort of happened… I told you that night but you were so drunk you woke up and didn’t remember. " you said, your voice cracking. "I didn’t know how to tell you again and I swear, it was just a stupid drunk mistake."

"What the actual fuck? How come I don’t remember this? I think I would have remembered that." George shook his head in disbelief. "I can’t believe you. And Toto as well, I looked up to him. Fuck him."

You reached out to him, but he stepped back once more, his expression pained, "Please, it wasn’t Toto’s fault. Let's talk, we can work through it."

"Work through it?" He let out a bitter laugh. "There's nothing to work through. You've ruined everything we had. Why would I want to be with someone who goes around kissing other men, my boss, behind my back? Fuck, I don’t even want to work for Toto anymore. Do you have any idea how fucked this is?"

Just as he was launching into another tirade, the cabin door creaked open slightly and Marion poked her head in. “Everything okay in here?” she asked cautiously, clearly having heard the shouting.

“Just peachy,” George replied sarcastically. “No offence but can you please leave us alone?”

“Sure, we’ll be out on deck if you need us.” Marion glanced at you with concern before retreating again, closing the door behind her.

The room fell silent, the weight of your actions hanging heavy in the air. George looked at you one last time, his eyes welling up but his jaw tight. "I need some time to think," he said finally. "To be honest, I can't even look at you right now."

He turned sharply and walked out of the cabin, leaving you standing there aghast. You sank onto the bed, tears streaming down your face. How had everything gone so awry? It was all your fault and George didn’t even know the half of it. If he was this furious at just a few kisses, how angry would he be if you told him the entire truth, that you’d slept with Toto?

Throughout your relationship, you had loved George but deep down you knew he wasn’t the one. You had good times together but something never felt quite right and you knew that you’d always play second fiddle to his career. Too many times you’d felt sidelined, cast aside for his next career move. Toto had caught your eye at a vulnerable moment and you’d lost all sense of right and wrong, caught up in a frenzy for a man who you’d never even looked twice at before your trip.

As you sat there sobbing, replaying the events of the last few days in your mind, you wished you could turn back time. Your mind briefly wandered to Toto, wondering whether George had gone to talk to him. You’d never seen your boyfriend so angry and you hoped he would not say something rash in the heat of the moment. Toto was his boss after all, and his job was one he’d worked hard his entire life to secure. 

You knew you couldn't stay in the cabin forever so taking a deep breath, you stood up, wiped away your tears with the back of your hand and prepared to face whatever came next. Whether or not George would forgive you, you at least had to own up to your mistakes and try to make amends.

– – – 

You stepped out of the cabin, making your way along the quiet corridor and outside, the night air cool against your skin. The deck was quiet apart from the sounds of the sea filling the silence. No one else was in sight and you hoped that the rest of the group were not fully aware of the drama that had unfolded. Marion had clocked the shouting but you hoped she believed it just to be between you and George. As you made your way to the lounge area, you spotted George standing alone, leaning on the railing, staring out at the horizon.

You approached him cautiously, your heart pounding in your chest. "George," you said softly, "Can we talk?"

He turned to look at you, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, finally, he spoke. "I don't know if I can forgive you," he said quietly. "But yeah sure, I’ll listen."

You nodded, tears welling up again. "Thank you," you whispered, grateful for the chance to at least try and make things right. "I'm so sorry, George. It’s not you, it’s me.”

George rolled his eyes, “Oh yeah that old one?”

Shaking your head you moved closer to George, turning to face him, “Look, I know you’re pissed. And I get it. It’s totally my fault. But I’ve been struggling for a while. Our lives revolve entirely around your work, I feel like it never lets up. We were supposed to be in South Africa and instead, we’re here, with your work colleagues yet again. You ignore me and honestly, anyone would have turned my head. It just happened to be Toto. He spoke to me like I’m an actual person...”

George's gaze softened slightly, though the pain in his eyes was still evident. "I’ll take that. But you could have said something, I never would want you to feel like that. It doesn’t excuse things but I get it. I just don’t get Toto though? Of all people you had to go for my boss, do you know what a mind fuck that is? I’m supposed to respect him and quite honestly I have lost that. You know the worst part? I thought I was going crazy, seeing you making googly eyes at him, dancing, making bets with him. But glad to know I was right.”

"I know," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I honestly can’t explain. I swear i never thought of him like that. Fuck, I didn’t even want to come on this trip, remember?”

“That I believe.” muttered George, “Although you should know, I spoke to him after I walked out.”

Your eyes widened, wondering what the two men had discussed, “Did he apologise?”

“Kind of.” George said, his eyes welling up once more, “He also told me what happened last night.”

Aghast you didn’t know what to say. You hadn’t expected Toto to confess that you’d slept together. Knowing George as you did, you knew there was no coming back from this. “I’m so sorry George,” you said, trembling. “I got carried away.”

“I’m sure you did,” he said, refusing to look you in the eye. “I’m sorry but it’s too much. I might have forgiven a kiss but knowing his wrinkly old hands have been all over you, knowing that he’s fucked you, quite frankly it turns my stomach. I’ve seen him in action in the garage that time and now I can’t get the mental picture of him doing that to you out of my head.”

Dropping your head you didn’t know how to respond. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry does not cut it.” he said curtly, “Look we’re off the boat tomorrow morning. Until then I just want to sleep, but nowhere near you.”

Taken aback by his steely demeanour, you countered, “Maybe we can talk more tomorrow? Come back inside, I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“No.” said George firmly, “I’m done. You can go and sleep with Toto again. I’ll sleep out here. Goodnight.”

With that, he turned back towards the stairs to the sun deck, angrily grabbing a throw pillow and blanket, taking two stairs at a time before turning back, “Enjoy his wrinkly old cock, hope he can’t get it up.”

Floored by George’s parting zinger, you burst into tears for what felt like the millionth time. Knowing it was useless to follow him, you made your way back inside.

– – – 

Once inside, the yacht felt eerily quiet, the hum of conversations and laughter replaced by a heavy, oppressive silence. Reaching the lounge area, you sank into one of the plush armchairs, staring blankly at the dark expanse of the sea visible through the large windows. You tried to clear your mind, but the events of the evening replayed relentlessly.

Suddenly, the door to the lounge creaked open, revealing a tired-looking Toto. He paused for a moment when he saw you, then closed the door behind him quietly. He walked over and sat down across from you, his expression unreadable.

"Did you speak with George?" he asked softly, breaking the silence.

You nodded your head, unable to meet his gaze. "Yep. He says we are done and honestly, I don't blame him."

Toto sighed deeply, rubbing his temples as if trying to alleviate a headache. "I'm sorry. I never meant for things to get this complicated. I got carried away. ”

"It's not your fault," you replied, your voice trembling. "I made my own choices."

Toto looked at you, his eyes filled with regret. "What happens now?"

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions. "I don't know. George is furious and I can't see him forgiving me anytime soon. As for us... I think it's best if we keep our distance. This was a mistake and we both know it."

He shook his head slowly, the weight of your words sinking in. "I don’t see it that way, I rarely feel this way about anybody."

Your eyes met his once more, he seemed sincere but Cara’s warning swam around in your head. Was he a playboy, just messing with your head?

“Can you give me some time?” you asked, your voice cracking with emotion.

“Of course,” he said, reaching across and taking your hand in his, squeezing lightly, “Good things are worth the wait. ”

Silence fell between you again, the tension in the room almost palpable. Finally, Toto dropped your hand and stood up, his expression weary. "Look it’s late, I’m going to head to bed. I don’t want to sound forward but if you don’t want to be alone you can come with me?”

Gulping you replied, “I’m not sure if now is the time. But thank you.”

“Understood,” he said, crossing the space between you, enveloping you in a warm embrace. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he murmured gently “Try and get some sleep, you know where I am if you need me.”

You nodded, watching as he left the room, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. Alone once more, you sat there for a while longer, lost in thought. Eventually, exhaustion overcame you, and you made your way back to your cabin, your bed cold and lonely. You lay down, staring at the ceiling, sleep eluding you as you contemplated the mess you'd made of your relationship with George.

THURSDAY MORNING

The next morning, the yacht was still save for the distant sounds of the crew preparing for departure, checking the boat one more time. You lay in bed for a few moments longer, gathering the strength to face the day and most importantly face George. You dreaded breakfast but knew you had to make an effort one last time. 

– – – 

Having gotten dressed and finished packing your bags, you stepped out of your cabin. In horrid timing, George was making his way along the corridor, his eyes hollow. He huffed as he brushed past you, ignoring your morning greeting and abruptly slamming your cabin door behind him.

Sighing, you decided it was safest to leave him to his own devices. He was mostly a gentle-natured guy but you knew he had a temper and for the first time you found yourself on the other end of it. It was understandable given your actions but it still stung.

Making your way to the breakfast table you were relieved to find that your fellow guests were yet to arrive. Settling down alone, you helped yourself to a croissant and some fruit, contemplating the morning ahead as you tried your best to eat and quell your nerves.

“Morning my darling,” came a kind voice from behind you. It was Cara.

“Morning,” you replied, raising a half-hearted smile as you turned to greet her. “Sleep well?”

“So well thank you,” she said, taking the seat beside you, before dropping her voice, “How are you? Marion told us she interrupted you and George having a lover’s tiff last night.”

Unsure of how to respond, you stuttered, “Ugh… yeah, we had a bit of an argument. It’s okay though, just cabin fever. Literally.”

Cara raised her eyebrow, “And nothing to do with our tall dark and handsome Austrian friend?”

Taken aback by her ability to see through you, you kept your voice hushed as you replied, “No, just George, but it’s okay, honestly don’t worry.”

Looking unconvinced, fortunately, Cara was somewhat distracted as your fellow guests emerged one by one until the only ones missing were Toto and George. Conspicuous in their absence, she turned and asked, “Where has George gotten to?”

Fortunately, you didn’t have to answer as he suddenly appeared from inside, Toto not far behind him. Their expressions were steely and you knew they must have been talking again.

“Good morning everyone,” said Toto smoothly, taking his seat at the head of the table beside you, George settling at the other end, staunchly continuing to ignore your very existence.

"Morning," George muttered curtly, grabbing a slice of toast without looking at anyone. The atmosphere around the table shifted uncomfortably, everyone picking up on the tension. You forced a smile, trying to maintain a semblance of normality.

"So," began Cara brightly, clearly attempting to break the uncomfortable tension, "What are everyone's plans after we dock?"

John, ever the optimist, chimed in first. "I've got a flight to the UK. Back to the grind, you know."

Marion nodded in agreement. "And I'll be heading back to London. Lots to catch up on at the office."

"I’m heading back to the UK too," George replied tersely, his eyes fixed on his plate.

"Oh, that sounds nice," Cara said, her tone a bit too enthusiastic. "And you?" she directed her gaze towards you and Toto.

Toto cleared his throat, glancing at you briefly. "I’ll be staying in Monaco. Busy week ahead."

"I’m heading back to the UK too," you added, your voice sounding strained even to your own ears. "Work, you know."

The rest of breakfast passed in strained silence, punctuated only by the clinking of cutlery and forced attempts at small talk. George kept to himself, barely acknowledging anyone's presence, while Toto made an effort to engage in polite conversation and thank the group for joining him for the week. You couldn’t shake the feeling of being on the edge of a precipice, everything in your life poised to either fall apart or somehow come together.

After breakfast, the group gathered their belongings and prepared to disembark. Having already packed, you found yourself standing on the deck, staring out at the horizon, the yacht gently swaying. The trip was ending and you took a deep breath, bracing yourself for what came next.

Lost in your thoughts, Toto caught you off guard as he grabbed your arm gently. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice low and concerned.

You nodded, though your eyes told a different story. “I’ll manage,” you replied quietly, pulling your arm free. “I need to talk to George one last time before we leave.”

Toto nodded understandingly. “If you need anything, I’m here,” he said, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before walking away.

With a deep breath, you headed back to your cabin. George was inside, sitting on the edge of the bed, his bags packed and ready to go. He didn’t look up as you entered, his gaze fixed on the floor.

“George, please,” you began, your voice trembling. “Can we talk?”

He sighed heavily, finally meeting your eyes. “What more is there to talk about? You made your choice.”

“I made a mistake,” you pleaded. “I know I hurt you and I’m so sorry. But can’t we at least try to work things out? We’ve been through so much together.”

George shook his head, his expression one of resigned sadness. “I can’t. Not after this. Every time I look at you, I’ll be reminded of what happened. And Toto... he’s my boss. How am I supposed to go back to work after this?”

Tears streamed down your face as you realized the depth of the damage you’d caused. “I never wanted to hurt you,” you whispered. “I love you, George.”

He stood up, grabbing his bags. “I loved you too. But it’s over. I can’t do this anymore.”

With that, he walked past you and out of the cabin, leaving you standing there, heartbroken and alone.

– – – 

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. You managed to gather your things and make your way to the dock without breaking down completely. The group had said their goodbyes, the atmosphere noticeably more subdued than when the trip began. Friendly as ever, Cara and Marion had promised to keep in touch but you knew that ending things with George would mean you would likely never see them again.

Having pre-arranged your transfers you were stuck in the awkward situation of sharing a car to the airport and a flight with George. You hoped that you could perhaps change seats and not have to endure the ninety-minute flight in tense silence.

Bidding goodbye to Toto, all too aware of George’s eyes on the two of you, you tried your best to appear no more than friendly. Kissing him on the cheek as you thanked him one more time for his hospitality as he whispered for only you to hear, “I will drop you a message.”

Nodding fractionally, you turned away to board the small launch that would take you back to the mainland, catching sight of George saying goodbye to Toto, their conversation appearing civil but strained. He glanced your way for a brief moment, his expression unreadable, before turning back to his boss. 

– – – 

The drive back to the airport was quiet, the mood sombre. George sat across from you, as far away as possible, staring out the window. As the glittering blue seaside scenery whizzed past you tried your best to remain stoic. It was only a twenty-minute car journey, you could make it through this.

Having spent the journey ignoring you, George finally turned to you as you made your way into the departures lounge at Nice Airport. "I guess this is it," he said, his voice flat. "I’ll send someone to get my things from your apartment."

"George, please," you began, tears welling up again.

"No," he cut you off, his eyes cold. "It's over. Goodbye."

Taglist: @prettiest-at-the-party @noooway555 @annewithaneofthegreengable  @xoscar03 @totowolfffcheco @justzluv @kravitzwhore @bborra @a-beaverhausen@amandadesantasworld

[hughesyodaddy43]

you're gonna be okay ⎸ J.H

Jack Hughes x Reader synopsis : when Jack loses a big game, he comes over to seek support from his favourite person. word count: 1.5k warnings: sad jack, fluff, angst? Authors note: I have more fanfics coming soon, i have a range of them pre -planned with covers and titles and I read everyones request so if i don't get to yours then it's because i already have a story planned for that player or request. I hope you like this one :)

I slumped down on my bed, easily immersing myself in the world of fiction, every now and then munching on the bowl of popcorn I had sitting beside me. Jack was playing for team USA tonight so I was waiting patiently for him to message me that the game ended so we could call or hang out. Something about these big games excited me, not for the sport but for the post game interviews. 

It was nice to watch the interviews and read through the comments as if you couldn't just ask Jack the same questions yourself and actually get real and honest answers. 

You didn't know the final score yet so you went on youtube to see if a post game interview was up and you were met with the prettiest blue puppy dog eyes you've ever seen, but you knew jack and this was definitely not gonna be a happy interview. You click on the video and are met with a saddened Jack on the verge of tears, your heart aches for him as you listen to his answers; you were mad that they would interview a 17year old on the verge of tears and still ask the most idiotic questions. 

I only made it about 5 minutes into the video before I  got a message on my phone.

Jack 💘:  I’m outside. 

                                                 Okay, coming down now.         

I  walk down towards the front door and see a dishevelled jack peering back at me.

“Hi. Can I come in?” The young hockey player asks while twirling with his fingers. 

“Of course” I answer, slightly smiling at him as I move my body so he can slip past me. 

He walks through my doorway and up towards my room, I trail behind him closely up until he reaches my bed and slumps down on it , exhaustion evident on his face as he looks up at me standing in the doorway. “Are you okay?” I asked quietly, not wanting to make him feel worse, though judging by the way his lip quivered and his head shook, I'm not sure that was the right decision. 

“We lost” he says just above a whisper 

“Hm?” I walked closer to him and sat beside him, reaching over to hold his hand that he was fiddling with in his lap. “We lost the game, we lost everything” he states, audible this time.

“Oh. well it’s okay-” "NO ITS NOT OKAY” Jack yells, standing up and turning to face me, running his hands through his freshly washed hair. “It's not okay, I let my team down, I let my parents down, I've let everyone down and I'm so tired” he rants on, quieting down towards the end. 

“Hey, hey . It is okay, alright? Just because you've lost this game, doesn't mean you've lost everything"

"yes it does, you have no idea what it's like to lose something like this. You don't have to worry about making sure you end up drafted. You'll never know.” ' Jack replies quickly, raising his voice once  again 

“you havent lost everything,i know it feels like it and i know you’re upset. But please don’t start yelling at me when I'm just trying to help you.'' He looks at me after I say this, tears filling up his eyes.

 “You’re right, im sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you, I'm just so angry at myself, I could've played better , we could've won but I let everyone down." I stand up and walk in front of him 

“Hockey is a team sport, Jack. One loss isn't your fault, besides all hockey players lose big games, even the best of the best.” Jack doesn't reply, instead he just nods his head and wipes a falling tear from his cheek.

“You’re an amazing player Jack, anyone can see that. You played well, and so did everyone else. Losses happen, it wouldn't be competitive if nobody lost.” He nods again, looking down at the ground. 

I sigh before continuing “why don't we just lay down and watch a movie?hm?” i ask 

The boy sniffles before nodding, replying with a light yeah as he makes his way back over to my bed. He sits against the headboard and watches me as I sit down and open my laptop. Stupidly i forgot to close the youtube tab i had opened from his interview and there it was, my boys said face displayed on my computer. I look over at Jack, he stares at the screen then back at me. 

“Sorry, i usually watch your post game interviews” i apologise.``its okay, i think its cute you watch my interviews” he smiles lightly at me, his beautiful smile that i didnt think i'd see tonight was there on display “what can i say? You're just too hard to resist” I joke, gaining a light chuckle from the boy  before fixing my eyes back to the screen so we can pick something to watch.

X

X

“Do you really think everything will be okay?” Jack asks in a mumble. “Mhm, you're gonna be okay” Jack leans up to face me “i'm gonna be okay” he repeats “you’re gonna be okay” i reply before he leans in and presses his soft lips on mine, we pull away and jack returns to his previous position, snuggling his face into my neck. “Goodnight, Jack. Love you” i say softly “mm night, love you too y/nn” jack replies before swiftly drifting off to a much needed sleep.

I wrap my arms around Jack in a warm embrace, sinking down into the pillows and pulling the blanket up higher. Light snores are audible from the boy as he leans into my touch, even when he's sleeping, he still manages to tighten his arms around me, lightly rubbing circles on my skin from where my shirt rolled up. I play with his hair while  allowing my eyes to grow heavy and fall into a peaceful slumber. Comfortable with the outcome of this otherwise devastating night

[lvdr-haze]

hii, can you write joost x female reader angst? they argue, he yells/says mean stuff but it ends with fluff? thank youuu 💋💋

here you go love, sorry for the late btw. :))

TW!! : mention of the death of a friend, angst with comfort ending

words : ≈1000

english is not my first language sorry if you can find some mistakes in the ff.

everything is fictional !!

REQUESTS STILL OPEN!!

NEVER FELT SO ALONE

Lately, Joost and you had been distant because he had a lot of work, and you knew that he didn’t like being disturbed while working, and you respected that.

But today was different. As you were walking home from work after an already bad and long day, you received a call from an unknown number. You usually don’t respond, but this time you felt the urge to pick up the call; you didn’t know why.

When the person on the other end of the telephone line announced the death of one of your dearest friends, your body just stopped moving, your eyes immediately filled with tears, and you felt quite dizzy.

You couldn’t believe it. How was it even possible?

You couldn’t even talk to the person who had called you, your body just moving from your sobs and your hands trembling.

The call ended and you stayed there, incapable of moving, just trembling and sobbing, trying so hard not to fall to your knees. You needed someone to hold you right now, and that someone needed to be Joost. You didn’t want anyone else because you knew that he would exactly understand how you were feeling right now.

You walked home with tears still rolling down your eyes, and after what seemed like an eternity, you finally entered your apartment.

You knew Joost was still working on his song in the room he had transformed into a studio, but you had to see him and you had to feel his arms around you.

You entered the room, but sadly for you, that clearly wasn’t the moment to do that because your boyfriend was so angry. He had just lost one of his songs and couldn’t find it anywhere on his laptop. So when he heard the door opening and felt your presence, he immediately yelled without even looking or checking on you.

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE, Y/N!! Just fucking leave me alone. Why are you pissing me off like this? Stop acting like a fucking child.”

His words were harsh, cold, and hurtful, but you didn’t want to fight. You didn’t have the energy for it. So you just stepped out of the room, crying even more.

You’d never felt so alone in your life.

You hated when people yelled at you, and Joost knew that. So after a little while, he came out of his room just to find you crying really hard on the couch. You couldn’t stop yourself, and your body was aching from sobbing. Joost immediately ran to you and took you in his arms to hold you tightly. He could feel that something else had happened, so he gently said with his calm and deep voice:

“What’s going on, lieverd? You can tell me everything… everything’s okay now…”

You looked at him; he was so comforting at the moment but yet really scary after how he had yelled at you five minutes before.

Joost could see the fear in your eyes, and that broke his heart. He never wanted you to be scared of him, so he held you as long as you needed to open up to him. And you finally did. You explained everything—the bad day at work, the call, the announcement of the death of your friend, the fight you had with him, and how you were feeling so lonely right now.

Joost’s heart ached at the mention of your dead friend. He had lost several people when he was young, and he knew how much it hurts and how hard it is to accept.

He sighed and played with your hair before finally speaking up:

“First of all, I’m really sorry that I reacted like this. I didn’t mean to, and I don’t ever want you to be scared of me. For your friend, you know I understand you perfectly, but the only advice I can give you is to let time do its work. Maybe it will take a while for you to heal, but I’ll be there to support you even when it’s not easy. You are not alone, Y/N… you’ll never be alone as long as I’m with you…”

Your sobbing had calmed down and your head was now resting on Joost’s chest, listening to his heartbeat as he was speaking to you with all the tenderness in the world.

Your eyes were feeling heavy and your body just needed some rest right now.

“Thank you, Joost… I love you…”

Joost kissed your forehead and smiled at the sight of you falling asleep on his torso.

“I love you too, Y/N… I love you so fucking much…”

[f10werfae]

Pillowy Thighs

pairing: Husband!Chris Evans x Plus size!Wife!Reader

summary: Y/n feels insecure watching all the other girls in the club, so Chris shows his wife why he loves watching her body move (requested by @aerangi )

Disclaimer: This story is fiction and should not be taken literally, the behaviour is simply imaginative and the content may be inappropriate

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated♥️

Chris Masterlist, Full Masterlist, Taglist Form

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“What’s wrong honey? My sweet gorgeous wife” Chris whispered into Y/n’s ear, his hands kneading the flesh on her hips affectionately, his hands tracing each of her stretch marks as if he’d memorised them. “Nothin, maybe you should ask Jessica to dance” Y/n huffed turning away from him, so when he leant in for a kiss, his lips hit her full cheeks instead.

“Hey hey now, what’s up?” Chris asked furrowing his brows, not paying attention to the rest of the party on the dance floor, his eyes trained on his wife’s beautiful face. “What i’m saying is, maybe you should dance with Jessica, rather than someone like me” Y/n shrugged turning back to the bar, swirling the liquor mindlessly in her glass. Motioning to the bartender who had been ogling Chris for most of the night, Chris of course being polite kept the conversation short.

“What’s that supposed to fuckin mean? Someone ‘like’ you?” Chris growled spinning Y/n’s face back to meet his, his expression hurt and angry. “Well-“

“Well? Fuckin well what? I wanna dance with my sexy ass wife on the dance floor and watch how her body moves” Chris’ head dipped to Y/n’s, his stubble covered cheek against hers, as his hands slowly felt up her doughy thighs which he swear he could live between if he could.

“B-but mine doesn’t move like that?” Y/n whined crossing her arms over her middle, nodding her head towards the typical club girls which were going crazy on the dance floor, their bodies grinding up against each other’s and everyone around them. Chris’ eyes didn’t even stray once, instead.

“C’mere baby, come dance with your man, your husband” Chris grumbled interlacing both their hands together, his head looking her up and down, leading him to whistle out as he admired the blue jewelled dress she had on; it accentuated all her curves perfectly. From the curve of her breasts, to her stomach, to her waist and finally her pillowy thighs.

“Okay but are you sure I belong here? with you?” Y/n asked shyly, her hands holding onto Chris’ forearms as they found a less crowded corner, his lips already attacking her jaw and neck feverishly. “You’re right where you belong honey, in my arms. Now turn around and let me love on my wife alright?”

Nodding Y/n turned around, feeling one of Chris’ arms wrap around her from shoulder to shoulder, while his other hand groped her ass through the dress gently. Together with the fast beat, Chris turned her jaw to the side so his lips could meet hers, anyone around them if they dared to look could see the couple passionately frenching on the dance floor without a care in the world.

“Arms around my neck baby” Chris growled, both of his hands going to settle on her waist, guiding her hips to the music. Y/n slightly whimpered as she reached both her hands behind her head to settle on Chris’ nape, letting his hands shamelessly grind her ass onto his hardened cock.

“See baby? That’s how you make me feel, no body else can do that to me. Only you Y/n, just you” Y/n nodded now wiggling her hips backwards, “atta girl” Chris whispered kissing her shoulder once more, his hand moving up from her waist to settle just below her breast.

“You’re crazy if you think i’d ever hate these tits, just look at how they bounce, fuck, s’all for me honey” Chris chuckled lewdly, cupping both of them harshly, letting them just bounce in his hand as they both humped their bodies together. “So don’t you ever fuckin’ say that I should dance with someone else that isn’t my wife, I only dance with you” Chris growled jerking his hips harsher, both of them more or less fucking with layers of clothes between them.

“Y-yes I understand, m’sorry” Y/n whimpered, thankfully everyone else was too drunk off their heads to realise what was going on in that one corner. “Turn around honey” Looking into Chris’ eyes, both of their hips slowed down, the both of them lovingly just swaying their bodies together; all their hands wandering all over each other.

“I love you so damn much, n’ don’t you ever forget it, ya hear me?”

“Hear you loud and clear” Feeling his hands grab a handful of her ass, Y/n leant up and kissed him sweetly, his bottom lip between her teeth as she bit it softly. “This body of yours isn’t the only reason i’m with you, this beautiful mind of yours” Chris kissed her temple sweetly, “And this pure beating heart, which beats for hopefully just me” Chris chuckled pointing to her left breast, leaning down and kissing it sweetly.

“Stop being so cheesy, you’re turning me on even more” Y/n smirked pulling him by his collar, giggling as she pressed kisses to his neck and jaw, an array of lipstick stains now covering him. “Can’t help it, love you too much”. Chris breathed out in the middle of the kiss, before smashing his lips back against hers, the kiss turning sloppy and wet quickly.

“Hold on, let me appreciate my wife’s body a lil longer” Chris said hesitatingly pulling away, a string of saliva connecting their lips. Using his large hands, he turned her around and immediately bent her over, dancing against her body in the doggy position; his hips pounding against the soft pudge of her ass wildly. “C-Chris, fuck, leave this to the bedroom baby” Y/n whimpered, feeling her body being pulled back up flush against his chest, his hands around her waist as he kissed her head gently.

“If you say so honey, let me go grab your purse and we’ll get going” …

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Love your skin baby, always so smooth n’ soft like butter” Chris mumbled raining small wet kisses all over Y/n’s breasts, slowly making his way to her stomach where his hands massaged the flesh softly, even biting it every so often.

“How can you ever hate on yourself baby, you’re goddamn sexy, look at this” Chris said holding eye contact as he kissed her puffy pussy, his lips softly kissing and nuzzling into it as he breathed in her sweet scent. Y/n whimpered as she felt his tongue sort through her slick folds, his face coming back up, a wide goofy grin on him with his face wet with her sweet nectar. “Could eat ya all day honey, and these thighs, shit” He breathed out leaving open mouthed kisses on each one, coating them in colourful hickies just for them to see.

———

Taglist Tags (Form is up there^^): @pandaxnienke @patzammit @thereisa8ella @mrspeacem1nusone @evanstanwhore @itsaylayay1213 @kimhtoo17 @chrisevansdaughter @vrittivsanghavi @dumb-fawkin-bitch @tojisbabymomma @bxdbxtxh15 @madebylilly @tinyelfperson @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @cevansgurl @marvelgurl @royalwriteroftheuniverse @fdl305 @mysticfalls01 @mdpplgtz03 @mirikusashes @xoxokiaraaxoxo @caps-shield1918 @uwiuwi @stormcloudss @adoreyouusugar @imboredat2am @meetmeatyourworst @mansaaay @girl-of-multi-fandoms @misshale21 @hallecarey1 @alexxavicry @bookfrog242 @alina02 @nikkitc0703 @mischiefsemimanaged @oliviah-25 @s-void @roofwitty779 @ravenhood2792 @feltonswifesworld87 @bluebellsn @lastwandastan @angelmather1 @diyabhanushali1 @bval-1 @stuckysgirl27 @wintasssoldier @hatsparkle @daddymack01 @keiva1000 @acornacre @minaxcarter @thebaileybugle

[querenciasturniolo]

fight ⮕ c.s.

word count: 1.3k

warnings: angst, arguing, anger, confessions, swearing, happy ending

summary: arguing with chris is constant, until you can’t take it anymore

a/n: everything written is completely fictional. the people i write for are written with characteristics and mannerisms that i made for them, this is in no way depicting what would actually happen in real life.

requested: no

Arguing with Chris happened more often than not, as much as you hated it and didn’t understand why he was picking fights with you.

It wasn’t always like this. The two of you used to get along incredibly well, he was your best friend. But over time, it was like a switch flipped. He was argumentative with you, and not the joking way he used to be. Everything that came out of his mouth directed at you was passive, and you didn’t understand why.

Matt and Nick tended to make themselves scarce the moment the tension in the room rose, and then it was the two of you, not necessarily yelling, but definitely not just talking. Right now, was one of those moments. Matt and Nick had already fled to their rooms, and the two of you had been arguing about…you weren’t even sure. All you knew was that Chris had made a snarky remark, and rage flooded your veins.

“You know what, Chris? I’m not doing this right now.” You decided, pushing yourself up from the dining room chair and turning to leave the kitchen. You didn’t know if you were going to leave, or run up to Nick’s room to decompress and scream into one of his pillows, but you knew you needed to get away from Chris.

He scoffed from behind you, the sound of the chair scraping the floor indicating he was getting up to follow. “Why don’t you ever just talk to me anymore?” He asked, the tone of his voice no longer angry, it was almost desperate. You turned to face him, your eyebrows furrowed.

“Chris, how am I supposed to talk to you when all you do is pick fights with me? I don’t even know what I did!” Your voice was higher, frustration radiating through you as you met his eyes. He was watching you intently, almost unnervingly as he groaned and ran his hands through his hair.

“I can’t do this anymore, Y/n. I can’t keep being so fucking mad at you all of the time.”

You blinked, confusion and even more frustration flooding through you. “Why are you mad at me?”

Chris shook his head and looked down at the floor. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Chris.” You said, your voice firm. “Why are you mad at me? Just tell me!” You didn’t mean to raise your voice, but you couldn’t control it. Why was he mad at you? What could you have possibly done?

Chris sighed as he lifted his head, barely meeting your eyes. “Just leave it alone, Y/n. It’s nothing.” He said, turning and heading towards the stairs to his room. You refused to let him do this. Whatever was bothering him about you, you needed to know now. You needed to get this over with, you just wanted him back. You lightly grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

“You want me to talk to you? Alright, then I’m not letting you leave until you tell me what I did.” You said, your voice nearly a whisper. The air was tense, the silence in the room not helping the worry pooling in your chest.

Chris turned around, eyes facing the floor. He looked so small like this, and you hated it. You could tell he was fighting himself, and whatever he was fighting, hurt. Before you knew it, you were pulling him into a hug. It felt right, and you had forgotten how perfectly you fit against him. His arms wrapped around you immediately, his grip tight as he buried his face in your hair.

“I’ve missed you.” He whispered, your heart shattering at how hurt he sounded.

“I never left.” You said, Chris sighing into your shoulder. He didn’t let go, the embrace lasting for longer than you were expecting. You refused to let go until he did, you could tell he needed this. When he finally pulled away, his eyes were red-rimmed.

“What’s going on? What did I do, Chris?” You asked. Your voice was still soft, almost a whisper. Chris shook his head.

“You didn’t do anything.” He said. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, exhaling sharply through his nose. “I’m just…I’m so in love with you, and I don’t know what to do.”

Everything came to a crashing halt at that moment, your mind going completely blank as you processed what he just said with only a few questions blasting through the silence. Chris was in love with you? How was that possible? Why didn’t he tell you? Why was this not scaring the absolute shit out of you?

Chris opened his eyes then, the striking blue of his iris’ startling you out of your trance. “You love me?” You asked. Chris nodded hesitantly, his breathing shaky as he watched you. “But…why didn’t you tell me? Why were you picking fights with me instead of talking to me?”

“It hit me like a fucking truck.” He said, a huff of breath leaving his lips. “One day, I just looked at you, and boom—there it was. This weight was on my chest every time you smiled, or laughed at something I said. It manifested into this fear, and I couldn’t even look at you without panicking.”

You listened to every word that came out of his mouth, you had to. It was impossible to not listen, especially since everything he said made your head feel fuzzy.

“I picked fights, as childish as it was, because you being mad at me was less terrifying than you not feeling the same way.” He finished.

You didn’t know what to say. The last few weeks had been hard, wondering why Chris started being the way he was towards you, and finding out it was all because he had feelings for you was surreal.

“If you’re mad, I get it. I can, like, leave you alone if you want.” He said. You shook your head.

“I mean, I deserve an apology, for sure, but you aren’t getting rid of me that easy.” You said.

Chris nodded his head immediately. “You do, and I am sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you the way that I did.” You sighed, the tension leaving your body at Chris’ sincerity.

“Good, thank you. Now, back to what you said before. You love me?” You asked again, wanting to make sure Chris knew what he had just said to you—wanting to make sure you knew what he had just said to you.

He sighed again, the left corner of his mouth twitched as he nodded. “Yes, Y/n. I love you, I’m in love with you. I have feelings for you, you’re all I think about. Do you get it now?” He rambled. You almost laughed in disbelief at his words, completely blown away by the boy in front of you.

“I get it, asshole.” You said, shaking your head and smiling. Before he could say anything else, you leaned up and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, his eyes widening in shock as he stared down at you.

“Fucking finally.”

You jumped, whipping your head to the side to see Matt standing outside his door. You had no idea how long he had been standing there, but he looked completely unamused.

“As glad as I am that the arguing is over, can the two of you confess your love for each other further away from my room?” He asked, stepping back into his room and shutting the door, your face burning as you looked back at Chris. He couldn’t meet your eyes, his cheeks a bright shade of pink.

“Chris.” You said, your voice barely a whisper. He finally looked at you, his face completely open and vulnerable.

This was the Chris you’d been missing the last few weeks. He’d always been so easy to read, and these last few weeks had been so hard without that. You leaned forward again, a soft gasp leaving his lips before you kissed him softly. It was soft and innocent, even when Chris hesitantly cupped your jaw with his hand and tilted his head to deepen the kiss.

[kimsmuse]

yandere hongjoong + baby trapping ♡ !!

i do not condone anything here, it’s all just fictional. do not consume if you don’t like yandere or dark themes.

fem!reader (no pronouns, just because there's mention of pregnancy) 1.2k words. warnings include manipulation, mentions/implications of sex and messing with birth control and condoms, and yandere behavior, and also kinda stockholm syndrome?

i have a planned part two, so let me know if anybody is interested <3

Your relationship with hongjoong is normal. Very normal, in fact. He has the kind of aura that would automatically appeal to everyone around you as your perfect partner. He had a caring nature and it wasn’t just limited to you, he brought out gifts and things your parents briefly mentioned that they liked for them and helped them out in tasks that even you being their kid, didn’t want to. And when it came to your friends, they were rightly impressed by him from the very first time that they met him over lunch and he insisted on paying the bill. But even without the economic front, all of them were secretly swooning over how when you said you didn’t like the food you ordered and rather liked his dish, he was immediate in swapping them even though it was evident that even he didn’t like it.

Your parents had already dreamt of him as the perfect son-in-law, the one that they would be bragging about to neighbours, relatives, you name it and they’d be bragging and your friends were already planning to invite him and you, ofcourse to this new italian place that opened for lunch..

So it comes as a shock to them when you let them know that your relationship has sunk to a saturation point, meaning it was just dying. it wasn’t even anybody's fault - not yours and neither hongjoong's but it felt like a pretty, beautiful flower wilting, slowly withering away. it was good while it lasted though.

your father's first comment was to ask, "does that mean i have to watch all my baseball matches alone from now?"

you knew what it meant though. have you two broken up? not yet, but you were going to talk to him today.

lately, all he replied to you was with “hmm's” and a nod or maybe if you were lucky enough, he would look your way. he said it was because he was stressed about his work, and that he really needed some time and space to focus for it, which you weren't quite against but the way things had steadily been the same for about more than 6 months, you felt like you had to be the bad person and pull the trigger.

“hongjoong,”

he sits down on the sofa and sighs, but responds to you, his voice tired.

“yes, baby? ” he asks.

you're in the kitchen, removing your apron and slowly making your way to the living room, you wonder what his reaction will be when you finally break the news to him. accepting? angry? upset?

“ hongjoong, we need to talk, ”

now, hongjoong wasn’t born yesterday, he knows what that stands for wnd he's been aware of the crumbling of the relationship as well but when push comes to shove…

he decides that he'll let you speak, he'll let you pour out whatever you feel like saying, what are the problems you think are bothering your relationship.

“I get it, baby,” he emphasises on the nickname sourly, “do it.”

he looks nonchalant about the whole situation while you just want out now, you didn’t like where this whole thing seemed to be heading now, his eyes were getting almost angry, something you’ve seen him do with others, but you? you’d never have imagined him looking your way like that.

there’s something scary about it, “oh, joong, i don’t want to break it off, i’m just wondering if we can work on it, give it a better chance.”

relief fills you when you see that his expressions have softened. “i’m sorry, i thought you wanted to leave, shit. sorry, i can’t believe i would…”

hongjoong had messed up, big time. it wasn’t excusable this time, he felt guilty that he was angry at you when you didn’t even want to leave him. you’d never want to leave him, right?

hongjoong waits, with bated breath. he's been waiting for about, 3 weeks, yes, as the calendar tells him. and it finally begins, the wave of nausea starts hitting you and its not his alarm that wakes him up but the sound of you retching out your guts. he doesn’t mind it, not right now, when it was his plan all along.

and he can tell you're confused, you had the pills! you took them! and he watches you try to sheepishly dispose of the pregnancy tests, and he even follows you to the gynec’s clinic, careful to keep a distance so you can’t see him.

but you see, if there’s one rule hongjoong would always tell his future kid to follow is to never trust anybody, in your case you didn't have a choice really so he doesn't blame you for giving in to him. but for his kid, he needs to instill this one thing in him thoroughly. the world was a big, bad place, where people like his father lived.

after you confronted him, it was like hongjoong woke up from his sleep, like if he didn’t do anything, didn’t put in efforts, then you could actually leave, and he’d be damned if he ever let you do that. so he decided to level up his games, first it was his change in behaviour, he came home early, he brought in all sorts of trinkets and snacks that he thought you would like and he returned to his normal self, but he could, deep down, sense that it wasn’t the way it was before and he was scared that you pack up and leave still.

it was why he had replaced the birth control pills and even went as far as to poke holes in his condom.

he wasn't a bad man really, but he was getting sick of your protests to leave soon and that you've had enough of him or that you both aren't working anymore. he notices that those complaints have considerably started going down as your focus shifts to your health.

and now he doesn't think the crumbling state of his relationship would matter much, he would hit the reset button and he would become the man that you and his kid needed.

he becomes so, so soft throughout the entire period, it would make you forget about any of the cruelties he ever inflicted on you. and you think to yourself, maybe he really can change, maybe he really did change for the better?

and hongjoong thinks that as well, he's just so happy for the both of you. you're having a baby! it's so exciting!

when you tell him he pretends to not know, to be surprised, “we’re having a baby!” as if he wasn’t the one who conspired and made the whole thing happen.

the best thing is that you seem happy about it too, hongjoong has changed, and there’s nobody else you’d rather have a kid with, especially since you’ve seen how caring he is with other kids and just other people generally, so when it would come to his own kid, he would definitely come into the perfect father category.

when you looked at him, holding his hand, he feels like the man you fell in love with in the beginning and you’re sure, that you’ll love the father of your kid forever. let’s just hope you never find out how he bent seas and mountains to make that happen.

[saetoru]

tee…. tee could you… WOULD you write smth abt isagi

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。TAKE CARE — ISAGI YOICHI.

✩ — word count: 2.3k words and not proofread (this was meant to be a drabble sobs)

✩ — contents: stepcest + dub con + dark content, minors begone, aged up pro! isagi, jealous stepbro! isagi, fem! reader, descriptions of puberty (breasts and periods), fingering, manipulation + coercion, writing this does not mean i condone this in real life this is fiction.

✩ — notes: juno my bestie. for you, anything. this was not even supposed to be stepcest it just had a mind of its own sobs

“c’mon yoichi, it’s not as big as you’re making it,” you roll your eyes.

“actually it is,” isagi counters, “sorry if my sister and teammate dating doesn’t seem like a good idea.”

if you were to tell anyone, isagi yoichi is a good stepbrother—everyone around you knows it, your friends and neighbors and even the mailman too.

truthfully, you’ve always wanted an older brother, and he fills that spot easily. you’ve always craved someone to give you the bigger half of the chocolate bar, someone to threaten the older boys on the playground, someone to treat you well so you know the bar isn’t on the ground.

he does his part—he’s nice to your mother and helps around the house, he’s reliable and always puts you first, and he always makes sure to never cross the line that treads towards disrespectful. he comes into your house as a stranger, but he makes it a home filled with family. and he even spoils you, laughs that kind and sweet little chuckle of his as he mumbles about what good’s an athlete’s salary if i can’t spoil my little sister?

isagi is a good stepbrother—the best, even. so you can do this one little thing for him right? after all he’s done, you can do this much for him, can’t you?

“it’s only awkward if you make it awkward,” you insist.

“no. you can’t go out with my teammate,” he shakes his head, making you frown.

it’s not an unreasonable boundary—getting intimate with a teammate only makes room for an awkward tension for him if things don’t work out. it’s a mix of his personal and professional life. it’s a tug of war between his family and his friends (and technically, coworker too.) and it’s not like you didn’t count on the possibility of his disproving gaze…it’s just that with a brother as wrapped around your fingers as isagi, well….you figure he’ll let you have this one if you just give him your best pout.

“but he’s cute,” you huff, “c’mon it’s just for fun.”

“you can’t have fun with anyone else?” he asks gruffly. there’s something about him—something a bit rougher, a bit harsher, a bit angry almost.

isagi is a good stepbrother—he never gets mad at you. he’s patient and understanding, let’s you off the hook more than he should, lets you off with a gentle warning instead of scolding you. so when he looks at you like that, jaw tight and eyes narrowed, you can’t help but wonder what’s happened to that sweet, precious older brother of yours.

“but bachira’s just so…so…” you snap your fingers, looking for the right word to describe his friend.

isagi’s eyes harden. his hands are crossed over his chest as he licks his lips and raises a brow. “he’s so what?” he asks lowly, “sweet? funny? hot?”

“yeah,” you shrug, “i guess he is. he seems like a good time.”

“a good time,” he nods slowly, as if testing the words on his tongue. “that so?”

isagi is a good stepbrother—he taught you how to ride a bike, he played pretend with you growing up, he pushed you on the swings and always let you go down the slide first, he played card games and let you win when your spirits were crushed. he’s always kept you entertained…hasn’t he? so why is it that you’ve never said he’s a good time?

“well, yeah….” you trail off, “i’m not sixteen anymore,” you roll your eyes, giving him a scoff, “you don’t have to baby me anymore. i can handle it if your little athlete friend isn’t who he seems to be.”

“that’s what you say,” he grunts, taking a step closer.

sometimes, it hits you how much isagi’s grown. his arms aren’t skinny and small anymore, there’s muscle on his biceps that ripple as they flex. he’s not that short and shy kid anymore, he’s taller now and talks a lot more confidently. he’s not the same size as you or just a bit bigger anymore, he’s bulkier now, has a broadness to his shoulders and chest that make him bigger than just his height.

“what are you—”

“when that asshole cheated on you a few years back who picked you up?” he demands, making your brows furrow. “and then when you got with him two more times, who listened to you cry on the phone, hmm?”

“yoichi, that’s not fair. i was like…seventeen—”

“when that one guy left you on the side of the road, who came and got you? huh?”

“what’s that got to do with anything—”

“i’ve always cleaned up your messes, haven’t i?”

“yeah, so?” you ask as he takes a few strides towards you, making you step back until your back meets the cool wall behind you.

isagi is a good stepbrother—he takes care of you like you need, always makes sure your safe and sound, always comes running when you need him most.

he’s almost perfect….almost. there’s just one small, tiny little blemish on his records. every time you’ve cried those innocent tears of yours (no boy deserves your tears) he’s always had that phantom thought that maybe, just maybe, if it was him—then you’d never cry.

how could he not? he watched your breasts grow slowly but surely over the years, he was there when you got your first period, he bought you your first lipgloss, he saw you in every dress first before school dances. he’s watched you grow into the woman you are….so who better to treat you right than him?

he doesn’t get it, why you’d choose bachira when he’s been there all this time—all because what…his father’s married to your mother? because you call him your darling older brother even though there’s not a shred of dna you share?

isagi is a good stepbrother—but if you just gave him the chance, you’d know he’d also be a perfect boyfriend.

“how do you think it feels?” he asks, voice a low whisper, his lips barely a millimeter away from your forehead as he speaks. it almost feels intimate, the way he talks to you, like he’s telling you feelings he’s buried deep down. “to watch you cry over all these shitty ass men that make don’t know how to take care of you?”

you swallow thickly, uncertainty washing over your face as you stare up at him. “yoichi…i…”

“you think i like it? watching you waste those pretty tears on those douchebags?”

“you don’t trust your own friend?” you can barely manage your voice to be a low whisper, throat dry from the way his forehead is now touching yours.

you can feel his breath, can breathe it in if you want—and a faint part of you registers that brothers should not be standing this close to sisters, should not share air this close or feel each others heartbeats from proximity alone.

you feel almost filthy when you realize you don’t mind it. that you like it even—that if he tilted his head, his lips would touch yours and….and you wouldn’t even shove him off would you?

no—you wouldn’t.

it’s disgusting. it’s unholy. it’s wrong in ever regard. it’s shameful and it would get you shunned from everyone. people would whisper. what would your mother say? his father? your friends? the neighbors? the god damn mailman?

you almost taste bile….but it’s hardly important when your chest is beating so wildly and your fingertips feel clammy with anticipation.

“no,” his voice is gravelly, deep and…and is that lust? “no, i don’t trust any boy around you but me. you know that?”

“yoi—” your voice breaks off a bit, breath hitching in the middle of his name as you register what he’s just said.

he closes his eyes, almost like he’s savoring the way his name sounds on your tongue like that.

“only time you should be crying is from something good,” he hums, “you think these boys can give that to you? do you think they care enough? think they love you enough?”

“i…i don’t—”

he doesn’t let you get more than a word or two in, plants two strong and rough palms on your waist and squeezes gently. it’s enough to distract you, to pull your eyes from his eyes to where his hands are.

by the time you look up again, his lips are hovering just above yours.

“only one person has loved you like a real man,” he mumbles, “you know who?”

“w-who,” you ask shakily.

you hate that you know. you hate even more that you want to hear him say it.

“me,” he growls—and then his lips are on yours.

he has you pressed against the wall. the same wall your mother measured your heights on with markers as you grew. the same wall you counted against for hide and seek as you played. the same wall you stood against and took pictures together on birthdays. the same wall that’s watched you get older and him too—under one roof, under one home, under one family.

his lips are soft, gentle yet firm as they feel your lips. they mold against you perfectly—it’s like that missing puzzle piece only family can fit in. you gasp against his mouth, and his tongue slides in.

he tastes you—tastes every corner of your mouth as his tongue presses against yours, feels every inch of your lips as they sear against his. it’s hot, it’s needy, it’s desperate, it’s wrong, and it’s sinful.

but it feels so good. so right. so exciting.

because he’s right—no one takes care of him like you, no one puts you first like he does, no one knows you like isagi yoichi.

his fingers are hooking onto your waistband in no time. let me do this, baby. the petname makes you shiver. don’t worry, i’ll make it good. somehow you trust he will. you’ll see why no one’s good for you. the way he kisses you alone has already convinced you. i’ll make it good, yeah? just for you. you know he will. i’ll take care of you. i always do. he does—and he always will.

“y-yoichi, what if…what if someone walks in a-and—”

“shh,” he cuts you off, “no one’ll be home,” he grins a little too widely, “just relax, i always take good care of you, don’t i?” he waits for an answer before asking a bit more fiercely. “don’t i?”

“yes,” you whisper. you nod slowly once, then confidently a second time. “yes, you always take care of me when no one else does.”

“‘s right,” he hums in approval. his fingers move your underwear to the side, ghosting over your slit as he collects your slick on his fingers. “poor thing,” he hums softly, sickeningly sweet. “who’s gonna take care of this precious little pussy? guess i’ll have to do it. want me to do it? hmm? want me to show you how real men treat perfect pussies like yours?”

“y-yeah,” you breathe.

it’s aching—the pressure between your legs is painful, it’s desperate for relief. you need to feel him, feel full of him, feel the friction of his touch against your most sensitive parts.

he knows it too—because soon, his fingers sink deep into you, pressing against your sweet spot instantly. because he knows you, inside and out, he knows you. he doesn’t need to try to find the vulnerable parts of you.

“o-oh,” you breathe, gripping his arm as your eyes flutter shut.

“that feel good?” he grins, thrusting his fingers in and out of you, letting his palm glide over your swollen clit. you gasp at the feeling, clenching down tightly against the intrusion as he stretches you open.

“yeah…yeah that feels….so good,” you moan, breathy and whiny and so, so cute.

“yeah, i knew it would,” he kisses your forehead. “know everything that’s good for you—you trust me, right?”

“d-don’t stop,” you gasp, whimpering when his fingertips slam against that soft, delicate spot deep within your walls.

he growls, slowing his pace a bit and squeezing your cheeks together. “right?” he presses, “you trust me, right? you know i just wanna take care of you? give you what you deserve? cause i love you.”

“yes, yoichi—i know,” you whine, legs quaking as your orgasm approaches. his fingers rub against the sensitive walls of your cunt, leaving a wet, filthy sound to echo through the room as he sinks in and out of you. “i love you too,” you babble, “love how you take care of me. always put me first, always drop everything for me. always know how to cheer me up.”

“that’s my girl,” he coos, “my good, good girl.”

he kisses your forehead again—it feels familiar. you’ve known that sweetness since your were a kid. it feels new. you’ve never felt tenderness like this until now.

and then you cum—shrieking high pitched and broken as you gush around his fingers, letting the velvet of your walls constrict around him until he’s groaning into your neck, grinding the tent in his pants against you as he thrusts his fingers to ride you through your high.

“yoi—yoichi, yoichi,” you breathe, moaning his name like it’s some prayer.

it’s not right, but it just can’t be wrong if it feels like this.

“baby,” he whispers that name again—and you think for a second if you ever have to hear him call you anything else, you might just die. “can i feel you? gotta take care of me too,” he pants, needy as he grinds against your thighs, stuttering on moans, “‘s what i always taught you right? we always take care of each other.”

you nod, looking at him with doe eyes.

isagi is a good stepbrother—he plays all the roles you need him to as the man of your life.

“right,” you hum, “i’ll always take care of you too.”

this is technically my first time posting dark content on this blog wow

[imyourbratzdoll]

𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒕𝒔

summary - morgan gets hurt while at a family/friend gathering, causing all the women's instincts to kick in except yours. which doesn't end well for your relationship with a man from the 40s

warning - angst, swearing, no happy ending.

the gif and headers I use aren't mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

You didn’t know how it had all gone wrong. One minute, you were chatting with the girls, having a good time as you discussed life so far, and the next, one of the kids had fallen and hurt themselves, causing all of the women except you to go running. You didn’t think it would be a problem, and the child had many women coming to its aid. What was wrong with you staying seated? It wasn’t yours, and it wasn’t like you were entitled to go and help it. Your instincts usually kicked in when you were on the battlefield, and a child was in danger, but you weren’t. You were surrounded by friends and family, knowing the child wasn’t in life-threatening danger.

But apparently, your partner Steve had seen a massive problem with it. He was fuming because he thought that you should’ve gone over. He had thought that you cared for children and would have instincts. Steve couldn’t believe he was with someone who didn’t care, someone who he had thought of starting a family with. He couldn’t be with you if you didn’t even care for someone else's child. What would you be like with your own? Would he be the one who would have to care for and protect it? Steve felt like he had been blinded this whole time and was glad he finally saw the truth. 

The car ride home was awkward. You didn’t know what had set Steve off, but he wouldn’t look or talk to you. “Steve? What’s wrong?” He grunts, his knuckles turn white as he grips the steering wheel, clenching his jaw harder as he refuses to answer. You gnaw on your bottom lip, shifting awkwardly in the seat, your heart pounding as you wonder if you did something wrong. When the two of you finally arrive at your house, Steve turns the car off and gets out quickly, slamming the door as he heads inside. You slowly get out to follow him, cautiously entering the house and heading toward the bedroom, where you notice him packing. “What, Steve? What are you doing?”

He doesn’t stop as he continues to pack. “I’m leaving.” You look at him confused, tilting your head as you begin to feel your heartbreak. You wonder why he’s leaving because you know there are no missions. 

“What? What do you mean you're leaving?” Your brows furrow, growing annoyed at his lack of response. “Steve. What the fuck do you mean you’re leaving?!” You step closer, placing your hand on his, stopping him from packing for a second. You stare at his blue eyes that stare back with a hardened gaze, glaring at you and recoiling from your touch. 

“I don’t think we’re right for each other. We want different things.” He growls out, pushing your hand off his and continuing to pack, ignoring how your breath hitches and the tears forming, not finding it in himself to care for you right now. “I can’t be with someone like you.” 

You scoff. “What do you mean someone like me, Steve? We both want the same fucking thing? What the fuck changed?” You growl, now growing angry at his lame excuse. You push against him, punching his chest as he faces you. “Answer me! What the fuck changed?!” Tears now flow down your face, mixed with sadness and anger. 

“You want to know what changed?! You didn’t even fucking move when Morgan hurt herself?! Everyone else fucking rushed over, and you sat there with no fucking care! I want to have a fucking family, but not with you. If you can’t care for a child that’s not even yours, that says a lot about you being a mother.” He growls, getting into your face, his finger poking your chest as you back into a wall. Steve leans forward, getting closer as he whispers harshly. “I’m sure I can find someone else who would fill the role perfectly. You aren’t needed for me to get what I want.” 

You stare into his emotionless eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat as you nod. “Okay…” Your hands land on his chest as you push him away from you. “You do that. You go and throw away the many years of our relationship over something like this. Have fun finding someone who will put up with your shit like I did. You aren’t as fucking perfect as you like to think, Steve.” You growl, stepping away from him and walking out the door. You head over to the cabinet and grab a glass before grabbing your finest whiskey and filling it to the top. You ignore Steve as he watches you from the doorway, his bag on his shoulder as you skull the drink. Your eyes watch as the man you love walks away from you and out of your life. “Pathetic.” You shake your head, slamming the glass into the sink, ignoring how it shattered, and head over to the couch. You’d deal with it all in the morning. Right now, you just want to go to sleep. 

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

part 2