cheriwritesig

[cheriwritesig]

Oh 🥴 my fucking 🖕👦 god ✝, I ☝ cannot ❌ stand 🚹 it anymore 🔥... I �� think 🤔 I ☝ must've become 🔜 a simp 🤬 at some point 😓 recently 😏 because every ☝ time ⏰ I ☝ look 😀 at you 👆 I 👁 just get 😷 a massive 🐘 fucking 🖕 erection ⬆. Your 👉 face 😀 look 👀 like 👍 it was hand 🙌 designed 😋 by a thousand 🧚✨ angels 😇... And you 👉🏻 have an uttermost beautiful 🌈 style 🦋😍✨ of clothing 👗 as well 👫, if you 👆 happen 😱 to have a twitch ↕ account 💳, please 🙏 be sure 💯 to add ➕ me at xXPussy_Destroyrr69420wholesomekeanuchungussub2pewdiepieXx. I 👁 promise 🙆🏾 I'll 🤒 donate 💰 every ☝ cent 💳 that I ☝ make 🛠 every ☝ month 📆, I ☝ usually 🧐 just mow lawns for my elderly 👴🏼👵🏼 neighbor 🏘😎, Mrs 👰. Anderson, but 🍑 I 👁 swear 🤭🤞 I 👁 can do so much 💯 more! I'll 🤒 probably 🤷🏿‍♂️ get 💪 a job 💼 at Burger 👁😎 King 👑 since 🔙 you 👆 get 💪 very 💯 delicious 🚿 lunch 🥡 breaks 💔 there!! And I'll 🤒 make 🔨 you 👉🏻 the happiest 👏 girl 👧 in this green ☘ earth 🌐, you 👆 are so extremely 💯 beautiful 🌈 it pains 🤕 me to know 🤔 I 👁 can't 🙅‍♀️🙅‍♂️ be on that bed 🛏 with you 👉🏻... And people 👫 say 🗣 you 👉🏻 can't 🙅‍♀️🙅‍♂️ be a respectful man 👦 these days 🕢, well 🖕🖕🏻🖕🏿, as a brony, anime ✨ lover ❤ and gamer 🎮 4 💉 life 👤 who definitely 🚨 enjoys 😊 his 👋 time ⏰, I 👁 can assure you 👆 I'll 🤒 be able 💪 to show 📺 you 👆 what a REAL 💯 man 👨 can do. Please ☺ baby 👶 I 👁 love ❤ you 👆.

I ☝ also 🐢 do Fedora 🎩 tricks 🤤.

i want him to **** ** ** **** * **** **** *** ******

[cheriwritesig]

may I add 👉👈👉👈👉👈👉👈 will tattooing one of the drawings permanently 👉👈👉👈👉👈👉👈☝☝☝☝

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧ʷˢ²

in which will's arm becomes your canvas in the moments you need it most.

warnings; anxiety, bullying (pre-school), BRIEF mention of parents fighting, but other than that, pure fluff. if you can think of others, please don't hesitate to let me know!

You had met Will Smith in pre-school. On the first day that you had stepped inside the classroom, you had been captivated by his blond hair and blue eyes. His hair had been neatly cut, safely tucked behind his ears, while his eyes matched perfectly with his charming smile. Even at four years old, he had you wrapped around his finger.

You didn't get the chance to talk to him, however, until the winter of that school year. You had always been the anxious type, finding it hard to reach out and speak to your classmates. So, you didn't. Ultimately, that led to a group of boys catching you on the slide, alone, during recess one day. It was a typical Massachusetts day for that time of year - a white blanket of snow enveloped the state, and the ice on the ground was as smooth as glass. But in that moment, none of that had mattered. A brown-haired boy in the group had approached first, asking the question everyone wanted to know the answer to.

"Why don't you talk?"

Those words stung. It wasn't like you didn't want to. It just felt like your mouth was zipped shut and someone had thrown out the key to unlock it every time you tried to speak.

So, naturally, you didn't answer.

A few moments later, another boy stepped forward, "Aww, is the little baby too afraid to speak?"

You took a deep breath, trying to gather yourself, but it was clear that you weren't going to get out of this one easily. Despite your observation, you carefully hopped off of the slide you were perched on and turned your back to the boys as you attempted to walk away. You had only made it a few steps when you felt a hard shove from behind - one that made you fall face first onto the ground. Your face burrowed itself into the thick layer of snow that had blanketed the ground, the cold powder stinging your face. You tried to burrow into the safety of your heavy winter coat, but not even that worked.

You could hear the muffled laughs of the boys behind you, one shouting, "Mute freak!" and the other shouting, "Scaredy-cat!" Suddenly, however, a third voice had joined the conversation. The voice was both recognizable and unrecognizable to you, both comforting yet oddly familiar. That was enough for you to gather the strength to look up from the ground.

"Leave her alone!"

It was Will.

His neatly-trimmed blond hair had grown shaggy over time, the wisps of it curling at the nape of his neck. A white winter hat was covering the rest, but you could almost see the way it was curled at the top of his head. A flame of anger was dancing in his usually icy blue eyes, and his smile was no longer charming, only frustrated.

He shoved the two boys back, but not hard enough for them to fall to the ground. That didn’t matter, however. Will had the upper hand - he had a few inches on both of the boys, which meant that in their eyes, he towered over them. Without any other words being spoken, the two boys ran off in fear, occasionally looking back only to find Will glaring at them as he carefully walked over to you.

As he approached you, he offered a compassionate smile, one that would’ve made you feel better if your face wasn’t going numb from the snow. He grabbed your hands and helped you sit up, his gloved hands immediately going to gently brush the snow off of your face.

You flinched in surprise, but the soft material felt comforting against your rosy cheeks. He glanced at you as if to ask if it was okay for him to continue, and you nodded softly. Once he was done, he wiped his snow-covered gloves on the material of his puffy coat - no doubt one his mom made him wear - and offered a gentle hand to help you up off of the ground.

“I’m William, but I go by Will,” he smiled, his hand lingering in yours until he knew for sure that you were safely off of the ground. When he let go, your hands immediately went to fumble with the hem of your hoodie in both anxiety and relief.

You weren’t sure what, but something washed over you, and timidly yet undoubtedly, you raised your voice.

“I’m Y/N.”

And that was the first time you talked to one of your classmates. That classmate just happened to be Will Smith.

As the year went on, you and Will grew inseparable. He continued to be the only classmate you talked to, but he didn't seem to mind. Everyone around you wondered why Will received your special treatment, but the truth of the matter was that he was the only one who made you feel safe. He never judged you for your anxiety, but instead welcomed it because even at four years old, he knew it was apart of you.

Later in spring, you were having a particularly bad day when Will handed you a pack of markers. He had recently turned five, a milestone you were still waiting on, and he received the package of colored ink as one of his gifts. He opened the table's cubby to reveal some coloring books, but as he placed them down, he felt your hand grab his wrist.

Without a word, you had taken the cap off of a light blue marker and began drawing a flower on his skin. Will hesitated for a moment, but when he took sight of your face, he could see the way your eyes visibly drained of worry as you traced the ink. So, naturally, he continued to let you do it.

Little did you know that that tradition would last for fourteen years.

Even at 19, the tradition of drawing on Will’s skin had become second nature, something neither of you ever questioned anymore. He constantly had markings on his skin from you, but he didn’t mind. It was a quiet way for you to find your balance in waves of emotions and for him to remind you that you were never alone.

It had been a long day for you. You had come over after a family dinner that had left your nerves frayed, your usual quietness amplified to the point that Will could tell something was wrong the second you walked in. Now, hours later, you sat on his bed, your legs cocooned into your chest as if that would provide you with any sense of comfort. Your mind was racing with more bad thoughts than good. The faint glow of “Ratatouille” illuminated the room through the screen of Will’s laptop, but neither of you seemed too interested.

Will glanced at you, catching the way your knees were pulled up to your chest, your fingers picking at the hem of your sweatshirt like they had the first time he met you. Without a word, he reached over to his desk, opened his top drawer, and grabbed the same pack of markers that had been sitting there since you were kids — the ones he had received for his 5th birthday — and held them out to you.

You glanced up at him slowly, your eyes meeting his blue ones. The flames of worry dancing in them almost matched the yellow marker you had grabbed from him. Will leaned back against his headboard, watching you through half-lidded eyes. “You’ve been quiet tonight,” he said softly, his voice breaking the silence but not the calm.

With the marker in your hand, you forced arm down until his wrist was stretched out in your lap. You were focused, your brow furrowed in that familiar way as you worked on filling the empty space of his skin with tiny, intricate designs.

You didn’t look up, the marker stilling for only a second before continuing its careful strokes. “Just thinking,” you murmured, the words barely audible over the scratch of ink against his skin. Will sighed softly, gently grabbing your chin with his free hand to get you to look at him.

“About what?”

You hesitated, your hand pausing again. Your eyes flickered up to meet his, and for a moment, you looked like you might change the subject. But then you sighed and went back to drawing, your voice low, “Dreams, I guess. The future. If my parents stop fighting. If I’ll ever feel… well, less like this.”

Will didn’t need to ask what this meant. He’d been your best friend long enough to know—this was the restlessness, the anxiety, the weight you carried in moments like these. Hell, it was the weight you carried all the time. He watched as you traced another flower on his wrist, your hand steady despite the storm you clearly felt inside.

His heart broke, but he didn’t falter.

“You will,” he said simply, the steadiness in his voice making you chuckle slightly.

Your lips curved into the faintest smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes, “You make it sound easy.”

Will smiled softly, the compassion he’d always held for you radiating through him, “It’s not. But you’ll get there,” he said, leaning forward just enough so that your knees touched. “And until then, you can keep putting your dreams on me.” He tilted his head, gesturing toward the growing garden of flowers and stars you were creating.

You let out a soft laugh, the sound warming the room. It was the first time Will had heard you laugh all day, “Dreams?“

Will shook his head, his grin small but sincere, “These are the outlines of what’s in your head, Y/N/N — your dreams, your worries, all of it. You’ve been doing it since we were five years old.”

You laughed, your eyes meeting his again, “But what makes you think they’re my dreams?”

“They constantly change,” he explained, a wisp of his blond curls falling in front of his eyes. He looked exactly like the four year old you had met on the playground that winter day. “When we were six, you drew rocket ships because all you wanted was to be an astronaut. And when we were 11, I constantly had drawings of cats and dogs on my wrists because you wanted to be a veterinarian. And last year, you drew the Boston College logo over and over again because you wanted me to be happy at B.C.”

“And what about my worries?”

“They remain more steady, but I don’t mind carrying them for awhile,” he whispered softly, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear.

Your marker stilled, and for a moment, you just looked at him, your chest feeling a little lighter in a way only Will could manage. Then, with a soft smile, you added one last detail to the sunflower you’d been working on—a tiny heart at the center.

“You’re so corny,” you said, placing his arm back in his lap.

Will smirked, lifting it to admire your work, “And you’re the one who just drew a heart. Who’s corny now?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the quiet laugh that slipped out. She tucked your legs under her, leaning back against the headboard beside him. He might’ve been corny, but he meant more to you than you could ever know,“You’ll always be my favorite sketchbook, you know.”

Will nudged your shoulder lightly, the marker still in his other hand, “And you’ll always be a flower on my skin.”

Neither of you said anything else after that, the room settling into a comfortable silence. But the outlines of your dreams stayed etched on Will’s arm, just like they always would.

a/n; this might be one of my favorite works that i’ve ever written. i hope you guys enjoyed this as much as i did!

[cheriwritesig]

did rempe just wwwwwweeeeeee on the ice?? I love him. if anyone has a clip sharesharesharehsare

[cheriwritesig]

bringing this back up cause I was writing lyrics and I remembered this and I still cant get over how my lyrics were used for this and now im crying cause it's such a motivation to keep going

a damn poet - Connor Bedard

requested; @chericherilvr 💓

summary; Connor Bedard x reader

Connor is so busy trying to have his best season that he forgets about things that really matter. He needs to learn how to be a poet to save your relationship.

warning(s); angst! fluff, argument, maybe grammar errors

author's note; it took me hours to finish this one. It was an honor for me to write this request. ♡

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

Deep in your heart you know how Connor feels for you. He wouldn't invite you over another continent, joining his world championship, if he wouldn't love you. But something inside you breaks. Seeing all these hockey couples with cute pictures, sending their girlfriend flowers and the players screaming from the rooftop how much they love their girlfriends.

Connor is not like this. He loves you, he cooks your favorite food and watches all movies you want to watch. He's so focused to play the best rookie year he could do and lost the focus on his private life. He doesn't want to post your relationship official, because of his fan base.

You're self-evident for him.

"Hey love", you smile with big eyebags, touching his shoulder as he walks in the hotel room. It's your first time after three days having a real conversation with him.

"Hi", his mouth is straight, kissing your temple and waking in the bathroom. You're exhausted from love-bombing him. You're so tired of being so upset.

"How was your day?", you ask him, hearing the shower. "I can do better", his voice echos back. "You're already enough, my love", you shout back and throw your body into the bed. You spread your arms apart, your legs are on the ground.

Connor comes out after a few minutes ago in a towel, his hair is still wet and he's looking fine.

"What is that?", he grabs a paper from the desk.

"So I hold onto your shirt, as I stain it with blood

Will I finally find my own peace?

Clear my mind out of my thoughts, then state that I'm in love

Tempted with the idea of dying in these sheets"

"I'm writing songs ", your voice shakes. Connor never noticed this because he's always busy and you're asleep when he comes home. You're working full-time in a job you don't like and at night you're writing songs. Hopefully to live from that one day.

Connor looks up from these lines, "since when?", he breathes in. Hid eyes get red. Red like crying. "over a year", you sit up on the bed, your arms are supporting your back.

"Why didn't you tell me, babe?", he sniffles.

Babe. How long didn't you hear this nickname?

"You were busy", you tell him the truth. Maybe he'll break up with you. Connor sobbs, "are you really feeling this way? Finally finding your own peace?", his blue eyes searching yours, you can see how much it burdens him.

"your lyrics are professional, they're so good", he cries and tries to hide it. Whipping his tears with his ankle, face to his bag with all clothes.

He's putting a shirt on, turning around. "I just need time to realize this, babe", he kisses your lips, you taste the salt from his tears.

"You have an important game tomorrow, I'm ok with that ", you response. He nods and lays down. Without a kiss, hug or this comfortable feeling.

He lays down and let you alone with all these thoughts in your head. He doesn't seem to care much about you. Maybe it's time to leave.

Next day Connor feels like shit, even in his hockey clothes, nice fans around his team. He slept surprisingly well, but feels like the night after silvester.

It burns in his chest, you don't feel happy. But why? Since when you're writing songs? as a good boyfriend he should know. What is he missing in this relationship.

He's not shitty boyfriend, he didn't know it's hurting you. He thought its okay that he's having a strict time schedule.

"Concentration, Bedsy!", his teammate hits his shoulder to wake him up from daydreaming. Like a robot Connor played his best game but the celebration feels like a crime.

"Yo Connor are you going out with us?", some boys asking him in the cabin to celebrate their win. "No", he wants to see you. He forgot how stunning you are. How hard working you are. You're a poet and he had no clue!

He walks in your hotel room, lights are out. Just some papers all over the bed. He grabs one paper, reading the lines.

'He grabs me by my neck

Puts a dagger to my heart

Tells me I'm a mess

That I'll never be enough'

Gosh, it hits him. You are more than enough. You're his safe place. He reads every paper, focused about what you feel. It's time to hear out what you need.

He grabs his phone, calling you.

"Hello?", your voice sounds happy. "Where are you, babe?", he asks interested. "I'm at the whirlpool inside the hotel, I'll come over in 5 minutes, okay?", you're scared he's mad when you're late. You thought he's celebrating with his team and won't come to bed until midnight.

You pack the stuff and walk back to your shared room.

The opened door shows you the sort out papers with your lyrics on your bed shelf.

Connor lays in bed, smiling softly. It's typical Connor, he's a clean guy.

He smiles. He smiles at you without talking about hockey. "Congratulations for winning, I'm proud of you", you stutter.

This view feels so surreal, having a relationship after months. Having a boyfriend waiting for you.

"You look beautiful", he grins angelic.

You stopped the last step, "what did you say?". Maybe you have issues with your ears.

"You look beautiful and I love you", he talks loud.

"Love you too?", your honest reaction. The last time he said it, he broke is jaw and was out of his mind because painkillers. Months ago.

"Uhm can we talk, please?", he pets your hand, when you lay down with him. It feels like home. Smelling his perfume, hearing his breath and touching you.

"Sure", you get insecure what's coming next.

"Ok it's not easy for me", one tear runs down his cheek. You're frightened, just able to nod.

"Why do you write songs with me as enemy?", his voice is distanced and cold.

"Oh I'm sorry I don't write lies!", you defense yourself.

"I'm a good boyfriend!", he argues, "you treat me like I'm self-evident!", you yell your frustration out of your lungs. So much pain inside your chest wants to come out of your mouth. So much unsayed words.

"No-", he argues back, more tears are coming out his blue eyes.

"Yes Connor! Yes, it's true! I love writing songs and I hate my job so much! I am crying every night because my boyfriend doesn't care about me and I'm all alone and you're hiding me from fans because you could have a ruined career, I get it!", you sob under choking your salty tears. You're outraged.

You take your pillow and lay down on the floor, Connor looks down, "come over".

"No", "god damn come over!", he huffs.

"You have practice tomorrow, good night!".

That's the last time you saw him for the next two days. He's busy. Semifinals are tonight and Connor posted something on Instagram, you're too upset to check.

One WAG comes to you at the game, giggles and tells you, "never thought Bedsy is a poet!". The game is already on fire but your fingers are like a magnet, they want to switch what he posted - even if he's an idiot.

He posted a picture of you reading a book in the garden, laughing at you without pressure, without hockey and in his caption;

"You can feel, when someone traces your skin

You can kneel, run, jump and also can spin

And when I close my eyes I wish I was just like you"

[cheriwritesig]

I may not be the biggest mustache only fan... but nico hischier... he knows how to pull it off.

[cheriwritesig]

may I present you: logan sargeant's song.

Pluto was downgraded because of other's mistakes.

[cheriwritesig]

missing him while he’s on tour — han hyeongjun

“long-distance call” (in which hj left his hoodie for u) fluff

—

it’s annoying. you don’t know if it’s your blanket, or if it’s the sound of the humidifier— perhaps it’s the chilly air brought by the upcoming Christmas season, but it’s annoying you to the highest degree. and then your phone rang, and a very familiar name appeared. right there it hit you; it wasn’t the humidifier, nor your soft and fluffy candy-colored blanket that annoys you. it’s hyeongjun.

ehem, missing hyeongjun, to be exact. especially right now that Christmas air is starting to make its presence known and you’re left alone, cold, in an empty apartment with no one to annoy, to hold, and to read manga in silence with.

sighing, you sat up on the sofa you were lying on and opened the message.

“can i call?”

you bit your lip as you type in your reply. not too long after, his icon appeared, accompanied by a very personal ringtone he himself had put. you answered it. the lighting from the call was dim. for a second you wondered if he was already trying to sleep. as far as you knew it was currently the middle of the day in the country he’s in— until you saw a smudge of eyeshadow on his lids, hiding beneath the white-framed spectacles your boyfriend is currently wearing. he must have just gotten back in their hotel.

“hello, how was your day?”

you fought the smile that was about to creep out from your lips. that’s very hyeongjun of him, you thought.

“you’re the one doing a tour, i’m the one who has to stay here and finish schoolwork. shouldn’t i be the one asking that?”

hyeongjun chuckled, giving you a view of the bunny smile you were missing the most. “there’s no need to fight whether who gets to ask. we can both be concerned for each other.”

how very hyeongjun of him, point two. always considerate. always rational. you miss annoying him so bad it feels like a crime being away from him for this long. besides, it’s not like you weren’t aware of how each other’s day had gone. albeit being miles apart, you two were very consistent in messaging one another when something exciting happened. you sighed again.

“what’s with the sigh? did something bad happen?” your shaggy-haired boyfriend asked.

“well, to quote tamia’s song, i’m officially missing you. to the extreme. everything annoys me now that you’re still not here,” you answered straightly. you moved to lie back down again, but this time, in a half-sitting position. you tugged at the blanket and looked at the window briefly. you didn’t know why. it’s midnight, it’s impossible to still see something at this hour.

you looked back at your screen. “you should have taken a shower first before calling me. this call could have waited.”

although his face bore the same serious expression, the hint of mischievousness did not escape your sight. “are you sure? sounds like you’re already missing me. to the extreme.”

you gave him a sharp look and rolled your eyes. this elicited another laugh from him. “i miss you too, you know. i saw and did a lot of things i wish i could’ve done with you. all i could think of was how you were gonna like them if you were here.”

“i know. too bad we won’t be with each other until the week after next. i’m losing all my strength.” you stated dramatically.

“can i roll my eyes at you now, too?”

you acted shocked and hurt to play along while he laughed. if his members could see him, they’d probably be jealous again. no one can break hyeongjun’s demeanor better than you do.

“have you opened the bag i left?” quietly, he asked after a while.

“not really. it seemed rude,” you answered. h was in the apartment before he left two weeks ago. you thought he had just forgotten it, like the many times he did every after he stays for the night so you didn’t think much of it and left it from where it was. now, his question motivated curiosity.

“can you open it for me?”

without further questions, you stood up. you went to your bedroom while still holding the phone in one hand. you saw the backpack confined next to your table.

“before you open it and become confused, the internet told me this is a great thing to do.”

your curiosity grew even bigger. you sat on the floor and positioned the phone at an angle that would both show you and the bag. “let’s see.”

a gasp left your lips as soon as you saw what was inside. you took out the hoodie slowly, taking time to let the soft fabric bless the skin on your arms, then smelled it.

hyeongjun spoke as soon as you did that. “it’s unwashed, but it’s not dirty. . . i used it just enough so you could still use it.”

the slight pause he made caused you to look back at the screen. the light was still dim on his side but it was so obvious he was feeling flustered as he kept on licking his lips and combing back his hair. you felt your heart figuratively expand.

“it smells like you,” you muttered, trying to act well and fight off the tears that were threatening to fall. both of you don’t need that. you sniffed it once again, his scent as comforting as him. like fresh linen mixed with a musky undertone, and a subtle trace of the breeze through the trees from outside. the clean smell of his cologne was also bursting in your nose.

“that’s the goal. i don’t really know how to do these kinds of stuff. i feel like a loser for having to look this up on the internet, but i knew this situation was bound to happen. i wanted to make you feel better.”

“you’ve been gone for two weeks already, why the hell did you just show me this now?!” you answered back, acting annoyed but in a playful way. it was a facade meant to conceal the huge amount of affection that dawned upon you for the boy on the screen.

not minding your annoyed tone, hyeongjun laughed, “i didn’t want the smell to disappear so soon! if i had told you that immediately after i left, you would have sniffed out all the smell by now.”

hyeongjun’s eyes softened as he took in the way you folded the clothing in half and hugged it.

he didn’t need to do all that, you thought, and yet he still did. to be loved is to be known; to be thought of; to be considered, indeed. hyeongjun may not be the loudest when it comes to showing his love, but he is probably the sincerest.

“and you would rather make me suffer? for two whole weeks!” with the same dramatic tone, you replied.

“oh my god, stop!” he answered while laughing. “you do realize that it’s also your fault for not checking, right? the bag is literally right there in your bedroom.”

“maybe,” you mumble, pretending to pout; being at a loss on what to say next to defend yourself. as much as you love moments like this where hyeongjun goes through all efforts possible, possibly exceeding his own reservations just to keep your bond intact, you still couldn’t help but wish he’s there beside you. and believe it or not, even though you’re miles apart, he’s feeling it, too.

“well, how about this: when i get back, i’ll give you as many headpats as you want. as an apology.”

you scrunch your nose, once again feigning annoyance. “why am i suddenly a pet now? headpats? really?”

he laughs, shaking his head. “i just thought you might like it. but if you’d rather skip the headpats…”

you roll your eyes, feeling a grin tugging at your lips despite yourself. “whatever, just don’t get carried away.”

still smiling, he adds, “okay, okay. i’ll bring something better than headpats, then.” he pauses for effect, and a playful glint appears in his eyes. “like, maybe, a freshly downloaded copy of that movie you keep mentioning?”

you couldn’t hide your excitement, even as you raise an eyebrow. “illegally downloaded, hm? who knew you were such a bad influence.”

“only for you,” he says quietly, a bit of shyness creeping in. “just promise you won’t download it. you need to watch it together with me. i’ll bring you snacks from here, too.”

you nod, hugging his hoodie even closer, feeling warm just from his promise. “deal. but only if you don’t skip the headpats.”

he smiles, the soft warmth in his eyes saying everything left unsaid.

hours go by without notice, and though he’s miles away, he’s right there, laughing at your stories, listening to your rambles, and filling your empty apartment with his presence. eventually, you’re both fighting sleep, your words slowing, voices quiet. “sleep,” he whispers. “i’ll stay on the line. i’m staying in this room to practice more anyway.”

and so you did, his soft breathing on the other end lulling you into sleep. and just before drifting off, you think, this may be the longest call of your life— hyeongjun’s, as well— but neither of you wanted the call to end, even when all that remains is the sound of the air from both lines, and the soon accompaniment of the guitar that was playing on his side.

—

© oddaesthetin 2024

ok im sorry i tried to make it as short as possible bUT I FAILED. every fic i write they’re always so fucking long. anyway,, here’s this 🤲❤️‍🔥

[cheriwritesig]

Unfounded Opinion

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Pairing: Josep 'Pepe' Maria Martí x gn!reader

Notes: Haven't written for Pepe before and Don know how many of you read about him but here we are regardless.

Warnings: None, Youre kind of a hater but that's about it!

Summary: You shouldn't be so irked by the guy who took your old seat. So what is it about Josep Maria Martí that grinds your gears?

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

You watch the F2 race with an Eagle eye. You know as well as anyone that your friend and old teammate, Ollie Bearman has a seat for next year. Heck, even his new teammate Andrea 'Kimi' Antonelli has one. So you've long since learnt to not keep an eye on him at the start of the race and instead just check in on him periodically. Your attention is turned to the back if the grid, a place that you find your attention drawn to quite frequently as of recently.

Pepe seems like a nice guy. Scratch that he appears to be so incredibly lovely. Even your old competitor (and teammate in a different sense as you both raced for Red Bull) has messaged you saying that Pepe is lovely. And that's saying something because depsite how nice Isack is, he can get very hot tempered when on track, and you'd seen people be at the wrong end of that far too many times to count.

So why on Earth, if all of your friends liked him, did you feel a certain twinge of dislike for him? You hadn't even had a proper conversation with the guy and yet here you stood, quiet resentment coursing through you as you look at the man that took your spot in the Red Bull F2 livery.

Pepe's starting near the back of the grid today. And depsite him clearly having talent, he's had such a poor season this year. Too many 'wrong place, wrong time' occurrences or just strokes of sheer bad luck. And you know that if what you say ypu feel is true, you should be happy at his misfortune!

You push down the conflicting emotions and focus on the now changing lights. 3,4,5 and the minute the lights go out you feel a pit in your stomach. You hardly have any time to question why though when the one of most horrific crashes you've ever witnessed happens in front of your eyes. You gasp, hand flying to your mouth.

You stare at the replay. The same tragedy replaying over and over again like a broken record. Repeating in the same way that you'll sure it will also repeat in your dreams. Without thinking you bolt up, you race to the Red Bull pit wall, you spot Isack and walk over to him. You don't even get a word out before he's sending a string of broken French and English curses. You're to used to his behavior so you don't pay it any mind. Well that and you're kind if focused on something else entirely. Someone else... Not that you'd ever admit that of course.

And if by magic (or by reading your mind,) Isack understands the war waging in your mind. He raises an eyebrow and smirks. You give him a suspicious look "What?" His smirk just widens. "Nothing, I just thought you hated him." You tilt your head and go to respond but the sound of increases hustle behind you makes you turn.

There, somehow relatively unscathed stands Pepe. You let your eyes linger on him for a moment (and the way that the Sun catches his face, making his eyes shine a gorgeous colour, one that you're sure you'll memorise). You shake yourself out of the thoughts if dreaming of a colour until the end of your day's. How corny. You turn back to Isack only to find him walking behind you, grabbing your arm to pull you with him as he walks.

He adresses Pepe in a way that can only be said by a teammate that truly cares about their counterpart. "How are you mate? That looked horrible." Pepe let's out a dry laugh and you let the melodic sound wrap around you as if it were a warm embrace.

Wait a minute...

No, no, no, no, no, no, no!

No!

Oh gosh you can't be thinking like this. You can not possibly be thinking about caring for Josep Maria Martí. You barely even know the guy. You nearly groan aloud out of force of habit but stop yourself. You, however must have imagined stopping yourself as Pepe's eyes finally meet yours. You give him and embarrassed smile and small nod. He just gives you an uncertain nod and his eyes linger on your form for a moment longer before he turns to make eye contact with Isack again.

After a few minutes of them talking, an engineer approaches Isack to let him know he needs to get into the car. Isack bids his goodbyes and a small "Glad you're alright." to Pepe and just smirks at you. You watch Isack's retreating figure ans then slowly turn to Pepe in realisation. "Are you not going to the medics." Pepe smiles slightly and shakes his head. "I did but they said I was alright." You shake your head. "Well that's a lie. No one could have a crash like that and still be alright. Are you sure they checked everything?"

Pepe just gives you a soft grin and nods. His eyes however are drawn to something behind you as his eyes meet the camera not far behind your head. He acknowledges the camera and you turn away slightly, as if trying to convince yourself that your one moment of concern for the Spaniard wasn't just caught on camera for millions to see. You try and instead focus your attention down the pitlane to see the other drivers get in their cars when you hear Pepe's voice. "Thank you for checking." You turn to him and give him a tight lipped smile (that feels far too sincere for your liking).

Before the two of you can let the moment last any longer however, an engineer wraps Pepe up in talks of the new race start. And you duck away to the side of the safety barriers, trying to become invisible to the masses.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

"You two looked cosy..." You look up at your phone to give Isack a confused look. "A) How did you get in here and B) what are you talking about?" Iscak just grins and tosses his phone next to you on the bed. You pick it up and scroll for a moment. Looking at a thread of tweets containing both photos and comments about you and Pepe earlier today. Youjust groan, you were only around him for all of a gew minutes and that's what the cameras decided to pick up? "You've made many waves online today. And now everyone is talking about you and shipping you!"

You groan and flop back onto the bed and groan in to the duvet. Isack just chuckles and you look u to send him a harsh glare. "Not helping." Your frustrated words only serve to make him laugh harder and you let your head fall back onto the duvet. "Everyone needs to shut up. I me he's so..." Isack raises an eyebrow, curious as to your next words. You've made no secret if your distate for the Psnaiard over the last fewonths. Yet he's never quite been able to squeeze and exact reaso why out of you. "I..." You look for Isack before rolling your eyes. "Don't need to explain myself to you. Isack just groans and this time you smile at his frustrated demeanor.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

"Good luck out there." You turn behind you, the familiar voice that you can't quite place catching you off guard. "I- thank you." You stutter briefly as you meet Pepe's eyes. Not at all expecting him to be here, let alone wish you good luck. The surprise must be evident on your face because Pepe looks down with a bashful smile which also makes you feel a bit guilty. "Where are you watching from?" Pepe looks up at your obvious attempt at civil conversation for the first time. "Just the Red Bull garage for practise but Red Bull said Isack and I can go in yours or Max's on race day." You glance down at the floor, the thought of Pepe in your garage feeling far too civil for your liking, conjuring up far too many thoughts of Pepe in civil, domestic and even romantic scenarios. "You can stay in mine on Sunday of course."

Your heart beats wildly in your chest at your brazen words. And if you'd have blinked you'd have missed the small flash of shock across his face and signature grin finally being aimed at you. And gosh you hate to admit it but it makes your stomach flutter slightly. "You want your first experience here to be one of victory of course." Pepe let's out a low chuckle and you try to ignore the warm feeling that the sound brings you. His eyes meet yours again and you nearly feel yourself get lost in them until a call of your name interrupts your moment. You thank the intrusion of one of your engineers however and you give Pepe a small smile and mutter "It was nice to see you." Before scurrying away, not bearing to see his reaction.

Isack approaches Pepe and slaps him on the shoulder. Pepe's grin and softened eyes change as he squints and turns to his teammate . Before Pepe can even mutter a word, Isack cuts across him. "You're hopeless mate." "I don't know what you're talking about!" Iscak just laughs at his friend's words and walks futher into the garage. Leaving behind a confused and blushing Pepe.

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

As always, likes, reblogs and especially feedback is always welcome!

Taglist: @nikfigueiredo @mysoulispainted @leclercings @d3kstar @hiireadstuff @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @lozzamez3 @stinkyjax @marymustdie @littlesatanicassholebitch @mehrmonga @insanedeathwish @ems-alexandra @a-disturbing-self-reflection @cherry-piee @thatgirlmj

[cheriwritesig]

Reblog to give a trans woman a warm cup of soup

[cheriwritesig]

Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to ask. They teach you this in communication 101: do not expect other to do something without communicating with them about it. It’s not fair to them nor you, talk about your needs.

They tell you it isn’t fair. My child screams at me “it isn’t fair that I have to ask to be treated like a human being” I tell her “the bare minimum sure, but are you asking for more?” Everyday I’m being questioned about it. The bare minimum. The bare minimum?

Sometimes I wish people would tell me they love me. But that isn’t the bare minimum: you have to say it first, even when it’s hard, even alone.

Sometimes I wish people would decide for me. But that isn’t the bare minimum: you have to choose for yourself, even when in doubt, even in stress.

Sometimes I wish people would give me random presents, trinkets. But that isn’t the bare minimum: you have to make it yourself, even things you want, even things you need.

Sometimes I wish people would hug me, cuddle me. But that isn’t the bare minimum: you have to ask them for it, delete the yearning and hug yourself.

Sometimes I wish people would do things for me. But that isn’t the bare minimum: you take your bags, you clean your space, you help yourself out, even when you don’t know, even when you can’t.

Sometimes I blame myself. Scratch that. I blame myself. A push over? A people pleaser? A nobody? I tell me that I made it this way. You learn the lesson, and then you learn the solution. So you end up in a limbo of knowing just how hard it is, and knowing just how easy it could be. Even if it never is, not now.

Sometimes I want people to love the way I love. Scratch that. I selfishly want people to love me the way I want to be loved. And as hard as it is to admit, I deeply wish I wouldn’t have to ask for it. Sometimes I wish I wouldn’t have to ask for love. That someone would just get me so deeply they would just; know.

It truly goes against everything I’ve learned. As a child, for protection, you learn you can’t ask, that you are not worthy of it, that asking will take you no where. That maybe, just maybe, you’re unlovable, forever. When healing, you learn you gotta ask, voice your needs, and speak it out loud. You also learn to validate that craving, as guilty as it feels. That, maybe and just maybe, I still haven’t learned about.

Sometimes I wish love didn’t take all of me to get. That I wouldn’t have to ask, to beg. That I wouldn’t have to recognize it within me. That I wouldn’t have to figure it out. That I wouldn’t have to love me before getting loved.

And on days like this, I just wish someone would come at my door and hug me. Take me to bed, give me a warm cup of tea, hold me, a movie and sweet nothings whispered in my ear. Just because they love me. Just because they want. Just because. But that isn’t the bare minimum. You pick yourself to bed, you make your cup of tea, you hold yourself, a movie and you whisper sweet nothings to your ear. The bare minimum starts with you when you can’t ask. But I don’t want it to start with me, not for this one, not always.

[cheriwritesig]

you underestimate how badly I want to know verbatim what he's saying to him

NJD @ EDM 11.04.24

[cheriwritesig]

it’s them!

[cheriwritesig]

Franco Colapinto will win the 2025 WDC.

Don't believe me? I'll show you how.

The USA shits itself in whatever way it's destined to in the next coming days. Since the USA shits itself, the rest of the world follows.

Global Financial Crisis 2: Electric Boogaloo

Oh jesus! Williams has run out of money! They can't afford Carlos Sainz anymore. Carlos goes to. idk. Stake or something. Franco has a 2025 seat, baybey!

Williams still has no money, so they start to withdraw from the sport. But wait, who's this...?

JENSON BUTTON!!

Jenson Button, world champion of 2009, buys Williams for a single British pound.

He reinstates the best F1 team in F1 history, Brawn GP!!!

His first order of business is removing Franco's appendix. This makes Franco two tenths faster.

Franco, appendixless, wins every single race in the season by the power of the Global Financial Crisis. Alex comes second. They have the most successful season in F1 history.

Franco Colapinto wins the 2025 WDC, with Brawn GP winning the constructors. Brawn GP still has a 100% championship win rate. The world is in shambles, apocalypse is around the corner, and Franco Colapinto is the first ever driver to win a world championship in his first (full) year.

Franco takes a massive shit on helmut marko's head, not because helmut's offended him personally, just because he's helmut marko and he's a racist cunt. Everyone celebrates.

[cheriwritesig]

I have decided I want to be a main character written by Ali Hazelwood- smart, PhD-having boss bitch women who have very grandma-core hobbies and end up with the hottest nerds on the planet!! That’s the dream package!!

[cheriwritesig]

most drivers wont see your comment. but your friend, a relative, someone you love; that same person you love that is going through the same struggles, that loves that same person you're wishing death uppon, that you're laughing at, critisizing, will.

I saw a post by @bellenotthebeast about the hate drivers are getting at the moment and this is a written version of what I put in the tags of my reblog because I didn't realise I was going to go on a rant when I tapped on the reblog button.

734 words just in case you were wondering.

All of the hate that drivers get for making mistakes is getting absolutely out of hand. It's frankly ridiculous how many people will jump at the chance to nitpick and be rude about another driver and whatever mistake they made minor or not. (This is specifically in relation to comments taken severly out of a very important bit of context and actual driving moments, if there is something serious then yes I think they should be held accountable for their actions, just because they're rich and in a very elite sport should not make them immune from accountability even though it does appear to sometimes.)

The stuff with Lando is actually sickening with how far its gotten. None of them should have to see that. In fact, no one, f1 driver or not, should ever see or hear such horrible things that people are saying to or about them. The death threats???? Hello??? What the actual fuck were people thinking. The drivers are people too the fans of those drivers are people. Get a grip and don't fucking send death threats???? Is that really that hard to have basic human respect for other people???

I see hate so much. Be it in the comments of an edit on tiktok or on a fan page on Instagram. Even the drivers own comment section and the official F1 account. People. What the fuck. Be supportive of people, for goodness sake. Don't be dicks??? Is it so difficult to be nice to people? I can tell that, unfortunately, I'm going to be using that phrase a lot.

I want to see the positives in this sport too. I think with all of the hate, all the good things have been buried under the swathes of hate and pain ignorance in some cases. I want to read or watch a video on how driver A did something so well, even if it's small and insignificant in the overall. I really want to hear about the amazing defending, even if they did get overtaken eventually. I want to hear about them being so fucking happy with their Quali position. I want to hear them screaming down the radio when they get in the points. I want to hear the feedback on the drive, where things may have gone wrong, and even where people think things could have improved. I want to hear about the track and the conditions and how well everyone did and how the people and the fans and their teams are so proud of their achievements during the weekend.

The thing I do not want to see is - ew i hate driver B. EEK no driver C ruined everything. Driver D should crash into the barriers. DO YOU NOT REMEMBER WHEN THERE WERE COMMENTS HOPING DRIVERS WOULD DIE IN A CRASH. What the fuck is wrong with the people saying that???? That is NOT okay. EVER. Have you not seen how outraged Max Fewtrell was when someone said that they hoped Max V crashed and got hurt in his twitch chat room. He was furious. Saying how that wasn't okay and how fucked up it was to say something like that. Listen to Max for fucks sake please.

WE👏 DONT 👏KNOW 👏THEM👏.

They're public figures, and we only know the public side of them, not the side they reserve for behind closed doors. And for the fifth hundred time, we aren't entitled to know anything about them behind closed doors either. We dont have any ground to stand on to demand anything like that. Because who the fuck do you think you are to demand something like that. Seriously, some people need to understand that this ISN'T okay and the way these people are acting will NEVER be okay.

So just enjoy the sport.

Enjoy the drivers.

Enjoy watching their skills on the track.

Enjoy their interviews and their relationships together on and off the track.

Enjoy the side of them that we are allowed to see.

And stop hating unnecessarily.

Please, for the sake of the sport.

For the sake of the newer fans.

And for the sake of the drivers and their physical and mental health. You really need to think before you post. Think about the impacts it could have if something happens. Know that if your words are seen, that could be detrimental and how YOU played a part in something so horrible.

Thank you,

Ez

[cheriwritesig]

how it went from overall loving him, overall cheering for his first win, to suddenly becoming the evil spawn of satan halfway on the book on the narrative is astonishing to me,,

being a lando norris stan in 2024 is dangerous and an emotional rollecoster