#i've just been feeling it this year i guess. i got stuck on it for a couple weeks and just kept looping back to it

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirty —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3.8k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. SA and implication of child SA (very subtle). summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: this chapter is all from Blue's perspective. if anything regarding the abuse or suffering of children triggers you do not read. though it is really not graphic at all (imo) and the SA is EXTREMELY implied and subtle (just a woman looking/potentially touching Blue's private area to check for virginity). I wanted to tell you so there are no surprises.

B

Blue hasn’t been without her father for more than an hour in over five years. There were moments when she'd imagined him disappearing, especially when he said no to her, when he could annoy her, push her too hard, or withhold the words she craved. And yet—now, with her head resting in Twix's lap, she can only long for him. The thought of his absence fills her with cold dread. The kind that erupts goosebumps on her arms despite the stuffy air in the room. Twix’s fingers gently stroke the back of her scalp, but it does little to ground her as her mind drifts to Ghost. He’s alive, that woman said. But it's been over a day, and he still hasn’t come for her.

"Do you think he will come soon?" she asks quietly.

Twix's fingers pause at the top of her hairline. "I think... I think he is doing everything he can to find you."

Blue is old enough to know that is a non-answer.

She knows, deep down, that Twix doesn't think he'll be coming, either.

"I will figure something out, okay?" she promises.

"Okay," Blue whispers noncommittally.

"Hey." A faint smile. "I've done pretty good at getting us out of shit in the past, right?"

Blue mumbles, "I guess so."

But this time felt different from those times. No matter how many times she catches Twix squinting around the room, murmuring things to Nereida, even Blue knows that a bright idea won’t magically appear. Not in here, where there is nothing except the three beds, the bolted cell, and the out-of-reach door that Ghost has yet to barge through.

When Blue's fingers instinctively search for her wrist, Twix’s face softens, and she gently encloses her palm over Blue's knuckles. "Alright. I want you to close your eyes and imagine that beach you showed me once. The one with white sand, and super blue water." Blue plays along with a deep sigh, closing her eyes as she feels a callused thumb brush her cheek. "Almost as blue as your eyes. See it?"

"I guess."

"Good. Now, I want you to imagine that you are lying on the sand, eating all the Twix bars and Nutella you want. Oh, and Grim is there. He was trying to make a sandcastle but got his head stuck in the sand."

Blue's lips twitch despite herself. "This is dumb."

"Dumb? Well, I don't think Grim finds it dumb. He can hardly breathe right now so you better stop eating chocolate and haul his ass up."

Blue snorts quietly, eyes screwing tighter as she imagines it; pulling the bunny out of the sand, giggling, the waves crashing. She falls back onto the sand with him in tow, but he darts away from her hands, toward the water. When she looks over, sun glaring, someone else is there. It's her father, and for a moment she is ready to jump on his back and beg him to play in the waves with her. That's when she notices he is keeled over, ripped apart, bloodied and battered.

Blue jolts, inhaling sharply. When she reopens her eyes, the image is still there. 

"What's wrong?" 

"I just saw—" she rubs her eyes profusely, but he's right in front of her. Blood begins to spurt from a sever in his throat. His head snaps forward, hanging by a thin thread of tissue. "I see him! H-his head is..." 

She jerks upright from Twix's lap, her eyes blinking rapidly as if trying to shake off the vision. When that doesn't help, she buries her face in the pillow, but the image remains too real to ignore. The thread snaps, and her father’s head rolls away silently.

Twix’s voice cuts through, her hands gently shaking Blue’s shoulders, but it feels distant, like a shadow compared to the sickening thud of her father’s headless body hitting the ground. Thick blood pools at her feet, and she tries to move, but her muscles won’t obey. The blood rises and rises, suffocating her, until she can’t breathe.

"Blue, it's just... you're imagining it."

"I can't... I can't..."

Someone flips her over on the bed and hugs her shoulders.

Twix's chapped lips press into her cheek.

"Please, Blue. I'm here."

The touch is enough to drain the blood and free her lungs. Her father's dead body floats away. She gulps for air, cold sweat clinging to her neck, and curls into the body beside her. Lingering panic races through her heartbeat, but then, after a minute, it begins to slow considerably. A new feeling washes over with the force of a tidal wave; fatigue.

Blue suddenly feels so tired that she can't keep her eyes open. It’s as though the terrible images have drained her entirely, leaving only murky water in their place. Her mind begins to float, and the edges of the world blur. Twix's face is in front of her yet feels so far away. Her lips try to part for words to come out, but it takes three tries just to manage: "I feel strange."

Across the cell, Nereida whispers, "I do, too."

Weight shifts on the mattress as Twix tries to sit up, leaning against the wall. Her head dips slightly, then snaps back up. A shaky inhale. "That... that fucking bitch. The oatmeal!"

The oatmeal? Blue’s thoughts latch onto the warm meal they’d been forced to eat, but the memory slips away before she can hold onto it. The slow descent snowballs. Twix’s voice distorts, blending with the chirping of birds outside the window. Her body slides down the wall, crumpling back beside Blue. She tries to hug Twix again, but her arms won’t cooperate.

Minutes later, or maybe hours, Blue hears the metal screech of the cell door swinging open. Veiled ghosts drift in. She can do nothing to run from them. Murmured voices, speaking words she doesn't understand, bleed through the heavy blanket of fog lying over her.

"Vous avez dit que celui-ci était intact?"

"Oui, Maman."

"Nous offrirons son corps pur au Seigneur. Les deux autres seront aptes à avoir des enfants."

"Mais elle est une... Je veux dire, oui, Maman."

She feels something cold and sinuous lifting her—snakes. No, not snakes. Hands. Cold, unfamiliar hands. Twix shouts something slurred. Then Blue is dragged by her feet, her spine no longer supported by the bed. She tries to squirm free, but her limbs feel heavy, useless. More hands clamp down on her arms.

No, no.

She wants to call for Twix, but her voice is muffled beneath a palm, the sound dying in her throat.

A weathered voice coos in her ear. "Sweet child. There is nothing to fear."

She can't scream.

All she knows is Twix is no longer the one beside her.

Cold fear surges through her veins, and she claws at someone’s arm. The retaliation is swift—a prick to her neck.

The strike of pain intensifies her dizziness, the last fight in her body fading away. They're dragging her again. The hard floor beneath her feet melts into soft grass, and the stark white ceiling shifts into a blue, cloudless sky before everything fades to black.

A gentle melody repeats in her subconscious until she rouses.

The same three-note tune, over and over.

Peeling her eyes open against the buttery sunlight, the first thing she notices is an open window above her head, its thin white curtain dancing in the light breeze. Upon the windowsill sits a small, cooing bird with pearly grey feathers and a black ring around its neck. Its head tilts almost mechanically, two little black eyes regarding her. She stares for a long moment before her eyes fall closed once more, lulled by the familiar call. Only when the bird quiets does she truly come to her senses. The sudden silence jolts her upright.

This isn't the same room she was in before. There hadn’t been a window in the cell, and certainly not one left open. The air there had been thick with the scent of old wood and lingering dust. But here... here, the air is different. It smells of fresh flowers, of the tall grass she used to wade through with Ghost while hunting. 

The bird calls once more before flittering away, leaving her reeling.

"A collared dove."

Her gaze snaps to the right where an old woman sits in a mahogany chair, knitting needles in hand. Without looking up from the red yarn she weaves, she explains idly, "They are very common. Lovely, but common."

The accent of her old voice is nothing like Blue's Mancunian one. But she understands each word.

Her voice pulls through her teeth with great effort. "I don't... Where am I?"

The old woman's brow furrows as if she is deep in thought, but it smoothes over after she undoes a stitch and loops it again, hands moving with an unnatural slowness. "You had them in England, yes? They are very common there, too."

Blue's fingers spread into the fine linen, her pulse ticking as she blinks a few times to sharpen her vision. The woman before her is older than anyone she has seen in a long time, though there is a faint resemblance to a woman deep in her memory who she believes was her grandmother. Unlike the woman who visited their cell with food, this one does not wear a veil over her face. Long wisps of gray hair fall over her shoulders. Wrinkles etch around her eyes and lips. She is still cloaked in white, but around her neck hangs a red cord beaded with a cross dangling at the end.

Her fingers clench. "I don't care about the-the stupid bird. Why am I here? Where are my friends? You..." she swallows the feel of sandpaper in her mouth, "You put something in the food. You made me lose control of myself again!"

Finally, grey-blue eyes flicker up beneath a questioning brow. "Oh, sweet child. You are so full of fire." With an unsettling calmness, the woman sets down the knitting needles on a carved side table. Pressing a palm to the surface of it, she rises slowly, then laces her hands in front of her. "Come, and perhaps your questions will be answered. Though, I wouldn't try to run." She moves toward the door, her gait shuffled but steady. A glance over her shoulder beckons. "Your friends are under my care."

The mere mention stiffens Blue's spine. She forces herself to her unsteady feet, swaying slightly, bare toes digging into the wood planks. Each small step feels lighter than the first time she woke up from being drugged, though her body still protests. Ahead, the woman is already walking away. It wouldn’t take much to catch up, but Blue lingers, her eyes sweeping the room with deliberate caution—always stay aware of your surroundings.

For a moment, she considers grabbing the knitting needle and stabbing the woman. But then what? Everyone, her father included, is under her care, and any misstep could mean their deaths. Ghost always told her to never act without some type of plan—to wait for the right moment. Blue doesn’t even know where the others are.

As she hesitantly steps out of the small house, the realization hits her. There are more people here than she’s seen in a long time. Almost like a town, but not really. Smaller than that, but more than her group. The building they just left is a small, home made of light grey stone. To her right are more homes, smoke billowing from the chimneys. She counts at least four of them. Straight ahead of her is gravel road. This is where the woman heads, with Blue trailing behind her. To the left is a stretch of green lawn, bright and lush. She has the itch to sprint over it, but a voice ends that idea.

"Catch up, girl." 

Gravel bites her toes as she walks to the woman's side. She is still only dressed in the simple, white slip. She hasn't worn a dress before.

"Where are you taking me?"

"There are some things I wish you to see." 

"Why... why can't the friends I was with be here to see them, too?"

From the corner of her eyes, Blue catches the woman smile lightly. "What do you think of France?"

Blue digs her nails into her palms, swallowing down her frustration at the non-answer. "It's... nice, I guess." It isn't a lie. The beautiful beach they left from, the fields of wheat and flowers, were things she'd only imagined before. 

"Good. My husband was from India but owned this land. I never wanted to leave it. France is the most beautiful place. I knew I wanted my son to grow here." She exhales in a quiet appreciation. "My husband said this land would thrive, even after the plague. He was right. The Lord spared it. He did not spare Ashwin, though."

Blue doesn't know what to say to that. If she should feel sorry for this person or not. She didn't state her husband's death in a sorrowful way, merely factual. As they walk, they pass a few men hunched over tree stumps, chopping wood. The smell of fresh earth and spilt sap wafts up her nose. The men glance up, their gazes lingering on Blue a moment too long, making her shift uncomfortably. Then, they lower their heads respectfully toward the woman. She speaks to them in French, and their chuckles follow her words.

Under a warm afternoon, they approach what looks like a large barn, bordered by wooden fence posts strung with taut wires. Inside the fenced area, Blue notices a white horse, smaller than Cherry, along with four cows. More men are working nearby, some tending to the animals while others, farther off, wield sickles to harvest stalks of wheat.

When they stop in front of the fence, Blue can't stop herself from asking, "Where are all the girls at? Like the one who fed us? I've only seen guys so far."

The woman doesn't look at her. "Our community is built around the roles God intended for us. Men have bodies made for working under the sun. Women, like those beautiful young ladies you traveled with, are vessels to be cherished, protected. Especially in these times when they have become rather scarce."

A few of the words fail to make sense to Blue, never having learned them from any of the books Ghost read her. "Um, is that why you separated the girls in my group from the men?"

She hums, a slow sound. "Women are kept in their own quarters with the infants."

"Okay," Blue rocks on her feet and grips the hem of the dress before the light air can catch it. So is her dad one of those men working, then? She quints, confused, and shakes her head. No; if he was anywhere out here, he would've come to her. He must be locked up, too. A wave of anger buzzes in her chest, louder than the cicadas. "That still doesn't explain why you are holding Twix and Nereida prisoner. If women are so special, why are they locked up and I am out here? And where are all the men from my group?" Her mind briefly flashes to the others; Kyle, Price, and... Ari. 

"None of them are prisoners, child. They are merely being readied for the role their bodies were created for, by God."

Blue grits her teeth. "You're not really answering my questions. What about me? Why did you bring me to," she glances back at the working men, who haven't stopped to look at her like the others had, too engrossed in the strenuous labor. "A fucking farm. What could you possibly want to show me here?"

"There is someone I need here before our next stop." She leans closer to the barbed fence and calls out, "Pierre! J'ai besoin de toi et de trois hommes pour nous accompagner jusqu'à la cale. Apporte les chaînes."

A man—Pierre, she guesses—strikes one of the cattle's hindquarters, wipes sweat from the back of his neck, then shouts in French to three others following behind him. They unlatch a gate in the fence and slip inside a small shed for a brief moment, emerging with rusted chains in hand. They approach, causing Blue to falter and step back. An old, strange woman is one thing, but three strong men are another. A fissure of terror cracks through her, and she inhales shakily.

"You need not be afraid."

She blinks up at the woman, who for a moment, conjures something similar to a comforting expression. Blue nods, and then they are walking again, with the four men trailing behind them. The sound of the chains dangling in their grasp makes her feel uneasy. What are they for, and why are they coming with them? She is ready to build the bravery to ask when the woman ghosts a hand on her shoulder.

"What is your name, child?"

"It's... um, Blue."

A soft chuckle. "The English and their strangeness. This is not your real name, is it?"

For some reason, Blue finds the truth stuttering out of her. "No, it's—the name I was born with is Amelia."

"Amelia. Much better. Tell me, Amelia, did your mother have blue eyes?"

Blue nearly chokes, her footsteps halting in the grass as she flinches away from her hand, curling her fingers into fists. "What the fu—why are you asking me that?"

The woman stops beside her and clasps her hands together, the long sleeves of her gown falling over them. She is small woman, hardly taller than Blue, and can't be any stronger than she is, but something about her emits control. Blue can't look away from her eyes, even as her jaw tightens, stomach swirling.

"They are many answers to questions that can be discovered on their own if one simply looks for them. I know which one of them is your father—"

"How could you know?" Blue demands. "I haven't even said any of them was my dad."

Thin lips twitch at the side. "A daughter gets the shape of her face from her father." A bony finger reaches to trail the edge of Blue's cheek, and she trembles from the cold feel of it. "But the features are all from her mother." She looks away and continues walking, speaking over her shoulder, "A little dove might have also told me he was asking for you."

When the men step forward, Blue is forced to continue walking. It feels hard to breathe, even though the canopy of trees offer fresh, rich air. "Then why are you asking about my mother?"

"Your eyes are blue, but your father's are not. I was simply curious."

"My mother is dead," Blue finds herself gritting out. 

"I figured. Neither of those women were her, and many mothers have been lost. A very terrible thing. A child needs its mother. You will call me Maman, Amelia. This is what French children call their mothers."

"I am not going to fucking call you that. Tell me where we are going," Blue presses, swallowing as she looks back at the farm behind them. Through the gaps between the men's shoulders, she sees that it is rather distant now, along with the small homes. She looks back ahead; nothing but overgrown vegetation. Even the flowers have grown sparse over here. It is quiet and still. She can hear the thrum of her own heart.

"Your fire is admirable, but you need to learn respect." For the first time, Maman's voice carries an edge, one that sends a shiver down Blue's spine. A foreign bird call echoes through the leaves, and the woman holds up a hand, signaling for everyone to stop and listen. "Ah. That’s the Bluethroat, if I’m not mistaken. Much rarer than the dove. You won't often find those in England."

The bird calls again—a trilled chirp—as they crest over a small hill, and the air suddenly grows heavier, more pungent. A smell Blue knows well makes her freeze, but a strong grip on her arm keeps her moving toward the source of the stench: an old, smaller building made of much darker stone. The sharp rustle of wings through the trees fades into the distance, but the tension in her body doesn’t ease.

"You, too, are rare, Amelia," Maman continues, voice steady and unhurried. "A pure, young female like you—so virtuous—carries more favor from God than any other. Your friends have their purpose, and you have yours. Each of us plays a part in shaping the new vision of God's children."

The men move in front of them now, except for one who continues gripping Blue. The tremble in her body intensifies, and a cold pit grows unbearable in her chest, thundering. She is forced to stand about four meters in front of the large door, where one man grips the handle while two others, including Pierre, stand beside it, their hands ready with chains and their stances wide. It’s now, through the stinging film that grows over her eyes, that Blue notices large metal muzzles attached to the chains.

Blue is too stunned—too confused, yet frightfully aware—to move a muscle when Maman procures a knife from inside her robe. Pierre shouts something in French, but Blue can barely hear him. Her senses are fixed on the bead of sunlight glinting off the knife, and on the scratching and snarling she hears from the other side of the door.

"Please—" she gasps, unable to finish the thought.

Maman ignores her in favor of snatching hold of her wrist. Cold fingers force her arm to extend, and a burning pain cries out when the knife slashes a laceration from her elbow to the rim of her palm. 

"Une seule coupure pour les attirer."

The blood weeps, and the door shakes from the ignited frenzy behind it.

Tears finally escape Blue’s eyes just before the door opens. She feels it—the sensation of her body being torn apart beneath rotten teeth. She squeezes her eyes shut, thinking of Ghost, when she hears more shouting and the harsh sound of chains being whipped through the air. When she opens her eyes again, the men are wrestling two Greys into the muzzles.

"Deux c'est bien!" Maman orders, and the door is slammed shut over the others that threaten to spill out toward the fresh wound. 

Blue is alive.

Her arm numb and bleeding. 

Maman yanks something else from her robe—a strip of cloth. She wraps it roughly around Blue's forearm, then issues another command. Without warning, Blue is hoisted from the ground and callously tossed over the shoulder of the man who had held her in place. They start heading back the way they came, the leashed Greys trailing behind them, and finally, a scream rips from Blue’s throat.

"You said this one was intact?" "Yes, Maman." "We will offer her pure body to the Lord. The other two will be fit to have children." "But she is a… I mean, yes, Maman." "Pierre! I need you and three men to accompany us to the hold. Bring the chains." "One cut to attract them.” “Two is good!”

[signanothername]

I– I need to ask.

HOW DO YOU DO THIS?? Like, share your thoughts with everyone. Because I've been working on my universe for about three years now, AND I STILL FEEL LIKE IT'S NOT READY. At the same time, I’m still afraid to share these things...

So. How do you do it?D:

Alright my answer will seem a bit harsh and/or cruel, but know that I mean it in the most kind, genuine, and gentle way possible, i just don’t know how to word it any other way

With that in mind

Anon, you’re never going to be ready to share it, and the fear will always linger, you will never be 100% confident of what you share

And that’s ok

Again, I know that i make it seem super easy, but I promise that I’m just as afraid to share my ideas as anyone else (I’m a perfectionist, and that also contributes to my fear to share things)

It’s just, I think of it this way

I have an idea, and I got two choices

Either

1- I keep overthinking it, and succumb to my worries and fears when it comes to my idea, and keep my ideas with me, never to see the light of day

Or

2- I acknowledge that I’m afraid, acknowledge that my idea might not be perfect or ready, acknowledge that there might be flaws that I will probably notice later and even feel stupid about it, and still share my ideas anyway regardless of the voice in my head telling me to “wait a little more”

I usually go for choice number 2

The art and writing process is complicated, it’s so not easy to write something and feel ready to share it, no matter how much time it takes, you will never ever feel truly and utterly ready to share it, you’ll have that worry in your mind that maybe it’s stupid, or incomplete, or inconsistent or whatever else

And guess what? Sometimes, the worried voice in your head is completely right

But what matters is how you tackle it

Even if you share an idea, remember that you can always change your mind about it, you can absolutely go back and say, I don’t like that idea anymore and so I’ll remove/ change/ replace it

Ideas are never set in stone, you change and grow as a person as so do your ideas, they grow and change with you as you learn more and more, and sometimes they don’t, they don’t change at all, and that’s ok too

You can’t keep worrying about whether the story or idea you’re working on is ready or complete, because all you’re going to do is just walk around in circles and end up never sharing anything at all

It’s ok to be worried, but you can’t let your worries control you, of course, it’s not easy to ignore your worries, but it’s better than feeling stuck with your ideas

I myself do deal with these worries a lot, most of the time i just tell my brain “shut up” and share my ideas anyway, other times my worries do get the best of me and i tend to keep some ideas to myself

But sharing your ideas is actually essential for you to actually be able to work on them and refine them, because people might start asking questions or giving really good feedback that you actually sit with yourself to think about

But what if they ask you a question and you don’t know the answer to it? That’s actually a good thing, it’ll make you sit down and think of how to connect the dots and answer it, not only does it mean you’re actually making progress on your story/ideas, but these kinda questions help you understand different perspectives and by that, you learn and grow in your writing

It’s ok to be worried and to keep ideas to yourself sometimes, but don’t let them fester, because believe me, eventually your passion is gonna burn out because you kept overthinking it to the point it became just a worry than something you enjoy doing

In fact, to give you a bit of motivation, imma actually share one of the ideas I never shared cause I was afraid it’ll be a bit stupid and out of character

And I’m very worried about sharing it, but fuck my worry I do what I want

Remember when I mentioned Dream received one gift from Nightmare, and never received anything after? My idea for that gift was an echo flower he gave Dream, and it echoes one thing “I love you”

There, I shared it ouuughh the stress of sharing it is killing me actually, but I mean I can keep worrying about it forever, or actually share it and refine it later if I wanted, I choose the latter

And your ideas are never going to be perfect anyway, but you can improve them with time, even after sharing them

That’s all I do really shzggz

So go out there and start sharing anon, fuck anxiety, you can do whatever you want, you’re unstoppable

[alacants]

The source of those rumors is a guy from Carlos's family's tennis club who is close to Kiko Navarro & knows some members of Carlos's team & is a regular collaborator with Punto de Break. According to him (he's said this before) Carlos & Juanki had a significant fight towards the end of 2023. But the claim that they nearly split up back then came from someone else who's less reliable.

As for 2025, the first guy says Carlos's dad has apparently not been happy with what Juanki is doing for a while... but it seems like Carlos doesn't agree. If things don't turn around after clay season his family might push for changes to the team.

From my perspective it's hard to understand the coaching strategy sometimes. Like you said Juanki's strength is not tactics but it seems like that's what Carlos really needs. This is just one example but I think it's crazy that he sat on court in silence for three sets without suggesting Carlos change his return position v Djokovic - Carlos eventually figured it out... in the last game of the match. And that was honestly the main factor in him losing. You could argue Juanki wanted him to figure it out himself but why on earth did they not discuss that beforehand when it also cost him massively at the Olympics (which Carlos said he didn't even think about before the match?)

I know Juanki's whole thing is treating team like family but there are a lot top coaches who say that after 5ish years a coach has nothing to give a player anymore & I wonder if their partnership has run its natural course. Carlos doesn't seem any more tactically equipped than he was two years ago & his technicals have mostly not improved either (return... backhand...).

thanks for this background - after replying to some earlier asks i dug around and saw some folks citing punto de break but not any specifics so this is appreciated. this does immediately increase the credibility to me bc i know pdb values their access and would not jeopardize it for nothing lmao. tho if it's like, a guy who sometimes writes for them and is mostly posting on his own time... i guess that's somewhere in the middle. (btw i still haven't seen anything other than reports of reports of reports? if you've got links i would very much appreciate them!)

as usual i think we're looking at two questions here: could carlos benefit from a different coach, and does carlos want a different coach.

i think we are all in agreement that for carlos to continue to develop as a player he needs something he's not getting at the moment, whether we're thinking in terms of incorporating a new addition to the team or making a wholesale switch. and i don't disagree with you at all about the natural lifespan of a coaching relationship. i've cited this before in discussions of juanki's own career (stuck with one guy; was it a mistake?) and of ferru's (split but waited too long; chalked the delay up to personal feelings).

but as long as it's presented to carlos as an all-or-nothing choice i don't think he's there yet and i would not be surprised to find out that his recent post-match declarations were a message. (tbc it very much MIGHT be an all-or-nothing choice, regulars here know i have plenty of thoughts about the academy lmao.)

the thing is that at this point the unknowns are still really, really risky. if you've had the same coach for most of your teen/adult years and you're ready to strike out and try something new, then that's exciting and stimulating and you're in a good place to make the best of it. but if you're dragging your feet? if you feel like you've been pushed? maybe someone else could give you more, but you have to be ready to receive it, you know? if you're an environment that you know enables you overall to perform at a high level (4 grand slams), where you feel overall confident and supported even if you're lacking direction in some big matches, where you get value from your coach's presence above and beyond the specifics of tennis--it is inherently going to be a risk to make a big change and if you're not all in on doing so the risks will be even more likely to find you.

that's why i keep saying is that i don't see it happening unless carlos' results gets much worse than this--or, potentially, unless a voice that holds as much weight with him as juanki's (so, his dad) gets strong enough that he listens to it. that might be where we're headed!

(incidentally i have feinted at this without saying so explicitly, but there is an unbelievable amount of money riding on carlos' success or lack thereof--i don't mean prize money, i mean his brand as a star--and it would be naive to pretend that's not a factor in decision-making. that's one of the reasons i've pointed to a sustained slump, rather than one or two disappointing slams. when the results start to affect the brand.)

just talked this over with friend who compared the ideal set-up to darren/simone for jannik--supervisory coach + tactical/court coach. if so, then the question is whether they come to that same conclusion and get the set-up in place before the decision is out of their hands, so to speak.

[toxicanonymity]

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ty for the tags @milla-frenchy, @sunshineispunk, @iamasaddie, @tateypots 💛. I'm tagging you 🫵 and no pressure tagging 10 of you: @dark-scape @quaritchscupquake @whateverloomis @megangovier @xdaddysprincessxx @covetyou @romanarose @aurorawritestoescape @bitchesuntitled @noxturnalnymph sorry if you already did it.

I feel kinda vulnerable (and yet boring at the same time) talking about myself, but one of my goals is to let people know me as more of a person. 🩷

what's the origin of your blog title?: I have a taste for toxic characters, and i was hastily picking a url that would give me more anonymity. this old buzzword floated into my head from 15 yrs ago--I get a kick out of buzzwords that fizzle out so fast they become associated with a very specific point in time. I got the URL on an impulse and figured I could change it once I thought of the perfect url.... Meanwhile I've had plenty of asks and stalkers who themselves embody the old buzzword's meaning: the way a veil of anonymity emboldens hate and toxicity. I just wanted my veil to write porn, man.

favorite fandoms: impossible to say. too many factors.

OTP(s) + shipname: Michael Myers & Corey Cunningham (cunningmyers). it's a deep and fucked up bond, very dark and sexually charged. (Cue father figure 🎶) In my HCs I don't imagine anything soft, affectionate, or monogamous. it's pining and worship from Corey, dominance and dark energy from Michael and his monster cock. And when they kill together, god I love that.

favorite color: depends. My electronics & cases are blue, and I like to wear soft blues. also brown and olive green to wear. Black & salmon/peach: god tier combo.

favorite game: scrabble, trivia, jigsaw puzzles, nyt spelling bee, W.E.L.D.E.R., crosswords, guessing games. I've been trying to learn how to play poker which is great entertainment for @dark-scape.

song stuck in your head: none but I make up songs for my cat and I was singing one earlier about how sweet and nice she is. update: take me to church by hozier

weirdest habit/trait?: idk, really.

hobbies: lounging, research and learning, going to movies, watching miniseries, walking, writing but mostly in my head, taking elaborate baths, reading. getting organized this yr, minimalizing, donating things I don't need. would like to get back into candle-making and painting or clay sculpting.

if you work, what's your profession? Pass. I do work, though.

if you could have any job you wish what would it be? It would be cool to make a living off writing. But, ideally get rich with minimal effort and then financially support an animal sanctuary so I could go chill with the animals whenever I want. also, publicize & investigate missing persons cases that don't get enough attention.

something you're good at: finding four leaf clovers. Cobbling together cosplay from thrift store finds. having ideas. character development & world building.

something you're bad at: socializing, but I want to do better. I'm shy to begin with and some of my experiences here haven't helped. But I promise I don't bite. I'm also bad at staying focused, keeping an uncluttered mind, second-guessing my story plans and not ending them.

something you love: having a pet. I feel so lucky to have a (not so) little furball who enjoys my company and has a personality and lets me take care of her.

something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: not usually super talkative. hmm. predictions about the year ahead - love to hear peoples' thoughts on this (sports, pop culture, archaeology, food & makeup trends, etc.). unsolved mysteries.

something you hate: I don't wanna get anyone worked up with a rant so I'm just gonna say canned spinach. Haven't had it since childhood but I can still taste it

something you collect: I'm not sure I collect anything. I keep a lot of greeting cards received with photos.

something you forget: what I came in the room for, why I opened the app, just about anything.

what's your love language?: little gestures (gifts/acts of service), praise

favorite movie/show: here's my letterboxd

favorite food: fresh pasta w/ olive oil and fresh parmesan

favorite animal: too many to list

what were you like as a child? pensive, curious, loved the circus and Halloween. my mom likes to tell the story of when I was 18 months old and an old friend of hers came to meet me and I explained what a parallelagram was and it freaked her out.

favorite subject(s) at school? English and Spanish

least favorite subject? anything that was straight memorization. But I wish I tried harder.

what's your best character trait? I care about people

what's your worst character trait? easily distracted and forgetful, can be slow to respond, recovering perfectionist

if you could change any detail of your day right now what would it be? That I had to do any work at all

if you could travel in time who would you like to meet? a big, hot guy who captures me but won't kill me if I escape to come back to this timeline.

recommend one of your favorite fanfics (spread the love!):

hounds of hell by @aurorawritestoescape and @milla-frenchy 🐨🙏

some more favorites

--------

[deoidesign]

I met the me who made different choices

[fortes-fortuna-iogurtum]

..

[keeps-ache]

having tea this lovely morning bc i got my yearly Bad Throat+Nose Time :) never fails

[inbabylontheywept]

The Motherfucking Lizard King

No one at work trusts my boss. 

He's smart. He works hard. He's not trustworthy. He hasn't actually fucked anyone at work over, but he's ruined his last two marriages with affairs, and got dumped by his third fiance when he wouldn't sign a prenup. The fact that we all know this is just a hazard of working in a small town. 

Anyway: The thought process of the people in the lab is that if he screwed over his first wife, and his second wife, and was probably planning on screwing over his third wife, it would be insane for him not to screw us over. After all, what kind of idiot treats their employees better than their spouse? 

I dunno. His kind, I guess? He's had a few chances to fuck us over, and he hasn't taken them. Opposite really. When our parent company was doing furloughs, he stayed in the office almost a hundred hours, talking and talking and talking his way up the corporate ladder. And in the end, no one at our site got furloughed. 

He's pulled strings like that before. And it baffles me, right? Because it really does make zero sense. He'll move the heavens and the earth for us, but his wife and kids are afterthoughts. It feels like any moment, he's going to look into the mirror and realize how stupid that is. It feels like I'm betting on him making the same stupid mistake again, and again, and again - like it would be less cynical to believe he was, eventually, going to stab me in the back. But he hasn't yet, and as far as I can tell he's been making that mistake for close to fifteen years, and it's already cost him everything it can. If he was going to learn, he would have by now. 

So my position on him is that if he wanted to date someone I cared about, I'd warn them off. I don't trust him there. But I tentatively trust him to be my boss. Maybe one day he'll stick the knife in and twist, and everyone will say Ah, Babs, we warned you, but for now, I accept that he's doing a very predictable, very irrational thing, and I've made my peace with it. 

---

My job has glue traps. 

No one likes the glue traps, but we don't have a lot of options. Poison's banned by state law, spring traps are banned by company safety, and several non-lethal options tried in the past failed to work. The mouse problem can get pretty bad if it's ignored, and there's some real health hazards in that. Our site has never had a positive hantavirus test, thank God, but the big base about a half hour away has. That guy's gonna be on oxygen the rest of his life. 

If a mouse gets caught, we just euthanize it. But more than mice get stuck. Lizards can wander into those traps too, and the people working there have different feelings about the lizards. They don't pose nearly the same kind of risk mice do. They're chill little guys, and they keep the moths away, and they're just 

You know. They're friendly. There's something to be said about walking into a room, and hitting the light switch, and seeing two little guys on the wall start to do pushups as soon as they see you. 

People used to just euthanize the lizards too, but I had pet leopard geckos as a kid and I couldn't take that so I wound up googling how to free animals from glue traps. Now, when a lizard gets stuck in a trap - which happens once or twice a week - I get some vegetable oil from the breakroom, and a little plastic fork, and I'll spend fifteen to twenty minutes just kind of gently prying the little guys out. 

I have a team of technicians that help me operate one of the larger machines. They're real blue collar guys, ex-airforce, and they make me look like a little kid. Being an engineer means they'll look to me as a leader sometimes, which is a wild experience. And I started helping the lizards for my own conscience, but one of the crazier consequences of it has been that it seriously boosted my leadership cred. Because those guys see me, and they go: Hey. If he's willing to fight for a lizard, he's gotta be willing to fight for me. 

I cannot overstate how nice that is. Most engineers that want to make a change to a maintenance practice, or try an upgrade, they have to work their asses off to get the techs to buy in. But I can just ask. They already trust me to do good. They know I'm new, and they know I'm not the smartest engineer in the building, but they also know I'm the one who gets lizards out of the glue traps. 

And just because of that, they're willing to follow me. 

---

My boss has a meeting every month or two. It's typically basic house cleaning stuff - reminders about routines we've gotten lazy on, and updates on future projects. Maybe some warnings about problems coming from higher up in the company.

People are, in my opinion, a bit too cynical about the meetings. It stems from people not trusting our boss, which again, I understand, because it would make so much more sense if he wasn't trustworthy. It's a testament to the man's incredibly unhealthy priorities that he is. But as we made it to the end of the meeting, one of bullet points was: 

Do NOT mess with animals in the building. 

So I looked at my techs, and they looked at me, and when he got to the point, he was so scathing I actually just wanted to crawl under a rock and die. He said basically that he'd heard some reports about someone in the building handling animals that found their way in and got stuck, and that he just wanted to emphasize how insanely inappropriate that was, not to mention dangerous, and that if he needed to speak to anyone about it again, there would be severe consequences. 

I was willing to just take the shame and move on. I was. But one of my techs is old. Old enough he could've retired two years ago. And his actual literal goal is to one day get angry, yell at someone, and storm out. That's how he wants to retire. So instead of biting his tongue like everyone else, he stood up and said: I hate the glue traps. You hate the glue traps. We all hate glue traps. But we've all sat here for years, ignoring the little things that get stuck in them, watching them die, and then Bab's comes in, and he is the first person in decades to give enough of a shit to start pulling the lizards out. And I don't want him to stop. 

Get humane traps or shut up but we are not going back to the old way of just letting things starve. 

And my boss actually froze up. He got all wide eyed and stared at Marc, and then the other techs jumped in, and there was a very small but intense rebellion in the meeting and my boss kept trying to interrupt while getting absolutely bowled over by this gang of angry middle aged air force vets, and eventually he just went 

I will speak with Babylon about this afterwards! After! And then he will speak with everyone else, but I have more points to cover. 

So they went silent, and my boss rushed through the last five minutes, and we all adjounred. The techs really didn't like that I was going in alone - they thought our boss was going to try and shout me into compliance. Marc in particular was like, Look, if he tries bullying you, stand your ground, and if he threatens anything, just come get us, and we'll give him hell. 

So armed with that, I went to my boss's office. I sat in the chair across from him, and he kept his composure for maybe five seconds before just flopping back into his chair. 

I had no idea you were saving lizards, he said, but I'm glad you are. I always hated seeing them die in the glue.  

I wasn't expecting that. I was about to ask him what the comment from the meeting was about then, but he answered that before I even got the chance.

A snake got into the building last week, and - someone picked it up and chased a coworker around. Turns out that coworker was severely afraid of snakes, and now it's a shitshow. We're a small site, and now I can't ask those two to work together anymore, to say nothing about how the snake fared after all that. Being upset about that is a reasonable thing, right? 

And he gave me a look like he actually wanted an answer, so I said Yeah, totally, chasing a coworker around with a snake is a dick move. Especially if that coworker is already afraid of snakes. 

And he said Exactly! and then we sat there a few moments longer. He looked so incredibly tired that I did, actually, feel kind of bad for him. And then he somehow managed to sink even further into his chair, and said

Look, I know I'm not a good guy. But I'm not evil. I'm not some sort of crazy asshole that's going to demand that everyone watch lizards starve to death. When you go back downstairs, could you try to pass that on? That I'm not evil? 

I said Sure because it wasn't a hard request, and he looked relieved. I actually made it halfway out before I realized I had a question. 

Who grabbed the snake? I asked. 

Not supposed to talk about it, he said. But whoever comes to mind first is probably right. 

ThatGuy? I asked. And he looked me in the face, nodded his head yes, and said No. 

---

The techs seemed a little disappointed that they didn't get to storm the boss's office, but were otherwise in good spirits. They were actually a little bit embarrassed to hear about the snake story - apparently, it wasn't much of a secret. It'd just slipped their minds because it happened three weeks ago. 

We did maintenance after that, the same basic repairs we did every week. The meeting had been stressful and it was a relief to work with my hands. When the parts were reinstalled, everything cleaned and smooth and ready to go, Marc found me again. 

You know what the lesson of today is? he asked. And there were quite a few answers to that that I could have taken - from don't assume the worst of people to be careful with how you spend your trust - we all need it more than we think. 

But instead I said what? because I wanted to hear what his answer was going to be. 

That I got your back, he said. Then he clapped one very, very large hand on my shoulder, gave it a good squeeze, and walked back to dosimetry lab.

---

The next day, Marc gave me a package and told me to open it in my office. I was suspicious, but I followed the request.

Cardboard gave way to a small baggie, obviously full of fabric, which opened to reveal a t-shirt that read

"I Am the Motherfucking Lizard King."

I looked at it, I loved it, and then I got an idea. I went to my boss's office and knocked on the door. When he opened it, I asked him if he would be willing to allow something very unprofessional to happen for morale building purposes.

How unprofessional? he asked. I held the shirt up in answer. He gave the shirt a short look over and snorted.

You can wear it on weeks without customers, he said. Which just so happened to include that week.

I'll pass on that it came with your blessing, I replied, and he looked oddly relieved.

Thanks, he said. And then I went downstairs.

---

The techs were very, very happy to see the shirt. And while my boss's reputation remains in tatters, and probably will be until he moves (or dies), the next time there was a meeting, there was quite a bit less complaining about how mere presence. Which is, I guess, a start.

We'll see if he squanders it.

[snowflop]

I forgot YouTube has a recap feature, yippee! I love music :)

[asterdeer]

haven't watched the last two loki eps. haven't watched the last two ofmd eps. haven't finished the last season of mythic quest. haven't listened to dndaddies in months. haven't listened to dungeons and drimbus in over a year. haven't haven't haven't. hng argh blah and so forth

[m-a-d-e-l-e-i-n-e]

I know that I wasn't ready at the time and it's really unhelpful to just dwell on things you did in your past that you can't change, but man it's sometimes hard not to think about how much I regret just not having gone to a four-year university right after high school so I could finally get away from home and my current situation that was and still is making me miserable and then proceeding to fail my community college classes because I was depressed

[kiss-inthekitchen]

pairing: spencer reid x reader

set sometime in early s2; you get stuck sharing a room with your favorite boy genius who absolutely cannot know that you have feelings for him. and also, there’s only one bed. fluff, f!reader (i think there's only two usages of gender markers)

word count: 4.7k

notes: this is a rework of a very old fic i used to have up on ao3. i'm thinking i'll do more of these, i've got a few spencer fics in the vault and it was fun to rework this and see how my style has changed :)

You shivered against the cold desert air. Twirling a keyring around your finger, you headed for the door marked 3. You were exhausted from the day and so, so ready to collapse into bed as soon as you got inside your room. 

You turned the key in the lock while Spencer waited behind you. It was late, and you and the team had pulled into a motel for the night, having been dragged out to a tiny rural town by the unsub after days of tracking him through surrounding areas. He’d been apprehended, finally, and handed over to local police around midnight. You all had decided it best to spend the night before driving back into town in the morning for take off. 

So here you were, at one of those single story motels that still used actual keys instead of key cards. Given the time of night, you knew vacancies would be scarce, so you’d already expected to have to double up on rooms. Gideon had stayed behind at Quantico, leaving Hotch and Morgan in one room and JJ and Prentiss in another, with you and Spencer sharing the last room. You’d hung back while JJ got everything figured out with the concierge (who was just a bored looking kid posted at the desk), and then she’d passed you your key with its little keyring attachment listing the room number and you all bade each other goodnight.

You’d been on the team nearly a year already, but you were still the rookie compared to everyone else. Even Spence had two years on you. But seeing as you two were the youngest, and the least inclined toward the more physical parts of your job– the chasing, tackling, firing your weapon parts– you were paired off with him more often than not. 

You weren’t complaining. You’d come to know Spencer pretty well, and you didn’t feel much apprehension at the thought of sharing a room with him for one night. 

That is, until you opened the door. 

“Oh,” you said involuntarily.  

"There's only one bed,” Spencer said. 

“Sure looks that way.” 

"At least it's a queen?" 

There was a brief pause before you both started speaking at the same time. 

"Maybe we can go back to the concierge–" Spencer began. 

"I mean, I guess I don't really–" 

"–although, JJ did say we got the last–" 

"–mind as long as you–" 

You cut yourself off this time. It’s not like there was another good option, unless one of you wanted to sleep in the car. "This is fine?" it came out as a question rather than a statement. 

"I think so? I wouldn't want to– to make you uncomfortable or anything."

"This is fine," you repeated, more sure of yourself this time. “And you don’t make me uncomfortable.”  

It was only kind of a lie. You trusted Spencer with your life, of course. But he also made you nervous. He was sweet, kind, always seeming genuinely interested in anything you had to say. And of course, anyone could see that he was attractive. You were developing feelings for him, and in a job where your coworkers and your crush himself were all adept at reading people, it really wasn’t a good position for you to be in. You just hoped Spencer was as oblivious with women as Derek made him out to be. 

"We should get out of the doorway," Spencer suggested, and you realized you'd been standing in the threshold this whole time.

"Right."

The two of you walked in, Spencer closing and locking the door behind you. It was a modest room in a tiny town; your standard ugly-patterned, faded bedspread draped over the queen bed in the center, a window looking out into the parking lot, and a dresser that didn’t even have a TV on top of it. You headed straight for the bed, sitting on the edge and removing your shoes while Spencer stood by with his hands in his pockets.

"You know, if it's a problem I can sleep on the cou– uh, the chair," Spencer offered, looking back mid-sentence and realizing that the only additional furniture this motel offered was one rigid looking armchair by the window. 

"No, you're not doing that."

"What?" he asked, taken aback by the quickness of your response.

"You're not sleeping in that chair. It looks horribly uncomfortable and I’m sure it’s never been cleaned, and I know how you’d feel about that.” 

Spencer grimaced, not having thought about that particular detail. “Yeah, but, I mean… I’d do it for you.” 

God, why did he have to say stuff like that? Like you were something special. And why now, when you were stuck in the same room with him until morning? It probably didn’t even mean the same thing to him as it meant to you. He was one of the most caring people you’d ever met. He’d probably say that to any one of you on the team. 

Or maybe sleeping in a chair meant nothing to him at all. Maybe he actually didn’t want to share the bed with you and that’s why he was trying so hard to avoid it. 

Ugh. You just wanted this day to be over. It was late, the case had been a week long, and now you were probably in for a fun night of overthinking and second guessing when you’d been expecting silence and easy, dreamless sleep. 

Okay, maybe that last part was never really an option, but still. 

“Look,” you sighed, “I know this isn't an ideal situation but there's a perfectly good bed here, so let’s just share it. If you’re okay with that. It's just one night and tomorrow we'll be back home and nobody has to know about it."

You had to fight from squeezing your eyes shut in regret. You wished that had come out differently. You chanced a look at Spencer, realizing that you’d been staring down at the faded carpet pattern while you spoke. 

The look on his face was one you hadn’t seen before, and you almost couldn't place it. He seemed sort of disappointed. Disappointed that he had to share a bed with you? Or that you'd made it sound like you didn't want to share a bed with him? Nope, you could not go down that road tonight. You shook your head once as if it would clear the thoughts from your tired mind. 

“I’m okay with that," he said, casually enough that you could almost convince yourself that you’d just imagined the look on his face before. "So, do you want the shower first, or...?" Spencer asked.

"No, I can wait, you go ahead," you said. You desperately needed the moment to yourself anyway.  

You started rifling through your bag for pajamas, toiletries, and your charger as an excuse to look busy while Spencer made his way into the bathroom with his things. As soon as the door closed behind him, you flopped back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as if it might hold all the answers. 

Spencer couldn't know about your feelings. For one thing, you were pretty sure there was a rule against dating your colleagues in the BAU. If not, there probably should be. You were such a close knit team, and if anything went wrong… you couldn’t imagine how difficult that would be. But then, the evil and uncooperative part of you also couldn’t help but think that things might go right. 

From the beginning of your time at the BAU, you’d been drawn to Spencer. It just kind of made sense. You’d gotten through school at an accelerated pace– though not as quickly as him, the man was on another fucking level when it came to academics– and you were one of the only people who found his fact dropping actually interesting, often asking him follow up questions. He’d looked adorably shocked the first few times you’d done that. 

He listened intently to your passionate rants about your favorite films and tv shows, even though he hadn’t seen any of them. When the two of you had discovered a shared interest in mythology and folklore, Hotch nearly had to separate you so you would actually get some work done. It was like you were a kid in school again, and you might’ve been embarrassed if you didn’t find it so funny, if you weren’t so giddy at the idea of a friendship that could make you feel like a kid again. 

Spencer understood you in a way that other people didn’t, laughing at your jokes even when they didn’t land for anybody else. When people interrupted or spoke over you, he always paid attention, and in situations where you were trying to add details to the profile he’d bring the conversation back around to you. 

Throughout your life you’d learned– through painstaking trial and error– to fit in pretty well in most any group you found yourself in, but you’d always considered yourself to be a little weird. A little too different. But when you were with Spencer, you felt like you didn’t have to try so hard. You could both be a little different, together. 

Spencer opened the bathroom door then, startling you. You’d been so lost in thought you hadn’t even noticed the water turn off. You looked over to see him wearing a loose white t-shirt and pajama pants, his hair still damp. And now you knew what Spencer looked like fresh out of a shower. And of course it was endearing as hell. 

“If that’s how you’re planning to sleep,” Spencer began, referencing how you were laid out in the dead center of the bed, your arms fully outstretched and hands hanging off the mattress, “then I think we might have a slight problem after all.”  

You walked out of the bathroom a short while later, dressed in your usual sleepwear of shorts and an oversized shirt. You’d put your hair up in a bun to protect it while you showered, and now it hung loose around your shoulders. You simultaneously wished your outfit was cuter and uglier; knowing your giant t-shirt wasn’t flattering your figure while also feeling like you had too much skin exposed. Not that it mattered. You were just going to get some sleep and then wake up in the morning and head home. Everything would be back to normal. 

Spencer’s in bed already. He’d turned off the big light while you were showering, the lamps on either side of the bed casting him in a softer, warmer glow. He looked up from his book to find you standing there, and the soft, familiar look in his big brown eyes had you rooted to the spot. 

“Hey,” he said softly, patting the space next to him in invitation. 

You conceded, finding your legs again and sliding into bed beside him. “Hey.” 

He fidgeted with the pages of his book, ultimately shutting it closed on his index finger to mark the page. “So, uh, are we okay?” 

“Yeah, of course,” you answered genuinely, feeling bad that your internal struggle had manifested in a way that worried him. 

“Okay, cool,” he said. He paused long enough to let you explain if you wanted to, another invitation. You knew he wouldn’t push it if you didn’t offer something up. You wanted to give him an explanation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. 

“Sorry,” you managed. 

“For what?” 

“I don’t know… acting weird, I guess. It’s just been a long day.” 

“Oh, well, you don’t need to be sorry about that. You’re always weird.” 

Your mouth dropped open as you looked at him. “Look who’s fucking talking,” you scoffed. Some of the tension dropped from your shoulders, glad he hadn’t questioned you further. 

“Language, please,” he held up a hand to stop you. “I’m delicate.” 

“Wha–?” you let out a surprised little laugh. “You’re an idiot!” 

“Yeah okay, tell that to my I–.” 

“Oh, my IQ of 187,” you finished for him, rolling your eyes. Even that was full of endearment. “God, you are so annoying.” 

“Hm. Y’know, this might be a long night for you. I’d hate to keep you up with my annoyingness.” 

“I feel like you could’ve come up with a better word than annoyingness, Mr. 187,” you tilted your head where it rested against the headboard, looking up at him. 

“Oh, she’s being a smartass now!” he split into a surprised grin, and you could swear your heart skipped a beat. 

“You just said ass.” 

“Wow. How quickly you’ve corrupted me.” 

“Right, of course. It’s my fault.” 

“I knew you’d agree.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” you laughed. 

Things felt a little bit more normal after that, joking around with Spencer like you normally did made the rest of the night feel less daunting. 

Shortly after that, the two of you agreed that you should get some sleep, each reaching over to turn out the light on your respective sides of the bed. 

You let yourself sink into your pillow, the exhaustion you had been feeling giving way to a hyper awareness of Reid’s body next to you. You were kept awake, completely overcome by the foot of space between you and Spencer; the consequences of crossing that space, the way it might feel, the curiosity over whether he was laying awake too, thinking the same thoughts as you. Even with that foot of space separating you, you could feel his body heat. You longed to move closer to him, to touch him, to let his warmth seep into you and lull you to sleep. 

But you didn’t, and you wouldn’t, because this was just an unfortunate booking mishap. It didn’t mean anything. Tomorrow it would be over, and you could more easily go back to hiding your feelings from everyone else and yourself. 

Eventually, exhaustion won out. 

You woke what could’ve been a few minutes or a few hours later, the sky still dark. You couldn’t tell what exactly had woken you up, only the sense that you’d moved, almost like you’d fallen. But fallen from what? 

You blinked in the dark, the street lamps in the parking lot providing enough residual light to keep the room from being pitch black. 

Reid was sitting up. He must’ve bolted upright, you thought. Had that been what moved you? Were you lying on him?! 

“Hey, you okay?” 

“Sorry. Just a nightmare,” he said as if it was nothing. “Sorry to wake you.” 

“What was it about?” you ignored his apologies, sitting up as well. 

“I don't really even remember,” he breathed, almost like it was funny. “Just having a physiological reaction to whatever it was, I guess.” 

You had nightmares too, of course. You all did. You hated remembering them, but you also hated the times when you woke up in the dark, dazed and inexplicably scared. Without thinking, you reached for his hand. 

He turned to look at you then. “I really didn't mean to wake you,” he reiterated. 

“I figured,” you smiled slightly. You noticed his breathing was just a bit too fast. You rubbed your thumb over the back of his hand, leaning over to rest your weight against his side, your head on his shoulder. His nervous system would regulate itself quicker this way. 

“You were on my pillow, by the way.” 

“What?” you ask, your head jerking back from him. 

“I totally called it. You rolled right into the center of the bed in your sleep. Total bed hog.” 

“Hey!” you protested, pulling your hand back from his in embarrassment. So you had been lying on top of him. Or at least really close to him. His hand chased after yours, finding you again. 

“That wasn’t me complaining about it.” 

“Oh,” was all you could think to say back. 

It was quiet for a minute. You let your head fall back onto Spencer’s shoulder, but your heart raced in your chest. 

“Can I ask you something?” he questioned, his tone becoming more serious. 

“Oh– of course,” you answered, your brow creasing. 

“What did you mean when you said ‘it’s not ideal’ and ‘nobody has to know about it’?” 

“Wh– I– Spencer, come on.” 

He didn’t give you an out this time. Just waited for an answer. 

“I don’t even really know,” you sighed.  

“I believe you’re being partially truthful about that.” 

“Don’t profile me.” 

“I’m not. I just know you.” 

You sighed. “You know, sometimes I hate that stupid memory of yours.” 

“I don’t need an eidetic memory to remember that. It was a weird thing to say, and it happened like four hours ago.” 

“You’re guesstimating. And it wasn’t that weird.” 

“Maybe not, but the way you said it was. And you’re avoiding my question.” 

You continued to avoid it, biting down on your bottom lip. 

“And you stuttered when I brought it up.” 

“I told you to stop profiling me.” 

This time, he just hummed in response. 

“And so what if I stuttered?” 

“Stuttering is usually more my thing. A nervousness thing.” 

Maybe this was actually your nightmare. Maybe you’d wake up soon and none of this would’ve been real, and you wouldn’t have had to explain to Spencer that the reason you’d had an attitude was because the situation tonight had made it harder to hide your feelings from him. Big feelings that became a lot harder to ignore when he was this close to you, still holding your hand, the mix of scents from his detergent and deodorant clouding your judgment. Of all the embarrassing scenarios that you could’ve imagined playing out tonight, this was very high up on the list. 

“I said ‘it’s not ideal’ because it’s not, just by definition. We were supposed to get a double room and we didn’t. Not ideal. And I said no one has to find out because I can already see Morgan having a field day with it and I know the exact expression that’ll be on his face–” 

“The eyebrows,” he nodded, lips pursed. 

“And then everyone else will get in on it and I just figured…” you sighed. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to deal with that.” 

“That all makes total sense.” 

“Good,” you breathed. Too relieved. 

“Now tell me the rest of it.” 

“God, Spencer–” you huffed out, frustrated. He knew you too well. 

You wanted to run. Maybe you could go sleep in the car after all. And then ignore Spencer for the rest of the day, and then the year, and your life, and– 

“Don’t make me say it,” you breathed. This had to be a dream. 

“But there is something to be said?” he questioned, his tone hushed, almost reverent. 

It was just vague enough. You could pretend it was nothing. 

“Yes.” 

You felt like you’d just blown your life up with one word. 

Spencer took a deep breath, your body cresting and falling with the movement of it. 

“You make me feel better about being myself,” he confessed.  

You shut your eyes. You had a constricting feeling in your throat suddenly, and the awful realization that you might cry. 

He spoke again, because you couldn’t. “I haven’t always felt good about it, you know? And then you joined the team, and, well– you changed a lot of things for me. And you’re beautiful, obviously, and I was scared to mess up what we have, because it’s special, I think–” 

“It is.” 

“–and then you started freaking out when you saw the bed,” he was smiling now, you could hear it, “and I thought, maybe it wouldn’t be so crazy… maybe I could make you feel that way too.” 

“You do. Of course you do. I feel like I can be my full self with you. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt like that before.” 

Spencer laughed, a little delirious giggle, and squeezed your hand in his. You’d managed to avoid crying, thankfully, and you grinned along with him, looking down at your joined hands as you squeezed him back. 

Things seemed to still for a beat, the two of you sitting with this moment and letting it stretch out. You still couldn’t really believe this was happening. You might have to tell Spencer to pinch you. 

“So what does that mean for us now?” you asked. 

“Well, for right now at least, I think it just means that we can go back to sleep without overthinking things into oblivion.” 

“I was not–”

“Okay, this time I am profiling you, and you’re lying,” he cut you off, his smile still evident.  

“Oh, this was such a mistake.”

He continued like you hadn’t spoken, laughing a little as he went. “I could practically hear it. It’s like, you know when a computer is trying to use too much processing power and the fan starts whirring really loud? Like that but just like right next to me, like tangible—“  

“Okay! Thank you so much, I actually totally got it, you can stop now.” 

He laughed, and your cheeks warmed. 

“For the record, I meant we could both stop overthinking.” Then he shifted a little, facing you a bit more. With the hand that wasn’t holding yours, he brushed a strand of hair from your face, a fake pout on his lips. “Sorry I make you nervous.” 

You cackled at that, if it was possible to cackle in hushed tones. “Oh, I bet you are. Besides, I know you like me now, so you’ve lost that card.” 

“Are you certain of that?” 

“Certain that you like me or certain that you can’t make me nervous?” 

“The latter. I do like you, if that was unclear.” 

Your heart sped up, contradicting you as you answered, “Then I’m certain you can’t make me nervous.” 

He titled your face up to his then, using his index finger underneath your chin to make you look at him. “You’re an awful liar.” 

You just shrugged, watching triumphantly as Spencer’s gaze fell to your lips. “It’s been working out pretty well for me so far.” 

“I guess it has,” he murmured, closing the distance between you and finally kissing you. 

After so many months of imagining (and berating yourself for imagining) what Spencer’s lips might feel like on yours, you weren’t disappointed. 

For once you didn’t have to think at all, the chemistry between you and him drowning out everything else. His hand fell to your waist, and yours moved to the curve of his jaw, pulling him closer as his mouth moved against yours. Your teeth grazed his bottom lip and he gasped, and your skin felt like it was lit up from the inside. 

You pulled away to breathe, and to process, and to try and stop your head from swimming. You were rewarded with the awestruck look in Spencer’s eyes as he opened them again. 

“Okay, was it just me, or–” 

“That was crazy,” you breathed.

“Crazy,” he agreed. 

“Spence?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t think we’re getting back to sleep tonight.” Your eyes widened at the implication of saying those words at that time. “Not, like, in the sex way, though,” you hurried to correct yourself. “I need like, 4-5 business days to process things first, and I– well, I just meant, like– you know?” 

Spencer was nodding at you even as his eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “Can I still kiss you during those 4-5 business days?” 

“Oh, yeah,” you said, sounding breathless. 

“Cool,” he agreed. “You seem really nervous, by the way.” 

“Well, you kissed me.” 

“I did.”  

“How were you not nervous?” you breathed. 

“Oh, I was. Your reaction is making me feel a whole lot better about it though.” 

You scoffed half-heartedly. “I do so much for you.” 

“You do,” he replied earnestly, letting go of your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “We could lie back down, if you want. Like we were before I so rudely woke you up.” 

“Yeah, I’m super mad about that,” you joked. “Anyway, I was asleep for that, so you’ll have to show me what I was doing.” 

He seemed all too pleased to do so. “Okay, so you were basically like,” he leaned back against the pillows, pulling you down with him, moving his hand to the side of your head to guide you to the place where his shoulder met his chest, “Like that, and then your arm was over here,” he picked up your arm and guided it around his waist. 

“Oh god, that’s so embarrassing,” you said, realizing that he must’ve been awake when you’d done it. 

“Yeah, I know. Really terrible time for me.” 

“I can imagine. I can scoot back over to my side of the bed, just say the word.” 

“Don’t you dare,” he said, squeezing you closer. 

You trailed your fingers up and down his waist, feeling more content than you had in ages. 

“I can’t believe you’d suggest that I would have sex with you right after confessing my feelings. Like, take me to dinner first at least.” 

“Oh my god,” you half-exclaimed, half-laughed. You felt your cheeks heat up again, grateful it was still too dark in the room to be noticeable. “You’re right, I’m so sorry. How’s next Friday?” 

“Hmm, I don’t know. My work schedule is kind of unpredictable. I’ll have to get back to you.” 

“You’re such an ass.” 

A few short hours later, you were back on the jet with the rest of the team. You were lying on the couch while Spencer sat in a seat one row up and across from you, both to avoid suspicion and so you could try to catch up on sleep. He sat facing away from you, but with the angle you were at you could still see one side of his face if you tilted your head up. 

You were just beginning to fade when your phone buzzed next to you. 

Spencer: I have to tell you something, coworker to coworker. 

You looked up to see him blank faced, looking down at the book in his right hand, holding his phone in the left. 

You text back: okay? 

Spencer: My crush asked me out last night. 

You’re exceptionally glad no one was sitting close enough to see you. Spencer had caught you off guard, and you felt an infatuated grin spreading across your face. 

You: what did u say? 

Spencer: Wanted to get your opinion first. 

You: i think u should say yes, obviously. 

Spencer: Idk, I’m kinda nervous. I think she’s trying to jump me on the first date.

You just barely managed to refrain from laughing out loud. You looked up at Spencer again, and he’s looking at his phone as if it contained nothing more than a weather report. You’re astounded. 

You: one could argue that technically you’ve already slept together, so there’s less to be nervous abt

You saw his eyebrows raise just slightly. Success. 

Spencer: You’re trouble, you know that? See you Friday night

You: i promise i won’t try to jump you 

Spencer: Oh

Spencer: I fear I may have shot myself in the foot here

You: i wouldn’t worry about it too much

Spencer: That’s rich coming from you 

You rolled your eyes even though he couldn't see you. 

You: whatever. wear something sexy ;) 

You heard him blow air out of his nose, an almost laugh. 

“Something funny?” you heard Derek ask. 

Shit. 

“This book contains a historical inaccuracy that was proven incorrect eight years before its publishing date,” Spencer replied without missing a beat. 

Unbelievable.

You: you’re unhinged :*

Spencer: Go to sleep already, would you? 

You: coworker to coworker? my crush keeps interrupting my beauty sleep 

Spencer: He’s probably worried about the worldwide implications of you becoming any more beautiful 

You: i guess that’s why the universe gave you insomnia :( too pretty 

Spencer: Stop flirting with me

You: bc you’re too delicate?? 

Spencer: Yes 

You snapped your phone shut, feeling dazed. You watched the clouds go by in the window across from you, and you couldn’t help letting your gaze slide over to Spencer. He’d put his phone down as well, concentrating on his book. Or pretending to concentrate. He was turning the pages much too slowly for his actual pace. 

You: you have got to do a better job of fake reading than that

You heard a page turn. 

You looked up again to see the ghost of a smile threatening the corner of his mouth. 

This was going to be fun. And also, you were so screwed. 

[ayukas]

r/UberEATS 014 are u a coward

r/UberEATS posted by

u/finickydriver141・14 hr. ago

my customer's little brother broke her heart and i don't know how to fix it

hi. this probably isn't the right subreddit to post on but i'm an uber eats driver if that helps...

so anyways, i've been delivering to this customer for a while now, and we've gotten really close, almost like a talking stage? idk. well, last night, she told me about this huge argument her and her brother had, and i wanna help fix things because i kinda like her. a lot.

tl;dr: her little brother lied to her two years ago and ruined her friendship with her best friend. now she's upset because she found out the truth and feels like she let him down, but imo, i think the kid is just being a brat lol. i wanna step in and make things better for her, let her know that she shouldn't feel guilty, but i don't really know how to go about it.

for context, her brother (let's call him A) basically told her that her best friend (we'll call him B) stole all his bread back when B was babysitting him. she got super upset and immediately cut B off because she loves her brother more than anything and thought B broke their trust. fast forward to now, A admitted that he lied about the whole thing because he felt like he was too mature for a babysitter (which is true to a certain extent... I GUESS...) now she feels guilty for not realizing that A hated having her take care of him like that, and she's convinced that he hates her.

here's the thing though, if A feels like he's so mature and independent, why did he feel the need to lie and cause this mess? i get that he did what he did to prove he was mature enough to take care of himself but lying to your sister and ruining her relationship with her best friend is kind of the opposite of maturity, right?

anyways, what should i do to help her? i tried asking B for A's number so i could talk to him, but B refused so now i'm stuck.

should i go over to her house when she's not around and beat him up or like... take his bread? or should i just let it go and focus on comforting her? it breaks my heart to see her sad :/

⬆️ 8 ⬇️ 💬 79

u/rainsinheaven・14 hr. ago

this seems so familiar

u/back2u・13 hr. ago

right?! omg i think this is the same uber eats driver from that love confession post

u/purplecarrot・13 hr. ago

sounds like a bunch of miscommunication and overdramatics to me

u/jjanguu・11 hr. ago

i vote to beat him up

u/mrkrabs_58・11 hr. ago

This is not related to Uber Eats

u/finickydriver141・10 hr. ago

im an uber eats driver so it IS related GTFO MRKRABS58

u/cooingpenguin・9 hr. ago

i think op is in love with the girl lmao

u/yuwushi・3 hr. ago

hi. dm me. i'm A's friend.

u/finickydriver141・2 hr. ago

prove it

u/yuwushi・20 min. ago

i can't prove it without doxxing them... just dm me bro are u a coward. what's wrong with you.

u/finickydriver141・18 min. ago

WHO THE FUCK ARE U CALLING A COWARD

u/lovable_star・2 hr. ago

convince B to give u A's number again!!! if ure preaching about maturity then communication is the best way around this whole situation

previous / masterlist / next

notes DID EVERYONE ENJOY SMTOWNNN i know i did (save me dreamies love me right cover. save me) also can u guys tell this smau is lowkey coming to an end soon (っ◞‸◟ c)

taglist @ddolbyong @nmbr1stickerenjoyer @wonpoem @jeonghansshitester @kukkurookkoo @dudekiss3r @https-yeonjun @nahyuckers @slayhaechan @luvvhaechan @chenlezip @ryuvrsie @aerivrs @snoopyjimin @yukisroom97 @snowyseungs @thegracerammy @purezitas @sundamariis @nctrawberries @sehunniepot @holyhaech @belleilichil @cyjzzl @haechology @ant-onie @n0hyuck @axo-l0tl @goquokka @jich3nle @gela0205 @irlrenjun @leevipipi @kodasity @taroddori @hyuckies18 @hibernatinghamster @renjunniex @haechyuckan @i-lovegood @chan-yeoldelling @lampcults @jae-n0 @jeongintwt @sunghoonsgfreal @injvns @sewergirlfriend @fluermeijisblog @pinklemonade34 @t-102

[bbydoll18xx]

I Can Do It With a Broken Heart (Part 3): Grinning Like I’m Winning

Paige Bueckers x reader

The aftermath of a drunken confession.

Word Count: 2k

Themes: more angst, fluff and a happy ending :))

Masterlist

Part 1 - KK tries to set you up on live, and things between you and Paige go south.

Part 2 - You go out on a date. Paige gets drunk. Chaos ensues.

A/N: helloooo thanks to everyone who has stuck with me I know it's been awhile since part 2 (i've had terrible writers block) I really hope you enjoy this! I've got a lot of exciting plans for the next few weeks as well

~

You had barely slept. With Paige’s confession ringing hauntingly in your ears, sleep had evaded you, and you were slowly losing your mind. 

Your thoughts were swirled with anxiety and a creeping giddiness that threatened to bubble up and ruin the strict boundaries you had placed on your psyche to prevent ruining your cherished friendship with Paige. Her actions hinted towards perhaps a mutual feeling, but the devastating thought that it was just the alcohol teasing you, made your heart drop to your ass. 

You and Paige had previously had several run-ins with close calls with drunken confessions and touches and glances that had felt a little less than friendly. But you had both brushed them off, thinking it was easier to internalize the confusing feelings than dealing with them head on. 

Your thoughts drift back to the way she held onto you last night, as if she was terrified of losing you, and you cannot forget the way she launched into you when you came to pick her up from the bar, whispering into your neck about how she missed and needed you. 

Was it friendly? Maybe, but the hopefulness in you made you think it was laced with something more. And you were going to ride that high until reality came to slam you back to the crushing realization that you and Paige were just friends. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Paige shifts beside you, moving closer into the warmth emitting from your body, and a quiet hum of content leaves her throat. You run a hand through her soft hair, gently scratching her scalp, pulling her out of her slumbers. She opens the eye that wasn’t smushed against her pillow, blinking a few times as her brain registers your presence. 

“Hey,” she whispers, her voice huskier than normal, and your belly flips at the sound. Her morning voice was a personal weakness of yours, and not being able to hear it the last week had affected you more than you liked to admit. 

“Mornin’, P. How’re you feeling?” You ask, eyes raking over her face, trying to avoid looking at her lips, as she slowly licked them. 

Paige groans, rubbing her eyes. “I drank way too much last night,” she mumbles. 

You agree with her, nodding your head as a chuckle threatened to escape. “You usually can hold your alcohol better than that. What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, jostling you as she does so, a gentle reminder of how close she was to you. “How was your date?” she asks, effectively changing the subject.

Your heart falls again as you recall the disastrous end to your date with Scarlett, and you sigh. “I’m guessing you didn’t hear?”

Paige shoots you a questioning look, shaking her head adorably, eyes still clouded with sleep and her hangover.

You clear your throat. “She basically just wanted to go out with me to get closer to you,” you trail off, the embarrassment washing over you once more. “So I walked out on her.”

“Fuck, baby,” she breaths, a look of pity enveloping her features. “You deserve so much better than that.”

“It’s fine,” you mumble. “I think I’m just going to be on my own for a while, ya know? I’ve had so many bad dates this past year, and it’s getting discouraging.”

“You never know, though. The right girl, o-or person might be closer than you think,” she says, stuttering over her words. 

“Maybe. Just tired of people fucking me over,” you say, hoping she doesnt hear the audible crack in your voice. But it’s Paige, and because you’re you, she doesn't miss it, and her face morphs into one of sadness and regret. It haunts you, and all the aching in your chest slams back into you at an alarming force, crushing you. 

A few moments of silence pass, and after you had shoved your face back into your pillow to hide from the cruel reality of your ridiculously embarrassing dating life, Paige speaks. Her voice is quiet, an echo that subsequently shatters any last attempts to hold on to the friendly confines of your relationship.

“I’d never fuck you over.”

Peeking back up at her, your face softens at her admission. “I know, P. That’s why I love you, ya know,” you respond, and her face flushes. 

Neither of you were awake enough to scrutinize over the verbiage, but in both of your hearts, you knew it was more than a friendly kind of love. It was enough for now. But not for long, as you would both come to realize.

~

“I really thought she liked me. And i just want someone who actually gives a fuck about me, ya know? Like my standards are literally on the floor at this point, and I’m still alone,” you mumble, a pout on your lips as you recount your latest failure of a date with Scarlett to Azzi and Jana. You’re squished between them on the couch in Paige’s apartment, and the blonde could not keep her eyes off of you.

Her gaze was hot, and you could feel it follow you from the second you walked through the door with a sour expression covering your face, bitter that you could not have Paige. 

Her words were still on a constant loop in your mind, incessantly mocking you over the fact that you were still just friends, and you were too much of a coward to risk ruining things with her. So you resorted to bitching to the other girls, appreciating that your distaste for dark haired girls who fawned over Paige Bueckers was the perfect distraction.

Across the room, Paige listened to your diatribe, trying to pump herself up to just admit her feelings to you now that she was sober. The other girls were simultaneously shooting her looks of pity and encouragement, aware of her feelings. It was easy to notice how Paige had gotten absolutely wasted in your absence, and it was well known that her drunken ramblings of how pretty you were and how she fucking loved the way your hair flowed over your shoulders were not just from the effects of the alcohol. It was something more.

It would always be something more.

“Lots of people give a fuck about you,” Azzi says soothingly, patting you on the shoulder. “Someone might be closer than you think,” she adds, and you don't miss the gleam in her eye.

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave her off with a lighthearted eye roll. “That’s what Paige said.”

Paige nearly jumps at the sound of her name, and Jana covers her mouth to muffle a laugh. 

You look over at Jana. “What is so funny?”

She clears her throat, trying to play it off. “Nothing!”

You squint at her, trying to figure out her angle. The girls were acting so weird tonight. You were naturally perceptive, and you definitely weren’t an idiot; you could see the shooting looks sent between you and Paige from the other girls. And you could actually see the wheels turning in KK’s head as she exclaimed “I’m bored. Let’s play Never Have I Ever!”

Your heart begins to race as your nervous system goes into overdrive. You would not put it past KK, or any of the other girls, to try and reveal your feelings to Paige for a laugh.

The thought of unreciprocated feelings was enough to make you want to crawl into a hole and hide forever, and despite Paige’s drunken admission still ringing in your ears, you had not let yourself believe that there was any truth to it. Because believing that she actually loved you was almost too much. 

KK claps her hands, gathering everyone into a large circle on the carpeted floor, pulling you from your worries. You sigh, getting up from your spot on the couch and plopping down next to Ice and Aubrey. Paige was sitting directly across from you, and for what feels like the tenth time since you had walked through the door, Paige was staring at you with those goddamn blue eyes and an expression that was hard for even you to read. 

Fuck, this was not going to be pretty.

The game started out innocent enough. Aubrey had started, asking everyone to take a drink if they had participated in underage drinking, eliciting laughs from the younger girls who were in fact currently underage. 

Next to Aubrey was Jana, who asked the group who had ghosted someone before. You once again sipped your drink, as did everyone else. The pounding in your heart lessened, hopeful that no one was planning on being too messy tonight.

The game continues for a few minutes with no issues. The drinks are quickly drained as more and more questions are asked. Soon enough, it’s KK’s turn and the sly grin on her face makes you instantly nervous again. KK was the one constantly encouraging you to admit your feelings to Paige, and you knew she would not hesitate to put it all on the line if she thought it was the right thing to do. 

She rubs her hands together mischievously. “Okay, y’all. Take a drink if you’ve ever had feelings for a friend.” 

‘Fuck me,” you think, a flush covering your face. You duck your head, trying to subtly take a drink. Across the circle, Paige drinks, too, and KK hoots loudly.

“Shut up,” Paige mumbles, flipping off the younger girl, and you nod in approval. 

It was now Ice’s turn, and she looks over at KK with a similar grin. “Take a drink if the friend you have feelings for name starts with the letter P,” she smirks.

Your head spins, and you feel all the blood drain from your face. Everyone was looking at you now, including Paige. Your hand shakes as you bring your cup to your mouth, taking a tentative sip, desperately trying to avoid the stares of all the girls, who were now stifling their laughs. 

“Fuck off,” you whine. “I don't wanna play this game anymore.” 

“Take another drink if you’re in love with Paige Bueckers,” KK says with a dramatic wink in your direction, and you give her a death stare.

You ultimately had two choices: deny the fuck out of it or grow a pair and admit your feelings. And in an insane display of bravery, you take one more drink, eyes boring into hers.

The room erupts into cheers and gasps of shock, and you hear multiple mumbles of “finally” as you do so. 

“Get your cute butt over her,” Paige says, patting her thigh with a fond look, and you stand up without even thinking, nearly rushing over to finally be close to her. The great war between your head and your heart was over, and she was yours. There was absolutely no denying that.

She pulls you into her lap, and you lean into her touch, just as you wanted to when she was drunk off her ass. “I told you last night that I loved you,” she said teasingly, and the girls erupt in loud gasps again.

“WHAT?” they yell, causing you to wince at the volume. 

“I thought you were just drunk,” you say shrugging, a small smile on your lips. “How was I supposed to know you actually meant it?” 

“I straddled you, baby,” she stresses, grinning, running her hands across your hips.

“Well, you know now,” you respond.

And she did. And soon the whole world would, too, because there was just no hiding those heart eyes with Paige. All thoughts of your shitty love life evaporated in that moment. Gross frat boys and gold-digging dark haired girls were quickly erased from your memory, and they were replaced with the pretty blue eyes of your best friend who loved you.

You could do it with a broken heart, but now your once cold and desolate heart was full. And that was all because of Paige.

~

@patscorner @lovesickramblingsofmine @jaeyoonstie @obi35

that was fun! thank you so much for reading!! let me know what you think :)

xoxo katy

[woso-dreamzzz]

Oops

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: It was an accident

"Sorry," Jessie says again," I mean it. I really am."

"I know, Jess."

"I didn't mean for it to happen, honestly!"

"I know, Jess."

"I don't deserve forgiveness."

"It's not that bad, Jess. Barely even an injury."

Jessie looks at you incredulously, brows raised to her hairline.

You're sitting in a hospital bed. Your face is covered in scratches and bruises and your arm is firmly stuck in a cast. Your shirt is torn up from your tumble, ripped in random places and you're pretty sure your legs were only spared because you were wearing your heavy-duty jeans.

Jessie was new on the team but not new to you.

You'd transferred from your childhood team Manchester City just last year to the Portland Thorns for more game time. Jessie had been your long-term girlfriend for a while back then and when she'd moved to the Thorns a few months ago, you'd been ecstatic.

You just wish you'd had the hindsight to tell her to stay away from your skateboards.

"I feel awful," Jessie continues," Does it hurt bad? Do you need the doctor again?"

"Jessie," You say," They're just getting the discharge paperwork. Please don't make them keep me here longer than needed."

Jessie bites her lip, like she always does when she's feeling nervous.

It had been an accident on her part.

You had been out with Jessie on a date with your skateboard and was standing on it at the top of a set of steps, contemplating going down the railings.

Only Jessie had been bumped into by someone in the crowd and had then bumped into you, sending you careening down the stairs.

"I guess I'm stuck in the stands for a bit," You joke, laughing slightly before stopping when you see her face.

Jessie looks distraught over the whole thing, halfway to tears at your bedside.

"Jessie, babe," You say," Come here."

You pat the portion of bed beside you and Jessie shakes her head.

"No," She says," No, I hurt you."

"It was an accident. it wasn't even your fault. You got barged into first."

"But you get hurt. I broke your arm."

"Technically, the stairs broke my arm."

"And your face-"

"It'll heal."

"Stop making excuses! You're hurt and you can't play!"

You grin at her dopily. "Some things are more important than playing."

Jessie nods along seriously. "Healing, you're right."

A little bark of laughter bubbles out of your throat. "I was going to say watching you play but trust you to think about my health."

"Well, one of us has to care! You're being very blasé about this!"

"Jessie, come here."

"I-"

"Jess, please?"

She shuffles onto the bed with you and you throw your arm over her shoulder, pulling her closer into you until there's barely a gap between you.

"I'll be fine," You tell her, staring into her eyes," It was a clean break. No surgery. Just a cast. I'll be fine in a few months. It wasn't your fault. I won't hear you saying otherwise."

"But-"

"No, Jess. It was just a horrible accident. That's it."

You're not usually this firm with her but Jessie, your sweet girlfriend was spiralling like always and you were adamant about her not shouldering the blame herself.

"I didn't mean to," She says, eyes wet with unshed tears and you tuck her head into your neck.

"I know, Jess, I know. It's okay. Just a freak accident. I shouldn't have been on my board in the first place."

Jessie's short hiccupping laughter fills your ears. "No, you shouldn't have. We need to throw them away when we get home."

"Would that help you sleep better?"

She nods.

"Alright. Can we sell them though? Because, you know, some of them are worth enough to make serious money. We can redo the kitchen."

You can feel Jessie smile into your neck. "Only if we promise we can have a breakfast bar."

"Breakfast bar and a reading nook," You agree," But I've got to be allowed to keep one board."

"Not the one from today."

You kiss the top of her head. "No, not the one from today."

[thegirlamongthestars]

what would you do? - c. alcaraz

author's note: it is not my first time writing smut but it's been a long time since I've done it. So sorry for any mistakes or bad wording.

summary: Carlos faces his female nemesis, who happens to be a WTA player, in a brutally honest and steamy training session

wc: 2,7k

warnings: +18 content, smut, fingering, protected sex (play safe! put it on!), riding, filthy as fuck

Roland Garros 2023

It all began with a seemingly routine press conference, and honestly, I thought nothing of it. I was still riding the high from my last match, feeling confident and ready. Adriana was next up, and I’d heard she was having a stellar tournament so far. So when she walked into the room, I was just another player waiting for my turn at the podium.

The press conference kicked off, and the questions were flying fast. Adriana started speaking about her training regimen, the hard work she’d put in. Then, I remember that time we shared space at the gym for a strength routine. I couldn’t keep my thoughts out about how she looked that day. Her concentration making her look exquisite and the way the sweat was shining on every inch of her soft-looking skin. Due to the memories and quite out of nowhere, I made a strange noise—like a half-chuckle, half-clearing-my-throat kind of sound. It wasn’t intentional but it came out as a reaction to my memories of her and as an attempt to calm myself. The image had been stuck in my mind, and I guess it just slipped out.

But what I hadn’t realized was how it came across. Adriana’s head snapped toward me, her eyes flashing with irritation. The room went quiet, all eyes on us. I felt the heat rise in my face. I hadn’t meant to insult her, not in the slightest. It was just a stupid, misplaced reaction.

The media seized on it, turning it into a headline: Carlos Alcaraz mocks Adriana’s training. Suddenly, a harmless moment was spun into a full-blown feud. Adriana began avoiding me, keeping her distance, and every interaction felt charged with tension. What had been a simple comment turned into something far more complicated, and no matter how many times I tried to smooth things over, it only seemed to make matters worse.

I couldn’t figure out why it bothered me so much. It wasn’t just the rivalry—it was the fact that something so small had escalated into this ongoing, uncomfortable dynamic.

Roland Garros 2024

Here I was again, one year later. The grounds were buzzing with the usual excitement. My game was sharp, my confidence high, but today felt about more than just a practice. When I saw Adriana around the venue, I quickly made up my mind about confronting her. We really needed to sort out the ridiculous misunderstanding that led us to this “enemies” dynamic. I hated having that type of reaction on her. I really hated it, well except when she pierced me with those fierce green eyes. At those times, I couldn’t help but feel like a teenager with crazy hormones.

I arrived at the court for the private training session, and she was already there. Doing some rallies with her coach. Her hair, surprisingly, was down displaying her light brown strands. It looked so soft it made want to grab it.

Five seconds on her presence and I was already this worked up, I really needed to start focusing.

I called my team over, keeping my voice low so she wouldn’t hear. “You guys head out. I’ve got this.”

They looked at me, confused, but didn’t argue. They knew better. One by one, they packed up and left, leaving me alone on the court. I watched her as they disappeared, and just like I expected, she glanced over.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly what was happening.

To my surprise, she didn’t hesitate. With a quick head movement to her own team, she motioned for them to leave as well. They looked just as confused as mine had, but they didn’t ask questions. When they were gone, it was just the two of us.

The tension and the heat travelling through my body was immediate.

She picked up her racket, gave me a smirk, and walked to the baseline of my court. “So, what’s this about, Carlitos? Are you here to teach how to train properly?”

Her tone was playful, but I could feel the heat behind it. We weren’t kids anymore. Whatever had been brewing between us back then? It wasn’t going away. If anything, it was stronger now. More dangerous.

I shrugged, coming with an answer to match her question. “I’m sure I could teach you a few things”

The court suddenly felt much larger with just the two of us. The quiet settled around us, and I could feel my pulse pick up. It was like the air between us shifted. Heavier.

We kept rallying, the sound of the ball filling the silence, but it was different now. Every glance, every movement, had weight to it. I could see the way her breath quickened after each shot, the way she’d pause just a second longer before serving, as if she was aware of me watching her every move.

And damn it, I was.

Her ball, that I could have easily returned, turned into a point on her favor. She noticed that I was distracted and by the look she gave me, I knew she knew my reasons.

She stepped closer to the net after her shot, and I did the same, barely noticing how the ball stopped bouncing, the match forgotten. We were both breathing heavier now, but it wasn’t from the workout. I could feel her presence, feel the heat rolling off her, and suddenly, I wasn’t thinking about tennis at all.

“Distracted?” she put her hands on the hem of the net, getting closer to me and leaving her cleavage straight to my eyesight.

I was trying very hard to control the impulse of throwing myself all over her so I just shared the truth “Pretty much”.

“What if we play a game?” the mischief in her eyes sent a shiver down my spine.

This girl was dangerous. But this was the danger I liked. So if she was going to be shameless, then this was a game for two. I nodded and she began to explain.

“We are going to start a rally and at every point you win, you get to ask me a question; and vice versa”

“Okay, nic-“ she cut me off.

“But if you don’t want to answer to the question you have to take off a piece of clothing” her gaze expectant to my reaction. “Not the shoes, though. I don’t want you to break and ankle”

I started walking backwards, with my arms spreading, inciting her. “Bring it on, Adriana”

The first serve flew across the net, sharp and fast, landing just inside the baseline. Adriana’s return was quick and powerful. I sent a strong forehand cross-court, watching her sprint to catch it. She was good. Too good. But there was a flicker in her movements, the smallest hesitation when I moved up to the net, her eyes locking on mine for just a second too long. That was all I needed.

She missed the ball, and it sailed past her, bouncing off the back fence.

“One down,” I said, my voice low but teasing. “Do you really hate me?”

She laughed and lifted her t-shirt to dry her forehead, leaving her belly on display “No”

“Then why d-“ she left my words hanging again.

“Ah-ah, that’s not how it works Alcaraz” her head moving side to side cheekily. “Be brighter next time”

The next point was fast, both of us hitting with more force than necessary, trying to keep the upper hand. But this time, I lost focus, my mind more on her than on the game. She took advantage of it, hitting a perfect shot down the line that I couldn’t reach in time.

Her turn.

“Have you ever taken some of your personal time to watch a game of mine?”

She knew what she was doing. She already knew the physical effect she had in me and now she was trying to find out if I kept her on my mind.

She walked to the net, stopping just inches from me. “Well? What’s it going to be? Are you going to answer the question or…?”

I gave me her a slow, deliberate look, then—without a word—reached for the bottom of my shirt and tugged it over my head. My well-formed abdominals instantly showing and tan looking better under the sun rays. I saw how her breath caught for a second.

“That’s enough for you?” I asked, my voice smooth.

She swallowed, trying to keep her cool. “For now.”

I lost the next point, a backhand going wide.

I saw her leaving her racket on the bench and the way her hips swung while walking towards the net, had me hypnotized. She moved her finger on a “come here” motion and I did.

 “Are you brave enough to take off my t-shirt?”

This woman was going to be the end of me. At this point, I was not taking care of controlling my hormones and that was starting to note under my pants. I didn’t know how I would react the moment my fingers touched her skin, but my desire made me get closer to her immediately.

Her gaze was on mine all the time and at the moment I traced her waist with my fingertips, she bit her lower lip. I couldn’t help but release a lust filled pant. I raised the fabric until it was resting on top of her breasts, and I let my hands there for a moment, holding the sides of her rib cage. I looked down and it was undoubtedly the worst idea I’ve had in my life. Ironic, considering that I was having the greatest sight I’ve ever seen.

At that moment, something snapped in my head and all I could think was “fuck it”.

“What would you do if I kissed you right now?”

“That’s not fair” she put her hands at the nape of my hair, leaving us mere inches apart “It’s not your turn”

I could sense that she was saying that just to control herself so when I saw her licking her lips, I didn’t think about it twice. I leaned in; one arm on the net, the other enclosing her waist, pulling her even closer.

The moment our lips met, electricity shot through me, white-hot and consuming. Her lips were soft, but the kiss was anything but gentle. It was fierce, hungry—like we’d been holding this in for far too long.

Her hands found their way to my chest, nails scratching my pectorals. I couldn’t help but press my bulge to her hips and she left a moan on my mouth. I could feel her heat more than ever. The taste of her, the way her tongue moved against mine—it was intoxicating, better than I’d ever imagined.

And I had imagined it. More times than I cared to admit.

I needed more—more of her. The net between us was the only thing keeping us apart so with one swift motion, I gripped her firmly, lifting her off the ground without breaking the kiss.

Her body reacted immediately. She wrapped her legs around my waist, pulling herself tighter against me, her arms circling around my neck. At this position, she could feel me directly on her core so she didn’t wait much until she started grinding against me.

While we were still kissing, I started to walk us to one of the facilities built, for leaving our personal belongings, right next to the courts. During the way, Adriana moved her lips from my mouth to my neck and I almost tripped with my own feet. Her tongue followed her lips and she soon started giving small bites until she reached my ear lobe.

“You’re aggravating” she whispered looking into my eyes when we sat on the bench where I left my stuff.

“And why is that, honey?” now I was the one taking good care of her neck. I found a sweet spot of hers right under her chin and I had her moaning again.

“That day when you laughed at me” she was barely able to form sentences right now. “Y-you…”

“I didn’t laugh at you” my hand started trailing down her belly until it was placed on the hem of her skirt, my fingers surpassing the elastic but stopping there. “Do you wanna know what actually happened?”

“Y-yes but don’t stop”

Her neediness steered the fire within me even more and I complied her wishes. I kept my trail down, until I reached her wetness. I bit her jaw in response of knowing how much she desired me. With my fingers coated in her, I went up again and once I found her clit I started tortuously slow strokes over it.

“When you started talking about your gym routine all I could think about was how good your butt looked on those leggings you were wearing the time we trained together” I kept my ministrations, but I slowly entered her with two of my fingers turning her into a moaning mess. “About how badly I wanted to fuck you right there and then”

Her only response was arching her back leaving her breasts right at the height of my mouth. I started to give sloppy kisses and bites to the flesh that was sticking out the sport bra. The sounds she was making were sending me to another dimension and my dick was throbbing so hard that I was afraid she could feel it.

“I want you to fuck me here and now” she paraphrased my previous words.

I could feel my heart racing in my throat, my voice hoarse and needy “At your commands, reina”

With our lips and tongues having a full battle into a kiss, I reached my backpack. Right now, I was thanking that friend of mine that told me to always carry a condom on my wallet. When she saw what I had in hand she took it. Now she was the one slipping her hand through the waistband of his pants. When she palmed me over my underwear, I had to focus hardly on not cuming. She freed me and despite I was hard as a rock she gave me two strokes before putting on the condom.

“I knew you were big” she shamelessly said before licking my lower and upper lip. “Those white shorts are quite revealing”

I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I pushed the skirt and panties aside. She noticed I was on the edge, so she grabbed me and introduced it in herself. When she sat down completely, we both let out a satisfied grunt. Immediately, we reach for each other’s lips. There was something wild about the kiss we were having and we both felt it. The way we were sucking and biting each other's lips relentlessly and the way she was moving above me. Our skin rubbing together hard and the sound of us colliding making us both moan uncontrollably.

I then grabbed her tightly by the flesh of her hips, the movements double in speed and when my member reached the exact point inside her, I could see how her eyes rolling back. The pitiful sound out of her lips confirmed it to me and I started hitting the spot relentlessly. My stamina allowing me to increase the rhythm and depth even more, making us lose our minds.

“Touch yourself” I commanded her, and her dutifulness drove me dangerously near to the orgasm.

After a few more minutes of giving everything in us to please the other, we combusted into each other’s bodies trying to extend as much as possible the pleasure wave we were in. When our breathing pace slowed down, I grabbed her chin to make her look into my eyes and then we melted into a soft and delicate kiss.

“So, we can call it a truce?” I teased her when she snuggled up against my chest and I managed to get the sweetest laugh out of her lips.  

“Don't tempt fate, Carlitos”